MASQUES
By Doc. Klein's LabRat <labrat@blueyonder.co.uk>
Rated: PG13
Submitted: January 2003


Before we start, gentle reader, you should be aware that it was not 
my intent when writing this one to provide an 'instant fix' for the 
Wedding Arc. So Clark will not fly to the rescue once he discovers 
he's married to a clone, retrieve Lois from the clutches of Lex, 
smoochies, violins, fade out - you get the picture. At least...not right 
away. ;) 

There *will* be a happy ending, but first our heroes have a long road 
of emotional trauma to hoe. This is pretty much an Angst/WHAM 
Fest - don't say you weren't warned. I also happen to think that it 
explores the resilience of Lois and Clark's love for each other and how,
no matter how seemingly insurmountable the difficulties or 
whosoever might try to prevent them, they will always find their way 
back to each other. 

Thanks go to the regulars of the fanfic list, message boards and my good 
buddies in the #loisclark channel for answering technical questions as 
and when required...too many to mention. Your help was much appreciated. 
Also to the Tuesday Night Spoilers Gang on irc for all of your support 
and encouragement. And to my wonderful betas - Kaethel, who worked on 
the first half until RL forced her to bow out and whose brainstorming, 
ideas and comments brought so much to the story (not to mention saving 
my hide on more than one occasion). To Wendy, who took over to beta 
the second half and who gave me valuable insights and a fresh eye on 
how it was going when I became bogged down in mid-story blues and 
who unfailingly got each segment back to me in record time, despite 
some very intense RL pressures and a heavy workload at her 'real' 
job. And, finally, to Tracey, who weeded out any UKisms, among many 
other helpful comments. 

And lastly to the stalwart readers of the message boards, 
for their encouraging comments, speculations and 
suggestions which were always a delight to read and which 
often shaped the story here and there as I progressed with 
ideas I may never have considered including without them. 
Thank you all! 

It should be noted that scene two of this story incorporates an 
earlier vignette of mine entitled Wedding Jitters. I had intended it 
to be nothing more than that but Wendy insisted I had to tell what 
happened next and so...here we are. 

I was unable to track down original publication dates for two books 
used herein, so I decided just to employ poetic license and assume 
that they were around at the appropriate time. If they weren't in 
this universe, they were in Metropolis. <g>

Quoted lines are used from two poets: Thom Gunn and Minna Antrim. 
And I've used some dialogue from the show throughout. The Myotron 
Checkmate 25 is real and I pretty much used the information on its 
specifications wholesale from the website advertising it.



~~~ MASQUES ~~~


When he was six years, two months, and nine days old, Clark Kent had 
an epiphany.

As epiphanies go it wasn't especially earth-shattering or even 
particularly stunning. It was small. It was quiet. It was 
inconsequential to anyone but Clark alone. But to him, at that 
particular moment in his life, it was everything.

It had made what had begun as an ugly day suddenly good. And 
everything that had been wrong in his small corner of the world all at 
once right again.

As he'd stood alone at the side of the road that afternoon, where 
the bright yellow school bus had disgorged him before chugging along 
on its way, autumn had been in the air. Sunlight shafted through the 
cottonwoods that straggled either side of the long, dirt track leading 
to the farm; piles of crisp dried leaves in vibrant gold and yellow, red 
and amber, provoked ammunition for his wounded pride and suffering 
six-year-old soul. He kicked at the heavy drifts as he walked, head 
down, face careworn in a scowl that might have belonged more readily 
to a man three times his years.

A man with the weight of the world on his back. 

And the chip of injustice on his shoulder.

His bookbag bumped and scuffed its way behind him forlornly as he 
dragged it listlessly in his wake. 

Up in the trees a jaybird sang briefly and then fell silent. Clark 
paused, his melancholy mood distracted with the quicksilver switch of 
direction that was only really the gift of the young. He watched the 
bird lift abruptly from the leafless branches and soar into the air and 
felt his youthful heart rise with it. Up into the blue, backed by 
cloud...he wondered what it would be like to hover there, surveying 
the world as you spread yourself on the wind. 

He had flown once. His Momma had been visiting his Aunt Ellie over in 
Missouri and had taken him with her. It hadn't been the same, 
though, he suspected. 

In truth, he would concede years later when remembering that flight, 
he had been disappointed by the sterile separation that the plane's 
metal skin produced between him and the sky. There had been no wind 
in his hair, no currents of air to bolster him...it had been like watching 
the world behind glass, cocooned and protected from the 
experience...cut off and denied the exhilaration of being at one with 
and a part of the sky. And even then, when he had had no idea that 
one day he would be able to experience that melding of air and sky 
and soul, he had been heartstruck with a longing for it that had 
burned in him like a small but bright flame.

Here and now however, he just knew that he hadn't been excited as 
much by the experience as he'd expected to be.

The bird became a speck and his mood darkened again as he forgot 
about it and continued up the lane.

He reached the MacIntyre farm. Reflexively, he switched from one 
side of the track to the other, keeping to the grass verge furthest 
away from the wooden entrance gate; an automatic reaction, born 
from repetition...like wearing a habitual track in a carpet through 
pacing the same line. 

True as clockwork, right on cue, Argo - the MacIntyre's large and 
scruffy half-breed of a guard dog - bounced exuberantly into view 
and hurled himself ferociously at the gate. Clark darted a single, 
unimpressed look at the beast as it snarled and scrabbled and barked 
up a storm and then looked away. Argo, enraged by this indifference 
to his performance, notched up the barking an octave or two.

"Ah...knock it off!" Clark muttered, shouldering his bookbag grumpily.

Argo sat back on his haunches, panting, and tilted his head to one 
side. He whined in puzzlement. This was not part of the game.

Clark stopped and glanced back, his expression touched a little with 
guilt now. He sighed and retraced his steps. "Sorry," he said, reaching 
out between the bars of the gate and rubbing at the hound's floppy, 
overgrown ears. Argo, in an ecstasy of delight, whimpered in pleasure 
and began a low rumbling of approval from deep down in his chest. 
Clark grinned.

"You old faker..." he accused, in much the same tone that he'd heard 
his father use the previous day to old Betsy, the most recalcitrant 
cow of the small number which resided in their barn. His father had 
casually sidestepped Betsy's fifth attempt to grind a foot beneath a 
hoof, reaching up to scratch a particular spot behind the bovine 
miscreant's ear with the words, and his expression had hovered 
between the amusement of participating in an old battle and 
affection for the protagonist. Clark, as he rubbed at Argo's ears, 
looked and sounded uncannily like a miniature version of his father 
right at that particular moment. A fact he was blissfully unaware of 
as he continued his ministrations.

Argo didn't deny the charge as he wriggled and thumped his furry tail 
on the concrete, his eyes narrowing in rapture. 

Clark sighed again and his grin faded. "Sorry...gotta go."

Argo laid back his ears and then flattened his belly to the concrete 
as Clark patted him again and stepped back. He barked, without the 
previous heat, a preemptory 'come back, my ears still itch' sort of 
bark this time, but Clark walked on around the corner and was gone an 
instant later. And once again, a small ritual in the daily lives of both 
boy and dog came to an end.

Clark wished Paul Innes was like Argo. All fire and bluster, but just 
sappy as taffy underneath. He had tried to make friends with Paul, 
despite the newcomer's rejection, just like he'd won over Argo, slow 
and steady, but somehow it hadn't turned out so successfully. Clark 
couldn't quite understand that one. What was the difference 
between making friends with Argo and making friends with Paul? It 
had been easy with the dog. Argo had come around just lickity-split. 
Why were people harder? He kicked at a loose stone on the road. He 
had the suspicion that with Paul Innes the barking and growling were 
all that there was. He was beginning to understand that there were 
mean dogs and dogs who played mean when they weren't and 
sometimes it was hard working out which was which.

And sometimes you got bit trying to figure it out. Unbidden, his hand 
crept up momentarily to the side of his face, seeking out the faintly 
tender patch on his cheekbone, and the eyes above his fingers 
darkened momentarily.

Paul Innes was one of the mean ones.

Paul Innes had pretended to be his friend.

That had been the worst of it. 

Clark's eyes grew hot and dry and the road in front of him blurred as 
he struggled with the concept of betrayal - so foreign to him until 
that moment - for the first time. He blinked until his vision cleared, 
but his heart remained weighted down with the misery of the lesson.

He had been teased a lot that year. The era of free love and easy 
social tolerance had largely passed Smallville and its environs by and 
the speculation about Martha Kent and her foundling child, with its 
faint and irresistible whiff of scandal, had been fire for gossip like 
flame to a dry tinder stack. 

Long since consigned to small town lore, the origins of his birth had 
largely been mislaid and he had no problems with acceptance among 
his classmates or anyone else. No one had been mean to him, no one 
deliberately cruel, his childhood had been sunny and secure, the 
adults and children alike who peopled his small world had treated him 
with respect and warmth, just like everyone else. Just one more kid. 
Usually. Till now. Swept aside it may have been, but memories were 
long in small towns and tongues could be sharp as acid still, even six 
years on, when the occasion arose. 

The Innes family had moved into the village just around the turn of 
that year. And it hadn't taken long for the gossips - well, Marcie 
Evens, who had fulfilled that small town role for nigh on forty years 
and showed no signs of stopping soon - to fill them in on every little 
snippet they thought might be relevant to know. And adults, keen to 
pass along a rich hoard of tattle-tales to a new addition to the town, 
often failed to notice young ears pricked and keen to eavesdrop. Ears 
which had companion tongues that spewed venom more deadly than 
any cobra and twisted casual disapproval and idle curiosity into 
something mean and ugly. 

Mostly, Clark had ignored the taunts from his new classmate. The 
basic fact that he was not Martha and Jonathan Kent's natural child 
was not news to him. He had known that, it seemed, from his earliest 
memory and no one had ever hidden it from him. He was, 
nevertheless, secure in the knowledge that he was loved by his 
adoptive parents just as much, if not more, than any of his friends 
and contemporaries were by theirs. Schoolyard taunts that tried to 
tell him otherwise found no target in him, no barb to hook at his 
heart. 

Not like the others. It was the others that hurt. He had never been 
made aware before that being a foundling, adopted, meant being 
something less than the other children around him. Something 
tainted. Something bad. No one had ever told him that before. It was 
a new concept, a puzzling one, and painful. More painful than he could 
have imagined.

Of course, his Momma had always told him that he was special. Clark 
believed this. His Momma always told the truth. But he now also knew 
that special meant he was different. That there was something about 
him that was apart from his classmates...

<*My* Dad says you're a freak bast - ! >

He shook clear the hateful words with an abrupt, bullish shake of his 
head as he headed through the farm gate. But renewed tears of 
humiliation and shame stung at his eyes as he trudged across the 
farmyard. He blinked, but his vision still blurred.

His Mom appeared in the doorway ahead of him, drying her hands with 
a towel, her presence evidence enough that his approach had been 
taken note of; the small frown between her eyes proof that his 
demeanor was unusual enough to have attracted attention.

"Clark?"

He ignored the concern in her voice, the pull of comfort and solace he 
could so easily give in to, and pushed past her, angry with her for 
being the cause of his trouble.  It was all *her* fault! Why couldn't 
she be his proper Mom? Why couldn't she just...? Why couldn't she?

He thudded heavily up the stairs to his room and slammed the door 
behind him.

Ten minutes later, belligerence had given way to an uncertain anxiety 
as his mother failed to come after him to find out what was wrong. 
Denied his chance to vent his anger at her in accusation, Clark chewed 
thoughtfully at his lower lip and sat thinking deeply on the edge of his 
bed until the shadows lengthened, unnoticed, creeping across the 
weathered boards of the floor.

Finally, the misery of the day giving way to a small spark of 
indignation at this uncalled for abandonment and lack of concern for 
his trauma, Clark pushed himself to his feet and went carefully 
downstairs.

His parents were talking quietly in the homely kitchen. He had 
unusually sharp hearing for a kid his age, so he heard them long 
before he reached the room. He paused halfway down the staircase.

"...a long time, Martha. I hate hearing them talk that way about you. I 
hate it."

"Oh, Jonathan...he's still young and he wouldn't understand...wasn't it 
you said leave that old dog sleeping where it lay?"

"Yes, but...they're wrong, they're so wrong, and it's not fair that you 
should - "

"Jonathan, listen to me. All that ever mattered to me was that child; 
soon as I held him in my arms I knew he was mine. If that means 
listening to Marcie Evens tattling on about our business...well, that's 
just the way it's going to have to be. It bothers me no mind. Our boy 
is what's important."

Clark heard his father sigh heavily.

"Well, Martha, I just don't think - "

"Hush now..."

There was a small moment of silence. Clark frowned, suspecting that 
his mother and father were up to mooshy stuff again. He pulled his 
sleeve across his face, wiping the tracks of old tears and trudged 
reluctantly to the open kitchen door.

Yup. Mooshy stuff. His parents were standing in front of the wide 
window, his father rocking his mother against his chest. Her cheek 
rested on his shoulder and her eyes were shadowed by the growing 
gloom outside. Clark shuffled nervously in the doorway as he watched.

"Momma?" His voice trembled suddenly on the word, all of the day's 
weight suddenly landing on his shoulders and threatening to 
overwhelm him.

She turned and he looked at her anxiously. "I'm sorry, Momma."

With a soft cry she disengaged herself from her husband's cradling 
embrace and was across the room to sweep him into a reassuring hug 
in another instant. Relieved, Clark wound his chubby arms around her 
neck, drawing in the warm, familiar scent of her with a quiet sigh. 

"So..." his father said from behind them after a moment. "You want to 
talk about what happened in school today?"

Clark peeked a glance around his mother's shoulder at his father's 
inquiring face and hesitated, belatedly and painfully aware that the 
words thrown at him in the schoolyard had been directed more at his 
mother than him. His glance at her gave him away.

Martha smiled at Jonathan and got to her feet. "I have to go take 
those curtain swatches to Caroline. I'll be gone about an hour...or so." 
She gave her son a small, encouraging look before she left the 
kitchen.

Jonathan nodded automatic assent, his gaze focused on his 
recalcitrant son as the boy eyed him warily, and they listened 
together in awkward silence to the sounds of Martha putting on her 
coat and leaving. When the soft roar of the truck had puttered into 
the distance, Jonathan moved to the range. 

"Come have something to eat."

Clark, suddenly aware of how the scents of his mother's cooking had 
been tantalizing his taste buds ever since he'd entered the room, 
didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled hastily into a chair and 
attacked with single-minded devotion the plate his father put in front 
of him. Shifting his bulk gratefully to the seat opposite, Jonathan 
watched him steadily as he demolished the meal and said nothing until 
Clark had finally sated his appetite.

In short order, Jonathan was able to pick up the empty plate and put 
it in the sink of hot, soapy water with its companions. He washed up 
with the steady efficiency he brought to all the tasks in his life. With 
the last plate set to dripping in the drainer, he wiped at his hands 
with the cloth and turned around to view his son consideringly. Clark's 
back presented a rigid view, stiff with anxiety as he huddled in his 
seat, obviously waiting for the axe to fall at any moment. 

Jonathan held in a sigh and put down the cloth. "I did some more work 
on The Project today," he said. "Want to go see?"

Clark jerked around to look at him in surprise, but his nod of assent 
was quick to arrive.

"Okay, put on your coat mind, it'll be cold out in the barn."

Clark scrambled readily to comply. Together, father and son walked 
the short distance from house to barn in amiable silence. Usually, 
Jonathan would reach out and enclose his son's small hand in his own 
larger, warm one whenever they went anywhere outside and Clark 
welcomed that reassuring connection. But for some reason he never 
did when they walked the short distance between house and barn to 
work on The Project. Something unconscious in both of them seemed 
then to accept that they were on the same level at these times - not 
father and son but partners in hard work and achievement. Clark 
always felt a small spark of pride - unformed in his conscious mind but 
nonetheless strong - that his father treated him like an equal during 
these moments of shared endeavor and challenge. And for his part, 
Jonathan seemed to sense that his son felt grown up enough at these 
times to forego the usual comforts of childhood. 

So they walked side by side - two men with a mission, each content 
within the silence of their shared companionship - until they reached 
the barn. Clark ducked into the musty interior as his father pulled 
back the door.

The barn held a warmth that smelled distinctly bovine, rich and 
comforting, but there was still a definite tang of chill to the air. 
Clark wished that he'd put on gloves too as he stuck his hands in his 
pockets and watched his father cross to a tarpaulin-covered lump of 
indeterminate mass and shape on the barn's other side.

Jonathan flipped back the tarp and Clark came closer to examine the 
roughly put together box formed out of scrap wood and bits, his face 
eager. As the tarp was pulled back further eagerness became round-
eyed wonder. What the box had sprouted since he'd last seen it were 
two sets of small, iron-bound wheels, front and back. 

"Wow! Dad!" This last a breath of delighted approval as he raised 
shining eyes to his grinning father.

"Noticed them on an old trailer out on the Betts farm," he confided, 
hunkering down beside the box and putting a hand to the nearest 
wheel. Clark hunkered down with him and repeated the gesture with 
solemn intensity. "Thought they looked just the ticket. Old Curtis, he 
was just dumping the trailer anyway, so he gave me them for 
practically nothing."

"Just the ticket," Clark repeated under his breath, running his finger 
reverently along the wheel's rim.

Jonathan cleared his throat. "Course, these fingers of mine are too 
big to get into the bolts right. Want to give me a hand getting them 
tight?"

Clark's beaming face and the speed with which he took the spanner 
offered gave Jonathan his reply.

Man and boy worked steadily on the homemade cart for a time, 
laboring in the contented silence with no need for small talk generally 
favored by men with a mission to accomplish that involved tinkering 
with machinery.

"No, there," Jonathan directed his son's labors with a finger and 
then watched as Clark took his advice. The boy's dark gaze was intent 
on his task, the tip of his tongue jutting from between his teeth as 
he concentrated. 

"Did you hit him back?" Jonathan said quietly.

Clark frowned as he clumsily worked over the last, stubborn bolt. 
"Who?"

"The Innes boy. When he hit you...did you hit him back?"

Clark stopped digging at the bolt.

Jonathan lifted a brow as the child said nothing.

Clark glanced up warily at his father and then returned his frown to 
the cart. This was a tricky one. Grownups could be funny about this 
kind of thing. And Clark, who had never got into a fight before, 
therefore had no way of telling which side of the fence his father 
would come down on. On the one hand, only last week Tad Johnson had 
come to school whining about his dad whaling the hide off'n him for 
not sticking up for himself and running off when some bullies from a 
nearby school had waylaid him. Called him a sissy-baby, so Tad said. 
There had been tears standing in the corners of Tad's eyes when he 
had and Clark had understood with the solemn, instinctive 
understanding of six-year-old male hubris that the insult had cut 
much deeper a wound in young Tad's soul than the whipping ever 
could. 

So not hitting back could be bad. Not that Clark feared a whaling...his 
father had never so much as lifted a hand to him in all his young years 
and the concept was as foreign to him as betrayal had been. But 
disapproval...his father's disapproval was a punishment that stung his 
heart more than any beating ever could and he was loath to tempt it. 

Hitting back though...that seemed as much of a minefield as the 
opposite action. Paul had already been the subject of punishment at 
school for hitting younger kids, even before he'd got to ragging on 
Clark.

He flinched a little as his father's large hand came down easily on his 
shoulder. But he didn't look up from his careful contemplation of the 
cart.

"It's okay, son." Jonathan patted him lightly and then with a soft 
grunt of effort levered himself to his feet and found himself a seat 
on a nearby crate. "Truth's the thing. Whatever you did, we can work 
it out. Lying now..."

"I didn't do nothing," Clark protested, stung. 

"Ah." Jonathan nodded. "Okay, so what did happen? Mrs Markham 
didn't go into much detail. Just said you and the Innes boy had had 
trouble." He eyed his son with a small grunt. "Couldn't have hit you 
hard. You haven't a sign of it on you."

Clark frowned. It had seemed plenty hard to him. But, yeah, he 
guessed Dad was right. It hadn't hardly stung at all after. And even 
the slight tenderness of earlier had faded now to the point where he 
could hardly have pointed out the site of Paul's punch if asked.  He 
shrugged, all of the anger of the afternoon surging up in him again 
with the call to remember. He didn't want to think about it. It was 
stupid. Paul Innes was stupid. And just because he said....

"He said something mean." Clark hesitated, darting another glance at 
his father, struck with the need to deny, to protect, anger at the 
insult to his mother, the desperation to refuse to believe the hateful 
words...and yet....

And yet.

He too could sense the difference in him. Even if he was unable to 
give it name or form. How could he expect others to miss it? Maybe 
Paul Innes was right. About him. Maybe he was.

"He said something mean 'bout Momma," he muttered finally.

"Oh," Jonathan said simply. He had no need to ask of course. Rumor 
reached adult ears as easily as a child's. And this was old news. Six 
years too old. He buried a small spark of anger, knowing he could 
never explain it to Clark, who would only misconstrue it as being 
directed at him.  He hesitated, floundering a little...Martha was much 
better at this kind of thing than he was...

"Dad? What *is* a...fallen woman anyhow?" Clark said before he could 
form any answers, his tone puzzled, and then, answering himself in a 
distracted mumble before his father quite got past the startlement 
of being asked, "Don't see it's got to do with Momma, anyway, 'cos I 
never seen her fall over nothing. Cept..." he paused, then continued 
tentatively, thinking it through, "...that time on the stoop last 
summer. But that doesn't really count, I guess, because you caught 
her then an' she didn't fall or nothing. But you *did* kiss her 
better...even though she wasn't hurt none that I could see an' - "

"Uh, I don't think that's important, Clark," his father said hastily. He 
hadn't known that Clark had been anywhere around that day. 
Reviewing the memory the child had brought up, he cleared his throat 
suddenly and, realizing that Clark was watching him now, eyes 
blatantly curious and still awaiting an answer to his question, changed 
direction firmly, "Your mother, Clark, is a very fine woman. A brave 
woman."

"Brave?" Clark ventured dubiously. While well aware that his Momma 
was the single most important person on the planet, just a shade 
ahead of his father, Clark had nevertheless never thought to view her 
as brave. Brave was...falling out of the old cottonwood in the yard and 
breaking your arm and refusing to let Doc. Taylor see you cry when he 
set the bone even though it hurt *real* bad. At least Doc had been 
impressed at the time. Brave was...stepping up and telling Jake 
Caldwell to cut it out when he pulled Lana's hair in class and made her 
cry. At least...he hadn't felt brave on that one, but Lana had told him 
he was, so he guessed she must be right. Lana generally was. She told 
him that too. Quite a lot.

But Momma had never done *anything* like that.

"Sure," his father leaned back against the rough-hewn beam at his 
back, making the crate creak quietly as he shifted. He smiled. "Come 
here."

With a quick grin, Clark scrambled to his feet and into his father's 
generous lap, snuggling close as he felt sturdy arms encapsulate him in 
a familiar, warm and soothing embrace. He sighed quietly as he 
nuzzled up against the rough serge of his father's workshirt.

"Your Momma's done more brave things than...Underdog," Jonathan 
asserted with a chuckle as he held his son against his broad chest. 
"She's much braver than me. Remember last spring, when she faced 
up to that old Ironba....uh, Diablo?" he amended hastily, referring to 
the huge and belligerent stock bull that had been brought up from a 
neighboring farm to service some of the cows. "When he got through 
the fence and into the yard? Remember that?"

Clark sure did. The furious bull hadn't been a match for his equally 
enraged Mom the moment she'd looked out of the kitchen window and 
seen him trampling all over her garden. Diablo had had something of a 
startled look to him as he'd been firmly herded back into the field at 
the end of a broom.

"That was brave?" he asked, wriggling around on his father's broad 
lap to look up interestedly into his face. He'd never thought of it that 
way before. Somehow it had just been...Mom. Diablo, all snort and fire 
just a moment before, so that the hands in the yard had been 
scrambling to find a safe place out of his reach, had taken one, wary 
look at his Mom and then obeyed her just as meek as a kitten. That 
seemed perfectly reasonable to Clark. Most people and animals 
behaved just the same when his Mom got *that* way with 'em. If 
they had brain sense like they was born with, as his father often said.

Jonathan hesitated. "Sure, it was. A very brave thing," he added, well 
aware that he hadn't thought it was anything more than pure plum-
dyed foolishness at the time. He and Martha had argued over that 
one later, his heart still pounding at the scare she'd given him as he'd 
seen her dash out of the house waving that broom around and cursing 
that ton of muscle and horn driven by sheer cussed meanness as it 
turned to face her with a snort and a sweep of its head. She hadn't 
agreed of course, and then she'd smiled at him in that way she had 
and kissed him and...well....he harrumphed lightly, Clark didn't need to 
know about all of that. "Real brave," he reiterated firmly. 

"Mrs Innes is *scared* of cows," Clark said, seemingly incongruously 
and with a great deal of contempt in his voice, so that Jonathan hid a 
smile. 

"Mrs Innes is," he paused, letting his annoyance with the gossip bleed 
out of his tone before continuing, more evenly, "Mrs Innes doesn't 
know your Mom like we do, that's all."

"Bet she wouldn't have gotten Diablo back into the field. Bet she 
would've run all the way up the lane, just like Betsy did that time the 
wasp wanted her ice-cream, all hollering an' blubbing an' - "

"Clark," his father rumbled disapproval. Much as he might agree, 
disrespecting the adults he knew wasn't anything he wanted his son 
to adopt.

Clark looked up at him guiltily and then added, defiantly loyal, "Mom's 
prettier than Mrs Innes too," before he settled back against his 
father's chest with an air of having been vindicated.

"Well, won't disagree with you on that one," his father relented 
enough to agree. "Anyway, point is, your Mom is brave *and* pretty. 
And a good person. And that's what you need to remember when 
someone who doesn't know her says different. Your Mom comes from 
pioneer stock. And she takes after her folks good."

"What's a pie and ear stock?" Clark queried. He knew what pies were 
of course, his Mom made the best apple 'n' pear pies in the whole 
wide State. And he knew she used stock when she made rabbit stew 
because it was a ritual between them that he often pulled up one of 
the chairs, settled his elbows on the kitchen table, and watched her 
as she cooked. They often talked over the day then. But he couldn't 
quite see how they went together with ears. What kind of ears? He 
knew Mr. Caplan, the butcher, sold pig's ears but....

Jonathan smiled as he put a hand to his son's head and stroked at his 
hair, stilling the chaotic, eclectic jumble of childish thoughts with the 
familiar, soothing action. "Well, now let's see..."

Clark snuggled closer as he listened. After a time he closed his eyes. 
Behind the lids, in the warm darkness, his mind was filled with 
covered wagons and Indian attacks, wild, dangerous places and 
exciting times...

Jonathan glanced down at his son eventually, noting the relaxed 
position he'd adopted. One small hand clutched still at his shirt, 
chubby fingers curled loosely around one of its buttons. He smiled. 
"Time for bed, I think..." he said.

"Nuhnu..." an automatic protest came drowsily from his son. "Tell me 
more stories, Daddy. Just one," he added, seeming to sense his 
father's mouth opening on a demurral. 

Jonathan grinned and then tried to inject some firmness into his tone 
as he said, "If your Mom comes back and finds us still out here and 
you not in bed - "

"She might think you two boys had been wasting time with your 
gossiping again," a mock severe voice told him from the barn door. "I 
swear, if you both aren't worse than Missie Palmer down at the store, 
way you sit here jawing nights." 

"Mom!" 

The small form of her son launched himself abruptly from his 
father's lap, eyes shining as he engulfed her in a wild hug that 
staggered her before she found balance. "Dad says you got to be the 
- "

The grinning excitement in his face died instantly and he threw a 
quick, almost guilty glance across his shoulder. Martha crouched 
quickly to hold him loosely around the waist, pulling his attention back 
to her. She looked soberly into his worried eyes.

"Your father," she said solemnly, "exaggerates."

Clark tilted his head to study her thoughtfully, brow furrowing. "Does 
that mean he tells good stories?" he asked finally.

Martha laughed, ruffling his hair as she stood. "Yes. He tells good 
stories. But," she added sternly, "that doesn't mean you get to hear 
another now. Bed, young man. You have school in the morning," she 
added as he opened his mouth in an automatic protest.

Clark sighed. "Awwwww, Mom!" he gave the age old ritual response and 
then, looking up on her earnestly as he wrapped his arms around her 
middle and adding a reiteration of his earlier plea, "Just 
one...puhlease?"

Martha wavered and then relented, "Okay, just one. But if you don't 
scoot in real quick and get bathed right after I'm gonna come out 
looking to find out why, you hear?"

Clark grinned and then brightened even more as he scurried back to 
his father's lap before she could change her mind. "Paul Innes is 
gonna be real sorry for what he said," he declared, putting together 
everything his father had said in the past few hours and forming 
them into a conclusive decision.

Martha looked at the determined tilt to that jaw, so familiar a 
gesture, one she'd been dealing with for all of her married life, and 
then raised her head to hook an eyebrow at her husband. Jonathan 
shrugged helplessly. She dropped her gaze to her son. "Now, Clark, I 
don't want you getting into any fighting at school. You understand 
me?"

Clark's lips tightened, his face taking on a mulish slant. "I'm not 
gonna fight anyone. But it ain't right. Daddy says, son of a pie 'n' ear 
needs to do what's right, stand up for himself, and it just ain't right 
letting Paul Innes say what he's been saying." He looked up at her, his 
guilty embarrassment over what had been said and who it had been 
directed at, warring with determination on his face. Determination 
won. "Is it?"

She paused. "Well...no..."

He nodded, vindicated. "Okay then."

Martha sighed, defeated. "We'll talk about it later," she said and 
then left them to it, shaking her head as she exited the barn.

And as he had lain there, on the broad, comfortable lap of his father, 
the dark, earthy smells coming from the warm touch of old flannel 
against his cheek and the familiar gentle voice lulling him into a doze, 
Clark had known that no matter where he had come from, no matter 
what Paul Innes or Marcie Evens or anyone said, this was where he 
belonged. 

Here on the Kent farm.

Smallville.

Kansas. 

Kansas, was where he belonged.

He was, of course, completely wrong.

~@*****@~


A long-ago poet, whom Clark had once read, wrote that each man 
carries two cities with him through his life. The city of his birth and 
the city which holds his heart.

For Clark, twenty some years later, what held his heart was 
Metropolis.

Or...a certain woman who lived there.

Clark smiled with the thought as he rolled over onto his side in the 
bed and reached for the bottle of champagne cooling in its bucket on 
the nightstand.

A certain woman who was, even now, yards away in his bathroom.

Who would soon be in his bed.

Who was about to share with him the most important moment of his 
life to date. 

And his life in its entirety.

He poured the chilled, sparking liquid into a fluted glass and then 
topped up the one standing beside it.

In almost thirty years, he thought as he took his first, cautious sip, 
he'd tasted champagne only three times. 

Surprising, he considered, when you added up the number of charity 
dinners, receptions, grand balls and general milling with the nobility 
events he'd attended since becoming a reporter. He'd never really 
been impressed with champagne though. He preferred a good wine, 
smooth and subtle. 

In his youth, he had regretted the inability of alcohol to cloud his 
thoughts and free his inhibitions, but that had passed - mostly as he 
had viewed his friends' post-imbibing suffering - and he had learned 
the wisdom to be grateful for it.

There were many things which had no effect on his metabolism, but 
that didn't prevent him savoring them for the pleasure they gave him.

Clark Kent had never been one to complain. He'd been content for 
most of his life - even though much of it had been frustrating and 
uncertain and sometimes painful. He had been lucky, he knew. Life 
could have been so much harder than this. He had been content as a 
child and - mostly - as a teen and he was content above all with his 
life as a man.

But he had never been so content as he was now, at this moment as he 
looked into the glass of bubbling amber liquid he held and smiled.

Lois.

He lifted the glass a little in an unconscious salute. "Lois Lane. Lois 
Lane Kent," he amended and then paused to think about that. Strange 
how odd it was, even now, to think of her that way. Lois Lane seemed 
to be more than a person, more than the woman he loved. She was an 
entity in her own right, a powerful force.... He smiled suddenly. Like 
Superman. One more thing they shared: powerful entities who had 
taken over their lives. 

"Lois Lane Kent," he tried it out again, liking the sound of it even more 
second time around. "Mrs Clark Kent..." Even better. "Lois Kent..." He 
tried out the various forms as he held the glass up to the light, 
turning it slowly this way and that in his fingers and watching the gold 
and silver sparkles bubble in its depths.

"What?"

Clark choked on the champagne as the puzzled voice drifted out of 
the bathroom at him. "Nothing!" he yelled back hastily. 

Lois Lane.

He shook his head. So what was in a name anyway?

Nothing, he knew. He smiled. She was his wife. And everything he'd 
ever wanted in the world. No matter what she called herself. And no 
matter what he called her.

"Honey..."

He grinned.

"My little tornado..."

He held the taste of them on his tongue for a moment, words of 
magic and of power, that had the ability to send him giddy more 
quickly and easily than any amount of champagne ever would.

"...my wife..."

That was the one. If he could call her nothing else than that for the 
rest of his life he'd be content.

He sighed and settled back on the pillows, taking another sip of the 
bright liquid.

"Just think." He raised his voice a little so she could hear. "This time 
tomorrow we'll be in Hawaii."

"Maybe we can just stay there," Lois answered, sounding distracted.

Clark chuckled. "You want it, you *got* it!" he declared exuberantly. 
He paused, then added expansively, "We'll eat coconuts every day. 
I'll just go up and grab some whenever we need more."

"Sounds great."

Clark nodded and took another sip from his glass. He paused to give it 
another appreciative look, savoring the taste on his tongue, before he 
cast a speculative look towards the bathroom.

She'd been in there an awful long time.

"Lois?" he ventured, a trace of anxious bridegroom seeping into his 
voice now. "Is everything all right?"

Her answer sent every nerve and sinew in him suddenly perking to 
attention.

"Stand by to be stunned!"

And with a blur of motion in the shadows she was there. She stopped 
some feet shy of the bed, smiling faintly, and paused to let him fully 
appreciate all of her hard work as she posed provocatively, framed by 
the lines of pure, white light that seeped into the room from the 
bathroom behind her and surrounded her like a halo's innocence.

Stunned didn't come close.

His heart stuttered into hammering life, his breath caught fast in his 
throat, and desire was a wild thing that scrabbled at his belly and 
loins.

The white silk clung to her curves and hollows, sculpting them in 
shadows, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and the flat plains 
of her stomach. The tantalizing curves of her hips beckoned his eyes 
and caused heat and fire to war in the depths of his belly.

He thought of her skittishness about wearing white, given what she 
at least considered a spotty sexual history. He had found no 
contradiction in it at all. Wearing white wasn't about being virginal 
and pure, he'd told her. It was about marking a change in your life, 
moving from one phase to another. And if not virginal she was pure to 
him in all her guises. Pure of heart and spirit. The rest was of no 
matter to him at all. And he found himself touched by her choice now. 
The symbolic white of giving - the giving of herself to him. This *was* 
her first time...her first time with him. His first time with her. Their 
first time *together*. And that was all that mattered.

Actually, Clark suddenly realized, his life was full of champagne 
moments. More than he'd previously imagined.

Champagne moments...

...and peppermint dreams...

He smiled as the fragment of an old childhood saying of his Mom's 
rose in his thoughts.

Yeah, Mom. Peppermint dreams too, he agreed.

All of his dreams. Everything he'd ever wished for.

Right here with him in this room. 

His wife.

A soft sigh escaped him and then he smiled. His eyes roamed the slim, 
silk-clad figure in front of him, appreciation, anticipation and hunger 
warring in that fascinated stare. Light and dark shifted on her face 
and body, making mysterious the contours of her body, adding to her 
allure. All at once he wanted nothing in the entire world more 
desperately than to know what lay beneath those shifts of shadow 
and plays of light. 

He grinned.

"Hey there," he said.


~@*****@~


She stood there a moment, before, as though drawn by a beacon, her 
eyes fixed immediately on the man lying naked in the bed, only feet 
away. 

Mesmerized all at once, like a rabbit confronted by a hunting cobra, 
she could do nothing more than stare. She had left the bathroom full 
of bravado, sure of her appeal. Lex had assured her that Clark Kent 
would not find her undesirable. But now, seeing him so close, 
so...there, without clothes even, that very desire glowing like banked 
embers in his eyes...she felt her confidence desert her. She felt very 
like a child, afraid of the unknown, even more afraid of what she 
thought she knew already of men and the world.

Both were dangerous. Both could hurt.

Playing for time, she plucked nervously at the sides of her white silk 
robe, palms smoothing the soft material over her hips. Aware 
suddenly that the movements telegraphed her apprehension, she 
stilled them, putting her hands behind her back to keep them clear of 
temptation. 

She worked up a sly, inviting smile to go with the pose. The smile she 
had practiced in front of the mirror in the lab at Doctor Mamba's 
insistence, over and over, hour upon hour, until her jawbones ached 
and finally he declared himself satisfied. 

But she made no move to join him on the bed. 

His eyes devoured her like a hungry animal's and then he smiled. 
There seemed to be nothing threatening in the smile. But she moved 
no closer just the same. She was reminded of the scary stories she'd 
read on the computer when she wasn't being observed and was 
supposed to be taking notes on the lives of the soon to be Mr. and 
Mrs Clark Kent. Stories that were hoarded like guilty secrets and 
which had both terrified her and drawn her in equal measure. Big Bad 
Wolf. For a moment, in the glow of the single lamp, she thought she 
caught the glint of fangs. 

All the better to eat you with.

Except...he didn't really look like a wolf. He looked like a man. A 
darkly handsome man. A very handsome man. Whose eyes were 
running the length of her slim figure in ways that made her feel 
nauseated and hungry and sick with excitement all at the same time. 
Only chocolate had had that effect on her until now. 

The glow of admiration igniting in the rich depths of his gaze as it 
followed the white silk and lace that sheathed and draped and clung in 
all the right places up until they reached her disconcerted eyes was 
fierce and hot enough to sear. The smile widened into a cocky grin. 

"Hey, there," he said.

His voice matched his eyes. Warm and caressing. She could almost 
feel it on her skin, like down feathers, stroking and touching... 

She felt her cheeks flush. Her body felt suddenly heavy and hot. Her 
thoughts fled to another man, dark and handsome too. But his eyes 
had never made her feel as though she was suddenly in the grip of 
fever. And his smile had never been anything but cruel.

"You know -- "

She started as the husky voice broke into her thoughts and focused 
her attention on the man - her husband, her new husband, this 
handsome man she had to please - as he put aside the glass he was 
holding and set it carefully to the cabinet beside the bed. Her eyes 
were drawn to where the bubbles popped and caught the light of the 
lamp and she lost herself in the reflected glow of the champagne, as 
though she could immerse herself in it and escape. Then she pulled 
her troubled gaze clear with an effort and let it flicker nervously to 
where he had moved to sit against the bed's edge, pulling aside the 
bedcovers and all but patting the mattress in invitation to join him. 

His legs were smoothly muscular, bare beneath the edge of the 
sheets. He was wearing plaid sleep shorts. Her eyes and mind darted 
past them, hesitant to venture there too long - dangerous territory - 
and slid up onto the compact, bronzed and well-shaped pectoral 
muscles of his chest. She didn't dare meet his eyes. But his...chest, 
his...shoulders...the tight lines of his abs and stomach...

She felt her breath shorten in her throat, like a noose tightening. 
Her heart began to stammer in her breast, its suddenly wild, rabbit 
beat painful against the walls of her chest. 

" - I have imagined this moment for *so* long..."

Emotion trembled in the words; his eyes seemed to give them an 
import she didn't understand. This moment? She swallowed fitfully 
past the blockage in her throat. She'd been given instructions on how 
to proceed to 'this moment' of course. But that didn't mean she had 
to like it any.

Outside, in the darkness, thunder rolled an ominous drumbeat across 
the sky. She was not made for thinking of omens or portents - in 
many ways she wasn't made for thinking beyond the basics at all. But 
still, she suppressed a shiver as she obeyed his silent summons, 
hearing that dull boom of sound shiver its way through her bones. 
Unable to explain the fear it generated or why it made her feel that 
disaster, like a dark and shapeless, ravenous beast, was about to 
pounce on her at any moment from out of the room's shadows.

What would he do when he had her close? Would he...would he hurt 
her? Lex had hurt her.  He had only taken her into his bed once and 
that had really been once more than she had cared for or wanted. It 
had been...uuuggghhh. She felt her lips begin to twist into a childish 
grimace of disgust and hurriedly stopped the motion in its tracks. A 
poor habit she had learned painfully to suppress if she knew what was 
good for her - along with so many others. 

She didn't know what was good for her, of course. That was mainly 
the problem.  She had simply to trust to the men who had created 
her to know what was best for her and to tell her what to do. Even if 
what she had to do was unpleasant and hurt. But it had been 
necessary Lex had explained to her as she'd sat on the bed in the 
middle of the cave, trembling with fear as she watched him disrobe. 
She couldn't go to her wedding night with Clark Kent a virgin, now 
could she? He had smirked then, as though at some joke, but she 
hadn't understood the humor and had already known better than to 
ask. 

Lex didn't like to be questioned.

She didn't understand why it was necessary, though. She had been 
eavesdropping earlier that day - one of those habits for which she 
was usually painfully reprimanded and yet couldn't seem to give up - 
and had clearly heard Doctor Mamba protest that the procedure 
would be much more easily and quickly carried out in the laboratory 
by mechanical means. She hadn't understood what that meant any 
more than she had truly understood what it would mean for Lex to 
give the task his 'personal seal of approval'. But it hadn't sounded 
like something she wanted him to do to her. 

Even Lex didn't scare her as much as the laboratory did.

Lex had been even less pleasant in the end. At an instinctive, wordless 
level, she had understood that he was indulging in the act less 
because he had to than because it suited him to dominate his 
creation. 

In some strange way - for surely her opinion of him could matter 
little? - he seemed driven by the need to exact his power over her. 
To prove himself her master. And there had been a moment, in among 
that urge to control, when she had almost felt him grow tender, when 
he had whispered her name with reverence and genuine desire. It had 
been there, at the end, and then gone so quickly though that she had 
almost believed she had imagined it.

"Lois...." he had whispered. "Lois...."

Afterwards, he had been cold and brutal. His words had been cruel. 
Strange words that she had never learned or been taught. That she 
barely remembered. So many words for one simple act.  It confused 
her. All that she knew was that the words thrown at her were savage 
and that he had not been pleased with her performance. His 
displeasure had scared her so badly that she had fled the bed, naked 
and shivering, tearing down the long and narrow maze of corridors 
until she had found a hiding place, huddling there, crying softly in the 
shadows among a clutter of equipment, until Doctor Mamba had found 
her hours later.
 
Lex had hardly spoken to her since, except for some last minute 
instructions - and some graphic previews of what the consequences 
would be if she failed him.

"Lois...?"

She broke free of the memories and lifted her head. Her new 
husband...

<Clark>

...Clark was watching her quizzically from out of those dark, 
expressive eyes. So familiar, so like those of her Creator...and yet so 
different, not the same at all. There had been a revulsion in Lex's 
eyes whenever they fell on her that had made her quiver and wish she 
was elsewhere. But in this man's eyes...there was kindness mixed in 
among the heat, an open, honest appreciation of her - and desire.

Steeling her resolve, suppressing the urge to turn and run, she walked 
towards the bed, remembering at the last moment to inject the 
smoothly rolling, slinking glide into her walk that she'd been taught 
men liked.

She sat beside him, diffident. She waited for his next move. Lex, 
though he had tried to mold her into a semblance of Lois Lane, had 
nevertheless not encouraged her to be brazen in her actions or to 
take the initiative. 

Up close he seemed...bigger than she'd thought. More muscular. Fear 
flickered in her breast again and she started as he reached out a 
hand. But the fingers that smoothed a path up her arm were gentle; 
barely a whisper skimmed across her skin. His hand laid itself against 
her throat and then slid its way across the silk of her robe, baring 
her shoulder as it went. He leaned toward her to place a quiet, 
reverential kiss against the smooth skin and she closed her eyes, a 
soft shiver rolling through her as she felt that caress linger like a 
brand of heat. 

He smelled clean and heady with a scent she didn't recognize but 
suddenly knew that she liked. A musky hint of maleness, of raw and 
primal power, that made her head swim.

He withdrew, his face only inches from hers as he smiled into her 
distant eyes. "Hello, Mrs Kent." 

She forced her lips into an answering smile.

Clark's attention shifted, taken by the ruby bow of her lips, 
glistening faintly beneath the lamp's aura. He ran the pad of a thumb 
across the lower curve, his eyes seeming fascinated by the way her 
lips parted slightly in reflex under that stimulus. He moved the 
fraction's distance needed to touch his mouth to hers, feeling her 
open more fully, grant him entry, his tongue exploring all the caverns 
and hollows within. 

She stayed passive beneath the grip of his hand pressed tight against 
the side of her neck, letting him do as he would. His brow furrowed as 
he withdrew. He ran a brief tongue across his lips, a strange 
expression overtaking his face. 

"Are you using a new brand of toothpaste?" 

Was she? Panicked synapses ran through the store of knowledge that 
had been impressed into her over the past few weeks. Cups in left 
hand cupboard, Clark likes oolong tea, toast with honey, coffee, milk 
or cream, lots of sugar and -- 

"No," she said. She added a shrug. "Just good old McLean's."

"Oh. Just..." He shook his head. "It was kind of an...uh, unusual taste." 
He cleared his throat and smiled at her, obviously dismissing 
whatever it was that had distracted him, not keen to spoil the 
moment. This special moment. But his frown returned as his hands 
caressed her arms. "You're shivering. Are you cold?"

She shook her head dumbly.

His eyes searched hers. "You're not worried about Lex escaping, are 
you? Honey," he continued before she could form an answer, "you 
know they've got roadblocks set and all those people looking for him. 
He can't hide forever. He'll be caught soon. And Superman will go 
looking for him too." A small smile quirked at his lips as he reached up 
to stroke back her hair. "But...not right now."

"Okay." 

"So, you're not worried, right?"

"No..."

He tilted his head, a small amusement coming into his eyes as the 
denial emerged with a tentative edge. "Hey, you're not *nervous*, are 
you?" he joked, and then the smile in his gaze flickered out and was 
replaced by an expression of dawning dismay. "Honey? You're not are 
you?" he said quickly. 

She paused and took a deep, steadying breath. She cast her thoughts 
out into the shadows of the room. The moment of truth. Showtime! 
For answer, she burrowed against his neck and stroked a hand 
through his hair as he reflexively wrapped his arms around her. She 
felt him hesitate, sensed his puzzlement, his uncertainty at how to 
proceed, and then his hand moved to spread itself against the back of 
her neck, drawing her closer.

"You know, we've gone through so much to get to this night," she 
heard him whisper reassurance against her ear. "But none of that 
matters. It's perfect."

She pulled back, her eyes pinning his. "Perfect," she agreed. 

He nodded and his smile on her became warm and tender, that soft 
gentleness reflected in the loam-dark depths of his eyes. "When 
we're together, it can't be anything else. Here," he added, the words 
rough with anticipation in his throat. "Lay down."

She kept her eyes on him, an anchor to hold on to, as he shifted her 
in his embrace, laying her back to the covers and settling his large, 
powerful body next to hers. His eyes were full and lambent with 
desire as his hands lifted to frame her face. He kissed her deeply 
and with a passion she'd never known before, the hard, muscular 
planes of his body settling themselves more tightly against her softer 
curves.

She was a biological misfit. A changeling formed out of protoplasm in 
a dark laboratory vat. But she had been made not only in the image of 
a woman, but as a woman. And as that woman she was no more immune 
to the touch of hot desire on her lips or in the hands that were 
suddenly roaming her body than any other. Her body was programmed 
with the same natural responses, she had the same sensitive points 
which made her gasp aloud, startled by the force of the tremor that 
surged through her when his fingers and lips grazed them. She had 
the same desires, banked down and dormant, but rapidly coursing 
upward through her and flaring into new, incandescent birth.

A low moan of pleasure escaped her as new, dangerous, and 
overwhelming sensations began to pulse deep within her. Like the 
sudden ticking into life of a timepiece long broken and unused. 

"Clark...." she whispered, tasting the name as something strange and 
unfamiliar on her lips as his mouth left hers and began to trail its way 
across her throat and shoulder and then lower still. She arched up 
into the path of his questing lips and the body pressing her into the 
soft quilt, her mind imploding into instinctive passion. She growled, 
low in her throat, and then wrapped her arms tight around his throat, 
mirroring the kisses he had just bestowed on her. This was her 
nature. To learn and imitate. To take what was given her and bounce it 
back like a distorted reflection in a cheap fairground mirror. 

Her movements matched his, following his path a split second after 
him as she learned by example. She moaned as his lips suckled 
hungrily at her shoulder and tasted the musky skin of his as their 
voices merged. Her hands slipped along his spine. 

"You smell so good," he whispered, as he burrowed close into the 
sensitive hollow of her throat and nuzzled fitfully there. She felt the 
cool drift of air on her skin, chill against the heat that was rising in 
her, as he pulled loose the ties of her nightgown and drew the 
material softly away from her. Like unwrapping a gift. 

He paused for a moment, and then he lowered his head, kissing a trail 
of tantalizing caresses down across her skin. His lips explored her 
with gentle fervor, retracing their path as his hands stroked light 
across her ribs and then shifted to pull her tight and hard against 
him with a groan of surrender.

She clutched him tighter, trying to find rhythm and pattern in the 
restless motions of his body on hers, trying to plot it and map it like a 
problem in mechanical math. After Lex had found her disappointing, 
she had been given 'instructional films' to watch and study, but none 
of what had been enacted before her on the flickering cinema screen 
seemed suddenly to have any link to what was happening to her now or 
what Clark was doing to her. Her body seemed to have an agenda all 
of its own, fighting against the practiced, pre-programmed moves 
she'd learned and going its own way on instinct alone. She gave up, let 
herself drift, limp and pliant in the embrace of her lover.

Clark continued his heated discovery of her body for a moment and 
then lifted his head to find her lips again...and was there less passion 
in his kiss than there had been a moment before? His mouth crushed 
its way against her almost desperately, as though trying to find a 
spark that was flickering listlessly into darkness, and then retreated. 
He looked down at her, his dark eyes unreadable.

"Honey, if you're too tired to...I mean it's been a long day. For both 
of us. I wouldn't mind...I mean I'd understand if you just wanted to -- 
"

She frowned. "I'm not tired."

"You're sure?" He ran his thumb across the line of her brow and then 
followed the curve of her eye down to her cheek. "You know we've got 
the rest of our lives to do this. It doesn't have to be tonight just 
because it's traditional. We've got all the time in the world..." He 
touched his lips gently to hers again and she caught that flicker in his 
eyes again, of something uncertain. 

Fear spiked through her. She wasn't doing it right. She was failing. 
She couldn't fail. Above all others, this one thing was most important 
to Lex. Distract him, he'd said. Keep him happy. These she could do in 
other ways. But this act, she had sensed, was important beyond the 
subterfuge for which she'd been created. Lex wanted it. For 
whatever reasons, he wanted it badly.

She had to make love with Clark Kent. 

If she failed...

"I want you to...make love to me, Clark." She wound her arms around 
his neck and pressed her body tight against his. His kiss came to life 
again as he groaned into the mouth that suddenly matched his ardor 
in a blaze of ignited fire.

Their bodies melded among the tangled sheets, hands and lips 
exploring all that they could find, their movements frenzied as she 
wrapped her arms around him and held him fast against her. She slid 
her hands down across a tautly sculpted back, following the points of 
his spine. Her fingers hooked beneath the edge of the plaid shorts...

...and his hand caught at hers, stopping it in its tracks.

He was still. His body trembled against hers. His breath flooded hot 
against the side of her throat, where his face was buried in her 
shoulder. She stilled too, puzzled and confused - a machine suddenly 
out of data to assimilate. Had he...was he through with her...she 
thought uncertainly and with some disappointment. But no. He hadn't 
hurt her yet.

She lay still, waiting for him to give her another clue as to how to 
proceed. 

"One question," he said softly. And then he raised his head.

And in his eyes, suddenly, there was something that caused her heart 
to leap in terror. Anger and revulsion the equal to anything she had 
ever seen in Lex.  

"Clark - ?"

She cried out as he pushed himself clear of her in a convulsive 
movement, his hands darting out to grip her arms, pinning her to the 
bed beneath them with less than gentle force. 

Her eyes widened and filled with tears. "Clark -- "

His grip tightened. He shook his head, closed his eyes tight against 
the plea, like a man fighting against a spell of compulsion. 

"Where's my wife?" he snarled as he hauled her up violently to face 
him. "Where is she?! If you've - Is she - " The words dissolved into 
something very like a growl as his hands tightened on her, his voice 
trembling with rage. "Tell me where she is, or I swear...I swear I'll 
make you wish you'd *never* been part of this."

She couldn't speak. Terror had frozen her voice tight in her throat 
and she couldn't force it free. She choked, whimpered, and he shook 
his head, frustrated. Shoving her violently back from where he'd 
hauled her close in anger, as though recognizing that he would get no 
answers from this quarter, he threw himself clear of the bed to 
stand, shaking and bleak eyed, in the center of the room. 

For a moment, it was as though she didn't exist for him and then his 
gaze, dark and storm tossed, focused on her. Like pinning a bug under 
glass. 

"You..." he spat out. She cowered back in fright at his sudden motion 
as he advanced across the room to stand over the bed. His shadow 
cast across her like a black hand, robbing her of breath. "Who *are* 
you?"


~@*****@~

She couldn't have answered him, even if she'd had what he wanted. 
Trembling, she simply stared up at him, her heartbeat loud in her 
ears, loud enough to almost drown his next words as his eyes 
narrowed.

Oh, god. Lex had warned her. Warned her what would happen if she 
failed. How could she have failed? How could she - ?

"Karen Stapleton."

The name, breathed out like a revelation, was non sequitur enough to 
temporarily overlay her terror with confusion. She shook her head 
blankly. 

"It is you, isn't it?" the tight, accusing voice raked her again. She 
didn't dare to meet his eyes; the rage in them, his fury, terrified 
her. She shook her head violently, over and over, not knowing how to 
placate him, not knowing what he wanted from her. 

"Arianna...did she arrange this? Did she - ?"

"W-who...?"

"Don't play games with me! I want to know!" 

She cringed back against the headboard as his voice rose to a yell. "I 
don't...I don't know..."

"Where's Arianna?! Where?!"

"I don't *KNOW*!"

The denial was a panicked screech as it looked as though he might 
grab her again, shake her in his frustration, and it gave him pause, 
even though his rage,  as he seemed to recognize at last that she was 
telling the truth. That she knew nothing. His expression darkened.

"Okay, so not Arianna. Who then? Who paid you to - "

He broke off sharply and she saw his head twist abruptly in the 
direction of the bathroom. He stared blankly at the wall for a 
moment and then whipped back to face her. Seeing what was suddenly 
in his face, she cowered back against the bricks instinctively. 

"You're a *clone*?!" He blinked, shock stuttering over his darkening 
expression. "Luthor..."

It was a hiss, as though the very name was loathsome in his mouth. In 
her entire short life so far she'd only heard one man voice another's 
name with that much dark hatred. 

Lex, for this man. 

Bewildered, she stared up at him and for a moment she was like to die 
from terror. Suddenly he looked so much like Lex, hulking over her in 
the shadowed room, that she was instantly transported back to 
another night, another bed, another voice raging at her, hate and 
contempt flaying her -- 

"Has Luthor got - " Clark had paled, his voice husky with fear. "Is Lois 
with *him*?"

He leapt forward, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her up to 
face him again, ignoring her shriek of panic as he shook her hard. 
"Answer me! Is she with Luthor?!"

Instead of answering, she began to beat at him with her fists, flailing 
out wildly, her hysterical blows useless against him; fighting him as 
she hadn't fought before, knowing that this time if she didn't he 
would kill her. He grunted and then shoved her back, away from him.

"Get out," he said. 

Breathing heavily, sprawled loosely across the bed, she moaned softly 
in her throat. Clark grimaced. 

"I said get out. Go on!" His voice rose sharply. "Get out!"

She flinched at that roar, sobbed out a harsh breath and scrambled 
from the bed, heedless of her dishabille as she fled. She was running 
wildly for the door, without thought, running from him, running from 
Lex, running from another painful, hurtful encounter.

Behind her, she heard a rough curse.

"Wait!"

And then he was coming after her. She whined in her terror, 
scrabbling at the handle of the door in a desperate bid to escape, 
terror clogging her breath in her throat, her sobs wild in her breast. 
When his hands landed on her, yanking her around to face him, she 
opened her mouth on a scream. His hand came down against her 
mouth, cutting it off before it was fully formed. Behind his palm her 
shrieks emerged muffled. 

"Stop that. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to - "

She tore herself free, tried to run, fell as in her panic she tripped 
over the table in the middle of the room.

He was coming for her again, bending to grab her. She scooted back, 
mewling her fear. He stopped abruptly and then he straightened.

For a moment, there was standoff. She sat there, back against the 
sofa, legs drawn tight against her chest, ready to kick out or try to 
gain her feet when he came at her again. Her heart pounded like a 
piston in her breast. Her hands clawed desperately, blindly, around 
her, seeking something, anything she might use as a weapon. He 
stared down at her, face blank, as though he wasn't seeing her at all. 
And then his eyes shifted away from her face, his own twisting in 
sudden distaste.

"I'm not going to touch you," he said.

She believed him. More for the repugnance that crossed his face 
with the words than for the promise itself. She could tell that the 
last thing he ever wanted to do again was touch her. She wasn't 
certain which scared her more. That he wouldn't...or that he would.

He swiped a hard hand through his hair and shook his head viciously.

"Get dressed," he muttered, turning sharply away from her and 
heading for the stairs.

She watched him, wide eyed, as he barreled out the front door, 
slamming it behind him.


~@*****@~


Out on the stoop, Clark barely waited for the door to bang to a close 
behind him before he rocketed upwards into the night sky. He didn't 
even stop to change into the Suit, but his speed was such that he 
rapidly became a blur of amber and black and then of red and blue as 
he tore through the blackness. By the time he jolted to a halt, high 
above the sprawling cityscape spread out beneath him, it was 
Superman who scanned the twinkling lights of the city with hard, 
unforgiving eyes.

Grief and pain wrapped him like a shroud. It was unbearable. Every 
breath hurt in his chest, every beat of his heart was like a fist 
raining brutal blows within him, tearing him apart. 

He whirled, fists clenching as though searching for an enemy to 
strike. He fled blindly, seeking an escape, driven beyond enduring, 
unheeding of where he was going or why. Damp clouds shrouded him 
and then he hung, motionless, breath convulsing in his chest. The 
glitter of stars enveloped him as he screamed his rage and loss into 
the cold, brittle void.

"Lois!!!!"

The cry was torn from him, mindless of where he was or the dangers 
inherent in the cold, vast emptiness that surrounded him. For a 
moment he felt the invisible shield that protected him from the 
airless void ripple and waver; he felt the vacuum suck at the breath in 
his throat and for one wild and despairing moment he wanted to 
surrender to that awful, inexorable pull deep in his chest. He threw 
his arms wide, arching back his head, his eyes closing. The vague 
thought that he could spread himself against the stars, like the Gods 
of old, until he simply faded and became one with the universe pulsing 
around him, filled him like a need he had never known. The weight 
against his chest tightened, the pressure crushing his throat...

...and then reason reasserted itself in among the pain.

Lois was alive. 

Somewhere, down there, she was alive. And she needed him.

It came like a physical tug against his heart, as though some level of 
awareness of her had enveloped his soul. He could feel her heart 
beating around his, feel the warmth of her skin against his palms. He 
could almost smell her perfume...

He opened his eyes with a start and then glanced around him as 
though for a moment, lost in his grief, he had forgotten where he 
was.

Lois needed him.

The thought beat at his skull, like a mantra, stopping him cold on the 
brink.

Lois needed him.

She was counting on him.

He was all she had.

He took a hard breath. And then another. 

Lois...

He dived back, seeking the lights below.

Resolve. Resolve and need could block out the fear and the rage. 
Could keep him moving, keep the grief from overwhelming him. For 
now. That was what he had to concentrate on. Finding her. Finding her 
before... He shook his head sharply, his lips unconsciously drawing 
back in a rictus snarl as he brutally shoved aside the terrible images 
flashing through his mind. Finding her.

Finding her was all that mattered.

Luthor could wait.

He could wait - justice could wait - at least till then.


~@*****@~


It took him most of the night to systematically search the sprawling 
city below him. Quartering it, marking it out block by block, building 
by building. And even then he only succeeded in dealing with a 
fraction of it.

After three or four hours, he had realized that he was losing too 
much time, that it was impossible, that he had to skew the odds 
somehow in his favor. He gave up the pattern he'd been using and 
concentrated instead on every inch of the city that was blank and 
dark to his vision. 

Luthor wasn't dumb. He was a cold, murdering, vicious sociopath. But 
he wasn't dumb. He'd hide Lois somewhere where Superman's 
augmented vision couldn't find her. And that meant somewhere lead-
shielded. 

So he'd started there. Every building that resisted his attempts to 
see into it he searched manually. The rest he ignored. There were 
more of them than might have been imagined. A lot of Hobb's Bay and 
the older areas of the city were cloaked in lead-based paint. Hour 
after hour, minute after minute, he went through all of them that he 
could.

Dawn was showing in pink and gray streamers against the sky when 
finally he settled on a ledge high above the streets. Shoulders 
slumped, he pulled his cape absently around him, his eyes dark and 
sightless as he stared out into the night. 

It was hopeless. 

What if Luthor had blindsided him? He knew about Superman's x-ray 
capabilities. Had he second-guessed him? Had he realized that 
Superman would narrow the search by concentrating on lead-shrouded 
areas first? And had he foregone that security - that obvious, too 
obvious, security - and simply not taken it? Was Lois hidden away 
somewhere else? Somewhere he could have found her if he hadn't 
been stupid enough to fall into the predictability Luthor had counted 
on? If he had searched elsewhere...if he hadn't narrowed the 
parameters, if he hadn't tried to outsmart someone who was more 
cunning and venal than he ever could be...?

If he had...

If he had thought...

If only he hadn't...

Dammit, he should have thought about it! Worked it out! Instead of 
flying off half-cocked, so sure he had Luthor outwitted.

If he had just...

Thought.

Done.

Found.

Oh, god, if he had just *found* her. How could he have failed to find 
her?

"Lois..."

Her name slipped miserably from his lips and he drew his knees up to 
his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. He sunk his chin onto his 
forearm and stared out bleakly into the lightening world. A world 
growing light for everyone but him. For him, there was only darkness. 
Sorrow and grief. Pain. Without Lois there would never be light in his 
life again.

Without her...

During all the long hours of searching, he had been sustained by the 
hopeful fantasies spawned in his head as he worked his way through 
abandoned warehouses and dusty, cobwebbed cellars. That just 
around the corner, in the next building, she would be there. 
Frightened, angry... There, in that patch of shadows. A chair. And 
Lois tied to it, her eyes widening above the gag in her mouth as he 
crashed through the locked doorway. Widening and then lighting with 
relief at the sight of him coming to her rescue. Luthor running. 
Captured. Untying her and feeling his own relief well up within him 
like a storm as he drew her into his arms and knew she was safe. Safe 
and with him. Where she belonged...

The fantasy faded yet again, as it had done repeatedly through the 
long night, turning to ashes and dust and cold, empty rooms. Leaving 
him alone in the dark.

Angrily, he shifted on his lonely watchpoint. <Enough! You'll find her,> 
he promised himself fiercely. <You have to.> 

Yes, he had to. And Lois had been in danger before, at risk 
before...they had always won through. They would now. He would now. 
He would find her and Luthor would pay for what he'd done. 

What had he done?

What was he doing right now?

The defiance of his thoughts crumbled in the wake of reality. Lois 
had never been in danger like this. This was different.

The difference was simple enough to understand of course.

In his entire life, he'd never been so afraid.

It was like an animal, living deep within his heart, sharpening its claws 
in his chest, biting and clawing and scrabbling to get free.

He had no idea *where* to look, he realized, no idea where Luthor 
would have taken his wife. They could be anywhere. They might even 
have left the city by now, he thought sickly, thinking of all the hours 
he had stayed unaware of the switch. So many hours Luthor would 
have used to his advantage. 

Dear God, where was Lois? And what was Luthor doing to her?

He couldn't say what it was that had alerted him to the fact that the 
woman in his arms wasn't his wife, that the body writhing beneath 
him wasn't hers. It was something beyond instinct, beyond knowing. 
It was just so. 

Christmas tree lights. He frowned at the random thought, but 
realized that it fit as well as anything else. There had been no spark, 
none of the blood pounding, heart thundering electric heat between 
them that had always been there before. 

And then, confronting her...

He guessed it was natural that his first thought was that this was the 
woman who had impersonated Lois once before. He hadn't kept up 
with Karen Stapleton's prison term; he and Lois had consigned her to 
the past, forgotten her. But his first thought had been that she had 
somehow managed to get released. She and Arianna both? Or was 
Arianna masterminding this cruel hoax on him from her prison cell?

But the look on her face... She clearly hadn't known who he was 
talking about. The names Arianna and Karen Stapleton meant nothing 
to her. And he refused to believe she was that good an actress. She 
hadn't even been able to make him believe she was...

No. She hadn't known. That much had been clear. His mind had 
tumbled over a myriad of dark possibilities...  Okay, so it hadn't been 
some revenge from Arianna. But if she could produce a double of Lois, 
then so could - 

And that was when the faint noise had intruded on the desperate 
strands of his reasoning and he'd turned his head towards the 
darkened bathroom behind him. 

He'd heard it again. Strange...and something he'd never expect to 
hear, here in his apartment. His bedroom...

Frogs?

He'd shaken his head, bewildered, and had arrowed in his hearing on 
the low croaking again, finally tracking it to Lois' abandoned make up 
bag. He'd directed a beam of x-ray vision at the jumble of containers 
and accoutrements within. The jars and 
bottles...moisturizers...toners...foundation...eye shadow...cold cream...

He'd frozen.

Frogs. In fake containers.

The impact of his discovery struck him immediately, with a blow that 
almost seemed physical, like someone had just driven a stake through 
his heart, and his head had swung back to the cowering woman on the 
bed.  

A clone.

A clone made by...Luthor?

Luthor!

Luthor. The name had slithered into his head like a live cobra, 
venomous and dark. It was a howl in his head and for a moment he 
thought he'd shrieked it aloud as her eyes had widened.

A small worm of thought was squirming in his skull. Lois was vulnerable 
to Luthor. In ways she probably didn't even understand or could 
guard against. The man's singular talent was to ferret out the 
weaknesses of his opponent and turn them to his advantage with a 
knack that was almost uncanny. Of knowing that opponent at an 
instinctive level more deeply than he ever knew himself.

How much of herself had Lois unwittingly given him in the past? How 
many clues had she revealed as they'd discussed wedding plans and 
set out their future together? How many childhood secrets, teenage 
fears, wounds and insecurities had she confided to her 
fiancee...moments of crystal clarity that were ammunition for Luthor 
to use against her.

Clark felt cold as his thoughts processed his fears and laid them bare 
before him, stark and frightening. 

Exactly when had Lois been replaced, he found himself wondering. 
When they'd shared pizza and wine and she had told him how much 
she loved him? When she had been so delightfully pleased at his 
endearments in the conference room? Had she been Lois then? Or 
that thing that aped her? How long had Lois really been missing? How 
long had Luthor had to spirit her away without him even realizing that 
she was in danger? 

He berated himself, tortured himself, with the thoughts. He should 
have known! Damn it all to Hell, he should have known right from the 
first instant that monster had gotten close to him!

Why hadn't he known? He cast the silent scream out into the dark, 
feeling it shudder through him like a blow.

He had dismissed her fears. She had known something would happen. 
She had tried to tell him, tried to make him understand the danger 
they were in. And he hadn't listened. If only he'd listened! Smashed 
wedding cake. Dead flowers. How could he have shrugged it all aside 
like he had? Why hadn't he checked on Luthor? Why hadn't it 
occurred to him even once that the one person in all the world who 
would most want to ruin their lives, their wedding, their hopes for the 
future, was Luthor? 

Why hadn't he *done* something? Anything. Anything but laugh at 
Lois' fears and leave her alone for the monster to reach out and...

<Stop it!> he told himself roughly. This wasn't getting him anywhere. 
This wasn't helping Lois. Enough! He had to turn this around. Stop 
wallowing in self-pity and find some way to get Lois back. Away from 
Luthor. There was a way. He just had to find it. And dwelling on how 
this was all his fault, how he'd let this happen, wasn't going to do it.

Okay...he sucked in a long, hard breath...then how?

Searching haphazardly with no clear idea of where to look wasn't 
going to help him. He was beginning to understand that now. The city 
was too big. Heck, the country was too big. She might be anywhere by 
now. 

So what? What could he do to give himself the edge over his 
opponent? What could he use to...

His thoughts froze.

Her. That...thing...back in his apartment. Part of the plan. Part of the 
deception. Part of what had taken Lois from him. How much did she 
know? How much had she heard? 

Cursing, he began to realize that it would perhaps have been wiser, 
and more useful, to have questioned the clone, rather than barreling 
off on his own on a fruitless search. At the time he hadn't been able 
to stand being there in the same room with...that thing...a moment 
longer. His rage, his disgust, his terror, had been dark blossoming 
flowers in his chest, tightening their thorns and tendrils round his 
heart till he could barely breathe...but...she was his best clue to 
finding Lois. What might she be able to tell him? 

The thought seeded a new flare of panic in his chest. He'd left her 
there. Alone. He'd told her to go, get out! What if she'd gone? What 
if she'd run off soon as he'd left? What if she'd phoned Luthor and 
he'd sent men to get her? What if Luthor was somehow aware of her 
failure and had -- 

Luthor eliminated his mistakes - ruthlessly and without second 
thought. Did he know? Was he having the apartment watched? Hoping 
for some sick, twisted thrill when his spies reported back to him that 
Mr. and Mrs Clark Kent had retired for the evening? Their wedding 
night. Had he? Would he? Clark's mouth had gone dry as the 
realization dawned. He uncoiled abruptly from his miserable position 
perched on the ledge, jerking, dismayed to his feet.

His only link to Luthor, to perhaps the only person who could lead him 
to that monster, his only chance at finding out the truth - of finding 
Lois...was vulnerable and alone back at his apartment. 

Alone and perhaps already eliminated. 

His only link to Luthor. His only link to where Lois might be. His only 
chance could be out there in the night, lost to him, thanks to his 
stupidity.

With a curse, he wheeled in the air and sped like a bullet back to the 
apartment.


~@*****@~


The apartment was dark. 

Heart thudding, he raced up the stairs in a shapeless blur of color. If 
there had been watchful eyes surveilling the area before, they were 
long gone now. He had scanned the immediate vicinity of the street 
and its surrounds, any possible lookout point and position, before 
landing. Another missed chance? Another link to Luthor lost? Let 
escape him? His fingers clenched into spasmodic fists at his sides.

He stopped with a jolt at the door...and hesitated. Then, squaring his 
shoulders, drawing in a steadying breath he reached out and pushed it 
quietly inwards. He stepped through.

Again he paused, standing on the landing and listening intently. 
"Hello?" 

Immediately the word was out he chided himself for his stupidity. He 
felt foolish, calling out like a stranger in his own home. Sneaking 
around awkwardly like a thief in the night. But...

What if she was gone? 

The fear that had begun to thread itself in him returned full force, 
hard as a blow.

If she was gone - 

She was here!

Someone was here.

Tensing, his head turned, arrowing in on the soft sounds of breathing 
coming from deeper within the room. Slow and somnambulant, not the 
quickened rasp of panic or fear. Nor of stealth.

Carefully, sure now of what he'd find, he made his way unerringly 
down the stairs and over to the armchair. Reaching over, he clicked on 
the table lamp beside it, already turning as the soft light swept aside 
the dark.

She was lying on the sofa. Asleep. Clark puffed out an irritated 
breath. What was this? Goldilocks? He shook his head and his heart 
clenched. She looked so... So much like...

He found himself halfway towards her before he even realized what 
he was doing. His hand reaching automatically to pull the comforter 
she'd wrapped herself in further up around her shoulders...to put out 
a gentle hand and stroke back the hair that had fallen across one pale 
cheek...to lean forward and lay his lips against the curve of her 
ear...the side of her throat...to have her wake and smile up at him...

He turned on his heel abruptly and fumbled his way for the chair. 

...to have her wake and tell him this was a nightmare. Nothing more. 
Something he would wake from, sweating, heart racing a rapid beat of 
terror in his chest, to be soothed away by a soft touch in the dark, a 
sigh of breath against his ear...a warm body pressed against his in the 
darkness...

He closed his eyes. His knees sagged and he half fell into the chair 
behind him. He dropped forward, elbows on knees, burying his head in 
hands that shook...fury and grief and fear warring within him. 

After a time, he straightened to slump back against the back of the 
chair, his eyes bleak and distant as they rested on the 
sleeping...whatever. The thing that had invaded his life...tried to 
cuckold his heart...Luthor's twisted creation. 

Somehow...some way...he would take that and mold it to his own ends. 
Use it to thwart its master. 

But quietly. He drew his hands across his face, feeling the trials of 
the long night begin to settle themselves heavy on his shoulders, 
weariness spreading its thin tentacles throughout his body like a slow 
seeping warmth, a blanket of dark. He had to think this through. 
Calmly and logically. He had learned a lesson this night - one he 
wouldn't soon forget. Letting the anger, the panic, control him would 
lose him the fight before it even began. Would lose him Lois. 

He had to take this one step by step. Work out how to handle things 
to his best advantage, harden himself to dealing with the thing 
sleeping the peaceful conscienceless dreams of the corrupt on his 
sofa, to steel himself against seeing it as the woman he loved, as 
anything innocent at all. 

It looked innocent. Oh so innocent and oh so vulnerable as it lay 
there, his Mom's comforter keeping it warm, its slim body curled up 
like a child's, its face wiped free of deceit...

He couldn't think like that. He couldn't let it deceive him. Couldn't 
let it work on his desires, his fears, his love. 

In a moment...just a moment for him to think of the best way to 
proceed...he would wake it. Question it. Find out what it knew. How it 
could help him. How he could use it.

In a moment...

Just one...

Yes...just one....

Despite himself he closed his eyes again, let the warmth sneak deeper 
into him, too wearied, too emotionally drained, to handle a 
confrontation right then. 

In a moment.

Just give himself one moment to gather his thoughts, gather his 
strength, and he would...

He would...

In a moment.


~@*****@~

 
The rich smell of crisping bacon woke him. 

He came out of sleep sluggishly, wisps of a forgotten, restless dream 
tugging at the edges of his mind and disorientating him. For a 
moment, that coffee and bacon mix of scents sent him back to his 
childhood. To early mornings when he'd wake to the rich, thick smells 
of his Mom cooking up breakfast down in the warm farm kitchen, and 
the sounds, faint from beyond his bedroom window, of his father 
already up and at the chores. 

Still drowsing, struggling his way up through the layers of sleep, his 
brow furrowed in a frown. Since when had his Mom burnt the bacon? 

Opening his eyes, his nostrils twitching at the rank stench of charred 
meat, he came fully awake as time snapped back into place and he 
realized he was in his apartment. A million miles away from the farm 
of his childhood in every sense that mattered. A small, wistful 
thought, half-formed and pushed aside almost as soon as it was 
birthed, floated past him that he would give most anything he had to 
be back in his bed at the farm, hearing his Mom call him downstairs 
with the admonition that breakfast was getting cold. Back to the 
simplicity of his life then. Where the unpleasant truth that was now 
spreading blackly in his mind, and which he shied away from 
instinctively before it could become clear enough in his head to 
threaten him, would never have to be faced.

He surveyed the apartment, still a little disorientated. It had the 
claustrophobic dullness to it that only came from a room lit 
artificially when natural light was absent. Outside, the darkness of a 
heavy storm showed, oppressive as it pressed against the glass of the 
windows. 

His eyes found the kitchen and his lips curved into a smile as he saw 
Lois bustling around in there. The cold tendrils of his dream - for 
surely that's all they'd been, remnants of dark unease brought out 
into the light for a moment, but unsubstantial - faded as a sudden 
warm affection and calm appreciation of her settled into him. She 
was there. Of course everything was all right. He sat, shoving aside 
the blanket covering him, and then his fingers froze on the soft wool 
and the smile faded, the greeting that hovered at his lips dying 
unspoken. The run of his thoughts rolled inexorably onwards, like a 
dream turning to nightmare, in defiance of his attempts to stop them 
breaking through and forcing reality on him. And he remembered...

He frowned. Had he been dreaming? Had he dreamed that Luthor had 
destroyed his life and - 

He glanced down at himself and his lips tightened.

He was sleeping in an armchair on his honeymoon night? With Lois?

Not likely!

He stood convulsively, heading for the kitchen at a sharp, angry 
march.

"What do you think you're you doing?" he demanded of the woman 
standing beside the counter.

For a moment, despite his fears of losing her - of losing the precious 
though unwelcome link to finding Lois that she represented - that had 
plagued him the previous evening, he found himself angered by her 
presence, at her for still being there. Irrational or not, contradictory 
nor not, he couldn't seem to hold on to rational thought or logical 
purpose when he was this close to her. In his head she was Lex. They 
were inseparable. Both of them the reason Lois was lost to him, both 
instrumental in having taken her from him. 

Engrossed, she hadn't heard him approach. A squeak escaped her as 
she whipped sharply around to face him, eyes wide as a startled 
doe's. The jar of mayonnaise with which she'd been struggling slipped 
from nerveless fingers and shattered on the tiles with an implosion 
that sounded loud enough to rock Metropolis to Clark's overworked 
senses.

"Oh!" She jerked to her knees and he followed, irritable with her 
attempts to clear the mess. 

"Leave it."

"But - "

"I said, leave it!" He caught at her wrist, yanking her hand clear, and 
she froze. He did too. For a moment, they stayed that way, and then 
Clark shook his head and let her go. "You'll cut yourself," he mumbled 
lamely as he began to pick up the shards of glass.

She remained where she was. He could feel the weight of her eyes 
fixed on him, burning at his skin. Then she rose to her feet. She 
stood, watching, for a moment longer before she turned away, going 
back to the stove. Clark ignored her, getting a pan and brush from 
the cupboard and methodically clearing up the gooey mess and glass 
as he gave himself time to think, to figure out a way to deal with 
this...this imposter in his kitchen.

"Where's my wife?" he said, fingers stilling, unable to stop the 
question, that was screaming inside him with every beat of his heart 
and every breath, from escaping. As soon as it was out of his mouth 
he savaged himself for a fool, blundering his way into it. But he 
needed to know. He had to know.

He lifted his head when her silence registered. She hadn't moved 
from the stove, hadn't shown any indication that she'd heard. 
"Where is she?" he grated out a second time and then, hating himself 
for it, but unable to stop, "Please..." The pleading tone he heard in his 
own voice sickened him, made his throat raw with pain, but he 
couldn't hold it back, he felt like screaming, sobbing, "Please...I have 
to know what...I have to know...please..."

She had turned to face him now, and his heart sank as he saw nothing 
of pity on her face. Just curiosity. She shrugged. "Dunno."

He sat back on his heels and swallowed hard. "What do you mean, you 
don't know?" Fear stirred in the pit of his belly, like a snake uncoiling. 
He shoved it down, trying to keep his voice level and calm as he 
added, "Do you know where...where Luthor is?"

She shook her head. Despair swept over Clark like a tide of 
smothering darkness. She really didn't know. He could see that. And 
why would she? he thought bitterly. Why would Luthor confide in 
this...shell. This mockery. This soulless, mindless...

"Why are you still here?" he choked out dismally, going back to the 
mechanical act of clearing up the mess, shutting himself off from 
everything but the motions of his fingers. He thought he would go 
insane if he had to feel a moment more. The fear was a live thing in 
his chest now, struggling to escape. 

"I'm making breakfast," she said, answering his question as he 
finished mopping up the spill. Her tone was blatantly cheerful, sunny 
and sweet. As though his anger hadn't touched her at all. It soaked a 
deep chill into his bones. "Are you hungry? I'm not..." She gave him a 
small, anxious glance, belying her relaxed manner, and changed tack 
hastily. "I can eat, though, if you want. Keep you company, I mean..."

She trailed off and made a half turn, surveying the kitchen with a 
helpless look, as though seeking inspiration. Then she continued, "I 
didn't do so good." 

She gave the table a quick, miserable glance and then added, almost 
thoughtfully, "Lex said I wasn't a good cook, he said I told him that. 
I...we had a joke, good thing he had a chef and staff because when we 
got married all he'd get from me would be dial in pizza and 
he...laughed, said he hoped that wasn't *all* he'd get and..." She 
tailed off suddenly, standing there in the center of the kitchen, face 
blank, like an automaton whose batteries had died.

Listening to that monotonous retelling by rote of his wife's earlier 
relationship with the monster who'd destroyed their lives and who, 
even now, may be hurting her beyond Clark's capacity to imagine, he 
felt bile rise thickly in his throat. 

What kind of bizarre Stepford Wives nightmare was he living here?

And then she shook her head and turned to pick up a plate of charred 
bacon. She stared at it ruefully. "I never got showed how." She 
glanced up at him then, with a sunny smile that etched a sharp arrow 
in his heart. "But I can learn! You'll see...I can learn real good and 
then...then it'll be okay."

His silence seemed to unnerve her. She looked away and then moved 
around the kitchen, shifting a plate here, turning a fork there, all the 
while keeping up a mindless, inconsequential babble of words, as 
though they could form a shield against his anger, against the storm 
that was threatening within the room. An anger that was palpable in 
the very air around them. She kept her eyes averted. Her hands 
trembled slightly, a palsy that increased as she nervously and 
unnecessarily rearranged the contents of the table for a second time.

"I *was* hungry, I was really, really hungry...when I started..." she 
paused, looking flustered and then went on, brightly, "so I made 
pancakes and bacon and eggs - you like eggs, I know that - and 
there's honey and marmalade and strawberry preserve on the table. 
You *don't* like marmalade, but Lois - I mean I - Lois - does..." 

She trailed off, a machine whose programming had suddenly come into 
conflict, Clark thought, disgust slick like oil in his throat, then 
launched onwards over the awkward moment,  "And toast. With 
butter, not spread. Because you like -  "

"Stop it!"

She started violently as at the sharpness of the interruption, 
shoulders tensing, clutching to her chest the mug she'd been turning 
aimlessly. Around it her knuckles were bone-white. 

"Stop it," he repeated, tone low and savage. "You don't know what I 
like! You don't know anything about me! You're not my wife. You're 
not Lois. Do you hear me? Do you understand? You're *not* Lois!" His 
voice was rising again, anger beginning a low beat of blood behind his 
eyes. "I don't want you here. I don't want you acting like some kind 
of...of Geisha! I don't want you!"

Her face crumpled instantly. "I was just - " 

She broke off with a gasp as he grabbed her, his fingers clenching 
hard in her arms, hard enough to bruise, his eyes, blazing now with a 
hard, cold fire only inches away from her terrified ones as he spat, 
"What I *want* is to find my wife. And if you can't help me with that, 
just keep out of sight and out of my way!"

A flicker of motion caught at the corner of his eye as he stood there, 
nonplussed and breathing heavily. He looked up. Across the room, in 
the mirror formed against the cloud-heavy darkness that pressed 
against the glass, he saw a doppelganger image of himself. A man he 
almost didn't recognize, couldn't recognize; the rage transfiguring 
that familiar set of features was something he had never seen on his 
own face, something he had never held to be a part of him in any way. 
And yet...it was there.

Reflexively, his grip on her had tightened with the angry words he'd 
thrown at her. She cried out, the sound jerked from her involuntarily, 
and it was only then that he became aware that he was shaking her. 
Worse that, even knowing it, he couldn't seem to stop. At that 
moment he wanted to wring that beautiful neck of hers, snap it in 
two. The realization and the sound of her fear, the brutal image that 
reflected back at him from the storm-darkened windows, jolted him 
back and out of his fury.

Shocked by how close he'd come to actually hurting her, his anger 
was swallowed by shame and disgust at himself, snuffed out in an 
instant. He pushed her clear of him, the motion abrupt, suddenly 
unable to bear the touch of her on his skin. It was more violent a 
gesture than he'd meant it to be, the remnants of his anger making it 
hard to judge. Violent enough that she stumbled and almost fell 
before she caught her balance. Her hand clutched defensively at her 
throat, her eyes fixed on the disgust twisting darkly on his face, and 
then with another low, choking sob she spun away, running blindly for 
the bedroom.

Clark swore mildly but with feeling, ran a frustrated hand through his 
hair and took a step or two after her. Then he stopped, his lips 
tightening over the apology that almost escaped him. 

Lois.

That thing had taken Lois from him. Had turned what should have 
been the singularly most beautiful, most memorable, most important 
moments of his life into a mockery. A sham.

He turned away. 

Something snapped beneath his foot, a brittle implosion of sound, and 
he stared down blankly at the crushed glass on the tiled floor for a 
moment before he sighed. He hunkered down and began methodically 
to gather the broken pieces of mayonnaise jar that he'd missed. 

Muffled, from the bedroom, he heard the sound of her crying. A 
forlorn whimpering that his traitorous heart clenched at hearing and 
every instinct in him clamored to attend to, urging him to soothe and 
comfort. But he was too sunk in the whirlwind of emotions that 
battered at his soul to pay attention to them and they were easy to 
resist.

He took his time cleaning up and in his almost obsessive hunt for 
every last splinter, every tiny fragment, his mind bolted down to the 
narrow confines of the task and allowing nothing else to enter, he 
found some inner calm by and large.

And, throughout, the movements of his fingers, the gathering of 
broken glass into his palm, the remote actions of his hands in dusting 
them off into the garbage pail beneath the sink and brushing up every 
trace of disaster were all underscored by the soft weeping of his 
wife...of that thing that had helped Luthor to steal his wife...from the 
bedroom behind him.

By the time he'd finished gathering the remains of the jar he had 
come to a decision. Found his way to some kind of solution.

A plan.

The only possible plan.


~@*****@~

She was huddled face down on the bed when he strode into the room, 
her slender frame shivering with the force of her sobs. 

For an instant his eyes were drawn to her, despite his resolve not to 
be fooled by her distress. A distress that was surely as 
manufactured, as calculated to disorient him, and as programmed as 
she was. His enhanced senses might be able to pick up a racing pulse, 
a hammering heart, all the physical signs of emotional turmoil, and 
those tears might look real enough, but what did that prove?, he 
thought with a sour twist of his lips. Only that Luthor's cash had 
been able to buy the best in robotic programming, the deluxe model. 
Still, he was drawn to her, and his traitorous heart followed. 

She'd lifted her head when he'd entered the room. Her eyes were 
rimmed in red, holding dark wounds within them. He looked quickly 
away, dragging himself from her, and focused grimly on the plan. The 
plan. That was the important thing. The plan that would get him back 
Lois. That would find Luthor. And when he did...

He realized his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. He 
forced his fingers apart and tugged open the wardrobe doors. He 
rummaged for a moment, pulling aside items seemingly at random. 
Then he grabbed at the first appropriate outfit he found within. A 
pants suit in soft gray. For the smallest instant he froze, the warm 
wool-mix of the material seeping into his fingers. Soft...it had been as 
soft and as warm as she was that last time she'd worn it. When he 
had....

...and then he turned sharply around to toss the heap of clothing on 
the bed beside her.

"Get dressed," he ordered peremptorily. He hesitated, surveying the 
clothing. "You'll find.... You know where..." He could feel himself 
flushing and his irritation increased. "Underwear is in the chest over 
there. Second drawer down," he concluded, clipping out the words 
tightly. He turned away without waiting for a response to drag out 
the large suitcase, which he had packed a couple of nights previously 
in preparation for their flight to Hawaii, from its hiding place in the 
cupboard. He placed it in the archway and then added the bundle of 
luggage that Lois...that it...had brought with her the previous evening. 

For a few, dangerous moments his thoughts began to unravel as they 
were prompted by the sight of those cases to wonder, yet again, when 
the switch had been made. Had Lois packed those bags? Had she been 
happy when she had? Smiling over some piece of lingerie calculated to 
drive him crazy when...  

Or had they been packed later? By her. By...

He realized he was staring blankly into space and forced himself to 
focus. He stood for a moment, considering. What else? Oh...right. He 
headed purposefully for the bathroom. He scooped up an armful of 
cosmetics from the glass shelf at random and was halfway to the 
door when he paused. He shook his head, face twisting, and then 
turned back. He couldn't use these. Couldn't let her use them. Having 
her looking like his wife was painful enough. Having no choice but to 
let her wear Lois' clothing was worse. But having that scent on 
her...that familiar, tantalizing scent that drove him crazy with desire 
and filled him with warm affection in equal measure was a wound too 
far.

He grabbed for the trash can under the sink and began to pile the 
various bottles and containers into it. He'd shop fresh for more 
for...for her. Yes, he'd take her to the store. What was the name of 
the perfume he hated? He'd smelled it in Atkinsons' department 
store once - thick and cloying, heavy with exotic spices. Temptation, 
that was it. He'd made a disgusted face and Lois had laughed and 
when she told him how much the obnoxious stuff cost an ounce he'd 
thought the world had gone - 

Pain flared in him, as though the sound of her name in his head had 
torn open a wound. He knew that he was grieving. He knew he didn't 
have time for it. Didn't have the luxury of letting himself go, letting 
himself curl up in a ball and weep as he wanted to. And yet he couldn't 
seem to stop it sweeping over him like a tide, dragging him down with 
it into the dark pit of despair and hurt. 

He couldn't let go! He roared the brutal command at himself, 
struggling against the pull of his emotions. Forcing them back, 
down...in check, under control...under... 

A low cry, like the howl of a wounded animal tore itself free of him 
and he swept the last of the cosmetics from the shelf with a vicious 
swipe of his hand, oblivious to the shattering of glass on the tiled 
floor as he sank to his knees among the glittering shards and oozing 
puddles of oil and lotions. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and his 
hands into fists against his thighs as a burst of sweet fragrance that 
was familiar enough to cause his heart to burn and his soul to weep 
wafted up from the mess and surrounded him.

Lois...

Oh, sweet God, Lois...where are you?

His large frame shuddered, he pounded a fist against his leg. Again. 
And again. Harder. The bottle still clutched in his fist imploded within 
his fingers and his grip tightened, crushing it until it was nothing 
more than dust. But he couldn't find the pain. He couldn't find that 
sharp, lancing pain that would distract him from the open wound 
suppurating in his heart. He was invulnerable - or at least his body 
was - and it wouldn't come. No matter how much he wished for it. 

It was senseless hoping to find pain that would be greater than the 
sliver of agony and grief that was stabbing at his heart, that would 
concentrate his mind. Physical pain meant nothing to him, had no 
meaning for him. Was that why the emotional pain seared him so 
fiercely, he wondered disjointedly. Was that why his heart was so 
vulnerable when it came to Lois? To make up for his invulnerability 
elsewhere and his physical strength?

<Don't think. Don't think,> he told himself desperately. <Do. Time. I 
need time. Keep moving. Keep going.>

He went back into the bedroom, roaming the room, picking up items of 
clothing, packing them into the suitcases, all with the remote, absent 
motions of a sleepwalker.

The thing that wore Lois' face watched him with empty eyes from 
her position, huddled against the boxed cupboard at the head of the 
bed. Her shoulder pushed up against a red-spined book among the 
collection housed in the open shelves within. Clark's gaze rested on it 
for a moment, recognizing it instantly.  Cappon's Associated Press 
Guide to Newswriting. 

Lois had given him one of her looks when she'd presented it to him 
arbitrarily. One of those cool, ice-maiden looks that had earned her 
the title Mad Dog among the Daily Planet staffers. Perry had just 
announced that he was making them partners and she had made it 
clear she was going to get Clark Kent up to her standards if it had to 
kill her to do it. Even back then he had been amused rather than 
wounded by her downgrading of his skills. Even back then he could see 
beneath the masks she wore, the armor she sheathed herself in, to 
the strong, independent and courageous heart within. He'd often 
wondered why no one else could. 

She had annotated practically every margin in that book with 'helpful 
notes'. And employed the liberal use of yellow marker to highlight 
passages he should take particular note of. Yellow was especially in 
evidence in the passages dealing with respecting senior partners as 
being wiser than you in the ways of journalism and humbly learning all 
you could from them on how to achieve your goals.

When, two days later, he had retaliated by presenting her with David 
Savran's Taking It Like A Man, with its presentation of the American 
male as the browbeaten victim of powerful, domineering women 
through the ages, she had been less than amused.

Some time later, as their relationship had grown less abrasive and 
they'd found their way to becoming good friends, and obviously 
embarrassed, she had tried to pass off her 'gift' as a joke. Later still 
- a still new engagement ring glimmering on her finger - she had self-
consciously come across the opus tucked into the bookcase behind his 
bed and had wondered at its presence, suggested he throw it in the 
trash. And he had disagreed with vigor, had told her...

He had told her that maybe he should keep it. Just in case he ever 
stepped out of line and forgot how a partner was supposed to behave.

"Just a partner?" she'd said, turning to view him, eyes glowing and 
her smile lighting up the room as she'd risen up on her knees on the 
bed to hook her arms around his neck. 

"What, you think maybe you need to teach me how to behave like a 
fiance too?" he'd asked teasingly, before kissing her with enough 
passion that the subject under discussion had been quickly forgotten 
amid soft caresses and the tender melding of lips on skin.

After a time, as she'd lain in his arms, she'd murmured softly, "Clark 
Kent, if you learn any better about how to behave in the bedroom 
you're going to kill me before the wedding night is through."

And he'd chuckled, drawn her closer against him, whispered against 
her hair, "You ain't seen nothing yet. Best is yet to come."

Yet to come. 

His vision clouded as those memories overwhelmed his senses for a 
moment, lancing into his heart with another sharp twist of pain.

It took him a moment to find the will to look directly at what was on 
his bed - and to keep the rage boiling within him in check when he did.

"I said get dressed," he said coldly, noting that the clothes he'd 
tossed onto the bed still lay there untouched. He frowned as 
something occurred to him. "You can use the..." He glanced over his 
shoulder at the bathroom and changed his mind. "I'll leave you to it. 
I'll stay in the living room until you're done." 

He made the offer with a certain reluctance. To grant her modesty - 
to grant that she might require it, might expect or want it, that she 
might be unwilling to dress with him in the room, watching - bestowed 
on her a human quality he wasn't ready to admit she might have. 

Thinking of her as something less than human - an extension purely of 
Luthor's will, a biological machine programmed with his commands, a 
thing of plastic and manufactured emotions - made it easy for him to 
use her as a proxy for his nemesis, easy to rail at her and focus his 
rage at Luthor on her without guilt. 

It made him uneasy to consider her more than that; his mind shied 
away from it, ignoring it as a truth, his rage unwilling to offer the 
concession.

And, too, he had no desire to get even a glimpse of that slender, 
sensual body. No more than he would of any stranger to him. The 
random thought provoked a sudden surge of bitter images in his head. 
Last night he had seen more than enough, more than he wanted, of 
her. He had...he squeezed his eyes shut painfully but that only made 
the bilious memories more intense...he had touched that smooth skin 
and tasted those lips and...

<Stop it! Just stop it!> he told himself viciously. He had to get out of 
here. He couldn't take much more of this.

...and he had enjoyed it. All of it.

<I didn't know!> he cried out in the throes of guilt and despair. <I 
didn't know it wasn't Lois! I didn't know!>

He felt nauseous, eaten alive by guilt and the sense that he had 
betrayed something precious. Remembering how he had held that 
thing in his arms and what he had said to it. How he had caressed the 
naked flesh beneath his own...

He forced open his eyes. She had taken more than one thing precious 
from him. Lois, the joy of being married to the woman he loved, the 
sweetness of consummating that love in the marriage bed. The 
precious moments of sharing himself for the first time with the 
woman he'd chosen to spend his life with. To give himself up to. That 
she had almost coerced him into that betrayal cut deep and that she 
had been unaware of just how important an act it was to him or that 
he had discovered her duplicity in time to prevent the debasement of 
that sacred act was no help in finding some measure of calm in dealing 
with her. The eyes he turned on her were frigid with the knowledge 
of just what she had come close to stealing from him. From Lois. One 
more heinous act that didn't bear forgiving.

"We have to go. Now."

The...woman...on the bed simply looked at him. Then she said, voice 
trembling, "What are you going to do with -- Where are you taking 
me?"

Clark looked away, trying not to notice the fear on her face - that 
face that was so like his wife's and that could tear compassion out of 
his heart with its wiles - as he tossed a jumble of shirts into the 
nearest case.

"Lex wants me out of the way, doesn't he?" he said, taunting her. "He 
wants me distracted, in Hawaii, on my honeymoon with my *adoring* 
wife!" His eyes raked her for an instant and then he turned away. 
"Well, just for once, let's give Luthor exactly what he wants!"

Hawaii. Time to think, time to plan, time to find a way out of this 
mess and rescue Lois from Luthor's clutches. Time he didn't have. In 
a few hours, Luthor would expect him and his new wife to fly out on 
their honeymoon. If they didn't, the deception would be up, and 
Luthor would know something had gone wrong with his plans. He had 
to prevent that, keep Luthor in the dark for as long as he could. With 
Clark Kent seemingly distracted and out of the city, Luthor's guard 
would be down. 

So...he would spend his days in Hawaii with this blurred, imperfect 
fake, acting the part of besotted newlywed, and his nights - and any 
moment he could take away from the masquerade - would be spent 
searching for Lois back in Metropolis. No one would question 
Superman on patrol. 

Sleight of hand. Schemes and deceptions. Distracting the eye with 
one hand while pulling the ace from the sleeve with the other. Luthor 
wasn't the only master of that. 

As he was going to prove.

"No."

The soft voice jerked him out of his musing. He stopped in his tracks 
and then turned back slowly to face her.

"No?" He frowned and then, bewildered, "No, what?" 

"No," she repeated. Her voice quivered and she flinched, shrinking 
back against the books as he ran an exasperated hand through his 
hair, startling her with the sharp motion. But her tone had a definite 
air of finality about it nonetheless. "Wherever it is you're going, I'm 
not."

Clark scowled at her, reacting solely to her tone of denial. Then, as 
her words registered, his eyebrows rose. "You're not - ? What do you 
mean you're not?" His tone sharpened. "Now you listen to me - "

"No!" This time she shrieked it as she scrambled from the bed. She 
was past him before he realized what she was doing, still stunned into 
open-mouthed silence by this defiance. The slam of the bathroom 
door was followed by the click of the lock.

"Loi - dammit!" Cursing, he strode over and pounded on the door.

"Will you come out of there!"

"Go away!"

"This is ridiculous. You're being ridiculous! Come out of there. Right 
now!" 

Silence.

Clark kicked at the base of the door, a petulant action that caused a 
ripple of astonishment from a saner half of his mind. He was also 
aware in a frozen instant of just how hard that saner half had had to 
work there to rein back his strength and keep him from kicking the 
door clear out of its frame. It had been a long time since he'd been 
so dangerously close to being out of control.

Control was everything. He had learned that lesson harshly when he 
was a kid. He knew that most of the people he knew ascribed his mild-
mannered, slow-to-anger, nature as a product of his country roots and 
an old-fashioned upbringing. And in part it was. But it was also the 
result of knowing that in letting his anger loose he could maim. Or kill. 
It frightened him now how close those subconscious mental restraints 
that usually held him in check had frayed so badly when faced with 
one intractable...woman...who looked so like his wife. 

He subsided against the door, laying his shoulder to the cold, smooth 
surface as he closed his eyes. He took a few deep, steadying breaths, 
trying to settle the boiling frustration in his gut into stillness and 
calm, controlled meditation.

Finally, he stepped away. "Are you going to come out of there?" he 
asked through the door.

"No. No! No! NO! You got that?! You speak English?! Comprende?! You 
listening out there? *No*! I'm not going! I'm not, I'm not, I'm not! O-
-*kay*?!" It was the enraged shrieking of a child having a tantrum and 
it raised the hackles of parental indignation on the back of his neck.

He viewed the door judiciously. He *could* break it down of course. 
If she thought she could hide behind something as flimsy as this she 
had another think coming.

Door kicking?

"Now *you're* being ridiculous," he murmured aloud with a wry shake 
of his head. He sighed and stared at the door in consternation. He 
had no idea how to get her out. Or make her co-operate. He would 
have known how to deal with Lois - but then Lois would never have 
balked at his plans. Of course they would have discussed it first. He 
would never have acted so...well so boorishly...with her. He winced, but 
the truth of that was inescapable. He'd been inconsiderate and 
ungentlemanly and...and, dammit, how exactly was he supposed to act 
towards some unholy automaton that mocked his feelings for his 
wife? Chivalrously?! His anger, a simmering heat that roiled 
constantly in his chest and belly, rebelled against the notion. 

The plain truth of it was, she was coming with him, helping him, 
whether she liked it or not. If he had to drag her kicking and 
screaming every step of the way. She was necessary to rescuing Lois. 

Of course it had never occurred to him that she would challenge his 
plans. It had never occurred to him that she had a mind to challenge 
him at all. Up until the moment she had screamed her refusal at him 
he had seen her purely as an extension of Luthor's will - his drone, his 
machine. Now he was rapidly beginning to understand that clone or 
not, fake or not, she was some kind of individual in her own right. And 
with her own, very definite, opinions. Whether those opinions were 
manufactured or not hardly mattered. Though he wouldn't have put it 
past Luthor to have programmed her just to be contrary for the sake 
of it and drive him crazy. They were real enough to thwart him, to 
stymie him. Like Lois he hated that word. He resisted the urge to 
kick the door again as frustration welled up in him.

Okay...think. So she had opinions of her own. And right now those 
opinions were locked up with her in his bathroom.

So...first plan of attack. Get her out. Then deal with the rest later.

He took a small, steadying breath. "Look...come out. We'll talk. I...I'm 
sorry I yelled at you. I won't do it again."

It galled him to apologize, to this - this creature, this *thing* that 
had invaded his home, his life, that had helped Luthor take Lois from 
him. That had tried to take her place, tried to defile the perfect, 
wondrous bond they shared. Had tried to make him betray her. Even 
simple civility gave it too much of himself. But...Lois...was depending 
on him. Somewhere out there. Perhaps afraid...hurt...

He closed his eyes.

Her life might depend on gaining the trust and the co-operation of 
her doppelganger. And right then he'd have lunched with the Devil 
himself to get it. Dancing with his spawn was the least of the 
sacrifices he'd make to rescue his wife from the clutches of the 
madman who tormented them.

He swallowed hard on the nausea rising in his throat and battened 
down the anger swelling in his chest.

"Please..." he said, grating out the word.

There was silence from within the bathroom. Then, "Promise?" 

Clark clenched his teeth, hard enough to almost make his jaw ache. "I 
promise."

"Okay."

He stepped back in surprise as the door cracked open. A small, 
suspicious face peeked around its edge. "You promised. No yelling?"

Clark pasted what might have passed for a smile on his face. To him it 
felt like a rictus grin, stretching the skin of his face taut. "Scout's 
honor," he said, lifting his fingers in the familiar salute.

She frowned. "No touching either."

He stepped back a pace. "You got it." Now that one was going to be 
easy. 

"All right." She opened the door just wide enough to ease her way 
through and then sidled towards the bed, her gaze fixed on him 
cautiously all the way. When she had seated herself on the edge, she 
stared at him with an expression of wary expectation.

After a moment or two, as they contemplated each other in uneasy 
silence, Clark moved carefully across the room and perched himself 
on the top of the low packing chest in the corner. Far enough away 
that he wouldn't crowd or threaten her. Far enough away that he 
could breathe more easily.

He shifted impatiently as the silence lengthened. Out beyond the 
little patio behind the bedroom windows a dog barked sharply once or 
twice and then was silenced by an abrupt command. Over on the 
opposite side of the street, Mr. Capriona was grumbling about having 
to do chores on his first day off in months, as he slopped water onto 
his car. Another vehicle - a Ford Taurus if he wasn't mistaken - rolled 
past at a clip, tires squealing and young voices hooting as it went. 

How could life be rumbling on for everyone else just like always, just 
like normal, when his was falling apart at the seams, he thought 
dismally. When he was here living some weird Twilight Zone episode.

"So," the woman sitting on the bed said brightly, making him start. 
"Where you going?"

His gaze followed hers to the pile of luggage in the archway.

"*We're* going to Hawaii," he said firmly. His eyes shifted, 
calculating the distance to the bathroom as he did, just in case.

Her eyes widened. "Really?" She leapt to her feet and, as he tensed 
in expectation of more hysterics, clapped her hands together in an 
explosion of sound. Her excited squeal drove a sudden ice pick 
through his skull. "Right now? Oh, my gosh - I love Hawaii! Did I 
mention I love Hawaii! All that sun and the beaches and cabana boys 
and those little umbrellas in your drink and - "

Clark stared at her. "You mean you want to go?" he interrupted 
numbly.

She froze. And then turned on him, her delight dying on her face, 
replaced with suspicion. "We're going to have fun. Right?"

Clark sighed. "We're going..." he paused. "Yeah," he said. He was sure 
the smile on his face looked sickly, but it seemed to be enough to 
appease her as he saw her relax slightly in response to it. "That's 
right. We're going to have fun. You know - just like Luthor told you 
to? You - " he swallowed roughly. "You pretend to be Lois - "

"I am Lois!"

"You *pretend* to be Lois," he continued doggedly, ignoring her pout 
as he contradicted her, "and we have...fun."
 
She dropped back to the bed, her expression suddenly full of 
calculation. "I thought you didn't want to have fun." She looked down 
at the comforter and ran a light finger over its pattern before 
looking up at him from beneath sly lashes.

Despite himself, a part of him, the part that was rational and 
perceptive, the observer - the reporter - found itself studying this 
new apparition intently. Beneath the hurt and the anger, it seemed, 
there was still something enough in him that watched coldly out of 
analytical eyes. Seeking some flaw, some Achilles heel, some chink in 
the programming that he could use against Luthor. Use to help him 
out of this nightmare. Help him find Lois. 

That part now found something strangely compelling in the artful 
posing of the creature on his bed. Only a moment before she had 
been adamant he wasn't to touch her at all. And now...every line of her 
body called to his libido, the look in her eyes that of a coquette. And 
yet he had the strangest sense that everything about that pose, 
that...invitation...was fake. There was something deep beneath the 
sheen of sly and wanton solicitation that was false. As though it 
wasn't only a set of pre-programmed actions drilled into the thing 
sitting opposite him, to be used as a weapon, to seduce and confuse 
him, but that it was a set of actions even the clone wasn't willing to 
perform. 

Ever since he had sprung Luthor's trap, realized what she was, she 
had reverted to what he presumed was the generic core of the clone 
persona. Child-like, petulant, belligerent and willful. He had seen 
those traits in his own clone. This sudden reversal, back to what he 
imagined was the personality imprinted on top of that basic mind-set 
- the personality that Luthor apparently believed to be that of Lois - 
was unsettling to watch.

And yet he had the strong impression - formed more at an instinctive 
than a rational level and gleaned from where he knew not - that if he 
were to get up now and respond to the clone's current actions and 
demeanor as normality would demand he do - as he would do if 
confronted with sexual teasing from his wife - the reactions of the 
clone would be less than welcoming. Why did he imagine that should 
he call that bluff her reaction would be horror? Terror? 

He shook his head. He didn't know. But the sensation that there was 
something of the child still there, behind the slyly watchful eyes of 
the coy flirt, and that that child was afraid, didn't leave him. No 
matter how much he tried to shake it.

She was still watching him, he realized, sharply aware all at once that 
he'd become lost in his thoughts. Dangerous, he admonished himself. 
He couldn't afford to let down his guard. No more than he could if it 
had been Luthor himself in the room with him. 

"Not that...not that kind of fun," he said softly.

She looked at him for another moment or so, considering, playing the 
wanton so artfully that his nerves began to shriek with the strain of 
holding himself in check and he began to revise his earlier opinion of 
how unwilling she was to perform the act. Then she shrugged and 
tossed her head. She leaned back against the hands spread on the 
comforter, rocking almost imperceptibly back and forth. "Maybe I 
don't want to go," she decided. "Maybe I've changed my mind. It's a 
woman's prerogative, you know," she added as though she was 
imparting some wisdom he may not be aware of.

Clark watched her with dismay. Coercing this woman to go with him 
wasn't going to work, he was finally beginning to realize. That should 
have been obvious from the first. He wasn't even sure how to start 
with that, even if it had been a viable course of action. But, 
regardless, it wasn't. He needed her whole-hearted co-operation if 
this was going to work. Luthor wasn't going to be fooled by anything 
less. He was going to have to work at enlisting her aid, make her an 
ally. But she was Luthor's. Luthor's creation. Luthor's minion. Was 
she loyal to him? Could she be persuaded to thwart him?

"Listen," he tried, leaning forward earnestly to engage her wandering 
attention. "In a little over two hours, Luthor is going to expect me to 
jet off to Hawaii with my...with Lois..." He hurried over the pause and 
went on earnestly, "If we don't get on that plane, he's going to know 
you...that his plan hasn't worked. And I can't let that happen. Do you 
understand that? I need time. To find Lois, to work things out. The 
longer Luthor thinks he's got what he wanted, the more time I have 
to get Lois back."

She showed no reaction to this logic. Clark felt a spark of panic within 
his chest. His plan was nothing without her co-operation. She had to 
play her part in this masquerade too. If she wouldn't...

"Lex won't take you back you know, if that's what you think," he 
added desperately. 

There was no emotion in the eyes of the woman watching him as he 
pleaded with her to help save the life of the woman he loved. There 
was no emotion at all. He hunted for something that would make an 
impression, that would mean something to her, that would give her an 
incentive to help him. "He doesn't like failure. And you failed. You 
didn't do what he told you to. He won't forgive that. He's not a very 
forgiving man."

She watched him, silent. But he thought he'd seen a flicker of 
something in her expression in response to that last.

"Look, Loi - " The name lodged in his throat like a rock. He shook his 
head, he couldn't - he wouldn't - call her that. It wasn't hers. Not by 
right. And it reminded him too painfully of who he'd lost.

"Have you got a name? A real name?" he added hastily as she opened 
her mouth with a puzzled frown. He couldn't bear to hear her use it 
either. "It's not your name," he went on as she seemed confused.

She cocked her head a little, reminding him unpleasantly of a dog, and 
then shrugged.

Clark blew out a short breath. "Okay... Then...pick one. I have to call 
you something. How about..." he continued desperately as she looked 
blank, "...Eve..."

Something lit in her eyes, squirming there in the velvet darkness. Her 
mouth twisted into a grimace. "Oh, like that's appropriate! Eve was 
like, you know, the *beloved* wife of Adam? Geez." She rolled her 
eyes. "Talk about your basic rubbing it in," she muttered.

Clark flushed, anger as well as embarrassment at the jibe surging 
through him. It was hard to hold back on anger in her presence. As 
easy to feel rage when he looked at her now as it had been to love the 
original she was patterned on. His fists clenched at his sides and his 
jaw tightened. "Look - "

She waylaid him before he could snarl out a retort in response. "If 
you want to pick something biblical, wouldn't Lilith make more sense?" 
she demanded scathingly and there was such a seam of dark 
bitterness running through the words that he was almost undone.

Lilith. The discarded wife. The one unloved by Adam. The darkness 
next to Eve's light and the mother of destruction.

He sighed deeply and shook his head. "I won't call you that," he said 
quietly, feeling a momentary pity stir within him. He quashed it 
ruthlessly. She opened her mouth. "We don't have time for this," he 
said sharply and she subsided, glowering. "Eve will do," he reiterated 
firmly. "You want to change it later, that's fine by me. It's not 
important right now. What's important is...will you help me? Please? 
You're the only one who can."

The appeal to her vanity appeared to work where all else had failed. 
She looked pleased. "Really?" She paused, obviously considering the 
notion. "So, like, you mean if I don't help you you won't 
get...her...back?"

"Yes," Clark whispered huskily. "I can't get her back without you. 
You're...you're my only hope."

"Ohhhhh." The happy little sigh trickled out of her. "That's so 
romantic. Isn't it romantic?"

"Yes...yes, very romantic..." Clark rose abruptly to his feet with the 
hasty agreement. "Will you do it?"

She beamed up at him. "Sure! And you'll buy me one of those drinks 
with the umbrella in?" she demanded, like someone closing the final 
details of negotiations. 

"Sure. All the umbrellas you can drink," Clark said absently as he 
moved quickly to pick up the first of the suitcases before she could 
change her mind. "Now, hurry up and get dressed." He glanced at his 
watch as she rose unhurriedly and smoothed down her robe with 
unselfconscious hands. "We need to get on that plane and I have to 
pay a visit to a friend before we board."

The plane.

He froze. But, of course, there had been no plane. Not for them. He 
had never booked one, never known he would need to. They had 
planned...

<With all the money we can save on air fare....>

<What with using Superman Express...>

He squeezed his eyes hard closed and then opened them again, finding 
his way to a new resoluteness.

He'd just have to hope that he could work something out. Maybe he 
could call the airline and secure a flight now. If not, then Superman 
was just going to have to turn up to save the day. And his plans.

The first option was infinitely the most preferable. The thought of 
holding...that...in his arms and flying it to Hawaii, so much an echo of 
what he might be doing now, with Lois, if Luthor hadn't...

It sickened him.

"I have to make a few calls," he said hurriedly as he grabbed for his 
cellphone and made for the terrace, where some privacy could be 
assured. "Let me know when you're ready to leave."

He didn't wait for her answer as he left her behind him in the 
bedroom. 


~@*****@~

There was the funniest little man standing on the sidewalk. She 
grinned through the glass of the Jeep's window at him and waved, but 
he didn't seem to notice. He was wearing sloppy pants and a coat way 
too big for him and he had a big red mouth painted on and there were 
lots of colored balls in his hands and he was tossing them up and 
down, round and round, and they were flashing brightly in the air 
and...it was just so funny!

She turned her head to tell Clark, but he was staring out through the 
windshield and he didn't look like he wanted to be disturbed right 
then.

Well, that was okay. She could like totally understand that. Because 
driving...real driving, town driving...that was hard to do. You had to 
concentrate on that. You didn't have time for stupid things like 
*talking*.

She turned back to the funny man, but he was being left behind them 
as the Jeep lurched forward on a green light. She craned her neck to 
watch him until he was out of sight and then slumped back into her 
seat.

The lights were cool. Green and red and amber...all shiny. 

And there were people! So many people. That was...cool too. She bit at 
her lower lip, worrying it. Although it was kind of scary too. She had 
the weirdest things in her head. Everything was new. Yet not. She 
knew what walking among all those people was like, all those crowds, 
all those little people bustling around like ants all set on their own 
business and worried about their silly little lives. And at the same 
time the thought of being out there, among that tide of people, all of 
them pushing and tugging her back and forth among the flow of their 
motion, caused a tiny flutter of panic deep down in her chest. It was 
very odd. It was like having your thoughts running on a twin track. 
Two trains running parallel but with different destinations.

Hey, that was cool. That was a really cool thought, she congratulated 
herself with a smile. She always felt especially proud when her 
thoughts came in big words like that. The smile faded. But 
sometimes...sometimes things didn't come in big words at all. And 
that was bad. That was...dumb. She was dumb then. And worse was 
when she let the thoughts out and they became words and the words 
were dumb too and she could see that look on the faces of whomever 
she was speaking to. The look that made her feel bad and stupid 
and....  

Tears sprang to her eyes and she felt their misery pile up in her 
chest like a weight. She surreptitiously dashed them clear with a 
hand and went back to looking out the window. Lex had told her she 
was dumb. All the time. And it hurt her. It hurt bad. 

Clark...she cast a small, furtive look at his profile...he would call her 
dumb too, she knew he would. And that wasn't fair. That wasn't fair 
at all because it wasn't her fault! It wasn't! She couldn't help it. 
Sometimes the words just came out the way they did and she wasn't 
to blame for how they sounded. 

Thoughts and words seemed to be two very different things and it 
was difficult to find the connection between them sometimes. She 
*knew* a lot of things. She had woken up out of endless sleep in the 
vat knowing everything she needed to function as a real person. That 
basic knowledge, that Dr. Mamba's process had grown in her head 
just as her body had grown in the birthing fluid, had been added to 
manually during the days she had spent in the lab. The extra 
knowledge she needed to be Lois Lane...and more besides that her 
makers had never sanctioned and never expected her to know.

But getting all those facts out of her head never seemed to work 
right. Somehow, along the way, they didn't sound the same at all. 

She had learned a lot in the lab. She had spent most of her time 
outside the vat sitting at the computer, learning. Dr. Mamba had 
given her a list each day of things she had to research. Things that 
her pattern knew. And that was...wonderful. The world out there, 
linked to her through the computer screen, fascinated and enthralled 
her. She just couldn't seem to get enough of it. Like she had a thirst 
that could never be satisfied. When she had found out that being Lois 
Lane meant that she would have all the time in the world she wanted 
to learn and browse through the worldwide web, that she could learn 
all day if she wanted to, learn what she wanted to, with no one to tell 
her she couldn't, she had been...well, she had never been so happy. 
That she could remember anyway. It had seemed like...paradise.

Course, she couldn't resist going further. She had always got through 
the lists so quickly. She was a real fast reader. She'd got through 
five of Lois Lane's favorite romance novels in one morning. Dr. Mamba 
had been pleased with that, she remembered. But she got bored once 
she'd finished with what she'd been given. If Dr. Mamba - or Lex - 
had discovered that she was using the computer to learn beyond what 
they wanted her to.... A small shiver coursed through her with the 
thought, even now. Back then, the thought of being caught had 
terrified her. 

And yet, still, she couldn't seem to stop. With time on her hands 
before Dr. Mamba arrived to return her to the vat, she would turn to 
browsing aimlessly through screen after screen, absorbed in 
everything she found, no matter how obscure or unimportant to her 
task. 

She had the vague idea her pattern wouldn't have stopped either, 
that the Lois Lane she was fashioned on shared her quest for 
knowledge. Even that the original was somehow driving her onwards to 
this small rebellion, to take the chance of punishment, because it was 
worth the risk. Nothing else had ever seemed worth the risk of 
provoking Lex's anger. And she had never been able to figure out 
quite why learning, seeking out knowledge, was.

Strange or not, she just kept right on doing it. Couldn't seem to help 
it, no matter how scared she was of Lex finding out. The words on the 
screen, the information held on the glowing square of the screen 
seemed to soak right into her head like water into a sponge. Somehow 
though, it didn't seem to make her any smarter. Or give her a way to 
make words come out right when she talked. She kind of thought that 
learning all that stuff probably should. But it never seemed to work 
that way for her.

She forgot some things soon as she read them. Others stuck like 
nuggets of gold. There didn't seem to be any logical pattern to what 
she held and what was lost. Dr. Mamba hadn't been happy about that. 
He had told her she had a brain like Swiss cheese. He had put her 
back in the vat for a whole day and it had got better. But the ability 
to take what she had in her head and somehow link them together 
into thought seemed to elude her still, more often than not. 
Sometimes, they popped out of her head all on their own. Sometimes 
she even understand what they meant. But most times it was as 
though someone else lived inside her and spoke up now and then. Like 
she was just a passenger in her own head. 

And sometimes, she felt like it wasn't even her head at all. That she 
was an...interloper...and that other her was the person who was real. 

It was all kinda confusing. Like the way not to be dumb was there, in 
her head, somewhere, if she could just find a way to get to it. 

She guessed she was just too dumb to figure out how, she thought 
dismally.

She flicked another glance sideways. Would Clark like her better if 
she could find a way to make what was in her head come out right? 
She knew that she should try. Maybe she should listen more to that 
other her. The Lois her. Maybe she knew how to make things sound 
good. To make everything work. Lois Lane was smart. Wasn't she? 
And wasn't she supposed to be Lois Lane? 

Clark liked Lois. But he didn't like her, she thought miserably again. 
She wasn't sure that anything would change that. And she didn't 
really understand where the difference lay. And sometimes he scared 
her. He could yell so loud, just like Lex did. Loud enough to make it 
hurt in her chest. And last night...

She huddled back into her seat, hands gripping each other tight in 
her lap as the memories of the previous evening swarmed up and over 
her. When things got really bad you made yourself real small...real, 
real small...and sometimes what it was that was bad and hurting went 
away. 

And sometimes it didn't. Sometimes...

A hand clenched into a fist, pain spiking into her palm as her nails bit 
deep and she focused all of her attention on forcing back the 
whimper of fear that was crawling up into her throat. Lex hadn't 
liked it when she made those noises. Lex had - 

- come after her and she had thought - oh, she had thought he was 
going to hurt her so bad when he caught her at the door. His hands 
had been on her, rough and threatening, and across her mouth. He 
hadn't needed to do that. She wouldn't have screamed. Well...not 
really. She could have told him that if only he'd let her. Screaming 
wasn't any use. She knew that. It just made him more mad and 
then...and then things got more bad and...things...hurt more...and...

Her next quick breath emerged as a low sob and she screwed her 
eyes shut, quickly turning her head and feigning interest in what was 
passing by beyond the window as she felt the attention of the man at 
her side briefly swing around to land on her like a searchlight, picking 
up all the thoughts in her head and probing around in her skull 
like...and then fading as he lost interest again.

That was good. Not being interested was good. When people - 
when...when...he - wasn't interested in her that was okay. She was 
safe then. Nothing hurt then. Screaming didn't do any good, she 
admonished herself again. No one helped you when you screamed. No 
one stopped what they were doing when you screamed. Making 
yourself small and quiet as a mouse in the shadows was what kept you 
safe.

But last night...there had been no shadows to hide in and Lex - no, she 
frowned, not Lex, it hadn't been Lex. Clark. When...Clark...had taken 
hold of her she had been so scared she had thought she would die 
right there. And then...he had left. Just like that. For a time she 
hadn't been able to move, so sure it was another game. The games 
weren't fair. She didn't understand the rules. No one ever explained 
the rules to her! She had been so certain he was hiding outside that 
door, watching her reactions, waiting for her to feel safe and then - 

The ragged breath she drew into her throat became a soft sigh. But 
he had really been gone. And last night she hadn't hurt. Hadn't been 
hurt. 

<He will hurt you. They always do. He's no different. He's just the 
same.>

Yes, just the same. But he hadn't hurt. Not...not that way at least. He 
had made her feel bad with the yelling and with the things he'd said 
but he hadn't...hurt her in the ways she was used to. How long could 
that last? How long until - ?

It didn't matter. She realized that all at once. It didn't matter 
because the uncertainty was better than the sure and certain 
knowledge that if she went back to Lex now she would be hurt for 
sure. He'd been right about that. The thought of facing Lex...his face 
rose up in her mind's eye, darkening with that look she knew too well, 
the look that was always the herald of pain...she couldn't. She 
couldn't. 

Clark would hurt her soon enough. But Lex would hurt her now. The 
choice really wasn't that difficult. Living with the threat, anticipating 
the pain, were more bearable than suffering it.

Anyway...a small spark of defiance flared up in her, deep within like a 
guttering, fragile flame...she didn't want to be here, she didn't want 
to be with him, so he could just shut up and take what he got! If she 
was dumb it was all his fault anyway. His fault. And Lex's fault. They 
made her, right? Lex had made her and Clark...well he just didn't help 
change her, did he? So it was their fault. Not hers. He could just 
shut up, she reiterated savagely in her head. The defiant thought 
made her feel a little better, but only for a moment.

What she really wanted was to be gone. Gone somewhere where 
neither of them could find her. Where no one would find her. Maybe 
she could sit and watch the funny man - the juggler, that was it, 
juggler. Wouldn't that be fun? Just sit and watch and not have to 
think dumb thoughts or do anything at all. And maybe he wouldn't 
mind her being stupid. The juggler. Maybe he wouldn't expect her to 
talk or do at all. Maybe he'd *appreciate* her. Unlike some people! 

If it wasn't for...for Lex...maybe she would just open the door at the 
next set of lights and run back and find the juggler. Maybe. 

Except, of course, the dismal thought returned, there *was* Lex. And 
Lex would be angry if she didn't do what he'd told her to. She didn't 
want Lex to be angry with her. She'd failed, somehow. She still 
wasn't sure how, because she'd done everything she'd been 
instructed to do. She'd even made breakfast. And she had *tried* to 
let Clark do the icky thing with her. But it just didn't seem to be 
enough. 

She had to do better. She had to make it be enough. She had no idea 
how...but...she stared thoughtfully at the oblivious man at her 
side...she had to make it right. She had to make Clark Kent love her. 
Forget that other Lois. And Clark...well, Clark had given her another 
chance. Another chance to get it right. To escape Lex. A soft 
shudder ran through her. She might even get to like the icky thing if 
it was Clark. He hadn't been so rough as Lex had. In fact, for a 
moment there he hadn't been rough with her at all. He had 
been...tender. And...gentle. Loving. So...maybe she could. Maybe.

Either way, Hawaii was her second chance. Her chance to redeem 
herself and avoid Lex's retribution. And she was going to make the 
most of that chance. Her lips set in a stubborn line with the thought. 
She was going to do everything she could to make Clark Kent love her. 
She was going to do what Lex wanted her to do. She was going to 
keep Clark Kent happy. And occupied. And away from Lex.

Then - maybe - she wouldn't get hurt.


~@*****@~


"Astonishing," Perry White said for the third time. He tore his 
fascinated gaze away from the view of the newsroom through his 
office window and fixed it on the younger man standing beside his 
desk. "I mean if you didn't know, you'd think it was - "

"It's *not*." Clark's tone was brusque, leaving no room for dissent.

"No, no, of course it's not." Perry nodded. He took another glance at 
the woman sitting at Lois' desk, looking bored and pouting as she 
swung the chair to and fro, and then shook his head. "But you know, 
son, are you sure you didn't just - ?"

"Perry..."

The editor sighed. "Clark, I'm sorry. Truly sorry. I know how much 
you and Lois..." His face twisted suddenly, a fierce anger leaping into 
his eyes. "That bastard Luthor! If he hurts her...." He pulled in a 
rough breath, hands clenching spasmodically at his sides.

Clark followed his gaze out into the newsroom, feeling the same 
mingled sense of wariness and relief that he had had when he'd first 
entered. They'd been fortunate. He had counted on the normal, daily 
routine of the newsroom making it quiet when they arrived. His 
colleagues would be out pounding the streets for the most part, in 
the mundane grind of interviews and research and checking out 
details that got them the news. 

A couple of big breaking stories - fortunately not anything that need 
require Superman's aid - and the press conferences on new budget 
controls at City Hall and at STAR Labs, where they were scheduled to 
announce some new advances in cancer medicines, had helped too.

As a result the newsroom was virtually empty. The few staffers still 
around were feverishly banging away at their keyboards, lost in the 
fog of deadlines, and oblivious to anything else but what was on their 
screen. Besides which they occupied desks to the rear of the room, 
and out of line of sight of Perry's office. They couldn't see anything 
of what was going on, even if their seeming disinterest had been 
feigned. 

Feigned. Clark shook his head. He hated what this mockery of his life 
was doing to him. Hated it. These people were his colleagues. Friends. 
Reporters he knew and trusted. Thought he could trust. And yet....  
To be forced into considering these people with suspicions that 
weren't normally in his nature was one more indignity, one more 
betrayal, to be added to the reckoning with Luthor when it came.

And yet, distasteful and distressing as it was, the wariness stayed 
with him and he knew he had to stay watchful, stay suspicious. Placing 
a spy in the newsroom as added insurance would be just like Luthor. 
Someone to report back to him on how the investigation into his 
escape and search for him was progressing. To check that his ruse 
had been successful and Lois' kidnap undetected. Clark couldn't rule 
out the possibility. He couldn't trust anyone but a few he knew 
absolutely to be incorruptible. He hated that. But it was the 
unpalatable truth and he couldn't avoid it. 

His temples ached with the strain of surreptitiously watching out for 
anyone who looked like a likely candidate to be spying on him for 
Luthor. Real or imagined, there had been a constant, nagging itch 
between his shoulder blades since he'd left his apartment with Eve 
and it was beginning to get wearing on the nerves. So he was grateful 
for the small respite that an empty newsroom offered, allowing him 
as it did the opportunity, just for one small moment, to let down his 
guard, drop the faØade of deliriously happy bridegroom.

His eyes tracked across the unnaturally quiet Bullpen, the line of his 
thoughts leading him directly and inevitably to the root cause of his 
misery.

Eve had become bored enough it seemed to ignore his injunction 
against touching anything until he returned and was idly flicking 
through the pages of some files on the desk as though they were 
fashion magazines. He fought back the urge to go out there and slap 
them out of her hands, his outrage at her touch on his wife's things, 
her presence there at her desk as though she owned it, dizzying him 
with rage for an instant. He swallowed hard and focused on keeping 
his hands firmly in his pockets. 

Eve shifted on her chair, one crossed leg swung lazily back and forth, 
and to his horror he realized she was chewing gum. Where had that 
come from? As he watched, dismayed, the situation abruptly 
descended into disaster as a familiar figure shambled over to the 
desk and peered over Eve's shoulder at the file she was pretending to 
read.

She looked up and gave him a power watt smile that had Clark's heart 
pounding tightly at the memory of when that killer had been directed 
at him. No, he corrected himself savagely. It had never been directed 
at him. Not from her. Never her.

Inwardly, he groaned as he watched the interaction over at Lois' desk 
begin. He had known it was a risk leaving the clone out there alone, 
but he had been unable to even contemplate having her with him in 
here while he brought Perry up to speed on the abduction of Lois - an 
abduction that her facsimile had been a part of. Nor had he wanted 
her privy to the intimate details of his plans, unable to decipher how 
deep her loyalty to Luthor still ran. Leaving her to play the part she 
had been designed for was the lesser of two evils, even though he was 
having serious doubts about her continuing ability to carry the 
deception off.

She had changed in the hours since he had discovered her. Since he 
had confronted her. She had been almost perfect, in the beginning. 
He could grudgingly concede that, despite the lancing pain that 
seared through him at the thought. She had glided through a wedding 
ceremony and a reception without a hitch, fooling not just himself but 
friends and family, people who knew Lois intimately and who loved her. 
So far as he was aware, not one of the people she had interacted with 
during that time had harbored any suspicions they were talking to 
anyone but Lois Lane. 

But perhaps that had been the easy part, he considered now. Luthor 
would no doubt have gone over the ceremony and reception time and 
again, drilling her in her responses, her lines - just like any actress. 
The accompanying mind picture that line of thought produced left him 
sick to his stomach and he swallowed over the sudden sourness it left 
in his throat. That something so intimate, so personal to himself and 
Lois should have been defiled in this way.... He shook his head, 
knowing that the path his thoughts were leading him down wasn't 
going to help him get through this.

Once she had been discovered though...it was almost as though the 
Lois persona had slipped, been discarded. She no longer had any lines 
or events that she could handle on remote. She was having to think, 
to anticipate...to ad lib. And that seemed an ability further beyond 
her than the simple aping of a dream had been. Her safety net had 
been cut away from beneath her and increasingly she was teetering 
dangerously on the edge of an abyss. More and more it was the core 
clone personality that showed through those cracks. And that 
personality was a petty, willful child in the main and a babbling bimbo 
when it wasn't. His lips twisted in distaste. How could that possibly 
fool anyone into believing the illusion? 

And yet - paradoxically - he had to believe it could. Had to hope and 
pray that it could. Because if she couldn't bring the Lois personality 
online any more when he needed her to...then he was lost before he 
even began. And Lois lost with him. 

So...he had taken the risk and left her sitting at 'her' desk while he 
spoke to Perry. Perhaps, subconsciously, he had even been anticipating 
that she would be tested, maybe even hoping she would be. Better to 
know now if she wasn't up to the task he required of her than to 
discover it later in Hawaii. 

Of course he hadn't actually considered just how much of a risk he 
was running until this moment. Or just how much of a test she was 
going to be put to. Of all the people to engage 'Lois' in conversation 
why did it have to be - 

Ralph, encouraged by his unexpected welcome, sat on the edge of the 
desk, engaging Eve in conversation. Unlike Lois, she didn't seem to 
mind. Clark zeroed in anxiously, and to his consternation, discovered 
the topic of conversation was the file. Wouldn't Ralph notice that? 
Any moment now he was sure to notice that. Since when did Lois Lane 
discuss her stories with anyone but her partner and her boss? And 
since when did she discuss them with Ralph? But the reporter didn't 
seem to be surprised. Course, Clark's mouth narrowed into a thin line, 
that was probably because his eyes were currently too engrossed in 
Eve's cleavage to be really paying attention. He probably wasn't even 
listening to what she was saying. Ralph was of the old school where 
women were concerned. He wasn't particularly concerned if they 
could talk at all, so long as they let him drool on them, he considered 
with disgust.

Relief that Lois' work was probably safe from being stolen - coupled 
with the wry thought that at least he apparently didn't need to worry 
about Ralph being in Luthor's pay (unless Luthor was interested in a 
detailed report on the contents of Eve's blouse) - was doused an 
instant later as his last thought registered. Hold on.... Clark's lips 
tightened. Was Ralph actually *hitting* on her? He shook his head 
angrily. For all Ralph knew, he was coming on a newly married woman, 
barely out of the wedding ceremony, en route to her honeymoon, and 
with her brand new husband just yards away. 

"Unbelievable..."

"Well, yes it is." Perry's soft agreement made him start, making him 
aware for the first time that he'd growled out the word aloud. "But, 
you know, I've seen a lot of weird things over the years and as for 
that high-riding son of a carpetbagging - "

"Huh?" Clark turned his head to view his editor's thoughtful face. 
"Oh. Luthor," he said, catching on.

Perry gave him a sober look and then retreated away from the window 
to settle himself on the edge of his desk. "I guess what I'm trying to 
say, son, is - " He spread his hands wide in helpless offering. "What 
do you need me to do?"

Despite his grim mood, Clark smiled a little. Funny how Perry's no 
nonsense approach to a crisis and the use of that familiar, fatherly 
tone could lighten his mood, no matter what. Suddenly not everything 
in the world seemed to have been knocked askew.

Just his life.

The smile faded. 

"Thanks, Perry," he said. He took a small breath, ordering his 
thoughts.

"Eve and I are going to Hawaii." He ignored the upward twitch of 
Perry's brow and went on quickly, "It's what Luthor expects me to do. 
I can't let him think I've figured it out. He'll be watching. So, 
we'll...go to Hawaii. Give him the honeymooners he's looking for, that 
he expects to see." His face tightened painfully with the words, but 
he continued, "I need time, Perry. Time to find her. Time to beat 
Luthor. I need to play for time, that's all, it's not real, it's not - "

He stopped abruptly, realizing how much his words and tone had 
become a plea for understanding, an apology for the betrayal of Lois 
his plans were, a denial. His eyes met those of his friend.

"It's okay, son," Perry said softly. 

Clark swallowed and then nodded. "I need someone to keep an eye out 
for me here, Perry," he said quietly. "I've asked Superman to help 
out. He'll search the city for Lois, he'll tear it apart with his bare 
hands if need be...but I could do with someone to keep a sharp eye 
out for anything suspicious happening here while I'm gone."

"Sure. I've got every last one of those slackers out there out on the 
streets already," Perry told him. "Luthor's escape from prison was a 
hot story to start with," he offered, almost apologetically, as though 
regretting the fact that normal business could get in the way of 
personal grief. "If there's a gnat breathing out there that knows 
Luthor's name they'll find it."

"Good. Thanks. I'll get Superman to check in with you and I'll phone 
you when I can. And one other thing." Clark hesitated. "I don't want 
to tip Luthor off to how his plan has failed just yet, but later - if 
things go as I plan them to - I might need you to... start processing to 
have my marriage to...to Lois annulled. I'll provide the proof that's 
needed to show that the ceremony was void later, but if you can start 
filing papers for appeal - "  

"If you need me to I'll get right on it," Perry interrupted him, quietly. 
"Just say the word." He got to his feet, put out a hand and laid it on 
the younger man's shoulder, squeezing gentle reassurance into the 
tense muscles beneath his fingers. "We'll get this fixed, Clark. You'll 
see."

Clark nodded. "I'll call you. If I need you to...to do that." His eyes fell 
on the other person in the room.

"Jimmy..." He frowned. "Jimmy!"

The researcher started with the harshly raised voice and turned 
from where he'd been staring through the window.

"Sorry, C.K., it's...are you sure she - "

"I'm sure."

"Oh." Jimmy looked abashed. "It's just she looks awful like Lois."

"Yeah." Clark followed his gaze out into the newsroom. "Yeah, she 
does," he agreed softly. He brought his attention back to the younger 
man before Jimmy's captivated attention could drift again.  "Jimmy, 
I need you to do some computer work for me." Clark glanced at Perry 
before adding, "Lois might...Lois *will* be trying to let me know where 
she is. If it's at all humanly possible. I need you to go looking for a 
sign that she's out there. But be discreet. I don't want to ring any 
alarm bells in Luthor's hideout that someone's becoming too 
interested in his activities."

"What am I looking for?"

"I don't know. Anything unusual...anything you think looks suspicious. 
Luthor's out there somewhere. He can't have vanished entirely into 
thin air. Just...just do your best, Jimmy," Clark continued as he saw 
the doubtful look cloud over his friend's expression. "Please."

"Sure thing, C.K. I'll get right on it."

Clark watched Jimmy go, knowing that his friend was only humoring 
him. Looking back into Perry's concerned face he could see the same 
thoughts flicker there too. They both thought that he was clutching 
at straws, avoiding the inevitable, trying to stave off logic. Maybe he 
was. But he wasn't about to give up on Lois. Not by a long shot. If she 
was...okay...if she wasn't...hurt or...or...

'Or' didn't bear thinking about. It was a possibility that was so alien 
to him that he couldn't even contemplate it.

If she was okay and able to, she'd be sending him some sign. Some 
clue to her whereabouts.

He knew it.

She was smart. 

And luck was generally on her side.

He had to hold on to that.

And hope.

Hope was the only thing driving him now.

His gaze drifted back to the newsroom. He frowned. Ralph was 
crowding Eve now, getting entirely too up close and personal for Clark 
to ignore. He was suddenly aware that the couple was attracting 
curious attention from some of the staffers around. Probably 
wondering why Lois hadn't beaten the creep to a pulp by now. 

He glanced at Eve with the thought and realized that she wasn't just 
uncomfortable with Ralph's behavior - he was scaring her. He caught 
her panicked look as she glanced in his direction and he swore silently.

He turned sharply around, interrupting the editor in mid-word as 
Perry started in on another round of reassurance.
 
"Uh, yeah, thanks Perry. Um, we have to get going. We'll miss our 
plane." He gave his friend a tightly bitter smile. "Time to put on the 
show. I hope it was worth the price of entry Luthor paid. I'll check in 
with you as often as I can."

Perry shook his hand somberly. "I'll be waiting. You be careful, son, 
you hear?" he added quietly. "And, Clark? Bring her back to us. Bring 
Lois back home."

Clark nodded and hurried out of the door, advancing on Lois' desk 
with a darkening expression.

"Ralph...back off."

Ralph glanced at him with a look of feigned innocence. "Hey, I was 
just - " 

"I know what you were just. And I'm *telling* you to just back off."

"Geez, what got up your - "

The sharp ping was overly loud in the suddenly charged air. It took 
the attention of both reporters, breaking the frisson of antagonism 
that had surged up between them, like the popping of a balloon. Both 
men turned their heads in the direction of the elevator as its doors 
opened and disgorged a huddle of reporters, loud and boisterous as 
they returned clutching notebooks and discussing details of the 
stories they'd just chased down.

Clark's heart sank as the unexpected presence of the newlyweds in 
the newsroom was noted. His colleagues' natural exuberance was 
instantly replaced by a chorus of whoops and hollers. Clark barely 
managed to suppress a wince, anticipating the round of teasing 
innuendo that tradition decreed was a must when greeting anyone 
who'd been married for less than six months.

His colleagues seemed to think tradition a good thing.

"Geez, Kent, just can't tear yourself away from the place, huh?"

The laughing accusation came from Myerson and was taken up by the 
others in the small group as they trooped down the stairs, grinning as 
they encircled their prey.

"Well, least Lois won't be a news widow. Right, Lois?"

"Just so long as they don't start the honeymoon before they leave."

"Are you kidding? They've barely made it out the door before now. 
What makes you think they'll make it now they've got rings on their 
fingers?"

"Bet that desk could tell a few wild tales. Hey, Lois, care to share a 
few?"

"Hey, Clark! Lois! Since you're here, how about giving us a Charles and 
Di balcony moment?"

"Hey, yeah - let's see a kiss from the happy couple!

The demand was taken up among the group as, with laughter, they 
urged the newlyweds into performing. It became a chant.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" 

"Hey, hey! What is this - a newspaper or a Superbowl cheerleading 
parade?!"

Perry's scowling figure appeared in the doorway of his office just as 
Clark was going under for the third time, slightly dampening the 
exuberance of the group as they gave him half-guilty glances. Clark 
threw the editor a grateful look, knowing that Perry would probably 
have been less inclined to play the party-pooper had things been as 
they seemed with himself and Lois. Had things been...normal. Heck, 
Perry would no doubt have got in a few zingers himself already. 

As it was, Perry glared at the hapless reporters crowding around the 
desk. "Unless bluebirds and happiness just stopped the clock on the 
real world," he told them forbiddingly, "I think you all got deadlines 
you need to be thinking about meeting." Then, for form, he added, 
less grimly and with a smile that looked just a little forced to Clark, 
"Let's just leave these two lovebirds alone, okay? Clark, Lois, you got 
a plane to catch don't you? Stop distracting these slackers and go 
soak up the sun."

With more grins and sly glances the group dispersed, a few last ribald 
jokes floating in their wake. But they went. Clark slumped a little and 
then transferred his gaze to Ralph. He lifted a brow.

"Ah...okay..." Ralph said. He hooked a thumb in a vague direction, 
south by southwest. "I think I heard my phone, I'll just - " 

Clark glowered at his back as Ralph scuttled off, before he turned 
back to Eve. He stopped, confused, as she flinched away from the 
hand he'd automatically reached out to take her arm. The fear that 
flickered on her face made him pause. For a moment, that expression 
provoking a linking memory, he caught, deep in the panicked glaze of 
her eyes, a reflection of himself to match the one he'd viewed in the 
window of his apartment earlier that day. Angry. Cold. Threatening. 
He shook it off. What did she expect? Affection?

<It's what *they* expect, even if she doesn't.> A small cautionary 
voice reminded him that the newsroom was no longer empty. That his 
small period of respite was gone. <And there's no need to frighten 
her, is there? Scared, she's going to be useless.>

Recognizing the wisdom in that, he studiously smoothed out his 
expression as he continued his interrupted motion to take her by the 
elbow in a firm but gentle grip. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly. 
"Ready to go?"

She pulled back a little, untrusting of his motives, it seemed. To his 
horror, there were tears starting in her eyes. He couldn't have her 
crying now. Not here. He glanced around him, a little wildly, and then 
hastily dragged her close against him. He closed his eyes and bit down 
hard into his lip as her perfume rose up around him and the softness 
of her curves melded themselves to his in oh so familiar ways that 
made him almost forget... 

He let her go abruptly, disentangling himself and stepping back a 
little to ease the distance between them, knowing his face was pale 
and his eyes too grim, but not knowing how to pretend any more. How 
had he ever imagined this would be easy? Simple playacting? 
Pretence? 

He floundered, aware that all of his plans were unraveling fast, 
watching his last chance come crashing down in front of him. And 
helpless to stop it. He couldn't seem to move, couldn't seem to speak. 
His heart was thundering in his chest and his breathing was laboring 
in his ears. <Lois,> he thought, her name echoing over and over in his 
head. "Lois..."

She glanced up at him quickly and then dropped her gaze. "You're 
not...mad at me? It wasn't my fault, really it wasn't...whatever it 
was...I don't know why...you're not are you? Mad at me I mean? 
Because - "

Oh, this was just great. Her voice had begun to rise in panic and her 
entire attitude was attracting attention from the staffers nearby. 
Clark forced a smile and put up a hand to rest at her cheek, stilling 
her abruptly. His palm tingled unpleasantly with the touch, but he 
kept it there with a strength of will he hadn't known he possessed. 

"Everything's just fine, honey. Let's go." He swept an inviting hand 
out into the air before them. "Hawaii awaits!"

His own voice was a little too loud, he knew, and perhaps the tiniest 
bit brittle. He should have kissed her by now. Wouldn't they expect 
him to kiss her? But he just couldn't bring himself to touch his lips to 
hers. He had to get them out of here. Now. Before he ruined 
everything. He couldn't...this was too much to bear...he just couldn't...

"Let's go," he reiterated in a hasty mutter into her hair as he bent 
his head fractionally towards her. He hoped it might be mistaken for 
a kiss, a brush of his lips across those dark, silken strands. He was 
beyond caring. The need to leave, to be alone, to get away from all 
these prying eyes was pounding in his head like a heartbeat. "Now!"

To his relief she obeyed, letting herself be hustled for the elevator. 
Clark judged it good fortune that no one else was waiting to board 
and that the elevator was empty when it arrived. He let the mental 
wish drift past him that their hasty departure would be chuckled 
over as soon as the elevator doors closed between them and the 
newsroom. Construed as the blushing bride and her impatient groom 
eager to lose themselves in honeymoon bliss. He had hopes that 
anything out of sync in his behavior, in the behavior of both of them, 
would be overlooked as honeymoon madness. He had no idea why 
people seemed to expect newlyweds to act any differently than usual, 
but it was the case that frequently they did. As though it was 
expected that any brains they had had been overwhelmed in a sudden 
rush of hormones. The strangest things were normally excused that 
way. He shook his head. This time he might be glad of that 
incongruity.

As the elevator started its smooth descent, he felt the tense set of 
his shoulders ease. He had to get used to this, he berated himself 
sharply. The biggest test was out there, under the watchful eyes of 
Luthor and his minions. If he couldn't do this - 

<I can! I can do it. I have to do it.>

 - then he might as well give up now and find some other - 

<There is no other way! This is it, okay?> he raged at himself. <This is 
all there is. This is all you have! So deal with it! If you want Lois back, 
if you want to stop her being hurt, you deal with this now!>

He dragged in a ragged breath. He could deal with it. He could. 
Because he had no other choice. And maybe it would get easier. He 
felt his lips twist wryly at the thought. Only problem was he didn't 
want it to get easier. Easier would be a betrayal of Lois. Even a smile 
at her doppelganger would be a betrayal. Much less...

He shook his head slightly, misery settling itself into his chest and 
spreading there like a canker.

"Why are you mad at him?"

The soft, uncertain voice at his side opened his eyes. He frowned. 
"Who?"

"That guy back..." She paused. Watching anyone else, Clark would have 
seen someone searching their memory for an elusive name held on the 
tip of a tongue. But here and now he visualized the tripping over of 
relays inside that skull, a computer running through its database. He 
suppressed a quick shiver. Then she said, "Ralph."

"Ralph?" Caught in the illusion, he'd lost the thread of her initial 
question. "Oh." He shrugged. "Because he - " Clark paused, the absent 
response dying on his lips unsaid as he became more aware of what 
he'd been about to say. 

<Because he scared you.>

The thought made him angry all over again. He had reacted 
instinctively, protectively, just as he would have had Ralph been 
hitting on his wife. Of course if she had truly been Lois he wouldn't 
have had to intervene at all.... He felt his expression settle into a 
dark glower. He felt as though she had tricked him somehow. She 
made him feel protective towards her because the face that fear had 
been stamped on was Lois' face. She was doing it deliberately, he was 
sure of it. It was probably programmed into her. After all, what 
better and easier route could there be to a man's heart than invoking 
the primal urge to protect in him? 

He wouldn't let himself be fooled so easily again. This was a pretence. 
All of it. She wasn't Lois and he wasn't the devoted, loving husband. 
She was the enemy. She was Lois' enemy. And she didn't deserve his 
pity or his protection. 

His emotions churned within him. A confusing mixture of guilt at 
having been suckered into feeling for the thing beside him as he 
would have for his wife and the strength of those feelings tugging at 
him all the same, no matter how hard he tried to still them. When she 
looked at him that way, when she got that scared look in her eyes, he 
couldn't help but feel his heart clench, couldn't help wanting to take 
her in his arms and soothe her hurt. He couldn't bear to see her cry. 
He never could. His gaze hardened. He wouldn't. He wouldn't feel. He 
wouldn't feel anything. He wouldn't give her that much of himself. 

Except...he closed his eyes tightly for a moment, stricken by the 
understanding of exactly what kind of trap had closed around him. 
Except when he needed to. Except when Luthor might be watching.

In the face of that harsh, unwelcome truth, he did all that he could 
do. In the small moments of privacy allowed to him, he closed himself 
off from her, drawing in his awareness, huddling in on himself, 
focusing on his goal. Focusing on how he would get Lois out of danger. 
Focusing on his reunion with the woman he loved. Where she was, how 
he would find her. 

<Lois,> he whispered in his head, as though she might hear him and 
answer, give him a sign, a clue he might use. <Lois...oh, Lois, 
sweetheart...where *are* you?>

Shut tightly within himself, lost in his thoughts of his wife, the 
counterfeit beside him lost form and substance as though it wasn't 
there at all. 

They rode down to the lobby in silence, the width of the elevator 
between them.


~@*****@~


She ran up the wide steps towards the imposing gothic edifice of the 
chapel as it reared over her, holding up the voluminous satin and lace 
skirts as she went. 

The morning was fresh, the sky blue, birds sang distantly in the trees 
behind her. Above, she could hear the hectoring tones of her mother 
as she determinedly ushered her errant husband-to-be back to the 
altar, 'where he should be', to wait for her. 

Clark!

She felt the abrupt kick against her heart that thinking about him 
always produced and the sudden urge to laugh aloud in delight pulled 
at her chest. Delight and wonder that they had finally arrived, here in 
this moment, where they had longed to be, had striven to be, for so 
long. Finally! Finally, they had made it! Despite everything, despite all 
of those who had tried so hard to prevent this day from happening, it 
was here. *They* were here.

Why did they need to worry about tradition or ill luck - or anything at 
all? They had fought hard for this day, fought tooth and nail and 
stood together against everyone who would deny them it. They had 
proved that they made their own way and chose their own destiny, 
that neither fate nor karma could stand against them. Nor tradition 
or ill luck either. Nothing could stop this day now.

Soon, they would be together. Soon, her life, her perfect life, would 
begin. Soon she would be with Clark. Her Clark.

Soon.

"Clark!"

She caught a brief glimpse of him as he was shooed away, his head 
turning at her call, scanning over the heads of the crowd until he 
found her. He gave her a wide grin, his brown eyes twinkling with the 
warmth and love and good humor that was as much a part of him as 
she was. Then he was gone, drawn into the darkness of the nave by 
the people surrounding him, and the heavy doors slammed closed 
between them. 

Disappointed, Lois dropped the hand she had stretched out towards 
him as though in a plea for his return. Left alone, in the gloom of the 
narthex, she was dismayed by the sudden chill that crawled up her 
spine and fastened itself like a leech to the nape of her neck, causing 
the short hairs there to rise.

Alone.

Was she alone?

She hoped she was alone.

Somehow, all at once, the thought that she might not be made her 
shiver more than the idea that she was. Better to be alone than to 
have something - someone - crouching in the darkness beside her. 
Waiting to pounce. Waiting to...

She blinked, drawn by a flash of red at the corner of her eye, which 
cut the strange, rising panic in the stream of thought in two and left 
it behind. Curiously, and somewhat incongruously, someone had 
sprayed a large red heart across the face of the oak doors leading 
into the vestry. Within the heart's boundaries her initials lay, linked 
with Clark's. L and C. As she puzzled over this strange vandalism, the 
paint of the heart and its letters began to melt and run, thick rivulets 
like blood began to slip down the wood, spreading in a black pool at 
the base of the doors. In consternation, Lois stepped back hastily, 
lest her white shoes be soiled. 

On the doors now, burnt black into the wood and destroying the 
previous romantic image, was a large crest. It seemed familiar, but.... 
A small ripple of dread bubbled up in her thoughts, but somehow she 
couldn't place the emblem or why it would disturb her so with its 
stylized motif. Those same letters: L...and C. But the context wasn't 
the same. She understood that, even if she couldn't figure out why. 
Or why those letters, far from reassuring her, far from filling her 
head with thoughts of Clark, of how she loved him - as the other had 
- brought a sense of approaching doom instead. 

And fear.

She shook off the strange, dark feelings - it was chilly here in the 
narthex, that was all, out of the sun and into the sudden gloom. She 
was just being silly. What on earth could there be to threaten her 
here? Or fill her with fear?

A soft clearing of a throat whipped her around with a soft, startled 
cry. She relaxed as she recognized the church registrar. He smiled at 
her with the polite reserve of those damned eternally to public 
service. 

"This way, please," he said, ushering her along the narrow corridor. 
"You have to sign your life away."

"What?" Lois said, even as she followed his gesture and started 
towards the dark oak door at the end of the narthex. It was silent as 
a tomb down there. Silent. And just as dank.

"I said you have to sign the register."

"Oh." She shook her head; what was wrong with her today? All of 
these portents and omens in her head. Like some evil bloom cast 
across the day.

She took a deep breath, shedding the unease of the past few 
moments, refusing to let anything spoil this day, this day which had to 
be perfect, and stepped into the room.

Inside there was darkness. Darkness and the thick, cloying smell of 
something chemical and caustic. She was in the dark and there was 
someone holding her. Someone murmuring her name. Someone stroking 
her hair. Someone crooning softly in her ear.

"Lois, my darling...I knew we'd be together. Always. Forever and 
always. Together. They couldn't keep us apart. No one will keep us 
apart."

"No..." she whispered and although she tried to say the words out 
loud they seemed to crawl sluggishly in her mouth and be smothered 
there, thick and foul tasting. "No...Clark....don't let him keep us 
apart..."

<It's over, Lois...> Clark's voice said mournfully in her head. <Lex isn't 
in prison. It's over...>

No!

<They'll never keep us apart...>

She whirled and ran...through the twisting, confusing maze of 
corridors that had suddenly sprung up behind her. "Clark..." she 
sobbed as she rushed headlong through dark, paneled hallways and 
through one set of doors after the next, none of which opened onto 
anything familiar. "Clark...oh, Clark..."

<Lois...sweetheart....>

<Lois...where are you...?>

"Here. I'm here. Clark! Clark, wait for me! Don't go! Clark, please, 
don't - "

But the voice in her head had faded and was gone in another instant 
and with it the sense of despair and heartsick fear that had 
accompanied it like a miasma of foreboding. Its sudden absence was 
like a physical pain in her chest, as though a part of her had been 
ripped away, the cold, barren emptiness left behind filling her like a 
black tide, suffocating.

Her sobs turned wild now, she pushed her way through the closed 
doors that reared up ahead of her, and relief burst over her like a 
cleansing wave as she found herself running through the nave. The 
seated guests didn't seem to notice the violence of her abrupt 
arrival, no one turned to watch her as she rushed down the aisle, no 
startled, disconcerted whispers broke the silence. 

The aisle. It seemed to stretch to infinity before her. Lois slowed as 
she reached its end, managing her headlong rush for the altar to a 
sedate and more seemly walk. Where was her father? Wasn't there 
supposed to be someone at her side? Weren't there supposed to be 
people she loved here to help her? Why was she being left to face 
this alone?

<You're not alone, Lois....>

Fear that that was true pierced her heart and a sharp sob escaped 
her as it tightened in her chest, dizzying her.

Around her, her surroundings flickered and warped, the gothic 
presumptions of the chapel, with its pews and wooden altar, melting 
into a gray-walled ballroom, with chairs arranged in tidy rows and a 
dais on which the clergyman stood waiting for her arrival. 

<The Archbishop?>

<The Pope had a prior engagement.>

No, no it wasn't the Archbishop. Or the Pope. That would be silly. 
How could they afford the Archbishop? Why would they want such 
ostentation besides? Wasn't it...Perry?...who was about to marry 
them? No, not Perry either. Why would Perry be marrying her and 
Clark? That made no sense. They'd booked a minister. She 
remembered them booking a --  

Just as her dizziness became almost unbearable, confusion spreading 
its darkness over her and smothering her, everything steadied and 
she was standing at the altar, with the tall, dark-haired man of her 
dreams at her side. 

Lois gasped out a small sob of relief. For a moment there she'd 
thought....

She steadied herself. She looked at the minister and felt Clark reach 
out for her, wrapping his fingers around her own. Her grip tightened 
on his, and she glanced down at the strong, tanned hand engulfing 
hers. Her breath caught as her gaze fell on the ring glinting in the 
darkness. A familiar ring with its linked gold L's shining dazzlingly 
bright. Slowly, transfixed with the horror of it, with the betrayal, 
she lifted her eyes to the face of her groom and saw...

Dark eyes, bright with victory, above a dazzling smile that seemed 
somehow cold.

"You're mine, Lois. You were always mine." His hand lifted, his smile 
broadening, gold glinting in the gloom against the fingers that softly 
touched her cheek. "Do you know how much - "

"- how much I love you?" Clark said softly as he stepped over the 
threshold of his apartment door. His voice was suddenly tight, as 
though the exertion had left him breathless, his words emerging in a 
husky murmur. She knew how little exertion left him breathless. 
There must, she thought, in a small, wicked moment of self-
congratulation and awareness of her power over him, be some other 
reason why he sounded so short of breath right then.

She giggled, and tightened the clasp of her arms around his neck, 
pressing her body closer against him, where he held her to his chest, 
in an embrace that was strong and steady and secure. She had never 
thought of herself as traditional, but there were some traditions 
that seemed to be worth keeping up with. She could feel him 
breathing hard against her, and her giggles subsided all at once. She 
could feel his heart too, beating roughly and in tune with her own. Her 
own breath caught as she looked up into his face, and her heart 
soared with an intensity of emotion, of love and desire and a deep 
longing that resonated through her like a tide. 

His eyes were suddenly serious, caught in the moment of stillness as 
she was and the breathless laughter and giggling of a few moments 
before, as he'd scooped her up into his arms to carry his new bride 
across the threshold, was abruptly lost. Lost in the depths of 
something intense and wondering that glowed in the dark heat of his 
eyes. She knew he saw a reflection of those emotions in her own gaze 
too. 

A little dizzied, disorientated and confused - the intensity of what 
surged between them too much to be borne for long - she smiled. "As 
much as I love...chocolate ice cream?" she said flippantly.

"I mean it," he said, setting her down carefully on her feet. "I love 
you so much, Lois...so much I can't - " He shook his head and she put 
up a hand to his cheek and leaned in close to press her lips to his. 

"I know," she whispered. "I know." And then, her smile soft and her 
eyes bright on his, "I love you too, Clark Kent. I love you more than I 
thought I could ever love anyone."

He smiled at her, and a spark ignited in those deep brown eyes. A 
spark of heat and warmth. Desire. He renewed their kiss and in a 
moment she too was swept away with longing, lost in the scent and 
feel of him, of the way his hands moved in soft caresses over her 
skin, the taste of his lips, sweet with the wine of the wedding 
dinner....

His breath quickened as he crowded her up gently against the wall 
beside the door, hands fumbling with the pearl buttons of her 
wedding gown, its skirts rustling seductively as his body crushed the 
silk and lace panels. His lips trailed a rash of kisses across her cheek 
and then her throat, following the neckline of the gown and then 
dipping down to where his eager fingers had drawn back the lace and 
found the softly silken flesh beneath. 

Her hands clenched in his hair, luxuriating in the flashes of warm 
excitement that his caresses were stirring in her, and in the touch of 
those soft, thick strands against her fingers. 

"Lois..." His murmur of her name was a litany of homage. She smiled 
and pulled his head up to find his lips again. 

"Oh, Clark...Clark..."

He drew back, a smile quirking on his face, wonder in the soft brown 
eyes as they gazed at her. His hand on her cheek was soft, almost 
tentative. "I want to make this last," he whispered. "We have all the 
time in the world...."

She nodded. Her hand stroked through the thick darkness of his hair 
as he buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder, her sigh of 
pleasure mingling with his murmured endearments as he drew a spell 
of kisses across her throat. Her hand traced the strong, handsome 
planes of his face as he swept her up into his arms again and made for 
the bed.

He pulled her close and into his embrace. She whimpered softly and 
then buried her face in the shelter of his shoulder. Her hands 
clenched in the curls of his hair, her fingers trembled as they 
caressed the harsh, somewhat hawkish features raised above her....

Her lover...

Lex smiled tenderly down at her. And his eyes were dark and cold and 
glittering with triumph. "You see," he whispered. "It's over, Lois. It's 
all over...you're mine now... The only thing we have to do today is get 
married."

She screamed. Endlessly and futilely against the hand choking her 
cries of terror in her throat....

The room began to recede as she was pulled away, fading as though 
retreating down the long, dark length of a tunnel...and then it was lost 
in the darkness. She was suddenly free, the arms that had pinned her 
tight gone, the quiet murmur of his voice gone...and she stood alone in 
a pit of blackness, disorientated. 

She turned around...

...and found herself standing in front of the mirror again. No, not the 
mirror. Another mirror. This one was large, a full length mirror in an 
ornate brass frame. Almost familiar. As though it came out of 
another time and if she only thought hard enough she might figure 
out where....

She studied the reflection of herself that was trapped behind the 
glass. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, gowned in a concoction of thick 
lace. 

"Lois Lane..." she whispered to the woman in the glass.

"Lois...Luthor..."

No. That one wasn't right.

"Lois Lane...Kent..."

Yes, that was it. Lois Lane Kent. She was going to marry Clark. Not 
Lex. Lex was in prison.

Wasn't he?

<Is he?>

She frowned with the disquieting thought. She smoothed absent 
hands across the neckline of the expensive wedding dress, her eyes 
fixed on the image of her which followed her motions in perfect 
synchronicity. And then the motions of her fingers froze. 

Startled, she looked down at herself, confirming what her fingers 
had encountered, and then quickly back into the mirror. Behind its 
iced surface, her reflection stood, clad in a gown that was low-cut and 
scoop-necked. A dress of lace, thickly woven and opulent. She 
dropped her gaze again...to where a dress more exquisitely fashioned 
graced her slim figure. With its high, round neck and transparent 
voile inset that led down to a fine, scalloped lace bodice.  

Slowly, she stretched out an arm, examining the same voile and lace 
mix on its sleeve, and then, wonderingly, fearfully, she raised her 
gaze to the mirror again.

In its iced surface her reflection stood with arm outstretched, aping 
her movements as she turned it this way and that. A reflection whose 
arms were sheathed in thick lace. No voile. No transparency to bodice 
and sleeves. 

Heart pounding, Lois looked back into the face of the woman standing 
before her. The woman who wore a wedding dress which did not 
match her own. 

And with a sudden smile, mocking and brittle, her reflection stepped 
clear of the mirror and stood before her. The apparition caught hold 
of her, her hands brutally pinching and bruising, and hissed into her 
face, "You can't marry Clark, Lois. He's mine now...."

Horrified, Lois broke clear, stepping back, away from the woman who 
laughed at her...

...the woman who looked like her...

Who smiled.

And mocked her.

"He's all mine. And you...belong to Lex. It's perfect. Don't you see 
that?"

Lois woke with a jolt.

Eyes wide, she shuddered, the shriek that had echoed in the stifling, 
claustrophobic air of her dreams turning into a startled gasp for 
oxygen as it broke into reality. 

For a moment she sat there, trembling amid the sweat-soaked, 
rumpled sheets of her bed, her heart hammering a tattoo of panic 
against her breast. Then she slumped back against the pillows, 
fighting to shake off the images that had followed her up out of 
sleep and were still pulsing red behind the lids of her eyes. 

Still a little groggy and befuddled, she groaned, staring blankly at the 
familiar ceiling and letting her thoughts gather into some kind of 
order. Letting the sweat that coated her cool against her skin and 
the frenzied drumming of her heart cool with it. The dream stayed 
with her, disturbingly intact. She rubbed a hand across her face and 
then through her hair, damp against her skull. God, she thought. That 
had been a bad one.

She turned her head and glanced at the clock; its glowing figures 
read 6:22. She hit the radio button, giving herself another few 
moments to gather herself and leave the nightmare behind where it 
belonged.

"...on this bright and sunny February 11th. And, boy, do we have a fun 
day in store for you! Got plans for that special Valentine's Day coming 
up? Well, stick around and hear what Trisha has lined up for you. 
She's been shopping for some gifts your soul mate's gonna love! 
That's coming up later, folks, but now - "

February Eleventh!

Lois sat up abruptly, the day suddenly snapping back into sharpness as 
she shot a second, more frantic glance at the clock's digital display. 
6:22! She was getting married today, she was getting married to 
Clark today, and she was just lying here...lazing around and wallowing 
over some stupid dream?

Stricken, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and then 
clutched at the mattress as a surge of dizziness swept over her, 
blackening the edge of her vision for a moment.

"Whoa...." she protested in a startled murmur as the nausea faded. 
She had a thick, unpleasant taste in the back of her throat and her 
tongue felt coated with fuzz. "What were you drinking last night?"

She couldn't remember. Wine. She had a vague memory of wine. Clark 
and she drinking wine. Wine and...pizza? She recalled a pre-wedding 
dinner for two. Pizza. Ugh. She'd never known it linger so heavily in 
the throat before now.

She shook her head and groaned again as that proved to be a big 
mistake. "Clark Kent, I'm going to kill you," she moaned as she levered 
herself upright to stand. "How could you let me get that drunk the 
night before my wedding?"

She didn't remember drinking that much though. Sighing, one hand 
pressed against her faintly throbbing temple, she headed for the 
bathroom, still dazed.

It was when she was squeezing paste onto the toothbrush that the 
dream returned to insinuate itself into her thoughts, ambushing her 
out of nowhere in the middle of her idle, drowsing ascent into the 
day. Unlike most dreams...

<...nightmare. It was a nightmare, not a dream...>

...nightmares...she had had, it had remained with her, clear in all its 
detail. The acknowledgement of that caused a brief, reflexive shiver 
to roll through her. She frowned.

"Goose walked over my grave..." she told her reflection and then 
jammed the brush into her mouth and began to rid herself of the foul 
taste still lingering on her tongue with vigorous motions.

She supposed, she mused as she stared distantly at her reflection, it 
was only natural she'd have nightmares about Lex. It was all part of 
what had been nagging at her for the last few days. Clark would laugh 
at her again if he knew. He might even kiss her again. Like he had the 
other evening....

Lois smiled and then giggled around a froth of toothpaste. Maybe it 
was worth telling him her fears and concerns if he reacted like that 
every time. He had kissed all those worries right out of her...for a 
time. The memory produced a soft warmth, low down in the pit of her 
stomach and she sighed wistfully, remembering the taste of his lips 
on hers, the excitement that rose up in her chest when he held her in 
his arms and pulled her close and then....

Her smile broadened as she regarded herself with amusement. There 
was no time to be thinking of kisses now, she admonished her 
reflection, with a chiding wave of the toothbrush at the glass. That 
was for later. She hugged the thought of later to her for a brief 
moment, like a gift wrapped up and put aside for after, and then 
reluctantly left it behind. She didn't need distractions now. 

What she needed was to get into the shower and get this day under 
way. Today she would marry Clark. Today she would marry the most 
devastatingly handsome, kind, generous...wonderful...man in the world. 
A super man. A gentle man. In every sense of the word. Nothing was 
going to spoil this day, she warned her reflection firmly. Not stupid 
pranks, not dead flowers and crushed wedding cake, not even a 
nightmare....

<...that had seemed so...*real*....>

...that couldn't touch her now she was awake. Today was the start of a 
new life, a life with Clark...her Clark...and nothing could touch that. 
Nothing could ruin that.

Besides, Clark had reassured her about Lex. Hadn't he? Lex couldn't 
spoil anything for them. Not from a prison cell. 

<It's over...Lex is in prison.  And he's going to stay there until he's 
nine hundred and eighty-three.  The only thing we have to do today is 
get married...>

Lois paused. *When* had Clark told her that? She seemed to have 
some blurred memory of sitting on the steps of Wylie Chapel with him 
as he told her not to worry. As he reassured her that Lex couldn't 
harm them any more or sabotage their wedding day as her paranoia 
feared. 

For a moment the image in her head was so clear that she frowned 
over it, confused. Then she shrugged it off. She must have been 
dreaming that too, she decided. In the memory/dream she seemed to 
have her wedding dress slung over one shoulder in a garment bag. She 
was dressed in pants and shirt and had her hair in pins, still. Well that 
settled it. It had to have been a dream. In all of her imaginings of her 
perfect wedding day, which had for weeks and months encompassed 
her every wish, hope and desire, turning up at the chapel in anything 
but full wedding regalia, with her makeup and hair perfect, her dress 
a dream concoction of lace and satin, the entire ensemble a poster 
image for Bride Magazine, and Clark looking at her with desire and 
admiration in his eyes, had never come into the picture at any point. 

Had to be a dream. A very vivid dream, yes. But still a dream. Dreams 
that were too real, memories that were fuzzier than they ought to be 
- hangovers were the pits. Somewhere among the two there had to be 
a version of reality which made sense. 

What made sense was....it was the morning of her wedding. February 
Eleventh. 6.47 a.m. She hadn't yet got to the chapel part. So she 
couldn't have a memory of it, could she? 

That thought hit her like a surge of cold water in the face as she 
realized that she was dawdling again. She couldn't dawdle. Her 
mother and Cindy would be here soon. Too soon! She picked up the 
wristwatch on the shelf above the basin and grimaced. She had less 
than an hour to shower and have breakfast before the madness 
began. She hastily finished brushing her teeth and turned on the 
shower.

Despite the butterflies of rising excitement and anticipation that 
were fluttering in her stomach, she lingered over her ablutions, 
luxuriating in the warm flow of water caressing her body and the 
soothing motions of the loofah against the foam-slick contours of her 
skin. When she emerged from the shower stall she felt refreshed. 
The concerns and fears that had plagued her and the shreds of her 
nightmare finally lost to a new sense of wellbeing and optimism. 

In her toweling robe and still rubbing furiously at her damp hair, she 
headed for the kitchen and some restorative coffee while she still 
had time to savor it, and some time alone, in contented silence. 
Something she was absolutely sure was going to be at a premium over 
the next twelve hours.

With mug in hand and the first sips of a beverage strong enough to 
melt steel spreading its welcome heat through her, she wandered 
over to the window and pulled back the drapes.

The day seemed to be in concert with her new mood, as a shaft of 
bright, early morning sun cascaded into the room. She smiled in 
appreciation of the bright blue, picture postcard sky and fluffy white 
clouds chasing the sun, wanting to savor every single moment of this 
day. This perfect day. 

<You belong to Lex. It's perfect.>

She frowned and then shook off the spoiling thought. She threw the 
window wide and drew in a lungful of the crisp, morning air. 

A honk of a horn drew her attention and she glanced down at the 
street below her and the flurry of early morning activity. All those 
people, scurrying along, none of them having any idea of how 
important this day was. The day that Superman married. The day that 
*Lois Lane* got married. She chuckled, amused with the fleeting 
arrogance that had drifted into her musing. She was sure history 
would be far more interested in the wedding plans of a superhero 
than a national - international - Kerth winning reporter. Even if they 
*were* talking about one of the best reporters around. She tilted her 
head back, closing her eyes as she briefly worshipped the warmth of 
the sun on her face...

<The warmth of his mouth against her skin...Lex's lips against her 
own...>

She opened her eyes with a start as a flurry of unsettling images 
swarmed up behind her closed lids. Absently, she set her mug down on 
the windowsill. Irritated now with the way her nightmare clung, 
spoiling the most precious of moments, she shook her head, refusing 
to let that disturbing tint to her thoughts, that seemed determined 
to dampen her mood and the day, get to her. She turned sharply 
away, already letting herself be swept into a welter of plans and 
notions for the day ahead, all the myriad, one thousand and one things 
she had to attend to before her Mom arrived to help...hinder...her.

No, help, she decided charitably. She was sure that she could cope 
with - 

She paused as something flickered at the edge of her eye. Puzzled, 
she turned back, searching for that tiny...something...that had drawn 
her. That...what? A flash of light...surely a glint of sun on a window or 
the windshield of....

She grew very still. Now that her attention was focused on it she 
could see - suddenly and with terrifying clarity - that something was 
wrong about the view beyond her window. If she stared long enough, 
she could see the smallest flicker around the edges of the sky...

<Sun-haze, that's all....>

But it wasn't. She knew it wasn't.

<Maybe it's smog. You know in a city like this - >

She stilled the thought abruptly. The sudden tightness in her 
stomach and the increased pounding of her heart knew that it wasn't 
anything like that. Not smog. Or the haze of an unseasonably balmy 
day. A film of cold sweat suddenly sprang up on her skin, prickling. 
The hairs at the nape of her neck rose. 

A red van cruised along the street below her. Hadn't it passed by 
just a few moments earlier? 

<Stop this, Lois,> she told herself sharply. <You're imagining things. 
You're letting that silly nightmare get to you. You're...>

<...not in your apartment. This isn't your apartment.>

A soft whine built itself up in her throat as she continued to watch 
the life pass by on the street. A sudden chill skittered through her 
body as she realized that what she was looking at wasn't real. It was 
nothing more than some kind of...special effect. A hologram? Some 
kind of 3-D projection?

<...a version of reality...>

A virtual reality world?

X.

Jaxon.

No...not quite right. Somehow she knew that. This wasn't the work of 
Luthor's deranged bastard son. What was around her was 
real....except for that glorious sunny view beyond her window.

Fear tasted slick in her throat - fear and dawning realization, as the 
knowledge of what was real here, of what had happened to her, began 
to seep its way into her head and become reality too, and she turned 
blindly for the French doors leading onto the fire escape. The 
familiar view she saw every day greeted her. This new knowledge 
within her, that it was nothing more than a sham, a fake, an optical 
illusion designed to fool her, tightened her heart, hurting in her 
chest, clogging up her throat, stilling the whimper that tried to 
escape her.

An illusion so perfectly fashioned, so cunningly crafted, that even up 
close, even now that she had seen through its glamour, it still tugged 
against her mind, insisting that it was real. 

Expensive. State of the art. Who could afford to craft such a thing? 
And for what purpose? Who could have the means to...?

...who had had the means to before? In the past? Who had shown her 
this facsimile then? Had offered it to her as a safe haven? Who 
had.... Who...?

Refusing to let the answers to her questions surface, afraid to learn 
and accept as real what she already knew, she pushed at the doors, 
tentatively at first, then harder and more furiously as they refused 
to give. Sobbing, she pounded on them, pushing the flat of her palms 
against the glass panels and using all of her strength to force them 
open, to no avail.

Wildly, she looked around her and then ran to pick up a small, heavy 
statue on the bookcase. Turning, she hurled it at the glass doors. It 
struck the upper glass panel and bounced harmlessly back into the 
room. Lois stared at the doors that weren't doors for a moment and 
then headed for the front door at a walk that was steady only by a 
strength of will she hadn't known she possessed. The urge to run, to 
scrabble at the door until her fingers bled, to scream for help and aid 
or just plain scream until her throat was raw, clawed at the back of 
her skull like a caged animal trying to escape.

Standing before the door - so innocent and familiar - she hesitated. 
Her fists clenched at her sides, her breath had begun to labor as she 
fought down rising panic. She knew that she was delaying the 
inevitable, the moment when she would be forced to accept that this 
door too led nowhere, would not open for her...that she was trapped in 
a simulacrum of her apartment, a prisoner. 

That moment when the hope that this was a nightmare from which 
she could wake, the hope that she might escape, would be dashed, 
leaving her with the sour taste of her confinement and defeat slick in 
her throat.

Trembling, she reached out and put her hand around the door handle. 
Her fingers were slick with sweat, she could feel it trickle, cold, down 
the length of her spine, pooling in the hollow of her back, sticking her 
sleep-shirt to her back. She tightened her grip and tugged. 

Hardly to her surprise now, nothing happened. The door was either 
locked or...

...or if she managed to open it, what would she see? A wall of brick? A 
blank square? A hologrammatic representation of the corridor she 
walked down every day of her life? 

Despair welled up within her. She leaned against the door, closing her 
eyes, fighting back the panic and tears that threatened to overwhelm 
her. Useless. She couldn't afford to give in to them. She had to think. 
Think, dammit! Think of a way out of here. Think of a way to - 

"Lois, my darling. At last. I thought you might never wake."

She whipped around, hands coming up defensively before her.

She was alone in the room.

"Lex?" she whispered, peering around as though he might be skulking 
in one of the corners.

"I'll be right with you, my sweet. I'm sure you've been looking 
forward to our reunion as much as I have. Someone will be there to 
escort you to me soon. Be patient!"

"Lex?" she said again, astonishment flooding through her. No. No, this 
couldn't be happening. This was a dream. A nightmare. Lex was in 
prison. He couldn't have...she couldn't be... 

She jolted free of the door supporting her, fists clenching at her 
sides as she stepped into the center of the empty room. "Lex!" she 
screamed. "What did you do?"

Silence greeted the wildly thrown question. Lois turned in a slow 
circle, trying in vain to find the surveillance cameras that were surely 
a part of this...this stage set. But they were cleverly concealed, no 
sign of them.

"Lex!" she yelled furiously to the empty air above her. "Lex!"

Only the silence, thick and heavy with menace, answered her.

And when she screamed, when that final realization of the desperate 
situation she was in came crashing down upon her, when she screamed 
with every fiber of fear and anger that was in her, calling for a 
superhero to help her, rescue her...that silence closed in deep and 
dark as a shroud.

And once more there was no answer.


~@*****@~


Clark shifted on the uncomfortable airline seat with a low sigh, 
before taking a surreptitious glance to his right where Eve was 
engrossed in her magazine. 

For a moment his eyes lingered on the bowed head; the thick 
darkness of her hair caught the sheen from the lights overhead, 
casting shadows and highlights. His gaze traced the slim curve of her 
throat, the delicate form of an ear, the patch of skin 
just...there...where he knew he would find sweet, warm softness and 
where the touch of his lips would draw a shiver of anticipation in that 
silken flesh and a low, enticing cry of welcome and pleasure from...

He brought himself back with a jolt and felt the softly affectionate 
smile that had somehow formed itself on his face freeze and fade as 
though it had been violently slapped from him. He realized with a 
twist of dismay that he had half-raised a hand in contemplation of 
stroking its back across the throat of the woman sitting beside him. 
Wanting to see the small smile it would provoke. The way she would 
set aside the magazine and lift her eyes to his, desire and love 
reflected deep within their darkness. The sudden spike in her heart-
rate as she tilted her head to rub her cheek against his fingers in 
appreciation for his touch... He watched his outstretched fingers 
retract into a fist and lowered the hand with a small shudder of 
disgust.

The thing sitting beside him seemed oblivious. He closed his eyes and 
turned away, settling back into his seat, feeling the heavy flush of 
guilt and shame - and yet still, like a throbbing beat beneath them, 
twisted desire - flood his cheeks with heat.

He started as something tugged at his sleeve. He opened his eyes and 
stilled the reflexive urge to shrink back as Eve leaned in close to 
whisper, "Will they serve food soon, you think?" Her gaze on him was 
plaintive. "I'm hungry." She straightened, turning her head to glance 
along the aisle, adding, "Maybe they'll have some of those little 
packets of peanuts. Maybe they'll have raisins. You know how much I 
like those peanuts and raisins."

"I know," he agreed softly. 

She looked back and smiled at him. A smile to tear at his heart. "I did 
good, didn't I?" she said, and there was a slight note of challenge in 
her tone, laced heavily with a childish pride.

Clark nodded. Yes, he could give her that. She had done good. "Real 
good," he said. And, oh, it hurt to say it. Hurt to know how well she 
had done. And yet if she hadn't...

His heart had almost frozen entirely when, shortly after their flight 
had taken to the air, one of their fellow passengers moving along the 
aisle had halted abruptly beside them and greeted Eve with a squeal 
of surprised recognition.

An old college acquaintance. Someone from Lois' past who hadn't seen 
breath or hair of her for five whole years...not since Charlie Miller 
ran that pair of silk panties up the flagpole and...gosh, surely it hadn't 
been that long, had it? 

Who'd have thought it? Of all the places, all the times, their reunion 
had to be here. On this plane. With Lois nowhere in sight.

For an instant he had seen everything crumble into dust before him.

And then to his surprise, Eve had been introducing him to Elizabeth - 
Bethy, we used to call her Bethy, and, hey, did you ever marry that 
guy you were stuck on...the one that sat at the back of...Andrew!....you 
didn't!...oh, I'm sorry to hear that...

He had watched in dumbfounded shock and shameful relief as the two 
women had giggled and commiserated like long lost friends - which 
was after all what Bethy Daluseau understood them to be - for almost 
half an hour before Bethy resumed her course for her seat with a 
cheery wave and a promise to call, together with a wink for him and a 
sly exhortation to enjoy their...celebrations.

Eve had had just a trace of smugness on her face as she'd settled 
back in her seat and opened up her magazine. He had almost been able 
to smell triumph wafting from her into the air.

Yes, he had to admit - grudgingly but all the same - she had done 
good. It wasn't until she pulled it off that he realized just how much 
he'd come to believe that she wouldn't be capable of it when the 
chips were down. How much he'd believed she would fail him. But, 
letting the stiffness of his shoulders ease as he relaxed back into his 
own chair, his feelings over her success had been torn, floundering in 
confusion.

Of course he was glad that she hadn't caused disaster. That she'd 
been able to play her role to the hilt and apparently convincingly. That 
was why she was here after all. If he couldn't rely on her for that 
she might as well have been left behind in Metropolis. And he was 
grateful...that she had proven him wrong, that she was apparently 
capable of slipping back into what he'd come to call 'the Lois persona' 
when necessary.

But it had hurt - and badly - to watch her as she'd gone over old 
times with a women she didn't know and whom she had never met. To 
know that this was one more moment she had stolen from his wife. 
There had been times when an idle gesture of her hand as she spoke 
or the lilt of her laughter had made his heart clench and for an 
instant - one terrifying, glorious instant - it had been as though the 
events of the past hours had been nothing more than a bad dream.

Then the moment would pass and reality would hammer him back into 
the ground like a closed fist, leaving him disorientated and alone.

It was almost unbearable. And how easily she pulled on the mask, how 
quickly and entirely she seemed able to shed her natural inclinations, 
how seemingly naturally she took on the mannerisms and personality 
of his wife when it became necessary, chilled him to the bone. 

Contrarily, he was disappointed too. He might need her replacement 
of Lois to be flawless, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Whilst 
relieved and welcoming the fact that disaster had passed them by - 
at least for now - nevertheless he could wish that there had been 
something...some flaw, some imperfection...to alert Bethy Daluseau to 
the fact that what she was talking to was not an old friend but an 
abomination that had stolen her face. Stolen her life. Conspired to 
deliver her into the hands of a sociopath and murderer.

He let out a low breath, knowing that dwelling on those feelings 
wasn't going to help him achieve his aims. Eve had gone back to 
checking the aisle. He forced himself to reach out and touch her 
lightly on the arm, as he offered a conciliatory, "Why don't I - "

The scream came out of nowhere, so hard, so fast, so all 
encompassing, that it hit him in the center of the chest like a blow 
from a spear. So hard, he felt himself slammed back physically into 
his seat, like a weight had suddenly landed on him.

<Help! Help, Superman! Help me!> 

And like a strike of lightning, she was there with him. Within him, 
beside him, her scent strong in his nostrils, her heart merged with his 
own, beating a rough, desperate thunder against his ribs. Her terror 
like a shriek of pain across his nerves, reverberating in his skull so 
that he cried out softly with the agony of it.

<Help me, Superman!>

<Lois!>

He sat bolt upright in his seat. "Lois!"

"Yeah?"

He shook his head fiercely with an absent frown, the voice that 
answered him from the seat to his right a distraction, an unwelcome 
intrusion into the moment. He searched blindly, trying to narrow down 
where that panicked scream had come from, but it was like tracking 
smoke, running through fog, impossible and  - 

She was gone. Like the snuffing out of a candle flame - she was gone. 
Where - ? How had she - ?

"Hey...Earth to Clark...hel...lo..."

He started violently as a slim hand passed sharply in front of his eyes 
and Eve gasped out a high breath as he struck out, reflexive and fast 
as a viper, to grasp her wrist, halting the motion. 

"Don't..." he said softly. The darting out of his hand had been made 
more out of disquiet than anger and there was no heat in the hushed 
warning not to intrude, but there might as well have been. Fear 
flickered briefly in Eve's dark eyes and shivered on her lips as they 
parted in a soft, almost unheard cry. When he released her she 
shrank back into her seat, looking away, into the aisle, and he knew 
that she was fighting back tears.

He regretted that, but he didn't have time to dwell on the mistake. 
Lois... She had been there - for one dizzying, disorientating moment 
she had been there, right here in the plane with him. As tangible, as 
real, as the replica sitting at his side. Her warmth had surrounded 
him like a balm, her essence had touched his soul...and there had been 
so much rage, so much terror, in the sound of her screaming in his 
head...

White-faced, Clark turned his head to stare blindly out of the blue 
sky beyond the window, unseeing as his mind turned inwards, reaching 
out, seeking where that cry for help had gone. But there was nothing. 
Only a silence so bleak, so deep that he could almost believe he'd 
imagined what he'd felt. Except that it had been so vivid. So alive. 

She was alive. 

But she was calling for him, needing him...begging him for help. And 
she had been so scared...

He realized that the plastic arm of the seat was beginning to buckle 
beneath the clenching of his fingers. He eased up a little, tried to 
steady his breathing which had begun to labor in his chest, tears 
hitching there, blocking his throat and searing his heart. 

<Lois!>

He knew that reaching out to her was futile, but nevertheless he 
pushed every bit of mental strength he could find into the cry as he 
sent it out into the void that had once held her so fiercely, so 
strongly in its heart. And now held nothing at all.

<Lois! I'm coming! I'm coming, Lois! Don't give up!>

"Is everything all right, sir?"

He looked up to see the suspicious face of the flight attendant. Over 
in the next aisle a young couple were staring at him. In the next seat 
along an elderly woman too, her face stiff with disapproval. Clark 
frowned in surprise. What now? Couldn't everyone just leave him 
alone? "Everything's fine."

The attendant's gaze shifted. "Ms? Are you okay?"

Suddenly, he understood. Saw how the last few moments had played 
out in the heads of those around him. He stifled a groan. "Yes, she's - 
"

"I was asking her, sir." The attendant spoke a little too briskly and 
Clark wasn't unaware of the censure in her tone. "Ms?"

Eve nodded. And then, as though realizing it wasn't enough, was 
prompted to look up. She smiled brightly. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

The attendant hesitated, then gave an almost imperceptible shrug 
that told all too clearly what she thought of women who didn't stand 
up for themselves. 

Clark stifled a sigh as he went back to his dark study of the sky. Just 
what he needed. He should be out there. Maybe if he was out there 
he could orient on that cry a little better. Maybe if he could do a 
sweep of the immediate area he could find....what? Some psychic 
residue? A glittering trail in the sky that would lead straight to Lois? 
Maybe a glowing neon sign topped with an arrow and a sign saying 
'This way to Lois Lane'. Or - 

<Stop it,> he told himself bleakly. But the mockery of his self-
castigation remained. He was fooling himself, he knew. He didn't know 
what he had heard, or how Lois had managed to contact him, but he 
knew that whatever had connected them had been fleeting. Too 
fleeting to act as a guide.

But...she had been there. For only a moment - one moment and then 
lost again. She was alive. And he was going to find her.

<I'll find you,> he made the promise to her, with no idea if she would 
hear him. <I'll find you, Lois. Trust to that. I'll be there soon. I'm 
coming to help you.>

<I'm coming.>


~@*****@~


As it turned out, what had been behind the facsimile of her 
apartment door was a very familiar stretch of corridor. Not the one 
that she saw each time she stepped outside her home, with its 
stairwell to a Metropolis street and the doors of her neighbors' 
apartments lining its walls. But one which she nevertheless recognized 
instantly.

On the wall opposite her door, an antique side table had stood, a blue 
vase of carefully and decoratively arranged flowers gracing its 
polished surface. Above the table, Lois was pretty sure the large oil 
painting in its gilt frame had been a Cezanne. She was also entirely 
sure that it wasn't a reproduction.

Together with the plain gray walls and thick, pale carpeting that 
muffled the steps, the entire ambiance was one of five star hotel 
chic. Depressing and sterile in a vaguely comforting and comfortable 
way.

The designer's attempts to introduce an air of stripped-down-to-the-
bare-essentials, impersonal luxury was spoiled completely, however, 
by the addition of what else had awaited her when the door had been 
thrust abruptly open. In the form of the two somewhat large men in 
army fatigues, one of whom had just unlocked it and the other who 
beckoned her outside.

Lois cast a surreptitious glance up at the profile of one of them as he 
paced her now. The other was hanging back a few steps, out of reach 
of anything she might try against his colleague. From the start, their 
manner had been coolly impersonal, any feelings they might have on 
what they were doing hidden behind the blank and practiced masks of 
their faces. They had been polite; there had been a lot of 'This way, 
miss,' and 'If you'd like to follow us, Miss Lane.' The cold disinterest 
in their eyes was the only indication that their casual gallantry was a 
lie. Those eyes said, as their words did not, that she could come 
voluntarily or be taken, the choice was hers, that any 'requests' they 
voiced were in fact demands sheathed in indifferent courtesy. It 
made no difference to them, those flat, clinical stares told her. Nor 
would any attempt to thwart them succeed. It would only delay the 
inevitable.

Lois had made her assessment of them then and nothing she had seen 
since had changed her mind any. These were professionals. Paid 
mercenaries, certainly. But men who were highly trained, highly 
motivated, and loyal to whoever paid their check at the end of the 
month. Pleas for aid or blandishments would fall on deaf ears. She had 
seen men like them before, on assignment, in the Congo, in Belize, in 
Sierra Leone, in countless, war-torn hotspots around the world where 
they thrived, and she knew they would be of no help to her in 
escaping Lex, that they had little interest in her at all, beyond that 
she was the subject of their orders from the man who owned them 
like dogs. She was in no danger from these men, she knew, and that 
was a small blessing, so long as she didn't get in the way of their 
obedience to their master.

They would be polite and reserved with her, for just so long as she 
submitted to their demands and obeyed their instructions. Any hint 
of resistance or challenge, attempts to fight or to escape or simply to 
offer up passive rejection of their commands would result in force 
being used without any rancor or emotion. And all of it would be 
conducted beneath that sickening veneer of detached civility. Even 
then, the amount of force used would be just enough and no more to 
ensure her compliance, only what was required to get the job they'd 
been assigned to done. These men didn't see her as a person. To them 
she was a task to be completed and an order to obey, nothing more 
than that.

It had not been the knowledge that she had no choice in the matter 
which had prevented her from arguing with her soldier escorts, 
however. Lois had always used seething fury as her first defense 
against fear and threat, and she was more than eager at that 
particular point in time to see Lex Luthor. She had been, in fact, 
looking forward to ripping him apart just as soon as she could get her 
hands on his slimy little body. Especially when he'd just kept her 
waiting for almost two hours for her escort, leaving her to pace and 
fret around the confines of her apartment and her anger to stoke 
itself into a slow burn. She had the notion that the delay had been 
entirely deliberate, an attempt to let her stew in her fear, while Lex 
enjoyed watching her sweat. 

She didn't like being manipulated. And she refused to reward him for 
it.

She hadn't even bothered to acknowledge the men guarding her, but 
had simply swept past them grimly at their first invitation to 
accompany them in this stroll through the complex. She had felt some 
small degree of satisfaction in the surprised glance she had seen 
'Major Benton' - as he'd introduced himself, as though she was likely 
to be at all interested in the names of her jailers! - give his colleague 
as she'd pushed her way past them. His colleague - subordinate, she 
thought, taking note of every last nugget of detail of these men and 
her situation and filing it away in case it could be of aid to her later - 
whom he had referred to at one point as Miller, had simply shrugged 
as they had quickly fallen into their guarding pattern around her. 

Her fierce satisfaction in having cracked those masks just a little, 
even though it gained her nothing, faded rapidly however, even that 
minor victory lost in the sense of desolation that threatened to 
swamp her anger and overtake her.

Lois had glanced back, once, as she was politely but steadily ushered 
along. The outside of the apartment door was heavy plate steel, with 
a keypad locking system attached to the frame. 

She had shuddered, unable to suppress the quick, superstitious 
sensation that flooded through her of how being in that replica of 
her home would feel like suffocating in a well-appointed tomb. 

Even the forced cheer of the corridor had faded abruptly, carpeting 
giving way to polished gray tile and a maze of hallways and stairwells 
which had the bland, institutional d,cor of a military base. 
Plasterboard walls became rough-hewn concrete and stone. As though 
the pretence and illusion of her apartment and the short length of 
corridor outside it could be dispensed with, now that there was no 
longer any need to fool her. 

Sickly, as she began to feel the oppressive weight of captivity settle 
darkly on her shoulders, as the reality of her predicament and her 
situation became too real to ignore, her thoughts strayed to the most 
unsettling and frightening thing of all. At least so far.

She had screamed herself hoarse back there in her apartment before 
the arrival of her guards, yelling for help from Superman...help that 
had not come. 

Why hadn't he come?

A trickle of cold sweat traced the line of her spine and she 
surreptitiously wiped palms that had grown damp one against the 
other as she walked the corridors of her new prison. 

Why?

Fear began to seed itself into her thoughts, and panic: dark blooms 
that sent out tendrils and thorns to constrict and stab at her heart. 

He must have heard her. He must have. If he didn't come...

<...if he couldn't come...>

<Relax, Lois,> she told herself, fighting her way back to a calm that 
seemed suddenly to elude her, battling against the sure and certain 
knowledge that Clark was dead - back there - that Lex had - 

<That's crazy. He couldn't hurt Clark.>

<He knows. He knows about Kryptonite. He's used it before.>

She gave a small, sharp shake of her head. But the unwelcome 
thought clung. Yes, he had. Lex had trapped Superman before, tried 
to kill him before. And had come so close to succeeding that when, 
later and years after the event, Clark had eventually disclosed his 
ordeal to her, she had felt the horror of it reverberate down all 
those days and had known Clark carried the scars of that debilitating 
defeat in him even then. The thought, even now, of how close he had 
come to dying, alone and in agony, in the damp darkness of that wine 
cellar, while above his would-be murderer took her arm and smiled 
into her face and spoke vows of love and devotion, sent a shudder of 
revulsion coursing through her. They had come so close, the world and 
she, to losing everything. 

Had they lost it now? Had Lex succeeded now in doing what he had 
missed out on by inches then? And what of the rest? Her family, 
their friends...surely it hadn't taken them long to realize she had 
been abducted? How could they not know? Had Lex...had he 
eliminated any possibility of that threat too? He was capable of 
anything. If she hadn't known that then, she surely knew it now. 
What had he done? What had he done to ensure his escape with her? 
To ensure he stayed undetected and free from pursuit? 

What had he done to them?

A thousand images, each more brutal and agonizing than the last, 
flooded through her mind in response to her desperate questioning 
and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a few seconds, trying to 
fight her way back to calm. She couldn't afford to let her anger slip 
now. She needed it, needed its edge, for the confrontation to come. 
Without it she might just give in and find herself weeping in a heap at 
the feet of Lex Luthor. She had to hold on. To the fury. To the rage. 
And believe that fate couldn't be so cruel, not now, not after 
everything they had shared, to take Clark from her. Not now. Not like 
this.

Lex, she reminded herself desperately, had taken her from Clark, not 
Superman. He had no idea there was any connection between the two 
of them. Did he? How could he? 

No, she told herself firmly. To suspect Lex of somehow incapacitating 
Clark or even...even hurting him...was fanciful nonsense. Her 
predicament was working on her nerves, that was all.

<But he didn't come. Why didn't he come? If he isn't hurt, if he 
isn't...>

Maybe there had been some disaster...an emergency...people in 
danger...children hurt...

<A kitten caught in a tree?>

No...no...she could understand how something big would stop him 
answering her call for help. Temporarily. Sure...it was temporary, that 
was all. This...absence. He'd be here soon. Just as soon as he could. 
And until he did, all she had to do was hang on, stay cool, keep her 
guard up. That was all.

<Perhaps he's occupied on the other side of the world,> she thought, 
seizing on the idea like a drowning sailor clutching at a life preserver. 

Maybe...perhaps...could be...might have... her thoughts were a swirl of 
possibilities and none of them rang true in her head. But they were 
better - far, far better - than the alternatives clamoring for her 
attention in her scattered, terrified thoughts.

A hand on her shoulder made her start.

"In here, Miss," Benton said now, indicating a nondescript door that, 
depressingly, looked much like a dozen others they'd passed along the 
way. Lois found that, despite all the rage that she had carefully 
stoked in preparation for this moment, her palms were sweating. To 
cover her disquiet she glared at the hapless soldier and shoved her 
way gracelessly past him and into the room beyond the door he had 
opened for her.

She had a vague impression of an opulently furnished office, 
windowless like all the rooms and corridors she'd viewed this far. She 
fought back the small disappointment. A view would have given her 
valuable information. She hadn't really expected any however, 
despite being unable to give in to the smallest of hopes that she 
would be wrong. 

Dismally, she considered the implications of what little knowledge she 
had gathered to herself so far. The entire complex had the distinct 
air of being deep underground - the corridors she'd been brought 
through had had heavy pipes running along the ceilings, evidence of 
ventilation and other systems. 

And she remembered precisely where that replica of her apartment 
was. Beneath the lowest floors of the LexCorp Tower. Lex had taken 
her there by elevator from the penthouse suite. How many floors had 
they descended then? She tried to remember, but the memory was 
elusive, slipping out of reach. She had had her mind on other things 
then, had hardly been paying attention, eaten up with impatient 
curiosity over why he had called her there, in the midst of so serious 
a situation threatening their city, wondering what could possibly be so 
important. 

It had been at least fifty floors, she thought now. Maybe more. 
Which put her deep beneath the city. 

And, beyond the visual clues and the knowledge her memory gained 
her, she could *feel* the press of stone above her, her body reacting 
instinctively to being entombed in ways that made her aware that she 
was now deep underground. It felt old, that weight, and crushing. How 
long could her spirit survive, trapped beneath it?

Her troubled attempts to orient herself were abruptly lost as her 
attention was taken and reserved for the man who had been sitting 
behind the large desk at the far end of the room and who had come 
to his feet with a congenial smile as she entered.

Her throat felt raw with the tension pulsing through her, and she 
could feel the beat of her hatred ticking in the muscle of her jaw as 
Lex moved around the desk and came quickly towards her, that 
elegant, cordial smile causing her to tremble with fury. The drumbeat 
of rage pounded against her ribcage as she stalked swiftly across the 
room to meet him halfway.

"Lois, my darling - "

She hauled off and delivered a slap that rocked him back on his feet.

She felt rather than saw the sharp motion from Benton at her back 
and then it subsided as Luthor held up a quick hand and gave a slight 
shake of his head. Lois didn't give her guard the satisfaction of even 
looking in his direction, refusing to acknowledge him as Lex's 
protector, her entire stance dismissive as she kept her gaze locked 
on the man who had ruined her wedding, kidnapped her, brought her 
here to this...outrageous, pathetic simulacrum of her life. 

<I could damage you,> that stance proclaimed. <Don't think they could 
stop me. I could rip out your throat before they could blink. And 
maybe I don't care what they'd do to me afterwards.>

But she did care of course. And despite her outward show of bravado, 
she was sickly aware within that she couldn't push too far. Not him or 
them. She stiffened her expression, determined not to let that 
knowledge, that...surrender...show on her face as she stared furiously 
at the man standing before her.

His face expressionless, meeting her gaze blandly, Lex removed a silk 
handkerchief from his breast pocket, shook it out, and used it to dab 
at the smear of blood staining the corner of his mouth. 

"I'll gift you that one," he said smoothly. "I understand that things 
are a little...disorientating for you right now. But, believe me, it would 
be a mistake to try that again."

Lois stood, pale with rage. Her hand felt as though it had imploded, 
throbbing with a painful heat, but she refused to let the pain show 
itself, refused to give him the satisfaction. She curled her fingers 
into fists, feeling the bite of her nails against her palm and 
concentrating on that small pain, letting it clear her head.

"Do you understand that, Lois?"

Lex's voice had dropped to a silken hush that carried an undercurrent 
of steel in it. Lois turned her head, breaking their locked stare as 
though tiring of the battle, rather than that she was backing down. 
There was a small silence, then Lex seemed to decide to let the 
moment pass unchallenged.

<Easy enough,> she thought bleakly. Concession came easily to the 
victor in a war. And Lex had always prided himself on 
being...magnanimous...in victory.

"You're distraught, my dear," Lex said soothingly. "Understandable I 
suppose, under the circumstances." But his eyes belied the smooth 
concern for her that laced his voice like rich, old brandy. In his eyes 
there was disappointment. 

Had he really expected her to rush into his arms? Welcome him? she 
thought, wonderingly.

"I had hoped...well, no mind." The disappointment was chased by a 
sudden intentness. "Are you all right, Lois? There are no after 
effects, are there? Doctor - ?"

Lois followed the motion as Lex turned and her heart quickened as 
she saw a short, squat man dressed in a pristine white lab gown 
hasten over to Luthor's side from where he'd been observing them 
from the corner of the room.

"After...effects..." Lois repeated slowly and then her eyes flashed 
bitterly with the realization. And more. Memory. She remembered....

She had walked into the room to sign the register. She had been 
worried - a pang cut through her as she put the pieces together and 
realized that her last conversation with Clark, perhaps her final 
conversation with him, had been to worry that the man standing in 
front of her now would wreck their marriage, ruin their lives, and 
that Clark had dismissed her fears. She had barely had time to 
register that there were others in the room before someone else had 
grabbed hold of her. There had been a cloth pressed to her face and 
just before her sight had dimmed and she had felt the lassitude slip 
over her and drag her under...she had seen...

Herself.

Herself, standing there, smiling at her and telling her that Clark was 
now hers.

Lois shook her head. That one made no sense, couldn't have been real. 
A hangover from her dreams.

Clark...

A spark of light, refracted from overhead, caught her eye and broke 
into her thoughts. Following it to its source, she blanched. Dizziness 
swept over her and she swayed for an instant, before straightening 
to shake off with a glare the steadying hand from behind that took 
hold of her arm. Benton subsided, expressionless. But Lois had 
already forgotten him. She stared at the dully pulsing hunk of rock on 
a shelf behind the ornate desk. Its green sickness spread a palsied 
glow over the other object d'art and antiques it shared its niche with.

It rested there like an afterthought, placed for effect and then 
forgotten, like its companions, the curios and statuettes and crystal 
and glass scattered in orderly precision in their display cases and 
among the shelves.

And yet she understood just how precise its positioning had been, 
how carefully it had been arranged to catch her eye from just this 
position, how that care belied its seemingly inconsequential setting 
among so many treasures. How it had been no casual thing at all, but 
studied to the last detail to ensure her attention would be caught by 
it. And the point it made, silently, malevolently. The knowledge that 
Lex wanted to impart to her through its presence.

Fear leapt out from where it had been lurking, deep within her, and 
clawed at her so that she could hardly breathe.

"What did you do?" she whispered. Her voice felt strange in her 
throat, tight and hollow and the soft, dark roaring in her ears 
sounded loud, as loud as the frenzied beat of blood beneath her ribs. 
A beat of hate. And terror. A terror so sharp it hurt in her chest like 
a blade. The words fell like stones from her lips. "What did you do to 
-

<Clark...>

She couldn't ask. Not for Clark, not for Superman. She wouldn't give 
him that much power over her. And yet...how could she not? How could 
she live without knowing? 

How could she live if he had - 

<What did you do? Oh, god, what did you do to --?>

"Superman...ah, the brawny blue hero." Lex's smile at her was 
enigmatic. "The man who would be god among us. It's always so much 
more satisfying to bring down a god than a man...don't you think? 
Lois?" His tone turned solicitous. "My dear, you're trembling. And so 
pale...perhaps you'd like to sit down?" 

He shrugged as Lois gave a small, stiff shake of her head, all the 
response she could muster as her horrified eyes fixed on his face as 
though mesmerized. Lex gave her a mock look of censure as he moved 
to stand by the shelves. "I must say I'm surprised to see you 
so...distressed...over my little...surprise. I was so hoping you'd be 
pleased I've taken steps to ensure our Super party pooper doesn't 
get the chance to ruin our future bliss. You know, I do wonder how 
your... betrothed...would feel, seeing how deeply concerned you are 
for our blue boy. I thought you'd set aside that little infatuation long 
ago. Well, I guess we all have our little secrets. Don't we?"  

He reached out and caressed the loathsome beauty of the kryptonite 
crystal as he spoke, his touch on the stone almost lustful, Lois 
thought sickly. Her heart was dying in her as she watched, as she saw 
her love writhing on the ground in her mind's eye, his face contorted 
with agony.... Had his last words been for her? Had he called for her 
at the end? As she had called for him...and had no answer? Tears 
cascaded down her cheeks now, unheeded. 

<Oh god, Clark...Clark...> 

She didn't realize she'd moaned that last aloud until she saw Lex's 
expression smooth itself out and become still.

"Forget Kent. He isn't going to trouble us any more, my darling."

"No..."

A flicker of irritation showed in Lex's eyes. The annoyance of a man 
having to spend time on the inconsequential when he had more 
important things to discuss and unable to understand why only he 
could see the order of priority. 

"I'll confess I've never understood why you would care, but if you 
insist, let me assure you that Clark is quite safe, my dear. And quite 
content. In fact, you might say," he judged with a faintly wry twist to 
his lips, "he's much happier than you are right now. But I'm sure that 
will change soon. In time, once you realize the advantages, you'll both 
be much happier with your new lives than you were with the old. I'm 
sure that *Clark* would want to thank me for being his benefactor, if 
he only knew how much of a hand I'd had in his good fortune," he 
added slyly.

Lois had frozen, listening to him, refusing to believe the hope that 
stirred, faintly, in her at his words. "He's...alive? He isn't hurt?" 
Slightly confused by the undercurrents in his explanation, 
nevertheless she clung desperately to what truths seemed contained 
in it. Still, she had to be certain. She had the sense of fighting her 
way through a maze of half-truths, trying to find her way to the 
truth beneath the spin. She had often felt this way when interviewing 
politicians, but never had the need to separate spin and fact been so 
personal, so important to her.

Alive. He was alive. Was it possible? Had Lex...simply been toying with 
her? 

The rage was back. Dousing the fear and despair of a moment earlier, 
settling in her like a red tide. Rage and...elation. It swept through her 
like wildfire, so that it was all she could do to stop herself laughing 
aloud. He was alive! The rest she could deal with, so long as he was 
alive. She struggled to prevent that joy from overtaking her 
expression, from alerting Lex to the fact that he had made a mistake 
- knowing how dangerous to Clark - and to Superman - that would be, 
that any hint of a connection between them would be in the hands of 
the man opposite. She held onto the rage instead, but she couldn't 
prevent her posture straightening, the line of her shoulders 
strengthening, the spark of fire in her eyes from blazing out at him.

Lex's air of good-humored concession faded a touch, a frown touching 
his brow. He shrugged. "Healthy and hale last I saw of him," he 
conceded irreverently. But beneath the seeming disinterest he 
appeared unsettled. As though her reactions weren't taking the 
course he had set out for them. A man who had planned a 
conversation down to the last period and comma, who had believed he 
knew his opposite well enough to predict her every response, and who 
had suddenly had the rug of that certainty pulled sharply from 
beneath his feet.

Lois held on fast to that small victory, rejoicing in it. It bolstered her 
further, held back the pain and fear more firmly. She allowed herself 
to form a small, condescending smile of her own as she asked stonily, 
"When did you last see him? And where?"

Lex sigh was put-upon. "I don't have him locked in the wine cellar, 
Lois," he responded, a tad tetchy. "If that's what you're suggesting. 
As far as I'm aware, Clark Kent has left that desperate, shoddy little 
apartment of his and is..." he paused, as though he'd almost given too 
much away, and then covered with a dismissive, "well, I really don't 
care where he is, if you want to know the truth. Kent doesn't matter. 
He's of no consequence. You're what's important to me, my darling. 
Don't you understand that?"

Lois stiffened, fixing him grimly. "So important you kidnapped me 
right out of the chapel minutes before my wedding to another man?" 

He spread his hands, taking on a mock pious look. "It seemed like a 
good idea at the time. And I'm sure that once we fix that head of 
yours, rid ourselves of all that nonsense about Kent, you'll remember 
that I was once important to you too. You'll thank me for - "

"Thank you! For snatching me out of my life! Imprisoning me here in 
this...this...concrete bunker! Drugging me and - !"

Lex made a small motion of his fingers, the dismissal of something 
that had been necessary but was supremely unimportant in the grand 
scheme of things. "Nothing more than a few doses of...what was it, 
Doctor?"

"Paraldehydum," the man in the lab coat said expressionlessly. His 
eyes were fixed on her, but he showed no real concern for his 
erstwhile patient.

"Yes," Lex agreed. "You see? Nothing to worry about, my love."

"Nothing to - " Anger robbed her of words. She knew that if she said 
one word more it would be a shrieking rant, that once any of that fury 
boiling within her was released it would never stop. And he would 
ignore it. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose 
control. She *wouldn't* give him that much of her. But she couldn't 
stop the tremor that coursed through her, knew he must see it, 
perhaps misconstrue it as fear. She tightened her balled up fingers 
and suppressed a wince.

"Just a little...inducement. I had the good doctor here administer it 
of course. These things are much too volatile for the layman to handle 
and I didn't want to...damage you. It was purely to save time, Lois. I 
knew that once I explained everything and you realized how misguided 
you were in that little..." his mouth twisted with distaste, "...charade 
of a wedding to Kent, you'd come with me willingly. Gladly. I know how 
much you've missed me, my darling. As I've missed you. And how much 
you've longed for us to be together. But with the lies that Kent had 
twisted into your head, must have put in your head for you to accept 
him that way, I knew that it would take some time to persuade you, 
to...de-condition you. To tell you the truth. Time we didn't have. I 
knew you'd forgive me my...presumption though. Once you were safely 
here. Once we were able to talk. Sort things through."

Lois stared at him. "You're insane," she whispered. 

Lex winced then recovered his infuriating smile as he shook his head. 
"Lois...Lois...please. I've gone to so much trouble to ensure your 
safety; can't you give me at least a little gratitude? I made sure that 
the drug Doctor Callinson used was the one least given to side effects 
- "

Side effects. Lois paled. 

"The dose had to be exact of course," Lex continued smoothly. "Too 
much can, I believe, act as a paralyzant on the heart and respiration. 
Along with other...unpleasant conditions. That's why I took the 
greatest of care with you, my love, don't you see? I want you to be 
healthy. And happy. Here with me."

"You sick, twisted sociopath, if you think - "

"I really do regret having to confine you here. But you gave me no 
choice. I can't let you make the mistake of marrying Kent, Lois. I had 
to interfere, to stop you ruining your life. You will thank me in time," 
he reiterated. "You'll remember how you used to love me, wonder how 
you could ever forget what we meant to each other."

Lois closed her eyes briefly. That last hadn't been a suggestion. His 
belief in her surrender was unassailable it seemed. And why shouldn't 
it be, she admitted morosely. He had all the time in the world to wait 
her out. Just as he'd arranged. She opened her eyes to fix him with a 
cool stare. 

"The only thing I remember from back then is just how seriously I 
misjudged who you were and the only thing I've wondered since is how 
I ever could have done." She let her tone become supercilious. "I'm 
surprised you're so keen to remember our recent past. The last time 
I saw *you*, Lex, your address was a back alley in Suicide Slum. 
Bender pretty much wiped you out as I recall." 

She let her gaze wander briefly over the doctor and the guards 
standing at relaxed attention behind her, before she moved in a slow 
tour of the room. She picked up a carved ivory statue at random from 
a display on one of the bookcases which lined the office walls and 
hefted it consideringly in one hand before quirking a brow at him. Her 
tone held nothing more than calculated distaste. 

"You seem to have risen in the world. Although I guess sleeping in a 
homeless shelter or in an underground sewer makes anything a step 
up." 

Lex chuckled. "You underestimate me, Lois. Your problem was that 
you always did. And the world we live in. I may have lost my wealth - 
temporarily - but I still had contacts, people who remained loyal, who 
realized the advantages in keeping faith with me. You remember our 
ill-fated wedding, I presume? A pity it was interrupted, but I assure 
you it won't be a second time." He paused, as though expecting a 
reaction to the promise. Lois simply stared at him, lips drawn into a 
tight, thin line. After a moment, he shrugged. 

"Although I think, this time, we might dispense with the formalities, 
don't you?" he suggested blithely. "Weddings are so tedious to 
arrange and there'll be no family or friends from the bride's side of 
the church - I know how that lack distressed you last time, it would 
be cruel to accentuate it any further. Besides, here I am king of all I 
survey..." he spread his arms wide, bestowing a beatific smile on her. 
"And master of all who dwell here." Lois suppressed a shiver at the 
subtle accent he placed on the word master. "Kings don't really need 
brides, do they? They have no equal after all and modern marriages 
are so intent on bestowing equality. No, kings 
need...mistresses...consorts..."

"Concubines?" Lois bit out. "Slaves?" But the attempt at bravado was 
lost among the very real understanding that whatever he called it she 
wasn't wrong. And that they both knew he could make her whatever 
he chose, if he could keep her imprisoned here for long enough. When 
he chose.  

Lex merely smiled, his entire manner that of a gentleman too discrete 
and mannerly to point out the obvious to his captive. "Whatever. I'm 
sure you'll enjoy the...position. When I decide. But let's not spoil our 
reunion with trivialities. We've all the time in the world to discuss 
the parameters of our new relationship. As I was saying, the 
downturn in my fortunes was only temporary. And as it happened, you 
were my salvation. At the time of our wedding my accountant 
recommended a simple tax venture - a bank account set up in the 
name of my adoring fiancee. I needed some cash I could access 
quickly." He smiled thinly. "A little emergency stash, you might say. 
Cash that couldn't be traced to me."

Lois lifted a brow as she took another look around the opulence 
surrounding them. "A lot of cash."

"Two hundred million dollars cash." 

"Gee, if only I'd known. Clark and I could have upgraded our 
honeymoon plans."

Lex ignored the weak sally. "This little...retreat...I already had, so it 
wasn't too much of a stretch to bring it out of mothballs and back 
into commission. Acquiring it from the estate of its previous owner 
was simple enough. Billionaire recluse. Sad little man. Spent all that 
time and money making this dream of his a reality and then died of 
some trifling disease before he could truly enjoy the success of his 
labors. His only heir was a seventy-six year old woman who had little 
use for it, just like her dear, departed brother, so she was happy 
enough to unload it and didn't ask too many questions as to who the 
buyer was. A not inordinate sum, but I knew that the investment 
would pay off eventually. One day." He bestowed an unctuous smile on 
her, underscoring his triumph.

"I'd always given you the credit at least for having built this place 
yourself, Lex. Somehow, learning you stole another man's dream and 
supplanted yourself in it doesn't come as any great surprise, right at 
this minute."

She saw something flicker in his bright gaze, but it wasn't what she 
had been expecting. Not anger, not even dismissal of the jibe. 
Something.... Surprise. Something she said had taken him aback 
momentarily, before it was overlaid with calculation and...satisfaction. 
Somehow, she had given him something, she realized, dismayed, some 
small victory. But whatever had caused that response he wasn't 
sharing with her as he shrugged off her insults easily and continued 
smoothly.

"Well, it was somewhere to come if things got a little...heated...in my 
life," he said, for all the world as though he was talking about some 
timeshare in Tahiti, Lois thought, and not an underground bunker, 
devoid of any life or charm. "As for the money, well it was simplicity 
itself to find someone who could hack into the banking system and 
redistribute the funds to a Swiss account. In *my* name of course. 
Isn't technology wonderful? A simple click of the button and I was 
restored. Of course I had to dispose of him once he had. There's no 
paper trail linking me to here," he added, shrewdly watching her 
expression flicker. "Besides, I had an incentive to regain my wealth. I 
could hardly keep my...inamorata...in the splendor to which I'd 
previously accustomed her without it, after all."

Lois sighed. She tossed the priceless ivory carelessly from one hand 
to another and then dumped it back in its place. "I'm not 
your...anything at all, Lex, and I never will be. Look, why don't we call 
this quits right now? I'm never going to love you, you know that. This 
is pointless. You're wasting my time. And yours. And I have a wedding 
to get back to, if you don't mind."

"But I do mind. Love is such an over-valued emotion, I've always 
thought. I don't require that you love me, Lois. Just that you obey 
me. Just that you *desire* to make me happy. To make pleasing me 
your reason for living." There was a darkness in his tone now that put 
a sinister spin on the words, delivered so carelessly. "As a mission 
statement, I'm sure you'll agree, that's easily achievable. For any 
woman. Even one as...independent...as you are. All that any man needs 
to win the heart of the fair maiden is the right leverage. Some 
surrender with chocolates and flowers and a plane ride to the opera." 
His eyes glittered on her. "Others take a little more...work. But the 
result is the same in the end."

"You're wasting your time," Lois insisted, but there was a new note of 
desperation in her voice that even she heard clearly and couldn't 
conceal.

"We'll see. I'm sure you're open to persuasion, Lois. Most women are. 
And you have proved a certain...fickleness...to your devotions, shall we 
say?" His smile faltered for a moment. "I do hope you've kept your 
beloved Mr. Kent at arm's length before the nuptials, Lois, just as you 
did me. I do so hate to bed another man's leftovers."

"Clark will be looking for me," Lois said numbly. "They all will."  

"Will he? Clark seems to be more than happy with our arrangement 
right now. I don't think he's missing you at all." 

A chill swept through her, reviving her earlier fears. Lex held up a 
hand, responding to the obvious in her face. A slight spasm of 
annoyance taking over his at her continuing concern for the reporter. 
"My Lois has become so distrusting since last we met? So suspicious? 
I told you - I didn't touch a hair on his thick-skulled head. He's 
perfectly safe. And, so long as you...co-operate...he'll stay that way. 
Come, Lois," he added more disingenuously as though deciding it was 
too early for threats between them, that she might be amiable to 
persuasion first. "It won't be so terrible. Here with me you can have 
anything you want. Anything. Just name it."

Lois rallied, knowing how close she was to letting her terror, her 
panic, and her despair surface. "How about cab fare back to my 
wedding?" she suggested tartly.

His eyebrows rose and then he chuckled. "With a couple of 
exceptions," he conceded. He cocked his head a little, looking at her 
with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "You're not about to descend into 
clich, are you and tell me I'll never get away with this?"

"No..." Lois swallowed past the tightness in her throat. Her fingers 
itched with the need to slap that smug, silly smile of his from his 
face. "But you won't," she said lamely.

Lex sighed theatrically and shook his head. "Poor Lois. Still holding 
out for her hero to come rescue her..." He shrugged. "One way or 
another. You think I didn't make this place pretty much foolproof 
against a fly-by visit from that irritating super bluebottle?"

"I don't need rescuing," Lois retorted recklessly. "I can rescue 
myself. 'One way or another', I'm getting out of here, Lex, if I have 
to go through you to do it. If you think I'm going to stay here, like 
some pet Geisha, attending to your every whim, you've got - "

His sudden laughter startled her and then, before she could sense his 
intent, he closed the gap between them, his hand darting out and 
fisting itself into her hair to yank her forward and onto the savage 
plundering of her lips as his mouth assaulted hers. His kiss was both 
brutal and casually possessive, taking what was his by right of 
conquest. 

Lois struggled furiously, but his grip on her tightened, and then he let 
her go as suddenly as he'd attacked her. Lois struck out at him 
furiously, but he caught her arm in mid-swing, tightening his grip 
around her wrist. She gasped in pain, but he ignored her, using the 
leverage to force her inexorably down until she landed on her knees in 
front of him. His grin widened at the impotent rage that flashed out 
at him from her eyes and bent a little closer. His soft chuckle sent a 
flash of hate flaring out of her. 

"That's my Lois." He ducked his head closer, his words a lecherous 
whisper against her ear. "For a moment there I thought spending your 
nights with Kent had leeched all of that fire out of you entirely."

His grip was bruising, grinding the bones of her wrist together. But 
she refused to let him see the pain. Perhaps he saw it in how pale 
she'd become however or in the tightening of her lips. Like his 
assault, his entire manner with her since she'd entered the room, it 
was casually dismissive of her ability to stop him doing just as he 
pleased with her. Whenever he pleased. 

He let her go, straightening away from their forced embrace with a 
mocking smile.

Lois rose shakily to her feet, trying to still the trembling that shook 
her.

"If you do that again," she ground out, "if you so much as breathe on 
me again, I'll kill you. I swear I will."

"Will you?" The smile faded and he sighed heavily. "Well then...we'll 
just have to work on making you want my touch, won't we?"

Lois glared at him.

"You will, you know. Eventually. In any case, you have the rest of your 
life to make up your mind, don't you? Me...or no one. Just as it should 
be." His gaze shifted away from the flicker of distress in hers and 
focused on the men behind her.

"Take Ms Lane back to her...apartment. I think she has some things to 
think over. Callinson," he gathered the doctor with a look, "go with 
her, check her out, make sure there are no residual aftereffects. We 
did have to keep you under for some considerable time," he told her. 
His gaze lingered on her thoughtfully for a moment. "If she doesn't 
co-operate, have Benton and his men subdue her." That last was 
delivered more as a threat than an instruction, intended more for her 
ears than Callinson's.

Lois didn't protest as the man on her left took her arm in a firm but 
uncompromising grip and ushered her for the door. Suddenly she 
didn't want to spend another moment in Lex's presence, afraid that 
he would find in her eyes the fear that had suddenly awoken into life 
within her. 

Fortunately, Lex's next words smothered it in a surge of renewed 
anger.

"Once the good doctor has given you a clean bill of health, if you'd 
like to get dressed, Lois, we can have something to eat together and 
I'll show you around my Citadel. I'm sure you'll find it impressive."

Get dressed. 

It was only then that Lois realized what her rage had made her 
unaware of till then. That she was still dressed in the toweling robe 
she had drawn on after her shower and that she had been wearing 
when this whole nightmare had come crashing down on her. She had 
been so wrapped up in her fury, so intent on getting to Lex, that her 
attire had completely slipped her mind. 

With a new awareness of her vulnerability and her state of dishabille, 
Lois flushed and then glared at Lex before she was led firmly from 
the room. On the threshold, her guards pulled her to a halt as Lex 
called after them.

"Wait." 

She watched dully as he crossed jauntily to the desk.

"I almost forgot." He picked up a rectangular object and returned to 
hand it to her. Lois turned over the video in her hand. It seemed to 
be unmarked. She looked up. "Let's just call it some...vacation video. 
I'm sure you'll find it fascinating. A revelation even. I thought you 
might want to watch in privacy."

He nodded a silent command and Benton took hold of her by the elbow 
again.

The last thing she saw was his smile. A smile that was entirely too 
smug and knowing. Too much the winner's.

And why shouldn't he think he had won, she thought numbly as she 
trudged in silence between her two guards through the maze that led 
back to her prison.

"I'll kill you," she had said. And she had meant it. Very brave, Lois, 
she told herself bleakly. Very defiant heroine. Very Lucy Lawless. But 
this wasn't Xena, Warrior Princess, and she wasn't the heroine 
spunkily defying the villain, spitting in his face as he threatened her 
with torture or death or...or worse. And she wouldn't walk away at 
the end of the scene when the director yelled cut, laughing with her 
co-star. 

Her wrist ached. And her hand. Her lips still throbbed with the 
weight of his touch against them. 

This was real. And this was dangerous. He was dangerous. And she 
was alone, powerless, trapped. She could throw all the bravado at him 
that she was capable of, but she knew it didn't change those facts. 
The reality was that Lex outgunned her in every way possible, and she 
had nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. The reality was if he wanted 
her, if he wanted to touch her, if he wanted to...he could do anything 
he wanted, anything at all, and there would be nothing she could do to 
prevent him if he was determined to it.

Lex had all the cards and the winning hand, and all the bravado in the 
world wouldn't stop him. 

Lois shivered. In her hand, the videotape he'd given her felt cold as a 
premonition of disaster against her skin. 


~@*****@~

The fresh, enlivening scents of the sea were carried on the cool 
breeze that flowed through the window of the beach apartment 
accommodation. Clark stood before the unshuttered, open window, 
staring out at the picture postcard view with eyes that were blind and 
unseeing.

The suite was a cleverly crafted amalgamation of rustic charm 
coupled with clean and cool modern convenience. Ceiling fans whirred 
gently overhead, the whisper of waves against sand was muted by 
distance, but soothing, and faintly to the ear came the soft strains of 
music and faint laughter from the bars and cafes further along the 
shore. Palms rustled seductively, orange light refracting through 
their broad leaves and glinting against the porch railing, casting pools 
and ripples of shade against the thatch of the ceiling overhead.

It was secluded. Private. The perfect honeymoon retreat. You could 
watch the sun setting on the ocean from this porch. Watch the silver 
orb of the moon rise as you sipped champagne on the deck below. By 
day it would be a shaded retreat from the gentle heat of the 
Hawaiian spring. Now, caught in the halfway, limbo state between the 
heat of those days and the promise of night, it seemed like a world 
out of time.

Hawaii had been one of the few places in the world he'd never 
actually visited - except briefly and when he was usually too busy 
dealing with some hurricane disaster or catastrophe to appreciate its 
unique charms. 

So far, it was everything he'd expected of it. 

Which was no consolation. 

It was perfect. Idyllic...

His throat tightened.

...exactly what Lois had envisaged.

Exactly what they had planned for together. 

<Well, let's say we go to Hawaii...>

<We could stay in a little shack on our own beach...>

<... thatched roof, ceiling fan...>

Her voice in his head was so clear, the memory so vivid, that she was 
almost a physical presence there in the room. If he turned his head 
and narrowed his eyes, he could almost imagine he would see her 
there, clinging to his arm and leaning up against his shoulder, her 
infectious grin lighting up the room around him.

She would have loved it.

They would have -- 

"I can't stay here," he blurted, turning away sharply. 

The bellhop, in the middle of laying down their suitcases beside the 
tall closet, turned around with a surprised look. "Sir?"

"I...I'm sorry, we've changed our minds. Does the hotel have any 
suites available?"

"Suites?" The bellhop glanced around him bemused, as though trying 
to find a reason behind this change of heart. "I'm sorry, sir...is there 
something wrong with the accommodation?"

"No...no, not at all," Clark said hastily. He paused, at a loss and then 
continued lamely, "We've uh...it's closer to the beach than we 
thought. And my...wife...my wife...uh...doesn't like sand."

Eve straightened from where she'd been peering into the TV cabinet 
and turned a startled look on him. Then, catching the bellhop's glance 
at her, she shrugged, put her hands behind her back, and gave him a 
wide, dazzling, and somewhat empty-headed smile.

"Do you?" Clark prompted. "Honey." 

Eve returned his fierce and intent stare with that patented, wide-
eyed bimbo look that was beginning to itch at his skin and then 
nodded. "Sure! Sand. Bleah..." She pantomimed sticking out her tongue 
and screwing up her face in disgust as she rolled her eyes.

It wasn't the endorsement Clark had hoped for, but still...

"Gets everywhere, you know," he elaborated on his own. "In the food, 
in the clothes, in your...hair..." Clark faltered, realizing he was 
babbling now. He shrugged. "Well, anyway, if you have one I think 
we'd prefer a suite."

He fixed the by now bewildered bellhop with a dazzling smile of his 
own. Pinned between the two, the bellhop had no chance. Apparently 
deciding to fall back on the old adage of the customer always being 
right - no matter how deranged - he shrugged and picked up the bags 
again with all the air of 'Hey, it's not my dollar that's paying for it, 
buddy.'

"I'll get the manager. If you'll follow me, sir...ma'am...reception's 
right along this trail here."

Clark gathered Eve with a quick glance. Then, when she ignored the 
silent summons, sighed and moved across the room to grip her firmly 
by the arm and haul her away from her renewed fascination with the 
TV before hustling her after the bellhop.

Twenty minutes later, and with, he had to admit, a minimum of fuss, 
he was surveying the hotel's honeymoon suite with a jaundiced eye. 
The manager hadn't taken no for an answer and Clark had rapidly 
realized that a honeymoon couple actively trying to avoid being 
sequestered in an available honeymoon suite was bound to look a little 
suspect, so he'd given in, though less than gracefully.

Still...it was better than the oceanfront apartment. More room for a 
start, less...intimate. The main part of the suite was a large, square 
room tastefully decorated in the somewhat sterile designer style of 
hotels around the world. 

A set of double doors to his left, currently opened up, revealed a 
bedroom furnished in the same style. Clark's eyes rested only 
fleetingly on the king-size bed that was its main feature and then he 
turned back to the room. Directly opposite the suite's front door was 
a set of glass doors which opened out into a lanai. 

Feeling in need of fresh air, Clark stepped quickly through them and 
out into the cool breeze. Hands on the railings, he gazed distantly out 
into the shimmer of sea on the horizon. Directly below, lush gardens 
were spread out in parks and walkways, and in the center the 
ubiquitous pool, lit up starkly and dramatically by the strings of 
colored lights that seemed to be everywhere and spotlights placed 
with designer strategy at the bottom of palms and shrubs. 

"Sir?"

He turned, aware that the bellhop had been speaking.

"I'm sorry?"

"Is the suite satisfactory, sir?"

"Oh. Oh...yeah. Yeah, it is. Thanks." His eyes slid back to that bed. 
Well, he wouldn't be spending much time in there anyway, he 
reasoned. He'd be quite happy to leave every little king-sized inch to 
his blushing bride. Most of his nights, and his spare time, were going 
to be spent in Metropolis. This wasn't a problem.

And, he realized, strategically the honeymoon suite couldn't be 
better. A honeymooning couple could expect a bigger degree of 
privacy than most. And no one would be suspicious about how much 
time they spent in their room, away from prying eyes. A faint pang of 
sorrow sliced through him as a small thought, way down in the depths 
of his mind, mourned the necessity to be thinking so systematically 
and coldly about something that should have been a time of wonder, 
romance, and love for him. Deep inside him, he grieved for that loss, 
for the vile warping of something that should have meant everything 
to him, and now meant no more than a diversion, a tactic, a scheme in 
his plans to get his life back in one piece.

The bellhop was watching him quizzically. Show time. Clark suppressed 
the bitter thought like a sour taste in his mouth and turned to where 
Eve had wandered over to take his vacated place on the lanai. 

"It's just perfect. Isn't it, sweetheart?" The words brought no 
reaction. "Sweetheart? E - Lois!" She started and looked back sharply 
at him, then questioningly to the bellhop. "I was asking if the room 
was okay," Clark explained.

"Oh. Oh! Yes, it's..." She smiled, a dazzlingly bright smile that dimmed 
the lights behind her and turned back to the view, spreading slender 
arms wide. "Beautiful. You can see all the umbrellas from here," she 
added and then, half to herself, retreating into her vacuous distance 
again, "All the pretty colors..."

"You see? Fine. Everything's...fine." Clark smiled at the bellhop and 
ushered him from the room, keeping up the air of false bohemia as he 
gave him his tip and finally was able to close the door behind the man.

Once it had clicked to behind him, he slumped a little, giving up some 
of the pretence of normality with something akin to relief. The strain 
of it all wearied him like nothing he'd ever known. He dragged off the 
suffocating weight of his jacket, tossing it over the back of a nearby 
chair as he threw himself into one of the sofas. His gaze shifted 
restlessly around the room and then settled, broodingly, on Eve.

She seemed oblivious to him as she leaned on the lanai railing. She 
was wearing a short summer dress in pale amber. It clung to her hips 
and pert backside and showcased her legs. Her hair was stirring 
faintly in the fresh breeze. As she shifted position a little, a flash of 
light struck sparks from her left hand as it drew the attention of the 
lanai lights overhead...

Clark swallowed, with a fierce, convulsive shiver, the heart that had 
risen into his throat, and jerked his gaze away.

Seemingly oblivious to the darkening atmosphere in the room behind 
her, Eve turned around, searching for him in the gloom that the room 
presented to her light-dazzled eyes. When she found him she started 
a little. "Oh!" She gave him a small, hesitant smile. "You were so quiet, 
so...still, I didn't see you and you - isn't this great?" The smile grew 
to a wide grin as she threw her arms wide to encompass the room. 
"It's so big. I never had a room so big before and with all these cool 
things in it. Isn't it - "

"Great. Yeah, you said," Clark said shortly and felt a flicker of 
satisfaction as he watched her happy mood deflate like a balloon 
being pricked by a pin, before it turned to a spark of guilty 
recrimination for finding pleasure in being so churlish.

Eve stood awkwardly for a moment as though unsure what to do next 
in the face of his boorishness. She was saved by a discreet rap on the 
door. Casting another timid glance at him, she hurried over to open it. 

Clark barely glanced up to see the bellhop before sinking back into his 
fugue. He was distantly aware of the murmur of voices and then the 
closing of the door. Eve remained on the edges of his attention as she 
moved slowly back across the room, and then her voice burst into the 
air, shattering the small, imperfect haven away from her he'd found 
his way into, deep within his head.

"Oh...they're so beautiful..."

He looked up with a frown as she crossed in front of him. Her hands 
were full of a profusion of color. As he watched, she placed the dark 
blue vase and its cargo on the desk that sat against the white-
plastered wall. 

She glanced up at him again and the hint of nervousness on her face 
dissolved into delight, as though she simply couldn't contain it any 
longer, before she returned her entranced gaze to the floral display. 
She gasped out another small breath, running her hands through the 
bright display of flowers. Clark looked away.

"Aren't they pretty?" she asked and then, "Oh, they're from your 
Mom," she added as she discovered the card that was hidden among 
the leaves. "That's so sweet. I should call and thank Martha for them. 
Jonathan too! That was so nice of - "

Clark stilled. "What?" he said, the word emerging softly and with an 
undertone more threatening than he'd intended, as he lifted his head 
to stare at her.

Eve looked across at him, her smile of pleasure fading, and then gave 
him a suddenly frightened look.

"They're from...I think they're pretty," she whispered and then she 
moved abruptly, retreating for the lanai again, as though aware of her 
error.

Expressionless, Clark crossed the room to look at the bright 
profusion of roses and carnations. He turned the card and saw his 
Mom's familiar handwriting, a simple message of good wishes; a 
teasing postscript from his father that made him smile for a moment. 

He glanced across his shoulder to where Eve stood, ostensibly 
watching the activity below. His smile faded as he took note of the 
taut slant to her shoulders and the stiff way that she held herself, 
that told all too clearly how uncertain she was of what his reaction 
would be, of how much she expected him to be angry with her.

Her posture reminded him of something suddenly. A story he had 
once done on a newly opened shelter for victims of spousal abuse. The 
woman he had interviewed, a new arrival, had held herself that way. 
As though years of walking on eggshells, uncertain of what might 
trigger her husband's anger, of being afraid to speak or move or 
breathe in case it was the wrong move, the wrong breath, the wrong 
words, had instilled in her a fear that was buried in her bones.

Clark sighed. He didn't know how to deal with her. One moment she 
seemed to be nothing more than a child, at times an idiot savant, and 
then, as a moment ago, there were flashes of almost human 
awareness, when she was so like Lois that it hurt him to look at her. 
The sound of his Mom's name on her lips had torn at his heart. 

He replaced the card with shaking hands and moved onto the lanai to 
stand beside her. She didn't acknowledge his presence.

"You're right," he said gently, wanting to make up for that momentary 
flash of anger he'd been unable to avoid, when she had so casually 
spoken his Mom's name, as though she knew her well. "They are 
pretty."

Her small, sideways glance at him was so pitifully hopeful, so full of 
gratitude, that his heart went out to her. It also made him ashamed. 
He felt like a heel. He quashed the sudden softening towards her 
coldly, reminding himself of who and what she was. She wasn't Lois. 
She could never be Lois. He had to harden himself against that 
certain look in those dark brown eyes, the haunting expression, the 
trembling of lips he knew each curve and pout of, the very taste of...

He felt something rough against his palms and realized with a grimace 
that it was flakes of paint. He eased up on the railing, before the 
tightening of his fingers crushed the metal entirely, and attempted 
to adopt an air of casual concern he didn't feel and didn't want to 
feel.

"Carnations are my favorites," Eve said, almost shyly. "When you 
phone Martha, remember to thank her."

And then she was gone, back into the suite, leaving him staring after 
her. Startled by that rare moment of adult graciousness, it took him 
a moment before he realized what she'd said.

Carnations were her favorites? Lois' favorite flowers weren't 
carnations.

It was the first time he had heard her define something as entirely 
her own preference, rather than the ones she had been taught to 
match as 'Lois'.

She was becoming an individual.

Clark wasn't sure whether the thought made him relieved.

Or scared the heck out of him.

Troubled by this revelation and slightly confused by his reactions in 
the past few moments to her and her behavior, Clark shook himself 
out of the fugue he'd settled into and crossed the room to pick up 
the first of their suitcases. 

"I'm going to get changed," he said brusquely. He wished that he 
didn't feel as though he was taking flight as he hurried into the 
bedroom and slammed the double doors heavily to a close at his back.

He slumped up against them, letting out a slow breath. With the 
doors a solid barrier between them he felt himself relax, only then 
aware of just how tightly he had been holding himself while around 
her. Just how taut and controlled he was forcing himself to be. He 
huffed out a small breath and then bent to lift the suitcase and dump 
it on the bed. He quickly pulled out the black pants and matching shirt 
he'd added before leaving his apartment. If he needed to attract 
less attention while in Metropolis, perhaps while doing some snooping 
around, he wanted to blend into the background as much as possible. 
There were some places even Superman couldn't go. And some 
methods of investigation that required the 'human' touch. He needed 
to be ready for any eventuality. He was going to leave no stone 
unturned in finding Lois. And no clue untracked because the 
superhero got in the way or he'd been left unprepared. 

He changed out of the travel dusty clothing he was wearing. The 
shower he took was quick and he dried off super fast before he 
pulled on the somber outfit he'd laid out on the bed. Its darkness 
matched his mood much more than the white pants and brightly 
colored sun shirt that his alter ego, Mr. Honeymooner, had required. 
Throughout the execution of these mechanical actions, he set his 
thoughts in order and his plans for the next few harrowing days in 
motion in his mind's eye.

It should be relatively simple, he considered, to keep any contact 
with the outside world to a minimum while they were here. Which 
should relieve the pressure on him somewhat. The less playacting he 
had to perform the better. No one would question the fact that the 
young honeymooners up on the 28th floor were rarely seen outside the 
confines of their room. They would simply nudge each other, raise a 
few eyebrows and chuckle over another case of 'honeymoon fever'. 
Clark made a mental note to strew a few signs around the suite that 
they'd been indulging in some lavish...celebrations. For the benefit of 
anyone from room service, the room would have to look lived in.

A small, quiet memory surfaced with the thought. The Lexor Hotel. 
Not the first time he had had to make a pretence out of a 
honeymoon. But then...oh, how different it had been back then. Then 
he had let himself imagine that the fantasy was real, had wished so 
desperately that some day it might be real...that one day he and Lois 
might....

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, clenching his fists until he could 
force the memory into retreat. One day...he told himself savagely...he 
and Lois would. They would. They would defeat this. Just as they had 
defeated so much and so many who had tried to deny them their 
dream. And they would go on. They would survive. This and whatever 
else fate threw at them. Because there was no other end to this. No 
other possibility. They were fated, he and she. Entwined together so 
deeply, so much a part of each other, that no one and nothing could 
tear them apart forever. One day they would be together again. One 
day she would be safe...safe again in his arms...and he would never let 
anyone hurt her again. And that day would be soon. Sooner than 
Luthor thought. 

But for now...for now he had to concentrate on making that vow a 
reality. He couldn't afford to let himself get distracted by the past 
or his loss. So...think. Think, man. 

Yes. Room service. That was it. While they could get away with being 
cooped up here a chunk of the time, he couldn't avoid taking Eve 
outside sometimes. Lex or whoever he had set to watch them needed 
to see them together - the perfect couple, happy and content - if he 
was to get under the man's guard, force him to slip. The odd 
excursion or two, he mused. An evening in the hotel bar perhaps. He 
rubbed a hand over his left eye as he replaced his watch on his wrist. 
He could think of that later. 

He slumped down on the bed. He would think of a great many things 
later. But for now.... He let his head sink into his palms for a moment 
and then lifted it again sharply. He ran both hands through his hair 
and let himself sit for a spell, mind carefully blank, simply letting the 
cool dimness of the room wash over him like a balm. The whisper of 
the ceiling fan overhead was hypnotic. He let himself flop onto his 
back and stared up at it without really seeing it at all.

He was avoiding her. He wasn't going to deny it. There was no reason 
for him to linger in here. He should be making plans to go back to 
Metropolis. But he couldn't bear to open those doors and see her 
standing there. Looking so much like...her...

"Lois...?" he whispered softly into the darkness. His body tensed, 
becoming still as he waited, hoping against hope, for some sign that 
she was there. But there was nothing. Only the silence. Walling him in 
and threatening to suffocate him.

He closed his eyes. Heedless to the tears that leaked from beneath 
his lids and ran down his skin to soak into the comforter.

The day had been interminable so far, had seemed to last seven 
lifetimes, full of misery and heartbreak and fear. Since leaving the 
Planet he'd been operating on automatic, cruise control, his thoughts 
small, wild things that flittered around his head and almost drove him 
crazy as they spun in insane, frantic circles, finding no escape route 
and no solutions. 

When they had disembarked in Hawaii he had scanned the airport 
environs surreptitiously for anyone acting suspiciously or who looked 
as though they were paying too much attention to a particular 
planeload of passengers or one honeymoon couple out of the crowd. 
But it was impossible to judge. In such a huge mass of humanity 
milling together there were always people acting suspiciously or 
paying too much attention. Most of them turned out to be entirely 
innocent or with agendas of their own which might be nefarious - 
pickpockets, timeshare dealers and others - but were nothing to do 
with Lex Luthor. His instincts had grown more honed to trouble over 
the years as Superman, he could often spot the criminal in the crowd 
before he acted, but here they'd failed him dismally. He just hadn't 
been able to tell if they were being watched or not.

The loudspeaker had apologetically announced a delay in their luggage 
being taken off their flight. Technical problems. For one crazy 
moment he had almost considered taking Superman along to see what 
the problem was and if he could help. He hadn't been able to bear one 
more second in public, the strain of the pretence was beating him 
down like an iron bar. But sense had prevailed. Superman being 
anywhere near Hawaii when his good friends Clark Kent and Lois Lane 
were honeymooning there wasn't a good idea, he knew. And if they 
were being watched he might be seen changing into the Suit, no 
matter how careful he was about scanning the men's room first. 

Reluctantly, he had decided that if they did have to hang around the 
airport for half an hour or more then he should use the time to give 
any watchers the show they were looking for. What would your 
average honeymoon couple have done in the circumstances?

In the end he had taken Eve to a little pavement caf, nearby. Had 
ordered wine. The image of him sitting there, sharing smiles and 
clinking glasses with Lois' doppelganger was burned indelibly into his 
brain, like the memory of a shameful crime. 

Betrayal.

He betrayed Lois with every instant he spent here with that...that 
thing out there. Every smile, every touch...they were like deep wounds 
on his heart that would never heal. 

As his thoughts brooded on that, he turned his face to the pillow and 
closed his eyes. 

The soft, hesitant knock on the door roused him some indefinable 
time later. He had no idea how long he'd lain there...minutes? Hours? 
He stiffened, listening to his heart pound fiercely in the shadows. 

"Clark?"

He held his breath, forcing it into shallow stillness.

"Honey?"

He winced. 

"Uh...you're still in there...right? I mean..." A shaky laugh. "Sure you 
are. Silly. Um...okay...going now...see...this is me...going..."

He waited and then to his relief heard her steps as she retreated. He 
retreated too. Back into the dim, dismal brooding of his thoughts. 

This was going to be hell. Purgatory. There was no escaping that. But 
maybe he could make it as bearable as he possibly could. It would 
be...fine. They'd keep to themselves, like he'd decided earlier, avoid 
mingling, keep their contact with the world outside this suite to a 
minimum, and maybe it wouldn't be long at all before he could give up 
pretence entirely and confront Lex as he wanted to - honestly and 
forthrightly. Face to face. Man to...monster.

He sat up abruptly. Things were going to go just fine, he reiterated 
the reassurance. Just like he planned. Invigorated by that clearing of 
his mind, the setting out of his intentions, he strode for the living 
area, hauling open the doors and looking around for Eve to inform her 
of his decision.

The room was empty.

Which rather threw a wrench into what he'd been about to say. He 
stood there for a moment, almost unable to match the emptiness of 
the room with the thwarting of his plans. She couldn't have gone. 
He'd just decided they were staying here. So she couldn't have - 

His eyes fell on the glass and rattan table beside one of the long 
sofas. His wallet lay open on it, together with a single sheet of hotel 
stationery. With a feeling of foreboding, he bent to pick it up 
gingerly. He groaned.

"Gone shopping," it said.


~@*****@~

"I am made by her...and undone."

"Sir?" Callinson offered up the response as though by rote as he 
closed the office door at his back, with the sense of a man asking out 
of politeness' sake and not through any real interest in having his 
question answered.

Luthor turned from where he'd been staring down at his desk, his 
fingers toying absently with a silver-embossed antique letter opener. 
He held it like a blade now as he perched on the edge of the desk and 
looked up into the doctor's mildly inquiring face. 

He smiled. "Lois Lane," he said. "She defines me. She inspires me." 
The smile grew slightly mocking as he spun the blade in his hands and 
watched the light refract along its length. "She irritates me to the 
point where I'd like to put my hands around that slim, pale throat and 
squeeze until she stops being a drain on my heart and a canker on my 
soul." He put the knife down abruptly and then spread his hands wide 
in a gesture of helpless acceptance. "But then, such is the wonder of 
love. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never succumbed to that particular disease." 
Callinson's own smile was slightly frosty. As though it was a gesture 
that wasn't accustomed to being on his face. His humor, likewise, had 
an air of artifice about it, Lex thought. Something studied and 
learned rather than truly understood. Lex held in a sigh. Sometimes 
he missed Nigel. Though the man had stabbed him in the back he had 
known the value of a good joke now and then. He'd had a fine singing 
voice besides.

He shook his head. "Ah, then I truly grieve for you, doctor. But then, 
I'm not paying you for your sentimentality." His eyes reflected the 
mockery that twisted suddenly in the chill of his smile. "Or your 
charm." He got to his feet. "How is she?"

"Perfectly healthy, just as I predicted," Callinson reported, unfazed 
by the insult. "There's really nothing to concern you, Mr. Luthor. I'll 
have a detailed report on your desk by this evening, but all residual 
traces of the drug should be out of her system within the next couple 
of days. I don't anticipate any lasting difficulties." 

"Good." Luthor smiled pleasantly. "I'm sure that we both hope your 
anticipation becomes reality." He moved a hand, seeming to dismiss 
both threat and possibility that the doctor could be wrong with the 
casual gesture. "But, I'm keeping you from your...duties. Thank you, 
Doctor."

Callinson nodded silent acquiescence of the dismissal and a moment 
later Lex was alone in the room. Sitting down in the leather chair 
before the desk, he wondered idly how long it would be before the 
good doctor's usefulness was outweighed by his utter lack of 
personality. The man was a genius of course. And, more importantly, 
his ethics were open to negotiation. But genius could be 
overwhelmingly boring at times. 

"Ah, Nigel...." he sighed regretfully and then, straightening with an 
irritable frown, "Don't you ever knock?"

The robed and turbaned figure, which had somehow slipped silently 
into the room and now stood watching him like a wraith at the feast, 
quirked a smile at him which Lex was positive was supposed to be 
enigmatic, but didn't answer. 

He sighed again. "Never mind." He eased himself back into the chair, 
deliberately letting the moment of annoyance pass and allowing 
himself to be infused with satisfaction and good humor instead. "How 
is our friend enjoying his new bride?"

Asabi moved closer. "Kent visited the Daily Planet before getting on 
the plane. He spoke to Perry White before he left."

Lex frowned. "Problems?"

Asabi hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't think so. Our informant 
reported nothing untoward. She wasn't able to put herself in a 
position to hear or see the conversation that took place with White, 
but she reported that Kent seemed very...enamored...and the clone 
appears to be performing to expectations."

Lex considered that. "And now?"

"My last contact confirms that Kent and the clone left Metropolis for 
Hawaii at two twenty two and checked into their hotel when they 
arrived." Asabi paused. "There was some problem with the rooms. I'm 
afraid they aren't staying in the beach accommodation. I can instruct 
our operatives at the hotel to equip the new suite they've taken if 
you wish."

Lex paused in the act of opening the polished ebony cigar box on the 
desk and cast a look of mild surprise at his subordinate. "You bugged 
the honeymoon accommodation?" 

Asabi frowned. "You said you wanted him surveilled. I thought - " The 
Indian's dark eyes might have held a hint of concern, of anxiety. But 
it was hard to tell. Certainly the smooth face showed no hint of 
cracking that irritatingly serene expression.

Lex leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully and 
pursing his lips. He didn't speak again until he spotted a dark line of 
sweat course down the man's left temple. That was better. 
Sometimes he wondered if he kept Asabi around because of his 
usefulness or because that smug unflappable exterior was such a 
delicious challenge to break. 

He put the small amusement of tormenting his servant aside and 
returned his thoughts to the matter at hand. Business first, pleasure 
after. "Intriguing idea. But shame on you, Asabi." He shook his head 
dismissively as he delivered the faux censure, a man bothered by 
trivia when he had more important business to attend to. "No, have 
the equipment removed from the beach accommodation. Individual 
observation will be more than adequate for my purposes. I've little 
interest in what Kent does, so long as he's where he should be and 
doing what I want him to. Your people know what kind of footage I 
expect, don't they?"

Asabi nodded stiffly. There seemed to be a note of distaste in the 
gesture. As though the man deemed the task more suited to a cheap 
third-rate detective agency than himself. Lex hid a smile. It never 
did to give in to the superiority complexes of the hired help. It would 
do the man good to wallow in the mud for a time. Remind him of his 
status. Which was lower than he often imagined.

"Good," he declared expansively as he reached out and resumed his 
quest for a cigar. "Then let's leave Kent and his adoring bride some 
privacy to enjoy the nuptials, shall we?" His smile widened. "After all, 
like all true love it's doomed to be a fleeting experience. Just 
twenty-eight days of wedded bliss before the grieving young husband 
will be planning the funeral cortege."

"As you wish." Asabi inclined his head marginally in agreement.

"Then I'll leave Kent to you. I've...more important matters to attend 
to and better entertainments to take interest in. Try to get the clone 
alone as soon as you can. Have it reminded that I expect it to keep 
Kent occupied. Make sure it understands that. Make sure it 
understands I won't tolerate failure. Instruct it yourself if 
necessary - you seem to be able to get it to understand plain English 
better than most at times - but make sure it knows."

"It knows."

Lex grimaced. "Does it? It seems woefully deficient at times. But 
still...you were right, it does seem to be at least intelligent enough to 
fool our Kerth-winning journalist. Poor Kent. The biggest story of his 
life is right under his nose and those well-honed reporter's instincts 
of his seem to be failing him dismally. Such a shame." He considered 
for a moment. "Keep a close watch then. If you think it needs 
reminding, do so. I'll leave that decision to you. I know you'll 
be...discreet."

To that, Asabi made no comment. He straightened. "Shall I have Ms 
Lane escorted to the dining hall as soon as she's ready to join you for 
breakfast?" 

Lex waved an agreeable hand at him in answer. "And make 
arrangements for lunch too. Let's have the Chateau Margaux 1989 
with that, shall we? We're having roast beef, yes?"

"I believe so. I'll instruct the kitchen staff."

Lex watched the robed figure as it left, then dropped his brooding 
gaze to the spread of files and photographs on the desk. He picked up 
one of the pictures at random. A younger version of his true love 
smiled up at him from out of the 8x10 image, dark hair teased by a 
breeze as she laughed into the camera lens. Lex ran a soft finger 
down one celluloid cheek and then replaced the photograph carefully. 

A small sound of distress took his attention. He looked up and into 
the monitor on his desk, at the slim figure which had thrown herself 
face down on her bed. Her shoulders heaved in a paroxysm of grief 
and the sound of her whimpers came through the speakers, muted 
and somehow pitiful. A tableau of a woman broken. Lex turned up the 
volume on the speakers.

She'd watched the video then. Or at least, part of it. He presumed 
she hadn't worked her way through it all. Watching your fiance 
snuggle through the tourist trail in Hawaii with another woman 
couldn't be the most pleasant of experiences. Particularly when the 
woman was your twin and obviously as enamoring as you were to the 
man. Some lovers were so fickle. So easily...distracted. He was sorry 
he had to put her through that trauma. He truly was. But still...at 
least now she knew better than to hope that Kent was planning her 
rescue. The truth could sometimes be brutal but it had to be faced. 
Now at least she could see how capricious a thing Kent's regard for 
her had been. How easily it was subverted. Hardly the true love she 
had been searching for. The soul mate she deserved.

Poor, poor Lois. To see her betrayal acted out on tape must have been 
devastating. He checked his watch briefly. He only hoped it wouldn't 
make her so distraught that she had to cry off from their breakfast 
date. 

Lex put up a hand, placing it over the image on the screen, stroking 
his fingers across the lithe body portrayed there in miniature. "You'll 
forget him soon enough, my love," he promised. "I'll make you forget."

Eyes remaining fixed on the monitor, he picked up the phone.

"Get me...which police precinct covers LAX?" He listened to the 
response and then nodded. "Good. Jamieson is our closest contact to 
that area, isn't he? Then put me through to him."

As he waited for the connection to be made, Lex smiled broadly at 
the screen before him. He leaned back in his chair. "Welcome to the 
deconstruction of Ms Lois Lane." He chuckled.

Even the fact that the faint and tinny muzak coming through the 
handset butchered Mozart's Turkish March into an obscenity failed 
to dampen his mood.


~@*****@~


Clark spent over an hour searching the stores in a two-block radius 
around the hotel. It was muggy out and he chafed at the delay to his 
plans. Coupled with worrying about what Eve was doing out there on 
her own, what disasters she might be making for him, and whether 
he'd made the right decision coming here at all, it was a weary, 
disgruntled, and slightly irritated superhero who returned empty-
handed to his hotel suite.

Opening the door, he paused to survey the sight that greeted him. 
Then, cautiously, like a man walking into the middle of a field he 
knows to be mined, he entered the room and closed the door softly 
behind him.

The room looked like the warehouse of a cut-rate clothing factory. 
Boxes, some of them open and trailing nests of brightly colored tissue 
paper, some of them still pristinely untouched, were piled haphazardly 
on seemingly every available surface. Items of clothing, much of it 
garish enough to make the eyes hurt, were spread around on sofas 
and chairs, and discarded in heaps on the floor. 

Clark stumbled over a abandoned pair of yellow platform shoes and 
swore mildly. He spied a label hanging from an orange mini dress 
draped over the back of the nearest sofa. He winced. Okay, forget 
the cut-rate part then.

"Tell me these are on approval," he said, dismayed, to the woman 
preening before the full-length mirror in the bedroom. 

"Oh, I approved! I approved all of it a whole lot!" Eve declared 
happily, turning this way and that as she eyed herself in the mirror 
with satisfaction. "All those nice people in the stores approved too. 
They all said I looked real pretty."

"Right." Clark sighed. "Eve, you can't keep all of this. It has to go - "

He stopped as he saw her face harden and she turned for him. "You 
said you'd buy me things if I came along."

"Well, yes, but...well, I wasn't thinking of the entire clothing supply 
of the state," he muttered, exasperated. He saw her lips tighten. 
"Look, I just can't afford to max out my credit card on this kind of - 
" He stopped, seeing in her expression that appealing to her fiscal 
sense wasn't going to be the way to go with her on this one.

"Eve, I need all the money I have right now. I might need it, if I find 
something that will lead me to Luthor. You understand that, don't 
you? You said you wanted to help me find him, didn't you?"

She stared at him, stony-eyed.

"Okay, how about we make a deal here?" he tried tiredly. "You take all 
of this stuff back to the stores and..." He groped wildly for an 
inducement, lost for a moment in a welter of near panic. All the plans 
he'd made for himself and Lois, here in this paradise: sailing around 
the islands on the hotel's glass-bottomed sunboat, picnicking on a 
white sand beach in a secluded cove, or whale watching off the 
coast...a moonlit swim in some out of the way lagoon, courtesy of 
Superman...none of them anything he could now envisage sharing with 
Eve. He couldn't even imagine suggesting she participate in those with 
him. They were too close to the memory of Lois. Too much a sullying 
of what they'd meant to each other. Like inviting an unwelcome guest 
to intrude on their privacy. Impossible.  

"Um...how you'd like to go on a picnic tomorrow?" he threw out in 
desperation. A picnic. That would be okay. Right? Not the romantic, 
lazy afternoon he had envisaged, but something simpler. Something he 
hadn't imagined doing with Lois.

Her face brightened. She absently dropped the blouse she was 
holding to the table beside her as she focused on the offer. Like a 
child, Clark thought, abandoning a toy that had been a favorite one 
moment and suddenly forgetting it existed the next, as it reached 
for a new treat. "Really?"

"Sure. We can...hire a couple of horses, take a trip up into the hills. 
You'd like that?" Horses. Lois didn't like horses. That was safe 
enough.

"Yes!"

Clark managed to keep his own distaste for the idea off his face with 
an effort. At the very least, he consoled himself, it would be a good 
'honeymooners' outing to play out for anyone keeping them under 
surveillance. 

"So...you'll take this stuff back then? Before I get back?" he said 
hopefully.

"Back?" 

"I'm going to fl-  go to.... Start snooping around, checking things out - 
"

She stared at him, face suddenly dismayed. "But we just got here. I 
thought - "

"I can't waste any time. I have to start looking for Lois. I have 
to...uh...make some calls...to...sources...and things...." He had begun to 
sweat he realized, but to his relief she seemed disinterested in the 
details.

"Lois?"

Clark gave her an impatient glance as he pushed a few boxes out of 
his way. "Lois. Remember? She's the reason we're here?" He 
straightened abruptly, looking at her more closely. "You do 
remember? Don't you?"

"Oh, yeah. Uh-huh." She made a 'gotcha' motion with her hands, 
accompanied by a quick smile. "Lois. Sure. It was just - "

"What?" he asked absently, as he looked around the room, trying to 
think if he'd forgotten anything important.

"Well, you know...fun!" Her desperately happy smile faltered as he 
glanced at her blankly. "Didn't you say we were here to have fun?"

"What?" he said again, a touch more impatiently this time. "No. Not 
fun. You remember why we're here. To fool Luthor. To find Lois." 

"Oh," she said. "Right." The uneasy smile flashed out at him again and 
she made a sheepish gesture. "Forgot."

"Right. So...I need to go," he repeated slowly. 

"Yeah, yeah, head, you know." She pointed at her skull, self-
deprecating as she rolled her eyes. "Full of sun. I forget things." She 
shrugged and then added, "You go. That's...what you gotta do. Go. And 
I can - "

"Stay here. Don't speak to anyone, don't leave. Understand? I'll be 
back later. You can call room service and have someone deliver this 
stuff back where it belongs. Okay? But don't speak to anyone else. 
It's important."

"Stay? I can...go with you and..." She stopped at his look and then 
hurried on, "I could help...maybe...we could - "

"There's no 'we'," Clark said harshly and then, as her face crumpled, 
mindful of the need to keep her sweet and on his side, he softened 
his tone abruptly. "Look, I can do this faster alone, that's all. Okay? 
When I get back we can...have supper or something." He threw out 
this last somewhat desperately. Spending time socially with this 
woman when there was no need was the last thing he wanted to do. 
But...what was necessary. Like the picnic. She seemed to work okay on 
bribery. So far.

Only and always what was necessary.

She was smiling shyly at him now. "I'd like that," she said with a nod.

"Okay. But you'll stay here. Right?" he reiterated.

"Sure!"

"Watch TV or...something. I won't be long."

He knew that for a lie as he left her behind in the cool, airy room 
with the ceiling fans whispering overhead and the darkening patch of 
sky framed behind her. 

The longer he could stay away from her the happier he'd be. 


~@*****@~

Lois barely made it into the bedroom before her emotions 
overwhelmed her. 

Throwing herself face down onto the bed, she sobbed out her grief. 
Desperation and loneliness filled the whimpers that emerged, 
muffled, from the depths of the pillows.

As she calmed down a little and gained some control over herself 
again, she lay where she was, unwilling to show herself to the cameras 
she was sure were trained on her at that moment, mind turning 
furiously over the events of the last half hour. 

That tape.

She smothered a quick grin of triumph among the silk pillows. No 
doubt that Lex had intended his 'vacation video' to erode any last 
hope she might have of rescue, to show her how hopeless her 
situation truly was.

Clark, in Hawaii, with...herself. She shook her head slightly. She had 
no idea who the woman on the screen had been. 
 
All she knew, watching, was that Clark knew it wasn't her.

Clark knew. He knew, she thought fiercely. And the only possible 
reason for him to be with whoever that had been masquerading as her 
on that screen was that he was playing for time. Luring Lex into a 
false sense of security until he could find her. Rescue her.

But he wouldn't stay in Hawaii. He would come back. Looking for her. 
Rescue was on its way. All she had to do was hold on, make her own 
play for time, until Superman got here. He might not be able to hear 
her, but he wouldn't need to. He would think of the bunker sooner or 
later. She had no doubt he'd already searched the city above them. 
But she had told him all about the day that Lex had brought her here 
- the day of the Nightfall asteroid. Not then, but later. She 
remembered. He would remember too, eventually. And then he would 
come check it out. He might find in the records that the owner who 
had bought up the old LexCorp building at auction was now deceased 
and the building had once again changed hands. Perhaps Lex hadn't 
been as circumspect about losing that paper trail as he thought. 

One way or another, he would find her.

Soon.

For now, Lex's attempt to fool her - to fool both of them - and to 
demoralize her into submission had backfired on him badly as she had 
watched Clark perform for the camera.

Oh, she had no doubt that he'd been able to fool Lex. And whoever 
had shot the tape footage. No doubt he was still fooling any spies Lex 
had left in Hawaii to watch him. Them. Her brow darkened as she 
considered the imposter again and then cleared as the beat of hope 
returned to her heart. But he couldn't fool her. She knew Clark 
better than anyone. 

On the face of it, the man on that recording had been the epitome of 
the devoted husband, a man deeply in love with his companion - his 
new wife - and lost in a romantic, private honeymoon world that 
encapsulated only the two of them and kept the world at bay. 
Oblivious to everything around him but the woman he accompanied. 
And there had been no denying that for one heart-struck moment she 
had felt all that Lex had expected and wanted of her when she had 
pushed the innocuous looking tape into the machine in her apartment, 
hit play, and watched the two figures laughing and entwined like 
lovers on the screen. 

At first she hadn't understood what she was watching. Herself and 
Clark. A vast concourse...airport terminal? They had walked through 
many such places on assignments, just like that. Too many to count or 
easily recall. Places so generic that there were little clues to tell her 
in which city or country this one had been located. So for a few, 
bewildered moments she had thought that for some reason Lex was 
showing her old footage of the two of them. 

And then a young woman, laughing up at him, had stepped out of the 
crowd beside the exit doors and stretched up to place a garland of 
flowers around Clark's neck. 

Hawaii.

For an instant she had stopped breathing, had forgotten to breathe, 
as the sliver of that moment pierced her heart and everything 
became clear. She had watched, frozen, as the camera lovingly 
recorded every gesture, every kiss, every touch of the lovers on the 
screen.

And her heart had almost died within her. 

But, like the pitiful tricks of a third-rate illusionist, the flaws in 
Clark's acting abilities soon became clear to her as the tape 
progressed. As she watched them enter the hotel. She had seen the 
little oddities, the strangeness to it. A certain stiffness in Clark's 
movements - infinitesimal but there. 

Relief had almost brought a smile surging to her face. She had 
frozen, aware of the supervision she was under, the constant 
monitoring. And Lex surely would not forego the chance to watch her 
painful study of these scenes. Was he gloating now? She couldn't let 
him know she understood Clark's subterfuge. If she did, all was lost. 

So she had settled her expression into a bland mask, locking her 
relief up inside her as she continued to watch. And, after a moment 
or so, it hadn't become difficult to let grief and pain show on her 
face. 

For a small, shameful spell she had actually felt an unreasonable anger 
fill her at how easily he seemed able to maintain the pretence. His 
loving glances at the woman at his side, his arm around her waist as 
they walked, or slung comfortably around her shoulders as she leaned 
against him, her face upturned to smile at him...

How could it be so easy? How could he playact so well? How could he - 

How *could* he?

But, gradually, she began to see the cracks in the near flawless 
performance, glimpse beneath the coy glances and adoring smiles to 
the desperation in his face, the grief and pain that he had glossed 
over and shut deep within. Perhaps only visible to herself, but real 
and there. And she knew it wasn't easy for him. It wasn't easy at all.

Her heart ached as she watched her fiance bend quickly to brush a 
kiss against the cheek of her double, and then pull her close into his 
embrace as he pointed out a finger from the hotel porch at something 
on the ocean that had caught his eye. Honeymooners at play. What 
was it costing Clark to keep up that pretence? she thought, horrified. 
How much pain was he in, knowing that she was being held by Lex, not 
able even to acknowledge his own loss. 

Tears had begun to spill down her cheeks. Unable to watch his 
degradation and pain any longer, unable to watch any more of the 
charade, this mockery of their lives, she had hit the pause button 
with numb, shaking fingers at the last, freezing the image of Clark 
and...her. Sitting at a round table under the shade of a yellow 
umbrella. Sharing a bottle of the local wine, Clark reaching out to 
clink glasses with his 'bride', smiling at her... smiling at her like he 
had always smiled at ---

She had punched at the off button blindly and stumbled into the 
bedroom. Grief and despair churned in her but not for the reasons 
Lex had intended to provoke. She felt grief for Clark, trapped in that 
nightmare world of subterfuge and loss. Seeing him there, on that 
screen, where she couldn't comfort him, couldn't touch or hold him, 
couldn't tell him that she was all right, that everything was going to 
be okay, had left her feeling miserable and alone. 

And now her thoughts began to prey on her. The woman on the tape. 

Her sense of victory over the monster who had abducted her faded a 
little as she frowned. Just who was she? 

A flash of memory burned its way into her mind's eye - and it was 
memory she understood now, not a part of her nightmare as she'd 
earlier supposed. A woman in a wedding gown who looked like her. A 
woman who had smiled as Callinson had drugged her, and had told her 
Clark was going to be hers. 

Lois' face hardened. Her hands clenched into tight fists. Whoever 
she was, the bitch had better keep her distance from Clark or she 
would - 

<You'll what? Really, Lois? What will you do?>

She sighed and rubbed a weary hand across the tracks of tears on 
her cheeks as she sat slowly up on the bed. As gaze fell on the silk 
pillows another thought insinuated itself darkly into her thoughts. A 
very unwelcome thought.

Just when had Clark realized that woman wasn't her? Had he...had he 
figured it out in time? Before he...before they... Fresh tears began to 
flow as her mood plummeted back into the depths again. 

Had Clark betrayed her? 

<He wouldn't.>

<But he might. He might have.>

<Unwitting. He wouldn't have known.>

Did it matter? Would it matter? Would she be able to forgive him if 
he had? Even though he had been tricked as vindictively as she had 
been?

It isn't his fault.

But if he did...

If he had....

She shook her head with a frown. She couldn't - she wouldn't - 
condemn Clark without hearing the truth from him first. To follow 
this train of thought was to let Lex into her head. To let him twist 
and warp and defile what she felt for Clark and what he felt for her. 
To let him succeed in what he had tried to do with that tape.

Destroy her love.

Destroy her hope.

She *wouldn't* let him. 

She did have hope. And within her, beyond that empathic grief for 
Clark and her fear and sorrow for herself and her own situation, her 
heart soared. 

She had hope. The hope that Lex had sought to take from her with 
the tape had only given it new life. Like a rush of oxygen to a dying 
flame. Clark knew he had been duped. Knew that she had been 
replaced, kidnapped. He was looking for her. He would find her. 

She might be trapped. She might be alone. But time was running out 
for Lex. And she could hold on to that.

If nothing else, that kept hope alive.

Superman would find her.

And when he did, he would die.

The thought spiked into her head, bringing all of her hopes crashing 
down into the dust. Lex had no need to fear Superman. He had taken 
precautions to ensure that should the superhero find her then he 
would be eliminated. Trembling, she faced up to the knowledge that 
she couldn't allow Clark to find her. She couldn't place him in that 
much danger, put him at that much risk.

So...her mind ticked over the possibilities. She either had to escape 
from here herself...or find a way to get rid of the kryptonite. 

She stroked a quiet hand over the pillows and then tightened her 
shoulders. She took a deep, calming breath. When you were in the 
darkness you grabbed hold of whatever light you could reach. And the 
light within her had always been strong.

Clark knew she was gone. Knew he'd been tricked. And when the time 
was right, when she had made it safe, she would find a way to call him 
and he would come. Lex had to be bluffing about the soundproofing. 
At least...in part. From what she'd seen of the complex already it was 
huge. It would have cost a hefty fortune to soundproof all of it. 
Would he have had enough to do it all? Perhaps he had soundproofed 
the core sites where she was likely to spend most of her time. 
This...cell...masquerading as her apartment. His office. Others. But 
what about the out of the way places? The storerooms and 
basements? The places seldom visited by anyone...and forgotten? 
Could he have forgotten them? Or simply taken the calculated risk 
not to include them in his shield? Assessed them as low risk? Not 
worth protecting? 

When the time was right, when it was safe, she would test them all. 
Or find a way out of here, up above to the city. One way or another, 
she would find her way out into clear air where he would hear her. 
And he would come, she reiterated fiercely in her head.

And Lois Lane was on the case. Her assignment clear. All she had were 
her wits and her intelligence, her only weapons her will to win and a 
burning desire to defeat her opponent.

One way or another, she concluded with no mean amount of grim 
satisfaction, Lex Luthor was doomed.


~@*****@~


Clark was tired. No, exhausted, he admitted with a grimace. His self-
imposed schedule was taking its toll. Playing the besotted 
honeymooner by day while spending his nights as Superman - 
searching for Lois, checking in at the Planet, and slipping in patrols of 
Metropolis to maintain a presence there in between - the hours of 
futile, desperate searching, had left him little time for sleep. And 
emotionally and physically drained.

As he rode up in the elevator, its hushed silence as it rushed past 
floors settling a despairing calm in him, he reflected that the past 
few  days had been spent relearning an old lesson. That the world 
didn't stop getting itself into trouble just because his life had gone 
to hell in a hand-basket. Criminals didn't stop trying to create chaos, 
fate didn't stop trying to bring about disaster. Superman couldn't 
stop trying to thwart all of them. Even when his heart was a dead, 
cold weight in his chest and misery and exhaustion lay heavy on his 
shoulders.

He was almost out of options. He knew it, but admitting to it was 
something almost impossible to acknowledge. If he admitted to 
himself that his search was futile, that he was getting nowhere, that 
the trail - whatever trail there had once been - to Luthor had long 
since grown cold...that he had lost her beyond hope of finding... 

He couldn't. He couldn't admit it. He couldn't stop. There was a void 
waiting for him, deep in his soul, a black abyss that was a breath away 
from devouring him whole. He couldn't allow himself time to stop, 
time to think - that way lay the way of the damned. He had to keep 
going, keep searching, keep... 

He leaned up against the elevator wall, the sudden desolating urge to 
weep welling up in him so strongly that it took all of his willpower to 
force it back. Back down where it had lived these past days. Back 
where it could be ignored. For a little time more.

He had to find her. But where? Where did he look? He had searched 
the entire city, quarter by quarter, block by block, systematically 
examining and rejecting building after building. Factories, 
warehouses, basements...he hadn't left a stone unturned or a square 
inch of Metropolis overlooked. And his reward had been nothing at all. 
Not a sign, not a hair, not a clue. 

All of LexCorp's property had long since been passed on to new 
owners, other corporations...but he had searched them anyway. 
Luthor's private residences had yielded up only a Japanese executive 
and two families, none of whom had the slightest connection to the 
former billionaire. 

There was something he was missing. There had to be. Of course 
there had been places he couldn't search. Government property - 
lead-shielded. Curious how that worked. For all that they lauded him 
as a hero and - to some extent he knew wasn't feigned at all - 
trusted him, shortly after his first public outing as Superman all 
government buildings suddenly grew a new lead skin. He guessed he 
couldn't blame them really. Government was paranoia. With a capital 
'P'. They made secrets out of air, would classify water if they 
thought they could. He knew it really wasn't personal. Well, mostly. 
There were some shady elements in government he wouldn't trust 
with a water pistol and he was sure the feeling was mutual. But in the 
main he wasn't offended or concerned by his exclusion from sensitive 
government areas. Even if many more of them seemed to be sensitive 
than logic had a right to expect. 

Anyway, he doubted that the government was in collusion with Luthor 
to kidnap his wife and ruin his entire life. He could always request 
permission to search the relevant buildings. And by the time he was 
one hundred and three they might send him that permission in 
triplicate. But he was sure he'd find nothing there to justify the wait.

Maybe it was something he could think about later. Leave on the back 
burner as a last resort. Maybe if he got to one hundred and three and 
he still hadn't found....

He shied away from the thought. He was getting good at that lately. 
Shearing off on tangents that avoided getting too close to the edge 
of that chasm rearing up on the black edges of his mind.

No, those government buildings didn't bother him. They weren't in 
the equation. 

Except....

What did bother him was that the old LexCorp Tower had been ceded 
to the government by the executors of Luthor's estate, in payment 
for overdue taxes. It wasn't classified. Apparently. It had been 
taken over by nothing more top secret than the Department of 
Education. Floor upon floor of secretaries and pen pushers. But the 
basement...the basement was shielded. He suspected it had been that 
way in Luthor's time and that the government - being government and 
for whom the catchall dogma 'why declassify unless you have to' was 
a holy mantra - had simply never seen the need to change it.

Could Lois be hidden down in that basement?

It might make a twisted kind of sense. Luthor no doubt had fond 
memories of the place. Where he had come closer than anyone before 
him or since in killing Superman. Or perhaps it was a source of 
bitterness for him. Somewhere he had no desire to visit again. The 
scene of his most spectacular failure. Where he had been betrayed. 
Where he had lost everything. 

Clark frowned. Luthor wouldn't want to remember failure. Perhaps it 
wasn't the most likely place for him to be holed up after all. And 
could he really have a hiding place set up down there, right under the 
noses of a whole industry of workers, people with no loyalties to him 
and no reason not to turn him over - a fugitive from the law - if they 
saw him? It didn't seem likely. How could he hide out so effectively, 
in a place which had surely been first on the list to be searched by 
the police? The entire building had been turned over right after 
Luthor had apparently fallen to his death from the Penthouse level. 
Right after his aborted wedding. Not a square inch of it hadn't been 
torn out and exposed to the harsh light of investigation. There were 
no concealed corners, no hidden passageways which hadn't been 
discovered. It had no secrets left. 

Except to him. Who couldn't even see beyond its lead-lined walls.

But he had asked Henderson. The detective had been suspicious as to 
why he wanted to know and Clark had been guilty for the fact that he 
couldn't confide in the man, who had after all become a good friend 
to both himself and Lois over the years and should above all be 
someone he could trust. It wasn't about trust, he told himself sharply 
now. It was just...he couldn't bear to go over it all again. Couldn't 
bear to expose the shattered dregs of his life, to answer questions, 
to hear sympathetic murmurings. 

So he had gone as Superman and had side-stepped Henderson's 
probing in the guise of offering his aid in the search. Half the police 
force of the country was out hunting the escaped felon. Henderson 
had accepted Superman's word that he had no knowledge of Luthor's 
current whereabouts - an irony that hadn't escaped Clark - or any 
information that could help them in their enquiries. And from what he 
had managed to glean from the detective, it just wasn't possible that 
Luthor could have managed to secrete himself away in the basement 
of the Tower without anyone knowing. Or found himself some hidden 
lair that had remained undetected over so many months of searches, 
and changes of ownership.

Clark sighed, knowing that he was covering old ground here, 
arguments he'd tussled over time and again already - and still found 
no conclusions to. 

Still...that he couldn't know for certain, that the vast area under that 
building was sealed off from him, worried at him like a loose tooth. 
Chafed at him. Maybe he should search it. Even if it was the most 
unlikely possibility. Maybe he could persuade Henderson to let him 
search it. He frowned. He would visit the detective again tomorrow. 
Maybe he would ask him about it then. He had to visit him anyway. 
See if he had turned up anything yet in his own search for Luthor.

And he would drop in on Perry later too. Maybe Jimmy had come up 
with something. 

He grimaced, aware as always of the depressing number of maybes 
that his thoughts contained these days. He was swimming around in 
dark, mud-choked waters and he had no idea where he should strike 
out for next, which way would bring him back into the sunlight and out 
of the mire.  

But he had to find out. He had to. Because Lois was depending on him. 
She needed him to know. He couldn't fail her by flailing around like 
this, with no idea what to do or where to go next. 

He missed Lois. Not just because he loved her. Or because he was 
sick with worry over where she was...who she was with...whether she 
was hurt...hurt being as much as he could stand to think of. Worse 
than hurt didn't bear thinking about at all. But because he had grown 
accustomed to her being there for him when trouble struck. They 
were a team and he had come to rely on her incisive insight, her 
ability to help him track down the villain and make everything come 
right. Without her, he felt adrift in a becalmed sea, unable to make 
sense of the world around him.

Why hadn't he sensed anything from her since that instant on the 
plane? Was her silence since... He reined himself in from the wild 
gallop over the edge of the abyss that that fledgling train of thought 
was likely to deliver him to. It could mean nothing at all. Besides...he 
rubbed tiredly at the corner of one eye...he was beginning to wonder 
if she'd ever been there to begin with. At the time it had seemed 
so...*real*...he had known it was real. That she had been there, in his 
head...somehow. But now...with the slow, inexorable, excruciating 
passage of days with nothing more, the memory had faded till he 
wondered if it had ever been anything more than the fevered product 
of an imagination desperate for some contact, some sign, some hope...

<Lois...Lois, tell me if you're out there. Tell me you're still all right. 
Please, Lois...>

This time the silence was all that he expected. He became aware that 
the elevator had stopped, its doors gaping in silent invitation and the 
dimly lit, empty corridor beyond looking like a gateway to Hell. What 
was it about hotels in the early hours that gave the impression of 
something ravenous and soul-less, waiting to devour you? He grimaced. 
Maybe he'd been watching too many movies or listening to too many 
old songs. It was just a hotel. Not the Overlook. Nor the California.

Just a hotel. 

The real soul-less creation, the real thing waiting to devour him, lay 
beyond the doors of his suite. 

The morbid thought made him sigh as he stepped out of the cage and 
began the slow walk to the door at the corridor's end. Perhaps that 
was a little unfair, he chided himself. Eve hadn't gotten in his way 
since they'd been there. He had to concede that. Course, given the 
hectic, desperate schedule he'd imposed on himself over the past 
days, that he'd thrown himself into in an attempt to smother the 
fear that lay constantly on the edge of his thoughts, she hadn't 
really gotten the chance. He'd barely been aware of her, hardly 
noticed her.

Somehow, he couldn't find it in himself to regret that.

Wearily, he stepped into the living area of his suite. He paused as he 
closed the door softly behind him, making his usual sweep and scan 
for any bugs that might have been planted in his absence. There 
weren't any. There had never been any.

Had he misjudged his nemesis? Was Luthor even watching them? Or 
had he abandoned them as beneath his attention now that he had Lois 
safely in his clutches? Clark felt a momentary doubt assail him. 
Doubts came frequently and often these days. No matter the course 
of action he embarked on, he always wondered if it was the wrong 
plan, the wrong move, was Luthor anticipating him, double anticipating 
him....

He sighed. Then shook his head. No, he knew Luthor. He'd be unable 
to resist gloating. Vicariously spying on his victims, enjoying watching 
Clark Kent with his 'bride', believing that he was unaware of the 
deception, would delight him. No, they were being watched. He knew 
it.

He was halfway across the room before another thought struck him. 
Was Luthor forcing Lois to watch them too?

His heart twisted in his chest at the horrifying thought and yet he 
knew Luthor was capable of such cruelty. "Oh, Lois..." he whispered, 
imagining the hurt and pain she would endure if she thought him 
transfixed by Luthor's deception. He slumped down into a nearby 
chair, eyes darkening as he lost himself in thoughts that were almost 
too painful to bear.

In time, the quiet of the room around him began to make its presence 
felt. He emerged from the dark turn of his thoughts and his misery, 
lifting his head to look around him. He straightened.  "Eve?" he asked 
aloud.

Her unusual absence brought him slowly to his feet when he received 
no answer. She had always been here before when he got back. He 
was usually so exhausted that he was barely awake long enough to flop 
onto one of the sofas, falling almost immediately into restless sleep 
disturbed by darkly twisting nightmares of Luthor and Lois. Barely 
awake enough to mumble a response to her greeting or notice she was 
there. But she *was* always there. When he awoke, she was always 
already up and wandering around, impatient as a child to know what 
their plans for the day were, pathetically happy to be taken to the 
beach or shopping or...

Where *was* she?

The resumption of the thought sparked a sudden anxiety in him which 
shot through the irritation he'd been feeling at her absence. He 
couldn't lose her now. He didn't have time to lose her now. He moved 
for the bedroom, cautiously pulling aside the double doors and 
scanning the darkness. The bed was empty, its covers undisturbed. In 
fact it looked as though it hadn't been disturbed for days.

Anxiety was seeding itself into panic now. Had something happened 
while he'd been gone in Metropolis? Had Luthor... No. No, why would 
he take her now? Had he seen through their deception? Figured out 
his plan? Had he - 

A soft sound behind him whipped him around. There was no one there. 
With a frown he arrowed in on the sound as it continued, tracking it 
to the closet on the other side of the room. Frowning, he lowered his 
glasses and scanned the interior. His eyes widened a little in surprise 
and confusion before he set the glasses back in place and moved 
quietly to ease open the closet door as surreptitiously as he could.

Eve was curled up in a huddle on the floor, amid a nest of blankets. 
She twitched and whimpered in her sleep. He wondered at the cause 
of those low sounds of distress. Whatever nightmare she appeared to 
be trapped in, it didn't look a pleasant place to be. His earlier surge 
of panic dying, reassured though still puzzled, he began to retreat.

<Clark Jerome Kent! You are not leaving that child alone in that 
closet, sleeping like some stray mongrel wandered in out of the rain!>

"She's not a child," he responded automatically to the censure in his 
head. "She's not even...I don't even think she's human," he concluded 
weakly.

<Neither are you...>

This time, the voice that spoke up was his own. 

<No, I'm not. But - >

The image of his mother in his head frowned disapprovingly at him. 
Clark sighed again.

"Okay, okay..." he muttered petulantly as he reached out a reluctant 
hand towards the shoulder of the sleeping woman curled on the floor. 
His face showed all the hesitant distaste of a man about to clear out 
a nest of vipers from his basement as he did. At the last moment, he 
paused, hand hovering an inch shy of her skin. 

"Eve..." he whispered and then a touch more loudly as he failed to get 
a response, "Eve!"

Sighing as she didn't stir he steeled himself to touch her. He 
prodded her shoulder and then took back his hand quickly when she 
stirred. "Eve, wake up," he said softly. 

Eve mumbled quietly and he reached out a hand again, then hesitated. 
He was tired, bone-tired, and he really couldn't face her awake. He 
didn't want to listen to her jabbering on like a jackhammer pounding 
at his skull or have her ask him a dozen questions or...he just didn't 
want to listen to her at all. He sighed, rubbing a wearied hand across 
his left eye for a moment. Then, decisively, he reached out and 
carefully slipped his hands under the small, lightweight body and 
lifted her into his arms.

He carried her like a child, cradled against his chest. He felt his skin 
shrink away from the touch of her on him. If he had believed that 
there was no risk she wouldn't wake up and catch him at it he would 
have floated her along with the barest touch of a finger against her 
shoulder or hip, reducing contact to the minimum. But he knew he 
couldn't take the chance. If she found out his secret what was 
already an unholy mess could get even more complicated and 
disastrous, fast. He could put up with a little unpleasantness. 

Although...unpleasant: that didn't really describe what he was feeling 
at all. He felt a heavy flush spread across his cheeks as he realized 
he was too aware of the soft, warm body he was holding clasped to 
his chest, that he was just a little aroused by the feel of her in his 
arms. 

No, this wasn't right. He wouldn't...he couldn't feel this way...this 
wasn't Lois, this wasn't what it seemed to be. He was tired that was 
all, exhausted by the fruitless, debilitating nightly routine of 
searching Metropolis over and over, his defenses were down, he 
lacked the energy to fight it. Exhaustion...and despair...that was all it 
was. But knowing that didn't seem to stop the feelings surging within 
him. He shifted the sleeping woman awkwardly in his grip as his 
uneasiness grew, struggling to suppress the arousal that stirred 
within him.

The undeniable fact that there were times when he still felt 
physically attracted to Eve - that he could feel attraction for her at 
all, in spite of everything he knew about her - was something that 
shamed him. It leapt on him when he least expected it, when he was 
least able to fight it, and always the betrayal of his body's 
involuntary responses - the betrayal of Lois - simply intensified his 
confusion and grief and settled guilt deep into his heart like a curse. 
He understood that in the quiet moments, in the unwary stillness of 
the small hours, her physical resemblance to his wife could still catch 
him unawares. She was so like Lois in so many ways - most of them 
ways she obviously wasn't even aware of. Like now. The softness of 
her hair against his skin, the warmth of her scent...

Her scent...

It wasn't as though he would ever act on those impulses, or the 
desires that moved him - the very thought was an anathema to him, 
horrified him - but still...that he could even think of it, even for an 
instant, bewildered him.

He became aware that he was standing over the bed, that lost in his 
dismal thoughts he'd been there for some moments. 

Still asleep, the woman he held snuggled deeper into his chest with a 
low sigh. His heart froze as she turned her head slightly and he felt 
the absurd prickle of tears as her lips nuzzled warmly at the side of 
his neck. And all of his carefully logical reasons why desiring her was 
an illusion suddenly made no difference to his emotions at all. It took 
every inch of willpower not to give in to the hunger suddenly pulsing 
hot and sharp within him. To simply lower his head and bury himself in 
the softness of her hair. Breathe in her scent. Let her warmth 
surround him.... 

She smelled of Temptation. In more ways than one.

And for a moment the ache in him for Lois was so strong, he thought 
it would crack his heart in two, the sudden wave of grief and loss that 
swept up and over him something he could no longer bear.

Fighting against the urging in his heart and the tears that threatened 
to have him simply fall to his knees and hold her tight to him as he 
wept, made him hasty and incautious. His grip on her tightened 
inexorably, as he brought himself back to reality, denying the 
emotions surging in turmoil within him, causing her to stir.

He was lowering her to the mattress, perhaps more hastily than he'd 
intended in his eagerness to settle her into the bed and leave the 
room, when she stiffened abruptly in his grasp. 

"No..." Her hands gripped at his arms, her fingers tightening 
convulsively as they clenched themselves on his sleeves. "No, don't. 
Please...please, don't."

Clark hesitated, looking down at her as she lay there on the bed, her 
taut body only inches away from his own. It wasn't the plea in her 
eyes or the fear in her voice that shocked him into abrupt stillness, 
that doused entirely any desire or lust he had been feeling for her, 
crushing it beneath a sudden emptiness in his chest. Or the sudden 
knowledge that something in his face - that inner struggle, the 
coldness of his expression or the grimness in his eyes as he'd fought 
his instincts...something - had terrified her as she'd awoken.

It was the sure and certain knowledge he found, deep in those 
frightened, brown, velvet eyes, that she wouldn't resist him, despite 
her obvious fear and loathing. She was rigid in his grip and she was 
afraid. More than afraid. Terrified. 

Despite that terror though, the silent message she was shrieking at 
him was that she would submit to him if he insisted, would do 
whatever he wanted. All he had to do was force her to it. 

He could feel her trembling, sense her fear, and yet she was utterly 
compliant, utterly submissive. With a flash of horrified insight he 
understood that she was simply incapable of denying him. She wasn't 
fighting him at all. She was clinging to him for dear life, eyes huge 
and panicked in a suddenly waxen face, but she wasn't struggling. She 
was too afraid, too...conditioned...to do as he commanded, to deny him 
nothing, to...his face twisted...to please him at all costs. It wasn't in 
her to fight him. Terrified as she was, no matter what he did to her, 
she'd accept it, obedient to the man who'd created her.

He felt sickness rise in his throat at the implications of that. 

"Please..." Eve whispered again. She was rigid in his grip, the knuckles 
of those small hands showing white, and in her eyes there was that 
shining terror, that lack of hope, that defeated, awful pain...

He looked away from that terror, let her go, and reached to pull the 
covers up around her with a gentleness he had to force. Anger for 
Luthor clenched in him like a fist and he didn't want her to 
misinterpret that, think that it was directed at her.

"Go to sleep," he said gruffly, before he turned away and left the 
room. In the doorway, he turned back momentarily to find her 
watching him. She closed her eyes, but her body was stiff beneath 
the blankets, as though she expected him to pounce when her guard 
was down.

Clark softly closed the door and wandered over to the bar in the 
corner. He poured himself a glass of iced mineral water - he was 
shaking so much, he discovered, that it took two attempts and more 
of the water ended up on the counter than in the glass. White-faced, 
he retreated to slump heavily into the sofa. The water slid a welcome, 
frigid trail down his throat. He glanced at the closed bedroom door 
and then switched on the TV, hoping that the low sound would lull Eve, 
give her some sense of security. Let her know that he didn't intend 
to re-enter the room. That she was safe from assault.

He sipped at his glass, barely tasting the water now, his eyes fixed 
blankly and distantly on the dark, star-filled night beyond the lanai as 
his thoughts turned coldly on what had just happened between them.

He remembered the fear in her eyes. How she had looked at him, 
begging him silently not to hurt her. 

Had she sensed that moment when he had felt desire for her? For 
the faux Lois that she was? Had she been awakened by the emotions 
that had so shamefully touched him, albeit briefly, as he'd carried 
her to 'their' bed? Had she seen it in his eyes when she opened hers? 
Had that been part of what had scared her so? Not just the thought 
that he might...rape her. But the awakening knowledge that he 
'desired' her?

Was he really that much of an ogre in Eve's eyes? Did he really scare 
her that badly?

<Why shouldn't you scare her?> a small, berating voice spoke up in his 
head. 

Clark sighed. In the cold clarity of the moment, with what he had 
seen - and felt - back there in that bedroom, he couldn't deny that 
she should. He'd done nothing but yell at her and threaten her since 
he'd first discovered who - and what - she was. He'd blamed her 
from the start for Luthor's games, because Luthor wasn't around to 
strike out at. No wonder she was afraid of him. And, even when he'd 
stopped yelling, he'd prodded her along, pushing her the way he 
wanted to go, never asking her opinion, always assuming she would do 
as she was told, as he wanted, never considering for one moment that 
she might have a mind of her own. And it was clear that she did have 
a mind of her own. Overlaid as it was with Lois' memory patterns and 
psyche, she was still capable of making her own decisions. She was far 
from the automated, pre-programmed doll he'd assumed her to be. 

The soulless, emotionless automation he'd treated her as. Whose 
feelings he'd discounted and ignored.

In short, Clark realized, he'd behaved abominably throughout.

Hating her had been an escape mechanism, viewing her as nothing 
more than a creature of Luthor's devising, nothing human, had 
enabled him to keep a distance on her. Now that he could no longer 
find it in him to blame her, he found his feelings a jumble of 
confusion where Eve was concerned.

But to scare her so badly... He had never threatened her enough to 
make her look at him *that* way. Had he?

Certainly, no woman had ever looked at him like that. With the 
knowledge that he was about to hurt her, defile her, stark in her 
eyes. 

Clark leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and ran his hands 
distractedly through his hair. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, 
trying to make sense of it all.

She slept in the closet. And she so obviously thought that the only 
possible reason he might have for moving her into the bed was to 
have sex with her. Whether she wanted it or not. By force if 
necessary.

Luthor...

The name slithered unwelcomingly into his thoughts like a cobra. He 
knew what kind of man Luthor was. 

Eve was used to being abused. Her dreams were uneasy places of dark 
fear and hopeless terror. And she expected him to hurt her. What 
had her life been like before she was sent to him? 

For the first time since he had kissed her on his wedding night, 
tasted her lips and known she was not his wife, he thought about what 
Eve had been sent to him to do. Keep him happy, she'd said that night. 
Please him. At any cost. 

At any cost...

Abruptly, Clark straightened. He put down his glass and rose to his 
feet, pacing restlessly for the lanai and the cooling night air which 
might clear his head. A small sound from the bedroom froze him in 
place momentarily and then he scanned it again. She seemed to be 
asleep. 

She wasn't. 

She would have fooled the casual observer. But he could hear the 
rapid tick of her heart, too fast for sleep. He could see how rigidly 
she held herself, far from relaxed slumber. He watched her, unable 
to tear himself away as an unwelcome revelation stirred into life in 
his head; watched the breath rising soft and shallow beneath the 
blankets. 

And for the first time since that night, the anger didn't come. All he 
felt, as he watched over her, was pity.

For the first time, he didn't see a monster, some inhuman, 
Frankenstein creation who had stolen his wife and taken her face. He 
didn't see the gloating face of Luthor grinning out at him in triumph 
from behind her eyes. Those familiar, oh so familiar eyes...

What he saw, lying there, feigning the sleep of the innocent in a king-
size bed, was - no less than any of them - a victim. Luthor's victim. 
Like all of them.

Luthor had sent her to his bed, to be taken like some sacrificial 
virgin. And for the sole reason that she should provide a few hours of 
distraction, enough to give him time to carry out his plans. 

She was so...damaged. He felt the spark of anger against Luthor 
renew itself. Luthor had been guilty of many crimes, had done so 
many despicable things, but creating this...child...was something 
unforgivable and the worst of them. This was an abomination.

The only man she'd ever known, had ever been close to, in her entire, 
short life had been Luthor. And Clark could only imagine how that 
megalomaniac psychopath had treated her. Luthor had never been one 
to deal gently with the people he used for his own ends. She would 
have been less to him than human. 

Did she think all men were like Lex? Did she think *he* was like Lex?

The thought made Clark suddenly sick to his stomach.

No wonder she was terrified of him.

Clark found himself examining his behavior over the past few days 
for the first time with a newly cool and jaundiced eye. And with 
shame. 

Had he treated her any better than Luthor would have?

He remembered suddenly the moment he had confronted her back 
there in his apartment. In his bedroom. In his bed. Everything he had 
said - and done. What was it he'd said?

<Tell me.... I swear...I swear I'll make you wish you'd never been part 
of this.>

Clark flushed, shamed by the memory. He hadn't intended to carry 
through on that threat. Of course he hadn't. But she had hardly 
known that. He had been crazed with fear, terror of what might be 
happening to Lois in Luthor's hands - he still was - and he had been 
full of rage that Luthor had once again invaded his life and stolen the 
woman he loved right out from under his nose. Was he really so easy 
to fool? Was Luthor really so much the superior intellect between 
them? But that was hardly an excuse for his treatment of her. 

He'd known that his own clone was an individual, capable of its own 
thoughts and feelings. And, reluctantly he had to face the fact that 
Eve was similarly a person. Not a machine, not a robot - someone with 
feelings and emotions. He just hadn't wanted to admit it, or face the 
fact. He hadn't *wanted* to lose the anger, to lose the edge it gave 
him. It was all that had been keeping him going. 

To admit she was human, that she had emotions and feelings, was to 
acknowledge that she could be hurt by him. How much better to deny 
her that humanity, to treat her as something barely more than animal, 
to let out the rage he felt at Luthor on his creation. Since Luthor 
wasn't there.

If he let himself see Eve as human, he let her get to him; she gained 
advantage over him. He wanted to keep hold of that anger and hate 
when he looked at her, but...he couldn't anymore. He couldn't fool 
himself into letting himself use her as a proxy for Luthor, to lash out 
at. She had become a victim too. Something to pity.

A victim. She would be more than that, he suddenly understood. She 
would have been a substitute to Luthor too. A substitute for...for 
Lois.

Had Luthor gone so far as to...?

The cool evening air out on the lanai suddenly chilled him. Anger 
tightened in his throat. She was a child! How could he...how could even 
he do something so...so vile...so deranged...

<He wants her. He wants Lois. He always has done...>

He realized his hands were trembling as he clutched the railing of the 
lanai. The knowledge that Eve had more than likely been a proxy for 
Lois in more than one sense sickened him to the point where it was 
unbearable to think on. To imagine that Luthor had taken her to his 
bed to live out some sick, twisted fantasy he harbored for Lois, 
pretending that he held the real woman he had coveted all these 
years in his arms, that it was Lois he kissed, Lois he caressed....

Clark grew pale as his mind spilled out poisonous, virulent images to 
match the run of his speculation. And yet, even beyond his own 
horror, his own disgust, his own fear at what those fantasies of 
Luthor's might mean for Lois now...how much more horrific had it 
been for Eve? Eve, who had been either unwilling or had been so 
abused by Luthor's sexual attack that she was terrified to be held by 
another man...terrified of what he might do to her.

And to know that now Luthor had the real thing in his clutches...that 
he had Lois.... He harbored those sick fantasies, to abuse and defile, 
to...to.... He harbored those and he had...oh god, he had Lois...

Clark surged to his feet, breath tightening in his chest. He couldn't 
think about this, he couldn't it was...it was...

Turning sharply on his heel he moved for the door of the suite, 
knowing only that he had to do something, anything, no matter how 
futile, no matter how exhausted he was already. 

Anything to stop him thinking about what was happening to his wife in 
the hands of Luthor. 


~@*****@~


Eve lay stiff and silent in the bed as she watched the doors to the 
bedroom cut off her view of him. For a time she simply lay there, 
locked rigidly in place where he had left her, unable to move, unable 
to break her stare on those rectangles of shadowed wood, convinced 
this was some kind of trick, convinced that as soon as she relaxed her 
would return...return to.... He would come back and....

A small whimper of breath escaped her and she fought the urge to 
leap from the bed and run back to the closet, digging her nails into 
her palms. She'd felt safe there. Here she was exposed; the 
instinctive response to threat and danger beat in her pulse like a 
battering storm. But he had made it clear this was where he wanted 
her to be. If she didn't obey.... She had to obey. 

She fixed her eyes on the narrow strip of light that showed beneath 
the doors and tensed as a shadow momentarily moved across it, 
blocking it from her view. But the doors remained closed and in 
another moment she heard the creak of the lanai doors. Relief 
escaped her in a ragged sigh.

Still listening with every fiber in her to the sounds beyond the room, 
she huddled deeper into the blankets as though they were a shield 
that could protect her from the world.

A world that was suddenly more confusing and disorientating than it 
had ever been. Frightened, her thoughts snarled in chaotic disarray, 
she lay there, unaware of the warmth of the tears that slipped 
across her cheeks, her eyes darkening as she tried to make sense of 
what had happened.

She didn't understand. She didn't understand any of it.

She didn't understand *him*.

She was used to being abused. Lex had only taken her to his bed that 
one time, but she knew that it was only because she had disappointed 
him, disgusted him....

<...get more pleasure in a corpse...>

The memory of those scathing words made her flush suddenly with 
remembered shame. Yes, she knew that the only reason Lex had never 
used her in that way again was because she had failed to please him. 
But it hadn't been her fault that she wasn't any good at it. It hadn't!

Pleasing the men who intruded on her life was what she'd been 
designed for. Trained for. Taught. First Lex, then...Clark.

He hadn't hurt her, like Lex said he would. Lex's last minute 
instructions had been graphic. Fail to please Clark Kent, fail in her 
mission, be discovered, and Kent would hurt her badly. Worse than 
Lex could ever punish her for her failure. 

Worse than Lex could....

Once, when she had absently begun to chew the fingernail on her left 
index finger - a nervous habit which the woman she was encouraged 
to aspire to be did not share with her and which she had been 
repeatedly warned against pursuing - Lex had flown into a rage. He 
had caught at her wrist and, ignoring her struggles to free herself, 
had softly advised her of the consequences of ignoring his advice to 
stop. He had wrapped his arms around her, pinning her against his 
chest in an embrace that was the mockery of a lover's. His lips had 
almost caressed her ear as he whispered his fury at her. 

His words had almost been friendly, paternally chiding...as he had 
inexorably guided her hand over and into the sputtering flame of the 
burner on the laboratory table. His other hand had smothered her 
shrieks of pain. He had held her there, implacable, until finally 
releasing her, shoving her to Doctor Mamba, who had watched the 
punishment with impersonal eyes, and ordering him to fix up the mess, 
before leaving the room.

Unlike her human cousins, her flesh could be healed within hours 
under the right conditions, with no permanent damage - the frog 
genes in her makeup made the regeneration of charred fingers a 
simple process, almost painless. But if she didn't share the 
consequences, she certainly shared the pain. The experience had been 
agonizing and, seared into her memory as much as the flame had 
seared her flesh, had the power to make her tremble even months 
later. 

She had never bitten her nails again.

Compared to such brutal, casual cruelty, Lex's warning that Clark 
would hurt her in ways she couldn't even think to imagine had not 
been imprinted in Eve's brain as any idle threat. She could *not* 
imagine worse than the cruelties and punishments Lex had devised for 
her. How much she feared angering him, how terrified she was of his 
slightest movement, of the darkening of his expression. If Clark Kent 
was worse.... The prospect had filled her with a terror so 
encompassing it had been almost impossible to name. Lex to Kent was 
like a summer storm to a hurricane. 

He...hadn't though. That was the puzzle. He *had* discovered her and 
he had been angry - really, really angry - but he hadn't hurt her, as 
Lex had told her he would. Instead...he had left. Just walked on out 
the door and...poof! Gone. Just like that woman she'd seen on the TV. 
The one in the cabinet. The man in the white suit had tapped on the 
door and when they opened it she was gone! Just like that - there one 
minute, gone the next. 

Clark had been cold and mean and...yes, there had been a moment that 
first, terrifying night when he'd discovered her, and Lex's 
subterfuge, when she had feared for her life...but he had never - 
really - hurt her. Never beaten her. Never abused her. Never touched 
her at all, after he realized who she was. Or, more importantly, who 
she was not.
 
It had never once occurred to her before that night that Lex might 
lie. But even back then, fearing his anger as she had, remembering 
Lex's warnings, she had felt more safe, somehow, with Clark, safer in 
his apartment waiting anxiously for his return and who knew what 
reaction from him, than she could imagine being anywhere else. A 
world had waited for her beyond that apartment. And it was a world 
that she barely knew and couldn't fathom. Where else would she have 
gone? Back to Lex? Clark had vividly outlined the drawbacks to that 
plan, long after she had come to the same conclusions.

But now...now, the first, tentative seeds of that realization, planted 
back there in Clark's apartment on their wedding night, were 
beginning to unfurl in her mind. The idea that Lex might have lied. 
The possibility that Clark might not be like Lex. Almost impossible to 
contemplate, impossible to imagine...weren't all men like Lex? Wasn't 
that the intrinsic nature of men? To be brutal and violent. To 
dominate and subjugate. 

To hurt.

She frowned and laid her head wearily to her folded arms against the 
soft pillows of the bed. Nothing made sense. 

Clark had tried to put her into the bed. If he didn't want to...do 
*that* with her, why had he wanted her in the bed? In the laboratory 
she had slept wherever she found a corner to lie in and hid whenever 
she could, burrowing into dark spaces like an animal trying to find a 
safety that didn't exist. There had been no provision made for her 
once she had grown enough to stop having to spend the night hours in 
the regenerative pod. Other than those occasions when some fury of 
Lex's meant she had to endure a session of repair, she had not seen 
the inside of the pod for two months before being sent to Clark Kent. 
In that time she had spent a brief, transitory time in Lex's bed and 
then had been sent to Clark's. 

Fear skittered through her. Clark had put her into the bed and then 
had left her. Had she failed again? Had she failed to please him 
again? Had he wanted to take her and then changed his mind because 
she had done something wrong? She was supposed to make him 
*want* to. A low sob escaped her, fear and tension welling up in her 
chest till it was fit to smother her. Why couldn't she seem to make 
him want to? She tried. She did try. 

<Then try harder.>

She flinched at the sound of that harsh voice in her head. At the 
familiar admonition that had shaped her days before she had left the 
lab. Unconsciously, her body tightened with the remembered 
anticipation of the pain that had usually followed. 

<Try harder....>

Yes. Yes, she would have to try harder, that was all. She could make 
him want her. She could. 

Somehow that didn't make her feel any better. She lay in the dark, 
staring at a bar of yellow light beneath a door, listening to the soft 
sounds of movement from a man she didn't want to hurt any more but 
had to if she was to survive....

When she heard the sound of the front door closing she uncoiled 
slightly from her taut position huddled beneath the covers. Her 
breathing eased, the stiffness of her muscles loosening. She darted a 
quick glance for the closet. Dare she....? But the thought scared her 
more than being so exposed did. He wanted her here. He had made 
that clear. She still wasn't entirely sure why. Still wasn't so sure he 
wouldn't return and...when she wasn't expecting it, when she wasn't 
on guard and then...then he would...he might...

She scooted deeper into the covers, clutching the pillow to her like a 
shield. 

Eventually, she slid into restless, troubled sleep, fingers fisted into 
the blanket held high around her throat. The conflicted whirling of 
her thoughts followed her into her dreams. And, in her dreams, she 
whimpered.


~@*****@~ 


Lois paced another circuit of the living room. It had become a habit in 
the past few days, one she couldn't control, didn't want to control. It 
was in many ways the only outlet for her frustration and anger that 
she was allowed.

Lex had joked - joked! A shiver of humiliated rage tore through her 
with the memory - that he'd soon have to have the carpets replaced 
if she kept up with it; she'd wear a track soon.

Lois growled with the memory and then whirled suddenly to scoop up a 
nearby planter before throwing it furiously at the window, with its 
infuriating view of a perfect sunset.  It bounced of course. Lois 
watched it land on the carpet, then raised her eyes to that infernal 
display beyond the window. She choked back a burst of bitter 
laughter that was wrapped in a sob. She put a shaking hand against 
her face, momentarily, pressing her fingers to her lips.

She had to get out of here. She had to. The first flush of giddy hope 
that Lex's video had given her had been leeched from her over the 
desperate, lonely and debilitating hours she had spent trapped in this 
hell. Why hadn't Clark found her? Surely he must have searched the 
city a dozen times over by now? What had happened to stop him 
finding her?

She didn't understand. She didn't understand why he hadn't come. 
She teetered between a maelstorm of emotions in respect of his 
absence. Anger, betrayal and despair at his failure to appear and 
rescue her. Unreasonable, she knew, but she couldn't prevent them 
roiling deep within her at times. Relief that he didn't. Lex's office 
was in one of the many areas cordoned off against her and to which 
she could gain no access and even if she had been able to dispose of 
the kryptonite it would have had to have been with the assurance in 
place of rescue shortly thereafter. Without that security she 
couldn't bear to consider facing Lex's wrath, retribution and 
punishment for her actions if she remained trapped here afterwards. 
It would be foolhardy to risk it. 

Each morning she awoke there was a new tape waiting for her on the 
low table in the living room, next to the VCR. Each of them were gift-
wrapped, tied up with  brightly colorful bows and pretty paper...insult 
added to injury. She had tried not to watch, after the first few what 
else did she need to see, to know? And she had no reason to feed 
Lex's twisted pleasures, play into his mind games or make it easy for 
him. But... she found herself unable to resist the lure, like probing at 
a painful tooth, and no matter how long she held out, how long she 
resisted, she always found herself pushing the tape into the machine 
and pressing play. It was, in the end, all she had left of Clark. And 
imperfect, humiliating and cruelly painful as it was to watch, it was 
still something, some link to the man she loved. The images blurred 
together and ran as she watched the couple on the screen play out all 
the moments that she and Clark should be sharing right then...but 
they offered no clues to his absence.

 But whatever it was that delayed him and prevented her from acting 
to secure his safe passage here in Lex's Citadel, she knew that she 
couldn't stand her captivity long enough to wait around on him any 
more. She had to find her own way out. 

But how?

She knew that if she could find her way to the outside world - lose 
herself in those Metropolis streets that she knew so intimately - it 
would be simplicity itself. But getting here...ah, getting there was the 
rub.

<Sure, Lois...easy as pie. All you have to do is get past a small army 
loaded with more firepower than the National Guard.>

A map of her prison and that maze of corridors beyond this room 
would also come in handy.

Four days ago, her sense of desolation had only been increased by 
Lex's magnanimous tour of what he liked to call his Citadel. The 
problem was that it wasn't entirely a misnomer. The vastness of the 
complex had filled her with a sense of hopelessness she had found 
hard to conceal. As she was sure the tour had been intended to. She 
was trapped underground with a psychopath in something that 
resembled a small city. Or, she thought, remembering the vast array 
of facilities that Lex had equipped his Citadel with, a small luxury 
cruise ship. It certainly had that air about it, with its gyms and 
stores, its ballroom, its swimming pools, its bars....it even had a small 
theater, stocked with every conceivable movie imaginable, from 
classics to modern blockbusters. A library with every book she could 
think of. And sports halls that catered to every whim. Well...except 
archery and a shooting range. She had expressed her wry 
disappointment for those omissions to Lex, who had seemed amused 
by the comment.

Amusement seemed to be what she provoked in him more than 
anything else these days and that good humor in him, her inability to 
goad him into anger or wipe that self-satisfaction from his face for 
more than a fleeting moment, chafed at her like a canker.

The fact that it did frightened her more than a little. Had this 
become the defining of her days? To feel some small victory when she 
could crack the faØade of bonhomie in her jailer? To feel pride and 
achievement in having him punish her? Had she sunk so low in so short 
a time as that?

Despite her dismay though, she did feel a perverse pleasure in her 
latest predicament. Locked in her room like a disobedient child until 
she became more amenable. All that had been missing was Lex's 
admonishment that she wouldn't be let out until she learned to 
behave. 

A flicker of an acid smile touched her lips for a moment. He did so 
hate to lose the illusion that they were living out some romantic 
fantasy. Two lovers secreted away in their private little paradise. If 
pricking that bubble of self-illusion was all the victory she could 
achieve right now, then she was going to stick it to him whenever she 
could. It may be petty, it may be small and insignificant in the grand 
scheme of things, but it made her feel a little more in control when 
control over even the smallest moments of her life was denied her in 
the main. She had to hold on to even the tiniest of victories. Revel in 
them. Let them bolster her. For the moment, they were all she had.

A small grumble from the pit of her belly made her realize that she 
was hungry. She glanced at the clock. Her guard was overdue with her 
evening meal. Her lips twisted in a grimace. Sent to bed without 
supper too?

The thought was all at once so ludicrous and so frightening - a 
sinister sign of the dominance Lex had over her - that she sank down 
on the sofa behind her, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. She 
gulped down a couple of deep, steadying breaths, knowing that if she 
gave in to either she might never stop again.

She wasn't a fool. She was aware of all of the emotional and 
psychological pressures that could be brought to bear on a prisoner 
to make them co-operate with their captor. Frightening words rose up 
in her mind constantly, tormenting her with the surrender they 
implied. Stockholm Syndrome. Holocaust Syndrome. The point at 
which survival became linked with a need of a captive to bond with 
their captor. When emotional and psychological pressure became such 
that becoming a passive, willing victim, dependent on the captor's 
whim to survive, eager to please and submit, became inexorably and 
subconsciously linked with the instinct to survive.

In her work for the Planet she had seen hostages put themselves 
between their captors and the police marksmen trying to rescue 
them, begging for them to be spared. She had seen them attend the 
funeral of the terrorist who had beaten and abused them and 
watched them weep genuine tears of grief. Names welled up in her 
head in the darkest hours of the night. Victims she had known, 
victims she had researched, victims she had pitied. Victims who had 
been so broken, so terrorized, so abused, that they had had no choice 
but to submit to survive. Who had been so damaged that they had 
even believed the choice had been theirs and that they acted of their 
own free will in giving their abuser what he desired. 

Victims she had never associated with herself. With whom she could 
never have imagined having anything in common. 

She had won a Kerth - how long ago and how unimportant that now 
seemed - for her work following the men of the 3rd Battalion, 6th 
Marines during the Gulf War. She had seen men who barely 
resembled anything human at all any more, brainwashed, shaking and 
sweating with night terrors, tortured beyond endurance in the dark, 
stinking hell of Iraqi prison cells.

Lois knew, as most did not, just how insidious captivity could be. Even 
when it was hidden beneath the most benevolent imprisonment. A 
gilded cage was still a cage after all, as wiser minds had known long 
before her. She knew how hard it would get to resist, how much of a 
siren call the lure to give up and give in would be. And she knew too 
that knowing all of this would be no defense against what Lex would 
use against her.

She shuddered. Already she knew the dependence of the victim, the 
captive. Lex had become necessary to her. The smallest moments of 
her day depended on his benevolence. Depended on the complex and 
fragile weaving of lines in the sand between them and the relationship 
she now had with him. Every moment of her life was defined by him. 
Every breath she took granted to her by his generosity. Every 
mouthful of food, every scrap of comfort. Every beat of her heart 
was his to command. Or remove.

Soon...inevitably, the only remaining variable left how soon it would 
take...fear that he would leave her would take over. Fear that if he 
vanished from her life she would be trapped in her prison, left to 
starve, to die of thirst, abandoned to a painful, lingering demise. From 
there, she would become desperate to ensure his survival, desperate 
to keep his interest in her alive, his presence with her. For in his 
survival lay hers and in pleasing him would lie the reward of continuing 
life. The bond between captive and captor could be as inextricably 
entwined, deeper still, than that of lovers....

That Lex could warp her emotions and feelings for him by the simple 
method of denying her the basics of life, with the aid of time - the 
thief of the soul - until she would have to bargain with him with that 
soul to ensure her survival was a very real threat to her, she 
understood. She knew that eventually, if she remained here for much 
longer, she would be forced to negotiate with him in ways she dare 
not let herself consider. She could imagine only too well what Lex's 
price would be. What he would ask of her. What he would demand. 
And she knew too that each new concession to him - no matter how 
small and insignificant they seemed - would damage her a little 
further, a little more, until each small step towards him led her into 
the pit of hell.

Her thoughts were becoming dangerous again. She couldn't help the 
fear and dread within her squirming into life, but as always when they 
began to overwhelm her she adopted a forced posture of calm. She 
closed her eyes, concentrating on restricting her breathing to 
something slow and measured. On the blank screen behind her eyelids 
she imposed by strength of will words in glowing red fire.

I am Lois Lane.
Clark Kent loves me.
Superman will find me.

The triumvirate of her life. Her faith in herself. Her belief in the 
ability of that love to defeat evil. Her trust in the superhero to come 
to her rescue.

She repeated those words like a mantra, a soothing balm to calm the 
turmoil in her soul, until gradually they worked their spell on her mood 
and she began to breathe more easily, became able to push the fear 
down into the small, dark corner of her psyche where it continued to 
live but could at least be ignored. For now. What made her most 
afraid were the days to come - sure and certain - when they would no 
longer work that magic for her.

Aware that her thoughts were turning once more into the dangerous 
tides of morbidity she screwed her eyes more tightly closed and 
deliberately and methodically called up every memory she could of 
Clark. 

Other than the tapes, which were no comfort at all, memories were 
all of his face that she had now. Although her apartment had had 
more than its share of photographs, none of them existed in this 
facsimile. Lex apparently didn't like the competition. Or the succor 
such mementos were likely to afford her. 

It had frightened her, that first day here in her prison, to realize 
just how much of her life Lex had been able to transfer here with 
her. All of her clothes, her books and music collections, her 
videotapes. She had no idea if he had simply brought them along as an 
inducement to encourage her to settle into her new 'life'. But the 
reality was that each new discovery of something intimately hers, her 
jewelry, her mementos, her journals and books, had coursed another 
chill through her to see them here, out of place and somehow 
disconnected to her current situation, jarringly translocated into the 
disturbing and threatening - as she herself was. Each of them one 
more sign of how completely Lex controlled every aspect of her world 
now.

Even here, however, he hadn't been able to resist manipulating her 
belongings to suit his own purposes. Every scrap, every item that she 
associated with Clark was absent. And more went missing each day as 
Lex became aware of their existence. It had become something of a 
morbid game to check the apartment on her return whenever she left 
it, seeking out which piece of her life had vanished with her absence. 
A particular CD she played too often and Lex judged too melancholy. 
He despised Billie Holliday's smoky ballads of lost love apparently. 
Her Kerths. Perhaps he considered them too much a reminder of her 
strength and independence. Success in a career and the pride one 
took in that was no aid to subjugation. A small green marble box that 
Clark had given her, brought back from a trip to Rome. Maybe she had 
held it too long or too often, perhaps her face had given away its 
meaning for her as she had, to the soulless eyes that studied and 
recorded her every move and every emotion through the cold lens of 
the cameras surveilling the 'apartment'.

There had been the CDs Clark had given her as an impromptu gift. 
She had a shining memory of a perfect Valentine's Day evening. Clark 
had surprised her with tickets to a box in the Metropolis Arena 
where Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera had been 
playing. Lois had been entranced by the musical and Clark had bought 
the CDs for her afterwards, in the theater's foyer. 

In the days since her kidnapping, however, she had begun to play the 
recordings almost exclusively, to obsession, fascinated by their 
themes, which so closely and surreally mirrored her own captivity. It 
had become a subversive rebellion. A way of yelling her defiance.

It seemed that Lex hadn't been incognizant to the message. The 
entire collection, along with others that had encompassed similar 
themes, had been gone when she'd returned here earlier in the day. 
She supposed he hadn't much appreciated her casting him in the role 
of Phantom - the deformed psychopath whose insane infatuation with 
a woman and her abduction to his lair had won him nothing but an 
ignominious death. And whose captive had been delivered safely into 
the arms of her true love and handsome hero by the final curtain.

She hadn't commented. She hadn't given him the satisfaction of even 
acknowledging that she noticed these losses. Even though each one 
was like another piece of her soul being snipped away. Excised with 
surgical precision. Leaving nothing but numbing misery behind them.

Luthor's mind games. They weren't only confined to theft. Each time 
she came back here something was out of kilter, out of phase. Little 
things, nothing major. But noticeable all the same. A hairbrush out of 
place. A book she had left opened shifted to another spot. Personal 
possessions. She knew what such methods meant to achieve. Petty 
tricks to keep her off balance, unsettled, their message clear. That 
her personal space could be violated at will and as he chose. Just as 
she could. If he chose. That even the smallest pieces of her life here 
were under his control and not hers. As were everything she was and 
did and could ever do from this point on. His to control. His to 
command.

His.

She shook her head, brow creasing in an irritable frown at the 
defeatist tinge that had colored the run of her thoughts. She rubbed 
at her temple uneasily and sighed.

Certainly, if it had been Lex's intention in housing her here in this 
theatrical set masquerading as her apartment, to ease her with the 
familiar, lull her into a false sense of security with this mockery of 
her home, then he had failed miserably. Thwarted by his conflicting 
need to ensure that she didn't escape him. By any means.

None of the kitchen appliances worked. Nor did the fire in the living 
room. The kitchen drawers were empty, devoid of any cutlery or 
implements that she might use as a weapon or tool to escape. There 
were no detergents in the kitchen or bathroom, no cleaning fluids. 
Not even a can of hairspray. 

There weren't even any plates in the cupboards and all of her 
favorite glass or china pieces in the living room were absent. In the 
bedroom, her light, airy bedclothes were gone, replaced with heavy 
duty blankets that were impossible to tear or shred by hand and 
throughout the 'apartment', the curtains were similarly weighted 
against any attempts that she might make to use them.

Lois' lip curled in disgust. Lex didn't know her at all if he thought she 
would try slitting her wrists or using bed sheets to hang herself in an 
attempt to escape him. But a small, unwelcome thought squirmed its 
way into her mind even as she despised him for thinking it. Wouldn't 
she? No woman was completely unassailable. Every psyche had its 
breaking point. Limits. An unbearable point beyond which they could 
take no more. What would be hers? What would it take for him to 
push her beyond the point where giving up was her only means of 
denying him what he wanted of her? Of thwarting him? Lois shivered. 
What would it take? A year in this hell? Two? Ten?

The rest of her life...?

That last whispered itself in her head like some dark, dirty little 
secret she'd never wanted to face. And then she shook it from her 
angrily. No! Clark was looking for her, Superman would find her. She 
was Lois Lane! She was Lois Lane and - 

Damn you! Damn you to Hell, Lex Luthor, I...won't...play...this...*game*! 

He wasn't going to find it that easy, she vowed, clenching her fists 
tight into her lap. She wasn't going to make herself that easy to 
subdue.

She twisted around and began to pace again.

The clock read eight thirty three when she finally heard the soft 
click of the lock being disengaged on the apartment door.

She had worn out the urge to pace by then, had been leaning listlessly 
up against the jamb of the window, arms crossed over her breasts, 
her hands rubbing a fitful path back and forth across the length of 
her arms as she stared out blankly into the optical illusion that 
formed her view. 

With the passing of the hours, all of the machinery behind the mirage 
slipped another gear, working hard to shift light and color in a 
semblance of daylight's end and night's new birth. Out there, beyond 
her window, she might almost be lulled into thinking that the pinprick 
twinkles of light on the false horizon were actual stars. Stars she 
could envisage being seen by Clark, wherever he was, stars that she 
could imagine as a backdrop to a silent figure in red and blue, scouring 
the earth, scanning the night sky, searching her out, coming to her 
rescue, as he always had, so many times before. 

Stars she could wish by. 

She turned her head as the door was pushed inwards, startled out of 
her disconsolate musing. 

Dinner. At last.

Lois glanced at the clock and then moved into the center of the room.

She was surprised and not a little dismayed to find that it was Lex 
himself who had brought her meal. 

She hid it well. Privacy was so limited a commodity for her now that 
she was learning fast. Keeping her thoughts to herself, not only in 
silence, but in schooling her expressions and her body language so 
that she gave nothing of what she felt away, had already become 
almost second nature with frightening speed. 

She watched Lex frown as he glanced around the room and then saw 
his brow smooth itself out as he found her in the shadows. "Ah. There 
you are. I thought we could be civilized for once. Have dinner, talk." 
He wheeled the cart into place before the dining table as he spoke. 
Lois stayed in place, saying nothing. She flicked a glance at the door 
behind him.

The open door that he hadn't closed when he'd come in. 

The guards who brought her her meals always ensured they closed 
the door before they did anything more. Lois glanced sharply at Lex. 
He was transferring the contents of the cart to the table, seemingly 
oblivious to her for the moment.

She took a small step towards the glowing square of light that spilled 
through into the apartment from the corridor outside. And then 
another. Her eyes flicked back and forth between that avenue of 
escape and her jailer. She didn't stare at him directly, knowing how 
that kind of attention set up an itch between the shoulder-blades. 
But she kept steady watch on him out of the corner of her eye as she 
inched her way closer and closer to escape.

If she could just get out before he realized his mistake, what she 
was doing, if she could close the door behind her, he'd be trapped. 
She glanced upwards. But if someone was on station at the cameras, 
wouldn't they have warned him by now? 

She had to take the chance. If she could only - 

Instinct saved her from humiliation and from granting him another 
victory over her. It prickled at the back of her neck and beat a 
sudden rough tattoo in her throat. 

She stopped abruptly.

In the corridor a shadow moved. 

And Lex straightened, turning to give her a soft smile. Hate thudded 
against her ribs as she understood that he had deliberately left her 
the illusion of escape. So that he could pull it from under her feet in 
the last instant. 

"Sir?"

She turned her head to where the figure in army gray and green 
stood beyond the threshold of the door. 

"That will be all for now. Close the door will you?"

"Yes, sir." He hesitated, with a glance at her. "Should I -?"

"I said that will be all. You're off duty." Lex smirked at her. "Ms Lane 
will be perfectly safe in here with me."

The soldier flushed a little. He was younger than he seemed, Lois 
realized. "Yes, sir," he said, pulling the door to. The clicking of its 
locks sounded loud as rifle fire in the suddenly chill atmosphere of 
the living room. 

She turned her head to bestow a derisory stare upon Lex. "You're 
losing your touch. You didn't really expect me to fall for that, did 
you?"

His infuriating smile told her that she wasn't fooling him at all. She 
tossed her head and folded her arms, staring out into the false night. 
She heard him chuckle quietly. 

"If you want me to play those games, Lex," she said, forcing her tone 
to smooth ice and hating herself for the faint tremor in it she was 
unable to control, "stop having your men watch my every move." She 
glanced over her shoulder at him and made her lips smile. "It spoils 
the sense of spontaneity. And there's precious little of that here."

"Oh, I gave them the night off, switched off the equipment," he 
rejoined casually as he reached to pick up the taper lying on the 
pristine white cloth of the table. He lit the two tall, fluted red 
candles he'd placed in its center deftly and then shook out the 
taper's flame. The candlelight bloomed like a yellow rose, turning the 
room into a disturbingly intimate place of shifting shadows and 
flickering light. "It's just you and me this evening. It's 
more...intimate that way. Don't you think?"

He pulled out one of the chairs and eyed her expectantly. Lois stayed 
where she was. She saw a faint flicker of irritation shadow his face. 

"You're not hungry?" he said. "I'd be surprised. If you don't join me, 
this will be the last meal you see for forty-eight hours," he added the 
casual threat in a murmur as he took his own seat and lifted the lid on 
the hotplate. Tantalizing scents filled the air.  

Lois smiled brightly at him and this time it was more genuine than 
most she'd worn over the past few days. He'd made a mistake. And 
like all of his mistakes it was to be cherished like an unexpected gift. 
If Lex was expecting defiance from her, if he was expecting her to 
refuse to eat with him, he was going to be disappointed. Lois had once 
read a contemporary thriller about a girl kidnapped by a serial killer. 
She had persevered through the unlikely heroine's endless mistakes 
of judgement and appalling stupidity, but she had finally tossed the 
book aside when the girl had 'with feisty defiance' refused to eat 
until she was freed. Such stupidity merited no applause from Lois 
Lane.

Refusing to eat simply meant you were too weak to fight or run when 
the chance came. Keeping up your strength for that one moment of 
chance was the priority, not feeble and ridiculous attempts to rail 
against the situation. And the situation was that escape - for now - 
was impossible. Waiting was the game to be played. From experience - 
her own and others - Lois knew that the only difference between 
survivors and victims was that survivors kept an eagle eye out for The 
Chance when it came and used it to their best advantage. Let The 
Chance slip past you, or come at you unprepared, and you were 
doomed. The Chance would come. There was no doubting that. It 
always did. But it came but once - perhaps twice if you were 
exceptionally lucky - and no more. 

Lois was on the lookout. And she was going to be ready when it came. 

Gracefully, as though he was inviting her to join him at some high 
class restaurant, as though she was there by choice and invitation, 
not duress, Lois took her place opposite him at the table. "If I'd 
known you were going to go to this much trouble I'd have dressed for 
dinner," she told him.

Lex's gaze traveled insidiously over her jeans and light wool sweater 
in powder blue and a slight frown puckered his brow before it was 
dismissed. "Perhaps we can rectify that in future," was his only 
comment.

Lois ignored him. "Carpaccio with truffles," she approved as she 
surveyed the meal laid out between them. "And served just the way I 
like it. You remembered. You know," she commented as she helped 
herself from the platter of steamed vegetables, heaping them 
carelessly on her plate, "a girl could be flattered by all this attention 
to detail." She paused in the act of picking up the cutlery, and then 
raised her head to view him, lifting a brow along with her fork in 
silent comment. "Plastic, Lex? You're kind of spoiling the ambiance of 
romance here, you know that, don't you?"

"Considering your mood of earlier, I thought it was a wise precaution." 
Lex followed her example, filling his own plate. "I really had no desire 
to end my evening with a steak knife planted between my ribs."

"How unsporting of you," Lois murmured. She took a small bite of the 
steak and couldn't prevent a small sound of pleasure escaping her as 
the richness and warmth of the meat assaulted her taste-buds.

"I'm glad you approve. Your appetite has been a cause for concern for 
Dr. Callinson. And myself of course. I've never known you to pick over 
your food before."

Lois ignored the comment. If Lex was unaware of the basic rules 
when captured by the enemy she wasn't about to enlighten him. She 
had learned a lot following those marines for that exclusive from the 
Gulf. She had researched a lot too. Methods of torture, physical, 
psychological and emotional. And methods employed by the army and 
its soldiers to counter it. Not always successfully. She required 
sustenance. She couldn't refuse to eat. But she could eat what she 
was given sparingly. Just enough to keep up her strength, hopefully 
not enough to let any drugs within her meals take too much hold. She 
couldn't avoid such measures entirely, if Lex was employing them, but 
she could limit their effect as best she could. 

Tonight, however, she could relax a little, indulge her appetite a little 
more. Lex was, after all, eating this stuff too. 

<Maybe he has an counter-agent ready to take as soon as he leaves 
you. Did you think of that?>

The thought ambushed her. The food turned rancid in her throat. She 
put down her fork, appetite suddenly gone. Her hand, she became 
aware with almost hypnotic fascination, trembled against the white of 
the cloth. 

"Lois?"

Lex's voice came from a far distance. She couldn't live like this. She 
had to get out. She had to get away. She couldn't stand this an 
instant longer. This constant fear, this having to outguess, second-
guess, third and fourth-guess, him every second, every moment, every 
instant of each day. Considering her every move and thought a dozen 
times before it was made. Watching, searching, hoping....

It was killing her. It was killing her heart in her. Shriveling her soul.

Oh, Clark...Clark....

Help me.

He had always helped her. He had always been there for her. He 
would be again. She whispered the truth of that like a mantra in her 
soul, feeling it strengthen the shred of hope that she clung to so 
desperately. When her fear of what Lex might do to her became too 
sharp and bitter to ignore. What he might do. How soon his patience 
might wane. When he would decide to abandon the pretence of wooing 
her...to stop playing these games...to -

<I would never let that happen...>

For a moment the memory which accompanied that soft, insistent 
voice in her head was so strong that she could feel the comforting 
embrace of Clark's arms around her, the steady, reassuring beat of 
his heart against her own...and then it had faded, leaving her with the 
sharp awareness that she was alone, this time she truly was on her 
own, with only her own strengths and resources to save her....

<This thing with us...it's stronger than me. Being with you is stronger 
than me alone....>

Stronger together. Yes, they were. And that didn't change because 
they were apart. That was a constant she could trust in, believe in...a 
truth she could hold on to, cling to, and use to armor herself with 
against anything - anyone - who tried to keep them apart.

Stronger. 

With him she was stronger. Even if he was only with her in spirit, in 
her memories, in her heart and soul. 

She was stronger.

"Lois?"

She shivered, beating down the rising panic and the chaos of her 
thoughts. "My throat's a little dry." She got to her feet.

"No, sit. Allow me."

Lois subsided as Lex moved around the table to remove the bottle of 
champagne from its bucket of ice and pour them both a glass, before 
resuming his seat with a smile for her.

Lois drained her glass in a couple of gulps and reached for the bottle 
to refill it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lex resume his meal, 
forking another portion of meat into his mouth. The bottle was just 
out of her reach. 

Just out of reach. To get it she'd have to stand up and...the cameras 
were off. The Chance. Opportunity sizzled its way across her nerves 
as her brain ticked feverishly. She might never get a better one.

Trying to force the sudden tremor in her legs into stillness, she rose 
slowly to stand. 

"Really, Lex," she said lightly as she reached for the bottle, a move 
that put her within inches of him. "If you're trying to get a girl 
drunk, the least you can do is put the champagne where she can get it. 
Do you want some - "

Perhaps it was her eagerness that betrayed her. Maybe her 
movements, fuelled by adrenaline and the tension humming through 
her nerves like electricity through fine wires, were just a shade too 
fast, a touch too quick. 

Whatever it was that alerted him, Lex was ready for her.

She was aware of him shifting forward in his seat as she grabbed for 
the bottle. Instead of gripping it with intent to fill her empty glass, 
she took hold of it around the neck. She made each motion count as 
she raised the bottle high and turned swiftly around - each movement 
completed in one smooth, economical twisting of her body.

She felt the cool champagne flooding across her wrist and arm from 
the upturned bottle, she felt something dig its way hard into the 
space between her ribs -

--- and pain exploded through her like a riptide.

Lois screamed, heard the sound reverberate in her head, felt the red 
hot surge pulse through her again.

For a moment there was darkness. Darkness and pain. Oh, god, the 
pain. It burned like acid, tore through her like fire.

And then, somehow, she was lying on the thick carpet, writhing 
helplessly, the pain a sharp, needle-prick along her limbs as she 
clawed at the pile beneath her, retching. Dimly, she saw the 
champagne bottle thump to the floor beside her. It bounced, once, 
twice, and then came to rest.

Disorientated, agonized, she drifted.

Dimly she heard a sigh. Lex hunkered down beside her. She couldn't 
move her head, could only stare up into that saturnine face as he 
smiled softly down at her. She put all the loathing into her eyes that 
she could muster. The last thing she felt was the touch of a hand 
stroking softly through her hair and the low, soothing voice of her 
tormentor as he murmured commiseration.

"There, you see? You see what happens when you get these foolish 
ideas? I don't want to hurt you, Lois, really I don't. But you have to 
learn to listen to me. You have to learn...to do as I say."

And then there was blackness.  

~@*****@~

"Oh! You're still here."

Clark glanced up from where he was pulling the breakfast trolley into 
place, startled by the sudden intrusion of her voice into the peace of 
the sunlit morning. 

He had not seen Eve since he'd left her in the bedroom the previous 
evening. When finally he'd returned to the suite in the early hours, 
he had been so exhausted by the emotional upheaval of his mood and 
by another fruitless round of anxious, futile worrying over what was 
happening to Lois, coupled with more restless, unproductive searching, 
that he had simply fallen asleep where he sat. He hadn't done more 
than briefly scan the bedroom to ensure she was still in there. 

Finding the bed empty, he had sighed and redirected the beam to 
find her curled up on her blanket nest again. He hadn't had the heart 
or the energy to disturb her. And no desire, despite his reservations 
on how comfortable she could possibly be in there, to risk another 
misunderstanding or confrontation should he make the attempt. 

He had been lost in the darkness of sleep before he could fully argue 
it out with himself and had woken, just a few scant hours later, 
feeling more weary than before. His sleep these days were too much 
landscapes populated with dread and terror, black realms where all of 
his subconscious fears, held at bay by the iron of his will during the 
daylight, were released to stalk and torment him. No, his sleep had 
nothing of rest or escape in it right then.

His heart turned over now as he saw her standing awkwardly in the 
doorway. Tousled from sleep, her slight figure swathed in the cream 
cotton of her robe, she looked lost, like a child, and her wariness and 
uncertainty was etched painfully in the paleness of her face and in 
her eyes. And so like Lois....

He pushed that unwelcome comparison ruthlessly aside, as had 
become a habit so ingrained in him, and so common that he had to 
make it, it had become instinctive. Reflexive. 

Aware that he had tensed - and that, unnaturally attuned to his every 
mood as she always was and always had been, Eve had become aware 
of it - he forced himself to relax. There was nothing he could do for 
Lois right now. The truth of that was bitter, but it had to be faced. 
He had tussled over it, fighting off the desperate urge to deny it, to 
bury it deep and never bring it into the light again, as he had done all 
these long days. Fought that desperate inner battle between harsh 
reality and the refusal to accept it all through the night as he had 
worked feverishly to find anything, any smallest task, any rescue, any 
crime, that he could help at, anything and anywhere he could do 
something that would occupy his mind and still his thoughts, those 
bleak, black thoughts, that seeped their way into his heart and 
numbed it with their poison. 

In the end, having driven himself hard to the point of near physical 
collapse, he had seen the sense in retreat. Soaking up the revitalizing 
sun as he floated on the air currents in a bright blue sky, he had 
finally and reluctantly accepted his limitations. Superman or not he 
was just a man. And a man as helpless as any other right then. It 
chafed. It hurt. But he had learned as a child that truth was never 
easier to bear when it was ignored. 

For the moment, Lois was lost to him.

For the moment, in this instant, he could do nothing to aid her. 

But if he couldn't help her, he could at least help someone. 

If nothing else he could at least give Eve something of kindness, until 
he left once again for Metropolis. Spare her the dark despair of his 
mood and the weary fears that churned relentlessly and ceaselessly 
within him. She accepted that darkness in him, he knew - and quite 
rightly for it was the truth - as being directed at her. Saw in it some 
of the accusation and blame he felt for her part in Lois' abduction. 
And her fate. Whatever that might be.  And he was still cognizant 
enough of what had happened between them last night, still held 
enough of a memory of the stark terror that had been in Eve's eyes 
and painted, waxen, on her face, that he couldn't bear to let her feel 
anything but secure and safe right then. Pity stirred in him. And 
remorse. And the urge to make amends, even if only a little. Both for 
his own past behavior and for all that Luthor had done to her. 

What she needed now was to know that she was safe. That he 
wouldn't allow anyone to hurt her again. That much, at least, he could 
do. 

Eve was beginning to fidget restlessly under the weight of his stare, 
the silence growing awkward. "I'll - " she started and then, trailing 
off, she indicated the bedroom helplessly, turned to go.

"No! No, wait," he added in a gentler tone as she flinched at his 
abruptness. "I ordered breakfast," he said. 

She stared at him, suspicion blooming even deeper in her eyes and he 
sighed. "Look," he ploughed on determinedly, "why don't you sit down 
here...." He crossed the room quickly to take hold of her arm and 
maneuvered her to sit at the table, ignoring her quizzical glance at 
him as she let him settle her in place with all the care in handling he 
might have afforded a Dresden figurine. 

She sat there, stiffly, as he moved around the table to sit opposite. 
Clark tried not to notice that there were tears in her eyes. She held 
an air of being desperate to accommodate him, desperate to 
please...but not entirely sure how to go about it. Her confusion was 
palpable. Her desperation painful to watch. 

"I...I didn't know what you'd like," he told her, awkwardly. "So I just 
ordered what Lois would want."

Eve studied the sparse offering of toast and honey on the plate 
before her. Her face expressed her obvious disappointment by 
screwing itself up in distaste. She followed this indictment of his 
menu choice with a vocal exclamation point, "Bleah!" and then darted a 
glance at him hastily. "Don't like honey. Remember?"

Clark shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't - "

"Oh, well, that's okay," she pardoned him magnanimously. "I like 
Captain Crunch and Lucky Charms," she declared helpfully. "And 
Fruity Pebbles. Fruity Pebbles are yummy scrummy."

"Oh. Well...you can order some of those if you like. Here let me - "

"Oh, that's okay. Not hungry. Much." She smiled weakly at him.

"It's no trouble," he said, still standing.

She shook her head, fiddling with the cutlery beside her plate. She 
was anxious, he realized, obviously regretting having said anything at 
all, worried she'd made another mistake.

"Okay then," he said, reluctantly taking his seat. "But tomorrow you 
get Captain Crunch, okay? Just...whatever you want."

She gave him a small glance from beneath her lashes and then nodded 
imperceptibly.

"Good." 

Silence descended on them. Clark realized he was rolling his own fork 
nervously in his hands and ended the motion abruptly. A sudden 
memory flashed into his head, sparked by the frisson of polite 
awkwardness that lay heavy in the air between them. Just like when...

Lois and he in the honeymoon suite at the Lexor. How awkward had 
that been? An absent smile curved his lips as he recalled how they 
had been so afraid to give in to what they were feeling, even then. 
His eyes lit on the woman opposite; for a moment the memory had 
been so strong, so real that he'd almost expected it to be Lois there. 
And for a moment the illusion that she was was so strong it was like a 
knife in his heart when it faded to unwelcome reality. The smile died, 
stillborn, on his lips as he stared into the direct, inquisitive eyes 
fixed on his. In that gaze there was none of the spark of fire, spirit 
and indomitable intelligence that so defined the woman he loved. The 
parallels between then and now were like some black joke. 

And the joke was on him, wasn't it? Luthor had seen to that.

Eve continued to stare back at him and perhaps she saw something 
cold and hard in his face, because she searched the table with 
nervous eyes, as though seeking inspiration. She found it apparently in 
the white china pot standing on the hot plate. 

"Coffee!" She brightened, reaching for it and holding it aloft in 
invitation. "You want some?"

"No, not just...sure, why not?" he amended, as her face fell at his 
refusal. 

He made himself smile congenially as she poured the rich brew into an 
empty cup and slid it along the table to him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome!" she rejoined chirpily. She set the pot back in place 
and then sat demurely, hands folded in her lap as she watched him 
expectantly.

Giving in, knowing he'd be subject to that attention until he 
acknowledged the service from her, Clark took a cautious sip. "Good," 
he approved.

She beamed at him. "It's Nicaraguan."

"Aren't you having some?" he asked over the rim of his cup.

"Oh! Yes." She poured herself a cup and then returned to her pose of 
expectancy, leaving the coffee untouched.

Clark shifted uncomfortably in his seat. How on earth had Luthor 
thought he would be fooled by this? What had moved the man to 
believe that this subservience would please him? Did he really think 
this was Lois? That this was the Lois - the wife - that he, Clark, 
wanted?

Or - he thought with sudden clarity - had Luthor mistakenly let his 
own fantasies about the perfect Lois for *him* get in the way when 
he'd designed Eve? What was it Luthor had said, all those years ago?

<I love Lois. But she's much too independent, don't you think? 
Well...leave that to me....>

A soft chill shivered through him as he realized that in many ways he 
was seeing what Luthor had planned for Lois after she became *his* 
wife. A woman obedient to his whims, eager to please, submissive to 
his demands. The perfect trophy wife. His lips twisted in derision. 
The perfect slave.

The insight made him queasy all at once. The coffee tasted sour in his 
mouth. He set down his cup. A little too abruptly; it rattled in its 
saucer, drawing Eve's eyes.

"You're...different."

Clark glanced up at her, quizzically. He looked down at himself. He 
was wearing khaki pants and a light green shirt over them. He didn't 
see anything out of the ordinary. 

"No, not like that, silly." She giggled and, as he stared at her, blinking 
in surprise at this sudden show of spirit, "I mean...you. You're 
different." She tilted her head, studying him. The laughter in her 
died and she looked down at the table, drawing a slow finger in 
figure-eights against the cloth. 

Clark watched the familiar beginnings of discomfort and the hint of 
fear begin to cross her features. Sure signs he'd learned to 
recognize that she felt that she had overstepped the boundaries 
again, angered him with some indiscretion, expected to be punished. 
He fought down a prickle of annoyance at her submissiveness, knowing 
it wasn't her fault, before she confessed softly, "I don't know how to 
act with you this way."

Clark frowned, confused. "What way?"

"Like this. Talking to me." Her eyes darted upwards to engage his and 
she shrugged. "You don't usually talk to me in the mornings, that's all. 
I...I don't know what you want now."

"We always talk in the mornings," Clark said, bemused. "We have 
breakfast and talk about what we're going to do during the day."

She shook her head. "We don't talk. You tell me what our plans are 
and then you go into there." She pointed into the bedroom. "I have 
breakfast alone and then we leave to do what you want."

Clark flushed. She made it all sound so...callous. Arrogant. As he had 
been, he admitted. He had treated her like some trained animal that 
would tag along at his heels and come when he whistled or crooked his 
finger. Never had he given a thought to what she might want or even 
whether what she wanted matched his own mood or needs of the 
moment. 

"I...I'm sorry..." He saw her look abruptly shocked at the apology, 
which made him feel even worse. "I didn't realize...." He sighed 
heavily and laid down his napkin. "Look, can't we just start again?"

She looked down and then up on him again, puzzled. "Breakfast?"

"No...no, I mean, everything. Eve - " He began soberly and then 
paused, considering. Despite the reflex in him to be honest and direct 
with her, he found there was still a modicum of caution and distrust 
within him that held him back from giving her too many concessions. 
He regretted it and he despised himself for it, but he knew it wasn't 
something to be easily denied.

Despite his new understanding of her and his resolution to be at least 
as kind to her as he could be and to show her the due respect he 
would any human being, he couldn't help but also be aware of what she 
was and he couldn't help but wonder as a result just how much of 
what she said and did was genuine and how much of it the result of 
conditioned behavior or her...programming for want of a better word. 
He felt uneasy with such terms now but could think of no other way 
to describe what he felt, deep within at an instinctive level, was at 
the core of her.

He might pity her. He might feel guilt and shame at how he had 
treated her in the past and wish to make amends for that. He might 
feel enraged whenever he thought of how Luthor had made this 
innocent, this child, and so designed her to be abused, had abused her 
so vilely himself. But did that mean he could - should - trust her?

Absolutely not. 

The vehemence of the response came direct from the wellspring of 
instinct deep within him and Clark knew that it was worth listening to. 
Oh, he could understand, at an intellectual level, that none of this was 
Eve's fault and she held no responsibility for it. He could admit that, 
when all was said and done, she was nothing more than a puppet, with 
the strings pulled by Luthor...but that was the point, wasn't it? 
Luthor was the invisible puppeteer pulling on the strings of the 
marionette. Guiding, controlling, directing, her every move, thought 
and action. Behind that guileless gaze that so mimicked his wife's, 
Luthor mocked him.  

It was true that in the past few days he had seen flashes of a new, 
fresh-born personality exhibit itself in Eve. Like any child, she 
learned and added to the store of her experience as she grew, and 
her rate of growth was accelerated beyond anything remotely normal 
besides. And there were times when that new Eve imposed her will 
and preferences on the world around her, in direct competition with 
the personality Luthor had imprinted on her and intended her to use. 
But that didn't mean she had lost everything he had instilled in her. 

Just how much of what he saw and heard was innocent and how much 
a calculated ploy to play on his sympathies was perhaps something he 
would never discover. All he did know - with absolute certainty - was 
that Luthor was aware of just what Lois meant to Clark Kent. How 
deeply in love with her he was. How she could make him melt just by 
entering a room. Was it beyond the man to have instructed Eve to 
play the 'damsel in distress' card if required? No. Her vulnerability, 
her fear of him, all of them could be nothing more than tricks to 
spark the natural urge to protect in him. What better way to a man's 
heart was there than to invoke primal instincts to protect and 
cherish? He couldn't risk letting down his guard too much. He had to 
be alert to any guile.

But...when he looked into those soft brown eyes, so soul-less at times 
and yet still able to work their magic on his heart, in direct conflict 
and unheeding of what his more rational mind knew lay behind 
them...it was difficult to hold on to that resolve.

He frowned and found himself speaking almost without being aware of 
what he was going to say until it was voiced. "That night, in my 
apartment...after the...the wedding. You didn't leave. Why *did* you 
stay?" he said, his tone that of someone who'd had the thought on his 
mind, unvoiced, for a long time. "Why didn't you take the chance when 
I left to run back to Luthor? You knew how angry I was with you..." 
He trailed off, a high flush of guilt rising in his face as he 
remembered again just how vicious he'd been that night, driven by 
rage at Luthor and terror for Lois and Eve the only one he could lash 
out at. 

Guilt too because although he'd had no clear intent to it when he 
spoke, he understood clearly that what he was asking for was some 
sense of a path through the minefield of deception and lies to at 
least some measure of truth he could use to deal with her. A test. He 
found himself leaning forward a little, keen to hear what she would 
answer. The truth? Or a facsimile of it? Or perhaps even something 
in between.

Eve was silent for a time. She wouldn't meet his eyes. Then she said 
simply, "I didn't have anywhere to go." She shrugged, her gaze fixed 
on the surface of the table. "I was afraid...I didn't know what would 
happen when you came back. But I knew what would happen if I went 
back to Lex..." She stopped, her face pinched and haunted. In her 
eyes there was a darkness he couldn't bring himself to believe was 
feigned or calculated. It spoke too much of pain. 

Clark watched her, pity sharp on his face. Her words did something 
unexpected and inexplicable to his heart. Simple though they were, 
they encapsulated everything of the horror that Eve had endured at 
the hands of Luthor and his minions. She had stayed with a man who 
terrified her, who had already threatened her life if she stayed, who 
might well, for all she'd known, hurt her badly, even kill her in his 
rage...because the alternative, to return to Luthor, terrified her 
more than that. Because she was more afraid to leave than to stay.

He guessed he had his answer.

Impulsively, before he could stop himself, he reached out and placed 
a soft hand over hers. "Eve, you're safe here. With me. I want you to 
know that. Okay? I'm not going to hurt you and I won't let anyone 
else hurt you either. Not Luthor, not anyone. You don't have to - " 

He froze. You don't have to be afraid any longer, he'd been about to 
say and, shameful though it was, knew he couldn't. The stark, brutal 
truth was that he needed her to be afraid. It was all that was 
keeping her with him, part of the subterfuge, part of his conspiracy 
against Luthor, and part of his means to finding Lois again. If she was 
unafraid of Luthor, of what was out there in the world waiting for 
her, she might decide to leave. And he would lose everything. 
Swallowing the rank taste of that in his throat, he made himself 
continue, "You stick close to me and you won't have to worry about 
anyone hurting you. You don't need to be afraid of that any more." 

It was the best he could do to salve his conscience and maintain his 
goals. Besides, it was probably even true. Out there on her own she'd 
be an innocent abroad, without the skills to survive in the world alone. 
With him, at least she wouldn't need to worry about being in danger.

<Doesn't she?> a small prickling voice nudged insidiously at him. <You 
couldn't even protect the woman you love...what makes you think you 
can do better with her?>

He squeezed his eyes tight shut for a moment, fingers clenching 
suddenly into fists as the guilt of that failure and the mockery of his 
conscience seized hold of him, piercing his heart.

"Clark?"

He opened his eyes with a start. She was watching him with an 
expression of faint alarm. "Nothing," he said quickly. "I was just...it 
was nothing. I felt a little...dizzy for a moment. I'm fine now."

She looked back at him, forcing a faint smile, but the anxious 
darkness in her eyes didn't lighten.

You do what you can, he told himself grimly. That's all. You do what 
you can. For Lois...and for her. 

"So," he said with forced lightness, taking back his hand and adopting 
a new air of easy congeniality, trying not to let himself succumb too 
much to the naked gratitude that shone suddenly in her eyes. 
"Breakfast. Before it gets cold." He lifted the cover of the dish 
before him. "You want some eggs? Over easy, just like - I mean, I 
think you'd like them," he recovered from the near-slip.

She looked at the eggs. Suddenly her entire manner was hesitant, 
uncertain. 

"What?" he said gently, sensing something she wanted to say, but 
couldn't work up the courage for. "Eve?" he prodded as she stayed 
silent. "It's okay. Tell me."

Inexplicably, tears had gathered in her eyes. She looked miserably 
back at him. Then she sighed, a soft, shuddering breath. She shook 
her head. "Eggs are okay. That would be cool."

Clark paused, but he understood that whatever it was that was 
bothering her she wasn't about to tell him anything more. There 
were, it seemed, issues of trust on Eve's side of the table too. His 
lips twisted wryly with the thought. Strangely, it hadn't occurred to 
him that there would be. He shook his head a little ruefully. Eve just 
kept on coming up with ways to surprise him, he guessed. He decided 
there was little point in trying to force her to confide in him. They 
had found their way to some degree of accommodation, he didn't 
want to ruin it now by being forceful with her. He assumed that if it 
bothered her enough she'd let him know.

"Okay," he conceded, giving in. "We'll have eggs. And then..." He gave 
her the first, truly unguarded smile he'd bestowed on her since he'd 
become aware of what she was. "You can tell me what you want to do 
today."


~@*****@~

It was the acrid stench of cigar smoke that roused her.

She came up out of the black pit she had been lost in gasping for air, 
her body tensed in anticipation of agonizing pain. There was none. She 
felt dizzy, disorientated, and her head ached abominably. But that 
debilitating agony her nerves seemed to be screaming at her to 
beware of was absent. She relaxed a little and then squinted painfully 
into the corner of the room. 

Where Lex sat in relaxed, easy pose in the chair he'd drawn up 
beside the window of her bedroom. In the darkness, he was nothing 
more than a collection of shadows, half-lit by the spill of artificial 
moonlight that chased around the edges of the blinds. Smoke swirled 
lazily across their varnished surface. 

She surged up out of the smothering pillows, pushing back the covers 
around her waist as she struggled to sit.

Bedroom.

She glanced down at herself in dismayed confusion. She was in her 
bed. For a moment, still a little stunned, she couldn't make sense of it 
all. She had been in the living room. Dinner. They had been eating 
dinner. And there had been...champagne. And now...now...

"Don't worry. The effects are strictly temporary."

Effects? The sudden sound of his voice dragged her out of the 
confusion of her thoughts and fixed her attention on the man sitting 
beside the bed. Of the champagne? Ridiculous! Champagne didn't give 
her this kind of raging headache...or blackouts...or.... And she hadn't 
drunk that much of the stuff anyway...that she recalled. Had she?

Except now she was in bed and...*what* was she wearing? Bemused 
she explored the rich red silk of the nightgown, a creation in opulence 
and Arabian Nights fantasy, with its boxed-shouldered, long-sleeved 
jacket over a tabard style gown and...Lois blushed...a very low cut 
neckline. Embroidered panels in a mixture of black, silver and gray 
chased the neckline down into the shadowed hollow between her 
breasts. She had never seen anything like it - beyond the pages of 
lingerie magazines - and she had certainly never worn it before. She 
had no memory of buying the thing either.

Her confused attempts to place the gown in some sense of order 
within her memory were suddenly derailed as a second and more 
urgent thought occurred. Never mind where it had come from. A chill 
coursed its way down her spine. Who had undressed her and put her 
into it?

Her gaze stuttered upwards in shock to her companion.

A suggestion of movement in the darkness drew her gaze downwards. 
Lex was holding out a hand, palm upturned and outstretched toward 
her, and her eyes darted automatically to what he held. It looked like 
nothing more threatening than a computer mouse. This one was black 
and sleek and fitted perfectly into the curve of his palm. Bewildered 
now, her eyes lifted questioningly to scan the mystery of his face.

"The Myotron Checkmate 25," Lex offered clinically as though giving 
a lecture in self-defense. "25,000 pulse watts power. Includes safety 
slip cover, wrist strap, key chain attachment, lithium battery pack, 
VHS video and fifty-nine page Checkmate owner's manual. It even 
comes with a Manufacturer Lifetime Unconditional Warranty. As 
you've just discovered, it utilizes pulse waves to overpower the 
subject's neuromuscular system using electrical levels recognized as 
safe, non-injurious and non-lethal by medical and scientific 
communities. Prolonged contact may result in a cosmetic trace similar 
to two tiny mosquito bites, which will disappear in a short time. 
Callinson says no sign of those, you'll be pleased to hear. It causes no 
injury, cuts, burns, bruises, etc. It can penetrate up to two inches of 
clothing." He shrugged, giving up on quoting the advertisement. "In 
other words, your standard, basic taser."

"How...very...romantic...." Lois croaked out hoarsely, her gaze fixed on 
that small, innocuous looking little plastic egg as understanding 
pierced through her all at once. Innocent and harmless enough that it 
could shred her nervous system in an instant and leave her quivering 
and helpless like some boneless, gutted fish. She remembered the 
pain and the helpless inability to gain control over her body that had 
come in the wake of him using that...that abomination on her. She 
remembered it in the sudden juddering tremor that she was unable to 
still. In the film of chilled moisture suddenly coating her skin. In the 
thunder of her heart against her breast.

Helpless. And vulnerable. Her heart clenched and sickness rose up in 
her throat at how vulnerable that thing left her. 

She tore her riveted stare from his hand and fixed it on his face. "I 
have to...thank you, Lex, for the...lovely...evening," she said weakly. 
She leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes as a wave of 
nausea ambushed her. But she still managed to inject a fair degree of 
sarcasm into her tone. "Must do it again...some time."

"Ah. Regrettably, in these dangerous, modern times, even the art of 
love needs some protection," Lex noted with a mock sigh. She opened 
her eyes to fix him with a basilisk stare. "Every suitor should have 
one." He turned the taser in his hands, observing it thoughtfully. 
"Perhaps I should develop my own brand. Market them as the 
essential dating aid. The key to every man's most fervent desire. 
Quick, discreet, efficient...though, as I'm sure you could testify, not 
entirely painless. But still..." His grin on her turned sharp and wolfish. 
"Much cheaper than rohypnol. What do you think? Think they'll catch 
on?"

She stared at him, fear and disgust rendering her incapable of 
answering.  

<Cheaper than rohypnol...>

Someone had carried her here, from the living room to this bed. 
Someone had undressed her and put her in this fantasy nightgown. 
His fantasy, she understood with a new and unwelcome clarity. 

"How...." Her first attempt at the question clogged in her throat. She 
swallowed hard. "How did I....?"

He studied her quizzically for a second or two, as though not 
understanding what she was asking. Then a look of faux offense 
overtook his face. "Lois...Lois.... You wound me that you would think so 
little of my skills in seduction. Really, you don't imagine that I would - 
?" He shook his head, aping rueful disbelief, and then laughed at her. 
"Trust me, my dear, I prefer my partners to be just a little more 
lively in the bedroom than you were tonight."

His laughter brought down the red mist. In that moment, facing him 
across the room, she had never wanted to kill another human being so 
badly.

He rose to his feet and despite herself she shrank back against the 
pillows as he moved closer. She stilled the traitorous motion with an 
irritated frown. Lex lifted a hand, stroking a soft path across her 
cheek. He smiled as she jerked clear of the touch. His voice softened 
to an insinuating whisper. "Believe me, Lois, when I take you to *my* 
bed, you'll remember every moment."

Lois tried to fight down the fear as she stared up at him. For the 
first time, she had been made aware of what it was she was 
imprisoned with. The Lex she had known, the suave, urbane socialite, 
charming, attentive, and respectful of her, was nothing more than the 
thinnest facade now over the true man beneath. The mask was shabby 
and worn, no longer hiding the glimpses of what had been hidden 
beneath for so many years. There was a glint of insanity behind the 
cool eyes regarding her. She had called him sick and twisted, a 
sociopath, but she hadn't truly understood until this moment that, 
far from being a convenient insult, that *was* the reality of Lex 
Luthor. He was insane. And he was obsessed with having her. 

She swallowed roughly, her mind beginning to race frantically in 
response to this new understanding of just how much trouble she was 
really in. "I'm...sorry," she whispered.

He beamed. "Then you're forgiven," he declared magnanimously.  He 
reached out again and Lois resisted the urge screaming within her to 
flinch with an effort of will that dizzied her, as he stroked softly at 
her hair. "I don't want us to fight, Lois. It disturbs me when you're 
angry with me. I want us to enjoy our time together. It's not too 
much to ask, my dear. Is it?"

"No. No, it isn't," Lois agreed woodenly.

If Lex noticed her lack of enthusiasm, he chose to ignore it. Perhaps 
he assumed that it was the pain of what he'd done to her and the 
fear of experiencing it again if she tried to defy him that had worked 
this magic of sudden docility in her.

It wasn't.

It was fear of the dizziness that still swarmed in her head and the 
palsy of trembling in her limbs. Red darkness still hovered at the 
edges of her vision and if she blacked out again now... The thought of 
being unconscious, unable to fight, to defend herself, helpless and 
vulnerable to whatever he decided to do with her, filled her with 
terror and disgust. She wouldn't - couldn't - risk it. She'd have to 
find another way out other than direct confrontation with him. But 
she wouldn't risk him using that taser on her again. The thought of 
what he might have done to her after she blacked out scared her so 
badly it made her feel physically sick. She had no sense that he was 
lying to her now, there were no physical signs that she could detect 
that he had violated her in any way.... If you discounted that he had 
undressed her, that she had been naked to his gaze, to...even the 
thought of his hands on her that way, at all...nausea burned in her 
throat.

Lois closed her eyes as Lex placed a kiss against her forehead. She 
opened them again as he retreated. He smiled. "You're tired. I know. 
It's been a trying day. Sleep now. Tomorrow you'll see things more 
clearly. Trust me. We'll find our way through this, Lois. We'll find our 
way back to what we had together. I'll help you all I can. You'll be 
happy here."

<I'll help you all I can.>

Transfixed with horror and loathing, Lois shivered uncontrollably as 
he walked away from her.

Despite his command, sleep failed to claim her for the remainder of 
the night.


~@*****@~


Tonight, the city seemed determined to show herself at her best. 
The night was crisp and remarkably clear. Opposite, the lights of the 
other buildings sparkled like gems among the darkness, glittering with 
warmth and welcome, making him wonder, as he did often, about the 
lives of those who worked there, glimpsed now and then through 
office windows with opened blinds as they went about their business.

Usually, the view from his office window inspired him, intrigued him. 
A patchwork glitter of superficial charm and beauty that laid a 
veneer over corruption and sleaze, crime and poverty. The occasional 
feel-good story that made up for all the rest. With Superman on 
their team now, those tended to outweigh the bad far more than they 
had when he'd begun his career. All those years ago. Who could have 
imagined then that one day a guy in red and blue and a cape would be 
cruising around the city's skies, lending the causes of truth and 
justice a steel edge? Not this old hound dog, that was for sure. 

The city. And its people. Part of his life, boy and man, for too many 
years than he cared to count. He couldn't say they had never 
disappointed him, never angered him. But until now they had never 
betrayed him. Never left him feeling lost and disorientated, no longer 
sure of what mattered or what was important any more. 

But now...the beauty of the night felt like that betrayal. Why wasn't 
it raining? That dismal, dreary rainfall that sunk the soul into 
depression? It would have been more in keeping with his mood. 

His gaze flickered, drawn by motion at the corner of his eye. He 
watched a young woman, brunette and slim, cross the lighted square 
slightly above and to the right of his position. Dressed in a dark blue 
business suit, her carriage and pace spoke of impatience and 
frustration to the consummate people watcher that he was. Studying 
the world was his business, after all. Over the years he had developed 
a keen eye for body language. For judging the thoughts of others 
without them ever saying a word. It helped preserve his air of 
mystery, he thought with a wry smile. And kept the reporters in his 
dominion on their toes.

His gaze tracked the young woman as she pushed her way through 
some doors, vanishing momentarily from his view before he picked her 
up again in the next window along. She thrust a sheaf of papers onto 
the desk of a heavyset man who looked up at her, surprise blossoming 
on his florid face at her abrupt entry into the sanctity of his domain. 
Perry couldn't help but smile as he watched her harangue the man in a 
parody of a silent movie, arms waving as she paced before his desk.

The smile faded, the scene becoming too painful to view any longer. 
He wrenched his gaze sharply away. Was Lois out there too? Hidden 
behind one of those windows? Tied up in some basement somewhere? 
Luthor favored underground lairs - like the sewer rat he was. Was 
that where he was keeping her? Perry eased the tension in his 
shoulders with a sigh of frustration and contempt. 

Where was she? Why hadn't she contacted them? Was she 
unconscious? Hurt?

Dead?

His scowl was so fierce all at once that it drove the unwelcome 
thought into abrupt retreat, gibbering an apology as it went. He'd 
promised himself he wasn't going to let himself dwell on the negatives 
of the situation. That way lay defeat. And, by Elvis, Perry White 
wasn't going to give up on Lois Lane, mewling like some frightened cat. 
Superman was out looking for her, he reminded himself. He would find 
her soon. 

Soon.

He'd been searching for days. Surely he'd gone over every inch of 
this city a dozen times or more by now? And there had been no sign 
of her. No sign of Luthor. His reporters couldn't turn up even a scrap 
of information about him. Before or after his escape from prison. 
Their informants were either clueless or didn't seem to want to talk. 
He guessed Luthor's reputation still carried weight and held echoes 
among the low-lifes out there, even now. His capture and stint in jail 
hadn't seemed to diminish how dangerous he was known to be, out on 
the streets.

As events had proved, he thought morosely.

Which of them could have imagined Luthor's plan for Lois? And 
Clark? Which of them could have sunk so darkly into the rotten, 
corrupted soul of the man to understand what drove him? 

Clark.

He had sounded almost at the end of his tether when he had spoken 
to him last on the phone. Weary, dejected....

Perry sighed. This was getting him nowhere. He turned away from the 
windows and stared out blankly for a moment into the dim shadows of 
the deserted newsroom. Even the usual late-nighters had given up and 
gone home hours ago. Only the lamp on his desk, casting its small 
circle of yellow light, kept the darkness at bay.

Normally, this was his home. More of a home than even home had 
been, he conceded sourly. He couldn't blame Alice for realizing that. 
Tonight, the silence and the dark simply made him feel depressed and 
alone. 

Coffee, he thought. Some of that good old newsroom Java would perk 
him up. He had work to do. He glanced at the desk, aware, though he 
was loathe to confess to it, that there was nothing among the papers 
spread in disarray there that couldn't wait. Nothing of burning 
importance. But they'd keep him occupied. Better he sat here, going 
over the minutiae of his life, than lie in bed, in the dark and alone, 
wondering endlessly where Lois was and what was happening to her.

Before he left his office, he snicked the lock on the window, pushing 
it slightly ajar and shivering a little at the touch of chill air that 
oozed its way through the gap.

He was pouring himself a mug of the steaming brew when he heard 
the sound he'd been half expecting. The sound he'd been waiting all 
these hours to hear.

A gentle whoosh of air.

"Just trying to keep myself awake," he said as he stirred in sugar and 
cream. "It's been a long night." He turned his head to his visitor, 
holding up the mug in invitation. "Want some?"

Superman straightened from where he'd landed lightly on the floor 
beneath the window and shook his head. "No. Thank you." 

His expression was wary, Perry noted, as the superhero approached 
him diffidently. Somehow, he always seemed to provoke that slight 
holding back from the man. He had no idea why. Although he supposed 
he could hardly blame him for being cautious and reserved around the 
press. Sometimes though, he sensed a reaching out, a flicker of 
warmth through the reserve.  

"You've been out looking for her again. Haven't you," he said quietly 
as he turned back to the coffee stand, and it wasn't a question. His 
gaze leapt back to search the superhero's tired face. "Anything?"

Superman shook his head. Frustration and anger warred in his eyes 
for a moment, before he sighed. "I'm running out of options. I don't 
think she's here. He has to have taken her out of the city. Out of the 
country maybe." He hesitated. "If he has - "

"We'll never find her," Perry joined him in his conclusion, unhappily. 
"Not without a miracle."

To his surprise the briefest flicker of a smile crossed the 
superhero's face. Perhaps it was intended to be wry. It looked a little 
bitter. "Lois seems to attract miracles. Just like she does danger." 
Superman sighed softly and then shrugged, a helpless gesture so alien 
to the masterful image he usually showed the world that it almost 
tore his heart to see it. "Most times it seems to balance out in her 
favor."

"But not this time, looks like. You were her biggest miracle. Snatching 
her from the jaws of death just when it looked bleakest of all. If you 
can't help her - " Perry shook his head suddenly, his face spasming 
with self-disgust. "Listen to me. Cackling on like a silly, fool old hen, 
not helping at all. I'm sorry, it's just - "

"You're not saying anything I haven't told myself a dozen times over 
already," Superman told him softly. "And you're right. I can't help 
her. Maybe if I'd been quicker to realize, if I'd known sooner that he 
had her, I could have - "

"You can't blame yourself for that, son," Perry admonished him 
gently. "Even Clark didn't figure it out till it was too late. And by the 
time he was able to get in touch with you, ask you to help, well the 
horse was well out of the starting gate and racing down the straight 
by that point. Should haves and maybes aren't going to help us now." 

Perry sighed, stirring fitfully at his mug as he made his way back to 
his office. He sensed Superman following as he settled himself 
behind his desk. 

"I've been thinking if anyone's to blame for this it's me."

"You?"

He thought Superman looked more startled by the claim than 
anything else. He shrugged. "I sent her on that damn assignment. 
Maybe that made it easier for him to - "

"No. Oh no, not at all. Clark and Lois found out information on that 
assignment about clones and frogs that could help find her. And 
helped Clark realize a switch had been made all the sooner. If you 
hadn't assigned them, Clark might still be stumbling around in the 
dark, all the more right now."

Perry grunted. "Maybe." He glanced across his shoulder at the 
darkness pressed up against the glass. "I've been sitting here 
thinking a few should haves and what ifs myself." He gave Superman 
an apologetic shrug. "I guess that's why it's a good thing I have 
plenty of paperwork to keep my mind from fretting over this a dozen 
times a day. That way lies crazy."

Superman nodded. 

"Sit," Perry invited and, when the superhero looked likely to open his 
mouth on a dumb fool rejection of that, added gruffly, "Sit down, son, 
before you fall down. You're out on your feet. You think I can't tell 
that? And don't give me any of that nonsense about Superman never 
getting plain tuckered out, never getting stressed out neither. I know 
better than that. You think I haven't watched you on all those 
newsreels after a hard rescue?"

Superman hesitated, then sighed and lowered himself into the seat 
opposite. With the capitulation all of the weariness in his face 
seemed to accentuate, his posture slumping just a little more than 
the stiffly formal superhero pose normally allowed. He ran a harsh 
hand across his face and then smiled ruefully across at the watching 
editor.

"It gets harder to find time to recharge, that's all. I'll be fine. I'll 
take an hour soaking up the sun in the Caribbean before I head back 
to Clark."

"Pava leaves."

"Sorry?"

"Pava leaves. Good for stress. I've got some here if you - "

"No, that's...okay. But thanks." Superman smiled at him wearily and 
then straightened, his expression taking on a newly expectant cast. 
"Do you have that information I asked for?"

"Sure, right here." Perry dumped his coffee to his desk and rooted in 
the bottom drawer of his desk before emerging with a disk case. 
"Jimmy was here all night copying this." He handed it over to the 
superhero, who took it eagerly. "It's all there. Every holding, every 
property ever owned by Luthor. Factories, warehouses, estates, villas 
in the sun...privately owned or corporate - everything Jimmy was able 
to track down. There are a lot of disks," he added apologetically. 

"Thank you. Thank Jimmy for me too. I know Clark will be grateful for 
all the help and time he's put into this."

"You really think it will help?"

Superman shrugged. "Like I said, I'm all out of options. What else can 
I do but start widening the search?"

The thought behind the words was a frisson in the air between them. 
It might be a hopeless waste of time, it most probably would be, but 
it was better than doing nothing, of having time on his hands to think 
and wonder and drive himself crazy worrying about Lois and what was 
happening to her. 

<We fill up our heads each in our own way,> Perry thought, 
remembering the reasons why he was sitting alone in a darkened 
office. <If we didn't, we'd go mad with the not knowing of it all.>

"You've seen Clark," he said, shifting the subject slightly and glossing 
over the awkward moment. "How's he holding up?"

"He's...doing okay." Superman shifted a little in his chair. "He asked 
me to let you know - he's going to extend the honeymoon by one more 
week." He shrugged as Perry hitched a brow at him. "Coming back 
here without Lois, having to fit back into normal life, working here, 
with...the clone...would be - "

"Unbearable for him." Perry nodded. The awkwardness returned, 
neither of them wanting to say what was uppermost in both their 
minds. That if Lois wasn't found soon, Clark couldn't hide in Hawaii 
for ever. Sooner or later he might find himself facing that horror, 
the nightmare of having his life torn open in the public arena of the 
press, with the abduction of Lois and the clone thrown into the living 
nightmare of a public investigation. He couldn't keep it to himself for 
much longer. Sooner or later the story would be out. Sooner or later 
he may have to face the hard reality that he might live out months or 
years, trapped in this morass, or may never find Lois at all.

It may be in their minds, but it wasn't to be spoken. Not now. Now 
was too soon, they both understood that, locked in a mutual pact of 
denial and rejection. To voice such a thing aloud was to consign Lois to 
her fate, to accept that she was lost. And neither of them were 
ready for that. Perhaps they never would be. Perry nodded, sealing 
that silent vow between them and saw a shadow of relief cross the 
superhero's face.

"I'd have my doubts about that flibbertigibbet being able to carry 
off pretending to be Lois around here too," he said, consciously 
supporting Clark's decision, maintaining the pretence. "Didn't look to 
me like that woman had a brain in her head. She wouldn't fool anyone 
for a minute. And she sure wouldn't be bringing in top flight 
exclusives. Bring her back here instead of the real thing and 
everything will fall apart in a Metropolis minute. Tell Clark I 
understand. I'll give people some moonshine about those two being so 
moonstruck out there they begged me to give them another week's 
vacation. It'll ruin my reputation as the Editor from Hell, but I can 
live with that."

Superman smiled briefly and then rose - reluctantly Perry thought - 
to his feet. "I should go. Thank you."

"Hell, son, I'm not doing anything worth thanking for. Those kids are 
as important to me as they are to you. Lois, she's been like my own 
little girl these past few years; daughter I could be proud of. And 
Clark..." Perry cleared his throat as his voice roughened. "You just 
help them get back here where they belong. You hear?"

Superman nodded. His eyes locked with the editor's for a long 
moment, as though sealing that compact between them - the wraith 
of Lois Lane tangible in the room with them - before he turned away. 


~@*****@~  

Lois stared at the piece of paper held out to her like a peace offering 
on Lex's outstretched palm and then folded her arms as she raised 
her head to study him suspiciously.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch." He looked back at her, amused. "Let's just say I decided 
there should be no room for distrust between a man and 
his...companion-to-be."

Lois shook her head. "You've had me watched day and night since you 
brought me here, keep me under armed guard twenty-four seven...and 
now you expect me to believe you woke up this morning and decided to 
let me loose?"

"Oh, hardly. But I'm prepared to let you have free run of the Citadel, 
yes. Well, barring certain, privileged areas. If you're unsure of which 
areas are restricted, off-limits to you, you can ask any of my men to 
advise you. Other than that, you're free to roam as you please."

"Gee, that must leave me at least five square yards to play in. 
Magnanimous of you."

"I thought so. I can't devote all my time to you, my dear. Much as I'd 
like to. Business calls. And I did think that you'd enjoy being able to 
take advantage of the facilities here in those times when I don't 
require your...company." Lois felt a slow flush caress her skin as his 
eyes lingered lasciviously on her body with the words, making it quite 
clear which part of her he enjoyed keeping company with. She 
suppressed a shiver. "However, if you'd rather stay here in your - "

Lois darted out a hasty hand as he began to close his, snatching the 
scrap of notepaper from his fingers. She ignored his chuckle. 
 
"Well," he lifted his wrist and glanced at his watch, "I have to go. A 
business conference with some Malaysian friends, I'm afraid. Can't 
be put aside. But I'll see you at dinner, as usual." He moved to place a 
perfunctory kiss against her cheek. "I think I'd like to see you in 
black tonight, Lois," he said as he retreated. "Something...elegant and 
classical." 

Lois's eyes darkened, but she refused to rise to the bait. Mutely, she 
watched him go. In the doorway, he turned back to smile at her. "So, 
what will you do with your afternoon?"

She shrugged. "Drown myself in the pool? Hanging myself from the 
basketball net might be rewarding..."

"Lois..." he chided. "Please." He sighed as she glared at him. "Oh, well, 
whatever it is you do, enjoy it, won't you?"

What she intended to do today, Lois thought grimly, as the door 
closed behind her tormentor, was get the hell out of this insane 
asylum before she joined its gibbering inmates in their madness.

Turning sharply on one heel, she marched for the bedroom. Slamming 
the door behind her, she flounced to sit cross-legged on the bed. She 
could feel the tension leech itself from her spine and shoulders as 
she did. With a sigh, she reached up and kneaded fitfully at the nape 
of her neck. She closed her eyes, knowing she should feel grateful 
for this concession of privacy she'd won, but finding that, as always, 
it simply chafed at her sense of pride.

So much of the daily minutiae of her life now was illusion. The illusion 
that she would be able to roam the Citadel freely for example, 
without guards tagging at her heels. When, in reality, she knew that 
her every movement was tracked by cold, impersonal eyes behind 
banks of monitors in small, darkened rooms. 

The illusion that she had any privacy at all.

Only in these two areas of her cell - bathroom and bedroom - could 
she feel some measure of security, the only place where she could let 
down her guard, be herself, now. 

She had insisted that she be given a handheld bug scanner, with 
which she swept both rooms daily and each time she returned to her 
apartment on leaving it. She had demanded that the scanner be 
tested in her presence when she had first been given the concession 
and periodically she would perform some surreptitious action in either 
room, designed to look as though she may be planning some attack or 
escape - a scrunched up sheet of paper wadded between the 
headboard of her bed and the wall; some food carefully wrapped and 
secreted beneath her pillow - waiting to see if it led to the room 
being searched by her guards or to some comment or counteraction 
by Lex. It never had. Still, they could have examined such things 
during her absences from the apartment and then replaced them so 
that she wouldn't be aware that they had. She kept the scanner with 
her at all times, but that didn't mean it couldn't be tampered with 
while she slept. Every so often she used it to scan the areas she knew 
were bugged and it continued to register the presence of surveillance 
devices. But what did that prove? Really, what did any of it prove? 

Was paranoia the first sign of madness for the captive? Or simply a 
necessary survival skill? She didn't know. All she knew was that she'd 
been driven to extraordinary lengths in her attempts to ensure as 
much as it was possible for her to know that this privacy - so hard-
won, so humiliatingly gained - was real and uncompromised. That it was 
no trick or cruel deception of her jailer's. 

And so, to that end, she had feigned a desperate suicide attempt. 
She had broken the bottle of perfume, taken a shard of the glass, 
and, sitting on the floor beside her bed, had hunched over enough 
that her actions would be hard to make out for certain by any 
watching eyes. Then she had pantomimed slashing her right wrist. She 
had lain on the floor, her 'damaged' wrist and arm conveniently 
beneath her body, for almost an hour, but no rescue had been made, 
no one had come rushing to stop her. 

When it became clear that there would be no response to her 
playacting, she had casually gotten up, dusted herself off, and gone 
into the living room. Where she had pitched a fit worthy of Mad Dog 
Lane herself, her abuse and yells searing the air of the apartment, 
before marching into her bedroom again and slamming the door 
behind her. Having the satisfaction of thinking up a multitude of 
insults to hurl at her captor had been a bonus. She had been most 
inventive. When, later, her guards had come to fetch her and take 
her to Lex, she had claimed that she had broken the perfume bottle 
in the midst of that rage. The mess had been cleaned, the bottle 
replaced, and no one had blinked an eye at her explanation, as far as 
she knew. 

Apparently the implications hadn't been lost on Lex however. The 
replacement perfume bottle had been plastic. In small moments since, 
Lois had grimly amused herself by imagining the look on his face when 
her actions had made him aware of the risk he had mistakenly taken. 
By giving her something she could use as a weapon against his guards 
or him...or herself. 

And then there came the moments when doubt set in, paranoia 
returned, satisfaction at her cleverness seemed childishly over-
confident. Was it really possible that Lex had been so careful to 
ensure the apartment was cleansed of anything she could use against 
him or herself...and yet had forgotten about one glass bottle? She 
supposed it might be. Perfume came in glass bottles. Perhaps it had 
simply been so everyday an item, so much the norm, that it had 
slipped from his attention. Perhaps. Or...perhaps not. So...had Lex 
simply known it was a ruse and left her to believe herself safe? Or 
had she genuinely been alone, there on that floor? She couldn't know 
for certain. But she had done as much as she could and she had to 
hold fast to something. Some hope. Some small concession to her 
sanity. It was an imperfect security, but she clung to even as small a 
guarantee as this. 

Lois Lane had learned to compromise. Learned to settle. Perry would 
be ashamed of her. 

Perry...

Tears stung at her eyes as she imagined the disappointment in the 
editor's face if he could witness how low she had already sunk, as she 
let her thoughts wander on what they were doing now...her 
friends...her colleagues...Clark....

She dragged herself out of the brown study, grimly. She hadn't been 
so insistent about getting this small privacy, such as it was, just so 
that she could mope around in here getting maudlin. She might as well 
do *that* out there in public. Give Lex a false sense of achievement.

<Snap out of it, Lane.>

Insisted. Demanded. Her expression twisted in a grimace. Yeah, right. 
Keep believing that you can insist on anything, Lois. Keep believing 
that you can demand anything at all. That what you think or want is 
important to anyone here. 

Lex had, more truthfully, indulged her. That was what had happened. 
Wasn't it? Indulged her whim to protect her privacy as though she 
were a favored child. A concession to her that he could offer or 
withhold as pleased him. Something of no consequence to him, that 
mattered so little he could afford to be generous. It had cost him 
nothing to concede to her demand that she be free of surveillance in 
these two areas of the apartment. He had raised a sardonic brow 
when she had refused to accept his word that any spying equipment in 
those rooms would be removed and had carelessly agreed to her 
codicil that she be given a handheld bug detector without comment.

Lois was only too aware of the real reasons that lay behind her 
jailer's generosity. One more lesson. By giving in to this demand he 
merely emphasized even more cruelly and sharply those he refused to 
surrender to, those wishes he chose to ignore. Only accentuated that 
her demands *were* his to deny or grant - as the fancy took him. 
That nothing she wished for or wanted was hers to give. Not any 
more. Even the most fundamental of rights, rights that she had 
always taken for granted as hers and no others to control - privacy, 
the right to be alone - was a gift from Lex Luthor. Something that 
could be snatched away at any moment as easily as it was offered.

She shook off the dismal awareness that the veneer of control over 
her own life was thin enough to crack beneath the least scrutiny. To 
admit to that, to acknowledge it, would be to find the solid ground 
beneath her feet wasn't so solid after all. The thinnest of sheet ice 
in fact. 

So...whether it be fiction or not and with no way to tell for 
certain...she clung to the small security that the bug scanner gave her 
and maintained her belief in its existence with a ferocity that she 
wouldn't allow to be challenged in the moments when her thoughts 
turned darkest. She dressed in the bathroom now and retreated to it 
for long hours at a time, the only space in which she could be 
reasonably sure she wasn't overlooked, studied like an insect under 
glass, any hint of weakness measured, any sign of her breaking 
pounced on, noted, and used against her.

At least Lex's casual acquiescence, his disinterest in denying her, had 
gained her an area of retreat. Her lips twisted sourly. A retreat she 
could cower in when she felt near to screaming in frustration and the 
permanent itch that lived between her shoulder-blades could be 
dulled for a few moments before she had to return to being the 
subject of constant, prying eyes.

She sighed, dropping her hand. She shouldn't be so hard on herself, 
she knew. Her victories were few and far between, heaven knew. She 
should take solace in the meanest of them when she could.

She unfolded her fist and looked at the paper she had screwed up 
into her palm thoughtfully. The key to...well if not freedom at least a 
limited representation thereof. She had tried so hard not to let the 
leap of desperate longing and gratitude for this unexpected treasure 
that had clenched in her heart show on her face. She wouldn't give 
him the pleasure. Or the satisfaction. But now she fisted her fingers 
around the note and hugged it between her breasts like a life 
preserver. If she had had to spend one more day trapped within the 
confines of these rooms she would have truly gone mad indeed, she 
thought soberly. 

And out in the Citadel, she had a better chance at finding her way 
out, to surreptitiously check out the guard rotation, where the 
'forbidden' zones were and how to get into them, map out the true 
scope and scale of Lex's hideout and even, perhaps, find some tool or 
weapon she could use to get herself out of this mess, she reminded 
herself, bolstering her mood. 

Smoothing the note out, she committed its line of numbers to memory 
and then got up off the bed and put it away reverently in her 
nightstand. 

Her newly optimistic mood soured somewhat when she opened the 
wardrobe door, already knowing what she would find there. There it 
was. Lex's little black dress. Elegant and classical, just as he'd 
stipulated. His little jests, in pretending perniciously that the choice 
of what to wear these days was hers, revealed for the studied, 
degrading cruelty they were.

Four days ago, she had woken to discover that all of her clothes - the 
wardrobe which Lex had had copied or taken from her apartment - 
had been removed. There had only been two outfits left. A casual 
pants and sweater ensemble - which Lex had apparently decided was 
ideal for day wear for the single woman trapped in a prison cell 
masquerading as her home - and, hanging beside it, a long, emerald 
silk sheath. Hung from a pouch around each hanger had been every 
last touch apparently deemed necessary, from underwear to jewelry 
to accessories, to complete the outfits. Suitable shoes had been left 
in the bottom of the wardrobe.

Lex's earlier comment on having to do something to ensure she was 
dressed for dinner next time he joined her for a meal had taken on a 
new edge. 

Lois' furious tirade of protest had fallen on deaf ears. At least, Lex 
had been deaf to them. She suspected that as she'd railed and yelled 
and paced the apartment, she had left a few of his spies with 
headaches.

But it had gained her nothing. Finally, she had resorted to the one 
defiance left to her. Full of rebellion against the indignity, and fury, 
she had deliberately chosen to wear the emerald sheath throughout 
the day. When Lex brought in dinner, in what had become a regular 
habit, she had been lounging on the sofa in pants and sweater, reading 
a fashion magazine. 

He hadn't been able to contain his fury. Recklessly, and somewhat 
stupidly she had to confess morosely now, Lois hadn't been afraid of 
it. Dinner had been conducted in a vicious, poisonous silence and Lex 
had left without a word shortly thereafter. And she had 
congratulated herself on winning the round, gone to sleep with a smile 
for the first time in days.

Until she had woken the next morning to find the wardrobe entirely 
bare and nothing left for her to wear at all.  She had been forced not 
just to spend two days wearing the Arabian Nights nightgown, the 
only garment left to her, but had also been left in no doubt that Lex 
wouldn't tolerate her mocking him again on this particular point. His 
darkly acerbic insinuations that should she try thwarting his will one 
more time she would find not only a bare wardrobe when she woke, 
but shortly thereafter two of his men, dispatched to reclaim the 
nightgown, had certainly awoken a sliver of unease within her. And it 
had been with a sharply humiliating relief that she had opened the 
wardrobe on the third day to discover her 'clothing privileges' 
restored. She hadn't tested his patience on the matter since.

Debilitating and degrading though this indignity was, however, what 
*frightened* her about the situation was how well Lex dressed her. 
His choices were, with few exceptions, not far removed from what 
her own would have been. In quality and style, he seemed able to 
judge her tastes with an accuracy that both appalled and scared her. 
That he could know her so well left her permanently uneasy and off 
balance. 

She fingered the jeans hanging beside the black dress for a moment, 
brow furrowed. Then with another sigh she pulled them and their 
accompanying soft white blouse and pouch from their hanger and 
threw them carelessly to the bed. 

Her mood couldn't be dampened for long though. Not today. Like a 
child eagerly preparing for vacation, she dressed quickly, her heart 
soaring, despite her admonitions to herself that this was no doubt 
precisely the response Lex had wanted to provoke in her. Gratitude 
for the gift.

Well, if she couldn't help herself delighting in the unexpected but 
welcome taste of freedom she'd been granted, she would at least try 
not to let him know about it too much.

Ready to go, she hesitated as she passed the dresser. Lex's only 
error lay there. He had provided her with the largest bottle of 
perfume that the perfumiers had been able to offer. The only 
problem was that it was a perfume she loathed. Heavy and cloying, its 
fumes gave her a headache whenever she wore it. It had given her 
great satisfaction to smash its predecessor; she might well have done 
so just for that, even if she hadn't needed it to prove a point. Lex, 
she understood, had acceded to his own preferences here, dismissing 
hers. She might be forced to wear it each evening, while sharing 
dinner with her jailer, but she could do without it at any other time. 

She could forgive him the lapse however. She touched her fingers 
lightly to the bottle for a moment. It had become something of a 
touchstone. The habit of touching the bottle each day, sometimes 
several times a day depending on how low her mood sunk - of 
connecting with that solid evidence that Lex wasn't infallible, that he 
could makes mistakes, and so be beaten and outwitted - had become 
something of a lucky charm.

She shook her head at her own foolishness. But her fingers lingered 
on the bottle anyway. An extra dose of luck, just for today. She was 
going to need it. All she could get.

At the bedroom door she paused. She smoothed at her clothes with 
nervous hands. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she opened it 
and headed for the front door.


~@*****@~


Superman stood on the highest ledge of the tallest building in 
Metropolis, surveying the world beneath and around him with distant 
eyes. Arms folded, cape blowing fitfully around him, he saw none of 
his surroundings. Despair wrapped him in a chill that weighed heavy on 
his shoulders and shrouded his heart and thoughts. 

He knew that he couldn't really spare the time for this break in his 
routine. There were still the downtown areas to patrol, and, if he 
could find the extra hours beyond that, more searching to be done. 
As he had told Perry, he had taken to spending the last hour of the 
night, as dawn began to lighten the skies above the city, on a little 
secluded beach he knew, out in the Caribbean. He had never felt the 
need for as much sleep as the average person, he could get by on just 
a few hours if he had to. But that hour soaking up the sun before he 
returned to his hotel suite, gave him the needed edge he required to 
keep going. To spend the day with Eve, playing his role as husband and 
honeymooner as best he could for Luthor's pleasure.

He had the hours of his night mapped out into a routine he no longer 
had to think about, a blessing, and it didn't leave time for standing 
around on ledges feeling morose and lost, he told himself in disgust.

But still...tonight...

The meeting with Perry had sunk his spirits to a new low. It wasn't 
like his friend to be so downhearted, dwelling on the negative. Perry 
was the one who had always been there for him before. Encouraging, 
chivying him out of despair and depression, even in the most 
seemingly hopeless of situations. Always the one who could be relied 
on to think of the positive. The ways out.

Somehow the darkness of the newsroom, a place that had always held 
welcome for him, a sense of home, had seemed oppressive that 
evening. When he'd glanced back, just before he'd launched himself 
back into the overcast sky, he'd seen Perry slumped in his seat at his 
desk, head bowed into his hands. He'd risen quickly, unwilling to 
intrude on his friend's grief. 

Hope.

Understanding that Perry had lost hope in Lois being found had been 
like stepping into quicksand all at once, having the ground disappear 
beneath his feet. 

Was it really that hopeless? Was Lois really lost?

He slumped to the ledge, drawing his knees up to his chest and laying 
his forehead to their platform. He couldn't let himself believe it. He 
wouldn't! 

But if she wasn't here...if she wasn't in Metropolis....

Enough! Wherever she was, he would find her. If he had to tear every 
corner of the earth apart, he would find her.

Lois...Lois, sweetheart, help me. Help me find you. Please. 

I can't do this alone.

I can't do this without you.

His lips twisted and he lifted his head sharply. He couldn't do this if 
he let himself flounder in maudlin self-pity, he rebuked himself 
viciously. Maybe it was time to give up on Metropolis. Maybe it was 
time to stop searching here and take stock, find a new plan. That 
didn't mean it was time to lose hope, give up on her entirely. He would 
never give up on her entirely. If it took a dozen years, till the end of 
his days, he'd search for her.

Ignoring the dismal thought that twisted in his skull that perhaps it 
might come to that after all, he pushed himself to his feet with an 
effort and launched himself into the darkness.


~@*****@~

Lois started with a session in the well-equipped gym. Lex had been 
cognizant of her need for regular exercise from the start of course 
and daily sessions in the fitness complex - better equipped than most 
health clubs she'd been a member of - had been mandatory. Lois 
hadn't objected, knowing how important to her plans for escape those 
sessions, keeping herself fit and toned, were. But it had been a 
refreshing pleasure to have the gym to herself today, rather than 
sharing it with two of her minders. 

Moving on from there, she had foregone a shower in favor of a 
leisurely swim in the series of pools and lagoons, set out among lush, 
green landscaping and artificial rockscapes, that adjoined the gym 
complex. One of the half waterfalls had cleansed her sufficiently and 
she had the reassurance of knowing that, with judicious use of her 
towel, she had been able to change into the bathing suit left for her, 
in the locker with her name printed on it in cold, black type, without 
revealing too much of herself to watching eyes. 

Sitting in the steam-filled confines of the sauna, afterwards, she let 
herself relax fully while she considered that enough time had elapsed 
for her to soothe any suspicious watchers that she could now get 
down to business. 

She stretched leisurely and decided to go for a stroll.

There were, of course, any number of breath-taking areas set aside 
for such activity. Marvels of engineering and technology all. Parks, 
woodlands walks - there was even an entire eighteen hole golf course 
somewhere around. Set aside exclusively for her use and likely to be 
the envy of any greens-keeper or country club set if they had been 
able to view it. But if she chose to forego them in favor of walking 
the corridors of the Citadel, well that was her choice, wasn't it?

As she walked, apparently deep in thought and idly unaware of where 
her steps led her, she tried to dredge up from her memory what she 
remembered of the layout of the Citadel. At least, what little she'd 
seen of it the last time Lex had shown it to her. The memory made 
her cringe, remembering that time, when he had offered her just this 
captivity she suffered now. Then, it had been sugar-coated in 
something she could - and had - denied him. A straight trade in 
return for saving her from the destruction of the Nightfall asteroid. 

In particular, she tried to envisage the route they had taken from 
her 'apartment' to the elevator that led to the first floor of the 
LexCorp building.

She saw nothing that looked remotely familiar. 

Logic dictated that the way to the surface would be heavily guarded 
and in one of those restricted areas Lex had mentioned. Knowing that 
she would be stopped and politely redirected into a safe zone as soon 
as she strayed too close for comfort to somewhere that might aid 
her in an escape attempt, Lois decided subterfuge was a complete 
waste of time. And even being able to identify where the exit was by 
default would be valuable information, that could be added to the 
small store she laboriously gathered day by day. Lex would perhaps be 
surprised to know just how much his prisoner actually knew about the 
daily routine of the guards who confined her. Lois wasn't about to pin 
all her hopes on one escape attempt and leave it at that. She fully 
expected this one to fail. But no attempt was ever entirely useless. 
Repeated attempts would bring success, sooner or later. Each failure 
would provide new clues and valuable information. It was simply a 
matter of attrition, she told herself firmly. A matter of whittling 
down the parameters until fate and luck and her own tenacity brought 
her the results she craved.

She hesitated at the junction of two corridors, the first red-
delineated zone she'd discovered, and then pushed back her 
shoulders. Her palms were damp and her heart was racing like a 
rabbit's. <Well,> she thought, drawing in a calming breath. <They do 
say that fate favors the bold.> 

She struck out robustly along the corridor to her left. To her 
surprise, she wasn't challenged. The corridors she walked were empty 
and abandoned and no figures in green fatigues came running to stop 
her. Maybe red didn't denote forbidden. Maybe it was the equivalent 
of the local red-light district. Those poor boys must have some time 
off when they weren't annoying the hell out of her. The thought 
produced a grim smile. There wasn't another female within fifty miles 
of this place, she knew. 

When she had queried that fact, Lex's logic had been impeccable. 
Without a trace of abashment, he had forthrightly explained that as 
the only woman in the entire Citadel she made an easy target for 
surveillance, with no chance that she would be mistaken for or 
disguise herself as another female occupant. Nor had Lex intended to 
take the risk that she might bond with any female companion, who 
might be persuaded to sympathy for her plight and offer her aid. He 
had, of course, no such worries when it came to Callinson or his men. 

No such worries was safe enough, Lois thought darkly now. She would 
have as much success in persuading one of those blocks of granite to 
dance the polka than see her as human or offer her help to escape.

Up ahead, she heard the sound of voices. Her pause was fractional, 
enough that her sudden change of direction down a side corridor 
looked entirely natural and not prompted by the urge to avoid anyone 
at the end of the hallway.

Over the course of the next hour she changed her route a half dozen 
times in similar fashion, prompted by the sudden appearance of 
soldiers or some sound or noise that alerted her to possible danger of 
discovery.  She figured her luck had to run out eventually. It had 
already stretched thinner than she'd ever expected or hoped for.

Sure enough - as she turned one more corner into another stretch of 
dismal corridor, which looked the same as every other she'd trudged 
through before it - it did.  

"Miss? Miss Lane? Hold up there, please."

Lois froze, cursing under her breath before she turned smoothly to 
eye the soldier approaching her cautiously.

"This is a restricted area, Miss Lane," he stated the obvious. Lois 
rolled her eyes. "Would you like me to assist you in finding your way 
back to the complex? Where were you headed?"

"Yes, please." She smiled at him brightly. "If you can escort me to 
the front door out of here that would be enormously helpful, thank 
you."

He eyed her askance. "Very funny, Miss Lane." His smile was 
perfunctory. "Let's go this way, shall we?"

Lois sighed. "After you," she murmured wryly.

He shook his head, sweeping his hand before him in silent invitation 
and Lois snapped a dark glance at him before complying.

"Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to go?" he asked after a 
moment from his position trailing her.

Lois stopped dead, then twisted around to face him, the strain of the 
morning on her nerves finally snapping into sudden, furious anger. "Is 
there any point in going anywhere?" she demanded bitterly. "Is there 
anywhere in this godforsaken place that has just a smidgen of fresh 
air instead of recycled? I'm sick of breathing in my own damn stale 
air!"

He stared at her. Lois growled and whirled back, moving her pace up 
to a sharp clip. After a moment she heard him hurry to catch up. She 
hadn't expected an answer to her outburst, so what he said next 
surprised the hell out of her.

"There is a place..." he ventured hesitantly. "Where we go...the 
guards, you know...get a couple of moments, take a breather." He 
paused. "I could show you, you like?"

Lois stopped dead and looked up at him. "A place? A place outside?"

He nodded.

Her eyes narrowed on him. "And you'll take me there - outside - just 
like that?"

He shrugged. "Don't see any harm in it. I'll be right there with you." 
His eyes flicked over her briefly and he frowned. "It'll be cold, mind. 
You probably shouldn't stay out long or you'll catch a chill and then I 
*will* hear it from Mr. Luthor. But a couple of minutes won't rock any 
boats."

Lois stared at him. "What's your name?"

"Morley, Miss. Lieutenant, First Class."

"Well then, Morley Miss Lieutenant First Class...I don't suppose you 
know how to dance the polka, do you?"

"Miss?"

She shook her head. "Never mind." She tried to fight down the 
elation welling up in her, trying to maintain some level of wariness for 
this too-good-to-be-true lucky break. But she couldn't seem to stop 
herself grinning inanely at him. "All right, I'll bite," she said. "Let's 
go."

He nodded, ushering her ahead of him and directing her down a series 
of corridors until they came to the burnished metal doors of an 
elevator. Lois watched in growing disbelief as Morley pressed the 
button and then let her precede him inside the cage.

They rode the first few floors upwards in silence. Lois slid a glance at 
her companion as he stood stiffly beside her, before, finally, she 
could stand the curiosity no longer. "Why are you doing this?" she 
asked suspiciously.

He didn't look at her, kept his gaze fixed on the faint, distorted 
reflection of them in the doors, at the rolling changes of the light as 
floor after floor was passed by. "Like I said. Don't see why not."

"A jailer with initiative?" Lois murmured. She ignored the faint 
tightening in his jaw. "Hard to believe."

"Think what you want then. Doesn't matter to me. You can't get up to 
no good out there with me in tow. It's safe enough. Minimal risk."

"Ah...calculated the odds, have you? All the permutations?"

"More or less," he agreed stiffly. His tone had become a little less 
friendly. Lois couldn't find it in her heart to mourn the loss. He 
wasn't her friend and his pretending to be was irking her. She had no 
idea what was going on, what kind of trap this was, but she was sure 
the noose was waiting up ahead and the punchline to one more of 
Lex's desperately unamusing and bitter little jokes was all ready to 
be delivered.

She shifted slightly. The journey seemed interminable. She wished 
she'd thought to take count of how many floors they had flickered 
past, instead of prodding at Morley. It would have been more fruitful.

One of his stupid jokes, she reiterated to herself fitfully, as she 
sighed, hypnotized by the steady light and dark movement behind the 
cabin's sealed doors. Bound to be. Still.... Despite knowing it, she 
couldn't help but wonder. Couldn't help but take the chance. Couldn't 
help but place her head in the lion's jaws. Because it *could*, just, 
impossibly, be the real thing. Even the minus one percent of a chance 
made it impossible to pass up.

That was, of course, the deepest of all cruelties her captivity forced 
upon her. That hope made her a willing participant in the traps set for 
her.

She started violently as the elevator jolted to a halt and the doors 
rolled back. She turned a curious look on her companion as they 
revealed a short flight of bare concrete steps, leading up to a 
nondescript, blank, black metal door. 

"Straight ahead. The door should be open."

Lois hesitated. Then she straightened her shoulders and puffed out a 
small breath. "All right."

She felt rather than heard him follow her up the stairs. Every nerve 
and instinct in her seemed to be attuned to him, judging, 
analyzing....he was two steps behind her...seemingly relaxed and not 
anticipating any great threat...two steps down and slightly to her 
left.... Not close enough to be within grabbing reach of her should he 
lose his balance, but well within reach for --

In one easy, practiced movement, Lois swung around, planted her foot 
in the middle of Morley's chest, and used every ounce of thrust she 
could bring to bear on the kick she delivered.

Breath slammed out of him, Morley couldn't even yell his surprise as 
he was bowled over backwards to tumble to the bottom of the flight. 
Lois registered the shock in his widening eyes as he went, the 
desperate but futile attempts by him to arrest his fall as his hands 
struck wildly at the walls and found no purchase. But she didn't stick 
around to sympathize. Before Morley even hit the concrete floor with 
a thud that seemed to reverberate in her ears, Lois was tearing up 
the remainder of the stairs towards that door...

Towards escape.

Escape!

And Metropolis.

Up there lay streets she could lose any pursuit in, streets she knew 
as intimately as a lover, streets she could lay low in, get her bearings, 
in...the Planet wasn't more than a cab ride away....if she could flag one 
down, Perry would pay at the -

The instant she burst through the door, the air cut into her like a 
blade. She could almost feel it seeding ice into her blood, encasing 
her heart, freezing in her veins like liquid nitrogen. The quick, 
panicked bursts of breath that escaped her chest emerged as powder 
puffs of white cloud before her eyes...

....and all her thoughts, her plans, her hopes of escape died in her. 
The shock was so complete, so brutal, that it was almost like a blow in 
the chest, rocking her back on her feet and whitening her face as the 
blood drained from it.

Dimly, like a voice out of a nightmare, echoing in the dark of the 
tunnel behind her, she heard Morley curse, the heavy clatter of his 
steps as he came after her. But she forgot about slamming the metal 
door behind her, hopefully delaying his pursuit. About losing herself 
in the rabbit warren of Metropolis alleys. About searching for a cab 
to take her back to the Planet. About the ruination of all Lex 
Luthor's schemes and the first steps taken towards her revenge.

There were no streets.

There was nothing. Nothing but frigid stillness and a silent, white-
edged world. Which closed in around her as her breath plumed on the 
air.

She stood there, numbed, disorientated, feeling the world drop away 
from her. 

Quite literally.

She was standing on a small, half-circle of stone balcony, enclosed by 
rough rock walls and low ceiling. A mimicry of a subterranean cave, 
high up among those mountainous peaks, whose only exit was the 
rough-hewn rectangle opposite her, open to the elements. A flurry of 
snow found its way through as she stared in disbelief at that view.

As though driven of their own accord, without her violation, she found 
her steps taking her slowly towards that gap. Like moving through 
water, sluggish, unsteady, wrapped in nightmare.

She laid her hands on the wide, waist-high stone ledge and surveyed 
the black, white-tipped splendor of the mountains that took up every 
inch of her view with eyes that were lost and dark. Great slabs of 
prehistoric granite, rearing up like white-capped spears to impale the 
heavy, oppressive weight of the gray-cloaked sky above. She wasn't 
even aware of the tears that slid across her chilled cheeks. Each 
breath hurt. Her heart felt as though the ice had already reached 
deep inside it.

Drawn against her will to it, she let her gaze fall.

Down into the abyss that drew the eye and the sheer, frightening 
drop that fell away from the balcony beneath her.


~@*****@~

Clark smiled broadly, feeling it stretch in the muscles of his jaw.

"No...you gotta say gorgonzola!" 

Clark stopped an irritated sigh just short of escaping him. "Just take 
the picture, Lois," he commanded through clenched teeth. 

He was trying, he really was, to treat Lois' doppelganger gently and 
with care, but there were times still when she drove him to 
distraction. When the strain of it all, the playacting, the searching, 
the despair, grew just too heavy to be borne. He had spent the whole 
day on the tourist trail with his adoring new wife...and he had just 
about had enough. Aside from the obvious strain, he chafed at losing 
hours from his search. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch. Almost 
midnight. By now he could have had five or six hours under his belt....

On the other side of the plaza, behind the little instant camera, Eve 
pouted at him, but dutifully snapped the shot. She grinned at him as 
she bounced back across the square to wrap herself close to his side 
and take his arm. "See? That wasn't so hard, now was it? I swear, 
you're such a baby, times."

Clark gave her a tight glance and then forced another smile. "Easy as 
pie, darling," he agreed, brushing the faintest of kisses against her 
hair. He found it easier to do than kiss her properly and he trusted 
that no one watching would mark the difference or find his affection 
the cold and bitter thing it truly was. Even with the change in their 
relationship over the past few days, the softening of the boundaries 
between them, more allies than enemies, he still couldn't stop the 
reflexive aversion to even the most fleeting or casual of intimacies 
with her. 

The thought reminded him that he couldn't afford to let his guard 
down, or his true feelings show. Forcing himself to relax the tight line 
across his shoulders, he slipped an arm around the slim waist of the 
clone and looked down at her with what he hoped would be viewed as 
an indulgent and affectionate smile.

"So...where to next? I know. There's this little bar down by the 
beach - "

"Can we go back to the hotel?"

He glanced down at her in surprise at the quiet interruption. Her 
earlier, exuberant mood seemed to have deflated all at once. The 
child-like pleasure he'd come to expect when he offered her some 
concession or treat, paid her special attention, had failed to 
materialize. She looked wan and downcast. More than that. Suddenly 
becoming aware of things that had escaped him until that moment, he 
studied her more intently, straightening as he drew back from their 
close embrace.

"Are you okay?"

She shrugged, fiddling with the camera. "Please....I just..." She gave 
him a glance from beneath her lashes. "I just want to go back."

Puzzled, Clark nevertheless responded to the weary plea. "Sure," he 
said, taking hold of her arm and solicitously guiding her through the 
scattering of tourists and vendors. "Are you sick?" he asked 
worriedly, as she let him maneuver her through the crowd with an 
audible sigh of gratitude.

She shook her head, but he continued to cast her anxious looks as he 
took them back to their suite. She hadn't eaten much over dinner, he 
remembered. Maybe the day was catching up with her too. 

"Sit down," he tossed over his shoulder at her, gesturing to the sofa 
absently as he headed for the phone. "You look like you could do with 
some food inside you." 

She didn't protest his diagnosis, but something came into her face 
that puzzled him. As he dialed room service and rattled off a quick 
order he frowned at her as she stood in the center of the room. 
Putting down the receiver he said brusquely, "It won't be long." He 
folded his arms as he leaned back against the edge of the writing 
table. "While we're waiting, you can tell me what's going on."

She didn't seem to want to look at him. Clark felt his heart jolt in his 
chest. What now? What was coming now to derail his plans? To get in 
his way? To delay him in his quest to rescue Lois?

"Eve!" he demanded, perhaps a little more sharply than he might have 
intended. A sharpness he instantly regretted as she started and then 
looked up at him, misery stark in her eyes.

"Eve..." He shook his head, the spark of anger fading, guilt overtaking 
it at his selfish thoughts of just a few seconds earlier. She was in 
pain, he saw, and here he was, worrying about delays to his plans. He 
sighed, loosening his stance and letting his arms fall to his sides. 
"Just tell me what's wrong, okay? Let me help you."

She looked away, then made abruptly for the lanai. Staring out at the 
view, she rubbed fitfully at her arms, despite the muggy heat spilling 
in through the open doors. He waited her out and after a time his 
patience was rewarded. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was small 
and quiet enough that he had to augment his hearing to make it out.

"I have to...I have to eat."

Clark frowned, confused. "Well, that's why I ordered dinner. Why 
don't you come sit down and - "

She turned on him sharply. "No! I mean, I have to *eat*. You know...." 
She trailed off helplessly. Her cheeks were flushed as she glanced 
away from the sudden leap of understanding in his eyes as they 
widened on her.

"Oh," he said. "Frogs."

She nodded, a quick, embarrassed bob of her head. 

"Doppelbuffo frogs. Well it shouldn't be too hard to find a supply. A 
legal supply, I mean. I'm not raiding any pet shops. They're indigenous 
to the South Pacific, so there must be plenty of them around, in this 
area..." He trailed off as her expression turned furtive and just a 
little.... What? Something fleeting that he couldn't quite decipher. If 
she needed the frogs...why was she telling him? Hadn't she already 
secured a supply? "Aren't there?" he questioned, suddenly less 
confident of his facts.

Eve shrugged and looked away. The glimpse he got of her face before 
she did showed eyes that were suspiciously bright and cheeks that 
seemed suddenly sallow and wan under the light of the lanterns 
beyond the lanai railing. 

His expression tightened abruptly, as the pieces suddenly fell into 
place in his head. Pale. She looked more than pale. She looked... sick.... 

He muttered a soft imprecation as he crossed the room to her side. 
Reaching out, he took hold of her arm, leading her gently for the sofa 
and pushing her to sit. She closed her eyes briefly, making no protest 
and no attempt to free herself from his grasp as he did. They had 
dark, ugly shadows beneath them, he noticed, hunkering down in front 
of her as she opened them again to fix on him and taking hold of her 
hands in his own.

"Exactly how long is it since you last ate? I mean ate properly?"

She shook her head and looked down at her fingers, enclosed in his. 
"I couldn't find any. All the pet shops here...they said they export 
them. More bucks. They don't sell them here and - " Her voice had 
begun to rise, more than a slight note of hysteria in it. He tightened 
his grip on her, reassuring. It seemed to steady her. But the eyes 
that fixed themselves on him were dark with misery. "I got so scared. 
I didn't know what to do...."

Clark sighed. "Why didn't you just tell me? Eve, I can't help you if I 
don't know."

She looked away. "I didn't want...I thought you would, that maybe you 
wouldn't want to - "

"That I wouldn't help you find a new supply?" Clark demanded. He 
rose abruptly to his feet, exasperated. "How could you think I'd let 
you starve? For pity's sake, Eve, I don't want you to die."

Her head shot up. "Don't you?"

He reddened. "No," he said quietly. "No, I don't." And knew it to be 
true. He wanted Lois back, yes. But Eve didn't deserve to die. She 
wasn't his enemy.

"Well, at least not until you find your precious Lois. You need me, till 
then." She stopped and the anger in her face crumpled into a sudden 
plaintive look. "You do, don't you? Need me?"

Clark was staring at her, astonished. "You think that's the only reason 
I want you to live? Because I need you to find Lois?" he said, 
incredulous that she could think such a thing. "No, that's not it." 

He sat on the sofa beside her, willing her to believe him as he said, 
earnestly,  "Eve, Luthor was wrong to make you. Creating you, bringing 
you into this world like he did, was cruel. What he did to you - " He 
put a gentle hand to her shoulder. "But you're here now. And you 
deserve a life. Your own life. And I want to help you find it."

She looked away. "Anyway...that's not what I thought. That you 
wanted me...dead. I thought...I didn't want to remind 
you...you...since...these past couple of days, it seemed like you'd 
forgotten. Kinda. What I was. I didn't want to go back to - "

Clark watched her struggle with the concept helplessly, unable to 
offer any comfort. She had starved herself because she'd believed 
that reminding him that she was a clone, not human, would have meant 
a return to his coldness, his rage? For the sake of some small 
measure of kindness which he had found in himself to offer her, she 
had forgone eating at all?

Clark closed his eyes, finding something unbearably pitiful in that 
revelation. Then he shook his head and rose to his feet. Doppelbuffo 
frogs. The area should be teeming with them. If not here, then 
certainly not so far away. A few minutes' flight and he should be able 
to - He glanced down and into the hopeful face of Eve. He was 
startled by her expression. He had often seen that look in strangers 
when he was wearing the Suit - blind faith in his abilities to help, 
complete trust that he would save the day - but only Lois and his 
parents had looked at Clark Kent that way before now. It unsettled 
him a little.

"Stay here," he said firmly, as he headed for the door. "Room service 
should be here any minute. By the time you're finished with dinner 
I'll be back with more frogs than you could eat in a lifetime." He gave 
her a reassuring smile. "Just don't tell the management. They don't 
allow pets in the rooms."

She gave him a somewhat watery smile for the weak quip as he left. 
But her eyes still shone on him with that unholy light of trust, of 
confidence - in him. Him of all people -  and, seeing it, he felt queasy 
as he closed the door behind him.


~@*****@~


"What the bloody hell did you do that for? Are you cra - " 

Hands yanked at her sleeve, twisting her around and she stared up 
bleakly into an angry face...which became still. The hands fell away, 
the face became puzzled. 

"Miss? Miss Lane? Hey, are you okay?"

Morley. She couldn't respond. Her gaze slid away from him to fix 
once more on the glittering, snow-capped view beyond the lookout 
point. At one level, some part of her listened to him and took note. 
Not just what he was saying, but little inconsequential things that 
stood out starkly in bitter clarity. He was more than a little 
breathless, that part of her noted with savage spite, and he held a 
hand pressed tight against his lower ribs. Bruised or worse. She 
couldn't find it in herself to care. 

But for the other, deeper part of her, his words had no meaning at 
all. Wrapped in the haze of shock, as she stared blindly out at the 
mountains and that chasm beneath her, as all there was of hope was 
leeched out of her by the chill and that view. The world was a distant 
roaring in her ears. Poised as though on the very edge of that world 
itself, Lois, who in all her years of flying in Superman's arms had 
never once suffered from vertigo, felt dizzy and nauseated.

Dim and distant, she heard Morley speak again. She shook her head 
numbly. 

After a moment she had the vague sensation of something heavy and 
warm being settled around her shoulders and then the awareness 
some time after that she was alone.

She had no idea how long she stood there. Even the chill of the air 
failed to take hold on her. Her heart was frozen into sorrow and 
despair, how much colder could it get? Thoughts whirled chaotically in 
her head and one of them shrieked its horror at her, over and over....

No escape.

The starkness of that battered against the walls of her mind....

No escape.

No escape.

No escape.

...crushing her beneath the weight of its curse. She wanted to curl up, 
right there on the icy stone of the cavern, rock and wail. Weep and 
scream out her betrayal. 

noescapenoescapenoescape

She held on fast to the wall beneath her fingers, feeling the rough 
scrape of concrete sting her skin and welcome the pain. It brought 
clarity, shutting off the rising howl of hysteria and the beat of that 
litany behind her eyes. She held off the urge to surrender to the 
overwhelming grief and disappointment that welled up within her with 
a supreme effort of will.

And what now, she thought bitterly. Throw herself over the edge and 
hope that her husband was close enough to hear her scream before 
she hit that barren expanse of ice far below?

A white cloud drifted slowly past her. It was accompanied by a 
familiar  stench. She stiffened, shoulders tensing as though in 
expectation of a blow.

"Beautiful. Isn't it?" 

He moved to stand beside her. 

"Where...are we?" Lois said, unable to keep the tremor from her 
voice. Somehow she couldn't seem to work up the energy to care any 
more.

"Precisely or generally?" Lex shrugged as she looked at him and then, 
perhaps responding to the darkening bleakness in her gaze, 
apparently decided she had had enough of games and battles for now. 
"Somewhere beneath the Swiss Alps. My Citadel," he said, leaning 
casual elbows on the stone wall as he gazed out onto the beauty of 
the landscape laid out before him. "Actually, I suppose it's more of a 
fortress. Windowless, featureless, remote from the world.... My 
retreat."

"Planes...." Lois mumbled, a spark of something, some last desire for 
hope, emerging from the disordered jumble in her head, beneath the 
incessant shrieking that was beating wildly against her skull and 
seeking escape. "Someone must - "

He was shaking his head. "We're not under the flight path of 
anything commercial or military and too far out for private pilots to 
travel. Even if a plane did come out this far, they'd see just what 
they expect to - nothing but rock and snow as far as the eye can see. 
The entire complex was hollowed out of the interior, buried deep in 
the heart of this mountain. Impossible to see from above and 
impossible to breach. It took its creator thirty years to see his 
dream completed." 

"From the estate. You bought it from the estate," she said, 
remembering what he'd told her that first day. He'd told her then 
and she hadn't understood, had thought he was talking about buying 
back the LexCorp building from its last owner. The empire had been 
broken up and sold at auction, after his ruination, to satisfy the 
creditors of LexCorp and his other business ventures. "Lawyers, 
accountants," Lois' voice quickened. "Builders, designers, architects.... 
You can't put capital into this kind of thing without people knowing 
about it, leaving a trail, people have to know this place is here, they 
have to know - "

His hand, laid gently to her shoulder and cutting off her words 
abruptly, was almost commiserating. "True. Which is why I had to 
have those people, including our billionaire friend's only surviving 
heir...removed. I couldn't have anyone knowing about this." He 
shrugged at her look of horror. "It took me some time to track down 
everyone, right down to those who even heard the existence of this 
place whispered around. But as of now, you, I, and the men inside that 
mountain are the only people living - or mentally responsive at least 
and able to tell - who know it's here.  I trust that now you understand 
just how impossible it is to leave here, you'll give up this foolish 
notion of leaving me."

Lois looked down into the gaping maw of the bowl that was formed by 
the encircling mountains. Far down at the bottom, far below, 
something glimmered faintly. A river perhaps. Or a seam of thick ice. 
Far below. Far, far, terribly far - 

She turned abruptly to face Lex fully and backed up a handful of 
paces, towards the far corner of the balcony.

"You might have miscalculated more badly than you think," she told 
him. Her tone was torpid, distant, but still it carried some of the 
frigidity of the air in it. "I still have one choice left." Her glance 
flicked, despite her attempts to control it, to the ledge.

"Suicide?" Lex grinned as he removed the expensive Cuban cigar from 
between his lips and puffed out a wreath of smoke into the freezing 
air. It coiled lazily upward as he shook his head. "My darling, you'd 
never consider it for a moment. Not like this." 

Lois stared at him for a moment. But she knew he was right. In this 
he was right. It had never been a serious consideration. Not even for 
a moment. It seemed, she thought distantly and bitterly, that even 
when you thought hope was gone entirely, some glimmer of it 
remained, deep within. She couldn't let herself lose that hope. And 
yet, now, at this moment, it was hard to grasp, hard to hold onto. She 
felt dead inside. And wounded. A wound perhaps too deep to recover 
from fully. Broken and dead.

And yet...one last option....

She whipped around, fixing her fingers tight around the edge of the 
ledge as she leaned far out over it. With no small amount of vicious 
satisfaction, she saw Lex start out of the corner of her eye - was 
that panic on his face? - and then he had leapt forward with a raw 
curse, grabbed hold of her hastily by the upper arms, yanking her 
back violently against him and away from the edge. His breath was 
rough and hard against the back of her neck.

She found herself grinning mirthlessly at the mountains in front of 
her. Oh, yes, that was the breath of panic. A fierce, brief pleasure 
flared up in her at shaking his composure, if only for an instant, just 
this once. 

Lois didn't struggle against the fingers biting deep into the flesh of 
her arms. Jumping had never been in her gameplan and he wasn't 
going to stop what was by holding her in place. Quickly, she opened 
her mouth wide, pulling in a deep breathful of the frigid air, feeling it 
sear her lungs as she screamed out into the void ahead of her.

"Superman! Superman, help me! Superman! I'm here!"

...I'm here...

...here...

Her desperate appeal resonated in the still, iced silence, seeming to 
mock her. Her voice had emerged weak, smothered by the tons of 
rock above and the chilled air beyond.

The faint echo was her only answer.

"Superman!"

She called again. And again. Over and over.

Lex made no attempt to silence her. He simply held her tight against 
him, letting her scream until she lost breath, letting her scream 
herself into defeat and surrender.

She had known it was hopeless. A million in one chance he would hear 
her. A billion. Odds so infinitesimal that they would hardly be worth 
calculating. Unless he happened to be flying overhead or nearby just 
at that moment...

But she'd had to try.

Even though this fresh abandonment tore at her heart.

She slumped a little in the hard hands holding her, heard Lex chuckle 
low and complacent against her ear. She was aware now of how her 
defeat was exciting him, could feel it in the hard oppression of his 
body pressed tight against her back. His breath on her skin was hot. 
Hot and steady with satisfaction.

With no heart in her left to stay, she shrugged herself disconsolately 
out of his grip. He didn't move to prevent her, simply let her go. He 
moved aside, leaving the path to the doors behind him clear. He 
grinned at her and then stretched out a hand. "Shall we? The mean 
temperature drops late in the afternoon, and this is no place to be 
without a coat. You'll take a chill, my sweet."

She followed the gesture of his hand towards the open doors and the 
black hole of the staircase beyond them. Had it only been minutes 
before when she had viewed them as her salvation? The route to 
escape? She could see that when closed the doors would mimic the 
rock face above them. Even the balcony on which she stood would 
pass for more broken rock, so cunningly had it been worked into the 
cleft between the rock plates rising like monoliths around her. It 
would take a miracle for anyone flying over the gorge to notice 
anything out of the ordinary. The camouflage was near perfect.

She was still staring listlessly at the entrance to her prison - her 
tomb - when Lex took her by the arm and deferentially guided her 
off the lookout. She couldn't work up the strength or will to protest. 
In fact, she wanted nothing more to leave that place, to get away, to 
be back in the awful familiarity of her apartment. And at that 
moment she couldn't seem to get her body to work towards that end. 
She found herself leaning gratefully on Lex's arm as her knees 
suddenly weakened. 

"You're shivering. You see? I should have brought you inside sooner."

She blocked out his solicitous tones, focusing grimly on each step she 
took. 

A lean figure stepped into their path as they emerged from the 
stairwell into the cavernous room below. She looked up and into the 
face of Morley. With a flash of warming fire through the frozen core 
that seemed suddenly to encase her heart and lie sluggishly in her 
mind, anger flared in her face. She suppressed her bitterness at 
being so mercilessly duped. Of course Lex had arranged it all. Had let 
her dream the idea of escape, let her get far enough to see how 
futile any attempt to get free really was. To let her truly understand 
how hopeless it was. He had known she would try eventually and so he 
had precipitated the attempt. She yanked her arm free of his clasp 
and sensed his glance of surprise, though she couldn't - wouldn't - 
look at him.

Yet there seemed to be almost an apology in the young soldier's eyes 
as she met his gaze. Anger would have been welcome from him, 
something she could react against and use to bolster her own rage. 
But there was nothing but regret in his blue eyes. 

Regret and bewilderment. It was clear, looking into that clear-eyed 
gaze, that Morley had had no idea what the effect of taking her up to 
the lookout point would be. That he'd had no inkling that she was 
unaware of where she was, had probably assumed all along that she'd 
understood just how limited an offer he was holding out to her. No 
wonder he hadn't understood her jibes in the elevator or seemed to 
be confused by her anger towards him. Morley, it seemed, had simply 
been dancing the polka all along.

Lois looked away, disorientated by just the hint of that human 
sympathy and pity, feeling the sting of tears and knowing it was just 
one too many surprises to bear on top of all the rest. 

"Take Ms Lane back to her room." She heard Lex's smooth tones 
come from the vicinity of her left shoulder. "I think she's had enough 
of exploring and excitement for one day. And have the heating turned 
up." She felt his hand against his arm as he moved in close enough to 
make her shiver. "Would you like some hot chocolate sent to your 
room, my dear?"

She shook her head numbly and felt his hand rest against her 
shoulder for a moment before he made some invisible signal that 
caused Morley to nod briskly and turn away.

Curiously, it was that final touch of his hand which brought her out of 
the haze of shock and despair enveloping her like a shroud. That 
touch and the illusion of sympathy and caring in his voice. Her mind 
stirred, rousing itself out of the torpor that shock and defeat had 
webbed her in, thawing out some of the slivers of ice in her heart. 
Rage enveloped her. Fury that he should pretend such solicitous 
concern when he was the cause of her hurt. 

It was a juxtaposition of fate and timing that caused her eyes to fall 
as the welter of emotions surged up inside her like a furious storm. 
That let her see the holster attached to his thigh.

As Morley turned, Lois darted out a hand, jerking the pistol clear of 
him as his turn brought it within her reach. Backing up swiftly as 
Morley reacted to the loss with a curse, she brought the gun up 
sharply as its owner made an abortive move for her. "Don't move. 
Lex!" Her voice rose sharply as Morley seemed like to ignore her. 
"Tell him not to move!"

"I think you'd best do as she says," Lex complied, his face 
expressionless. Morley glanced at him and then subsided, watching 
Lois warily as she continued to back up until she felt the cold of the 
wall behind her.

"There has to be some way out of this...mausoleum," she spat out. She 
directed the question at Morley. "How?"

The soldier glanced at Lex, seeking guidance. The hesitation enraged 
her. She jerked the pistol to cover him. "How!" she shrieked.

He started a little at the force of that yell. Then shrugged. 
"Concealed helipad on the upper level. Only way in or out," he 
elaborated as she tried to conceal her dismay.

"He's right, I'm afraid. That's the only source of egress and ingress 
we have. So, unless you have a pilot's license...." Lex let the words 
trail. No need to belabor them, Lois thought bitterly. 

"I want you to order them to start up the helicopter, Lex," she said. 
"Do it." She jerked the gun in his direction as he simply watched her, 
unmoving. "I mean it. Now! We're going on a little sight-seeing trip. 
All the way to the nearest military base. Tell the pilot to plot a direct 
route. European, American, I really don't mind. Make it Russian if you 
have to. NATO has to maintain some presence in this part of the 
world. A base can't be that far away." Her lips stretched in a smile 
that was stripped of humor, more of a grimace than anything else. 
"I'm sorry for the irony, Lex, but you're about to be demoted to 
hostage."

Lex shook his head. "Lois, Lois...you want to fly from my embrace so 
soon? You wound me." He began to walk towards her as he spoke.

"Stop," she said and, voice rising as he paid her no mind, "I'll shoot! I 
swear I will! Don't come any closer! Lex, I mean it, I'll shoot!"

He smiled, spreading his arms expansively in invitation as he continued 
to approach her lazily. "Then shoot," he said.

Lois swung the gun down and to one side - an incapacitating shot to 
the shoulder should stop him, but leave him able to walk, and as close 
as he was she couldn't very well miss. 

She pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Lex's smile widened as he stopped in front of her. Lois stood 
woodenly as he reached out and took the gun from her unresisting 
grip. Holding it up, he let her get a good look at the small, red 
rectangle in the pistol's handle. 

"ID coding, laser recognition," he explained blandly. "Each pistol's 
unique code is personal to the man assigned it. Once the code is 
entered no one but the assigned user can make it fire." 

He brought the gun up swiftly, pointing it straight at her face, and 
pulled the trigger. Then smiled at the flinch she hadn't been able to 
stop.

"You see." He half turned away from her, tossing the weapon back 
nonchalantly to its owner, who caught it awkwardly. Lex gave her that 
infuriatingly smug smile again. "Lieutenant," he invited, keeping his 
eyes locked on hers.

"Sir..."

"Do it," Lex snarled, turning his head briefly to bestow a furious look 
on the hapless man at that hesitant protest.

Morley subsided. Face taut and blank, he  took aim sharply and for 
one, horrified moment - Lex's viciousness as he'd snapped out the 
command, the soldier's obvious reluctance to obey playing relentlessly 
in her head - Lois found herself staring directly into the black hole of 
the muzzle. She closed her eyes abruptly tight, sure in that instant 
that Lex was intent on providing a painful lesson ---
 
The boom of the shot echoed in the cavernous hall. 

It took her a moment to realize that she hadn't been hit as she'd 
expected. Cautiously she opened her eyes and then turned her head. 
Wax-pale, she stared at the small, smoking hole in the wall, inches shy 
of her right shoulder. Then she looked back at Lex. On his face there 
was no clue as to whether Morley had acted as he'd intended him to - 
or whether his subordinate's conscience had adapted his command at 
the last second. 
 
He wasn't watching the soldier at all, had dismissed him entirely it 
seemed from his thoughts. He spread his hands wide in a gesture of 
mock apology, his attention focused exclusively on her. "Without the 
code, nothing happens. With it...." He trailed off, leaving the ominous 
conclusion to his words hovering in the air. "Now - " His voice dropped 
coldly. " - I do think you should return to your apartment. It's much 
safer there. Get some rest. I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to 
discuss all of this over dinner this evening."

Morley took his cue, coming close to grip her by the elbow. Lois tore 
herself free. She moved ahead of him, face set.

"Oh, and Lois?"

She stopped, sensing her guard do likewise, but she didn't turn. 

"You know you're going to have to be punished for this, I'm afraid. 
Ms Lane is to remain in her apartment for the next three days," he 
told Morley. "Make sure the others on guard detail are aware of 
that."

"Yes, sir."

Lois wouldn't give him the satisfaction of facing him. "Bread and 
water, Lex?" she said coolly into the air ahead of her. "I'd have 
thought you'd be more...inventive."

She heard his rich chuckle. "Hardly. You can have whatever you want, 
Lois. I know you well enough to think that being confined to your 
apartment for three days will be punishment enough."

"You won't stop me." Now she did turn, locking her gaze with his. "You 
know that. Eventually I'll beat you."

Lex smiled. 

Morley stepped to her side. "Miss Lane?" he said, with that quiet tone 
of deference in his voice that she had heard so often now and which 
drove her insane. "If you'll come with me..."

She followed. 

She had no choice.

Now, she had no choices at all.

The bitter truth of that settled in the pit of her stomach like a stone 
as she walked the short route back to confinement. 

Entombment.

The end of everything.

The ending of her life.

In the numb and barren wastes of her mind only one thing 
reverberated, like a dirge.

<Clark....>

She closed her eyes.


~@*****@~


For a change, Clark wasn't thinking very much of anything as he 
wandered out of the bathroom. The faint, cool breath of the ceiling 
fan caressed the skin of his torso like the hand of a lover as he 
headed for the bed and the clothing he'd laid out there, prior to 
taking what had turned out to be a relaxing shower.

For once he had simply let the water cascading over him drown the 
fear and anger that lived within him like part of his soul now. Let it 
wash over his thoughts, surrendering to the brief moment's peace. 

Just for one moment, he needed the respite. Peace was few and far 
between these days. But the rare moments alone in the suite had 
been a lure his tired mind and weary body hadn't been able to resist. 

Sighing, he wandered across the floor towards the bed. The carpet 
was soft beneath his bare feet as he rubbed aimlessly at one 
waterlogged ear with the corner of the towel in his hands. He picked 
up the blue jeans and then paused with a frown. He dropped the towel 
to the back of a nearby chair as his gaze swept the bed. Then he 
stepped back, glancing down at the floor. Nope. He straightened, 
putting his hands to his hips as he pursed mystified lips.

Where had his shirt gone? 

He looked back at the bed. The rest of his clothes were there, just 
as he'd left them before heading for the shower.

But the shirt had gone.

Puzzled, he stood there for a moment. Had the maid been in while 
he'd been in the bathroom? Surely not. And why would she take his 
shirt even if she had, leaving the rest of his clothes - 

He froze, suddenly and belatedly aware of the heavy weight of eyes 
upon him. He turned on his heel to face the living room.

From the depths of the sofa, Eve stared back at him, round-eyed.

She was sitting in the middle of the cushions, cross-legged and 
wearing nothing but a pair of headphones on her ears...and the blue 
shirt he'd just been searching for. In her mouth was stuck a spoon, 
forgotten in the moment. It dripped chocolate ice-cream heavily into 
the bowl she was holding and - he winced - onto the lapel of the shirt 
too.

And...he was standing there in nothing but a towel. He watched her 
gaze slide with interest down across his chest, before she settled on 
the towel itself. One eyebrow hitched its way lazily towards her 
hairline.

Flushing, Clark spun around to grab hastily for the comforter, 
dragging it off the bed and around him. "Wha - what are you doing in 
here!" he demanded breathlessly, feeling the tinge of color on his 
cheeks deepen.

Eve was slow to respond. Then she took the spoon from her mouth and 
shrugged. "I live here."

Clark waved an exasperated hand at her. "Yes, I know you - " he 
stopped the agreement cold, changing tack. "I thought you'd gone - 
you said you were going down to the Plaza. Shopping!" he said 
accusingly. "You said you needed a new bathing suit!"

Eve blinked, not unaware obviously of the implied charge in both tone 
and words that she'd been deliberately spying on him. "I *was* 
shopping," she said. She pointed the spoon at the TV, where figures 
moved silently. "I came back for Ivory Tower."

Ivory Tower.

Clark groaned. Those stupid soaps! In the days he'd been gone, doing 
what he needed to, doing all he could, she'd grown addicted to them 
it seemed. She never missed an episode of this one in particular. He 
should have kept a closer eye on the schedule. If he had she'd never 
have surprised him this way. Never have caught him unawares like she 
had. 

Never embarrassed the heck out of him.

"Valentine's getting her face-lift today," Eve told him judiciously. "I 
couldn't miss *that*."

Clark sighed, running a distracted hand through his damp hair. "No, 
guess you couldn't. Why are you wearing my shirt?" 

Eve glanced down at it and then back up at him. Her shoulders rolled 
in another easy shrug. Clark looked away, finding a new interest in the 
TV as he tried to ignore what the motion did to the rounded curves 
shrouded in the thin cotton. 

A burst of memory ignited in his head as he did. 

Lois.

Lois wearing his shirt - a shirt much like this one. 

An evening spent huddled close on the sofa in his apartment. A half-
drunk bottle of wine on the table, pizza reduced to crumbs and 
smears in boxes, the papers of their assignment strewn around them 
and on the floor in a haphazard cacophony that Lois had insisted was 
organized in a precise manner. Music...god, he could even remember 
the song that had been playing...low and seductive in the background.

An evening of investigation that had slowly deteriorated into soft, 
moist kisses and tantalizing caresses as they'd snuggled closer. 
Laughter and banter. Her voice a silken whisper against his ear. Her 
breath hot on his skin. So soft, so enticing in his hands as he'd...

A haze of blissful wandering and mutual exploration as Billy Joel had 
crooned about endless nights and never changing in the gentle, 
shadowed dark of the room.

Belated realization that she had drunk too much to drive back to her 
own apartment. A flight home in the arms of Superman rejected. She 
had wanted more of the easy intimacy they'd shared that evening, 
just as much as he had. As reluctant as he had been to end it. She 
had stayed over. 

As heated as their passion had become, neither was uncomfortable 
with the intimacy sharing his bed all