Rage By Lynn M. Rated: PG13 Submitted: November 2003 Author’s Notes: First, thank you to all the FoLCs on the Lois and Clark Fanfic Message Boards who were so encouraging and free with their praise and support. It was a fun ride and I’m glad you all came along with me. Thank you also to Wendy Richards, who I think has been assigned the unfortunate task of being my own personal GE. I, for one, am eternally grateful for this situation, but I need to express my thanks to her for putting up with the same mistakes over and over. Wendy, with each story, I hope your job has become just a little bit easier . This story was originally written as an Nfic, so if you are of age and are so inclined, I highly recommend you read that version. However, I don’t thing the story has suffered much by conversion. I must warn you that this story is rather dark and does contain some violence as well as a few WHAMS. Disclaimers: Most of the characters in this story are the property of DC Comics and Warner Brothers. The story idea is mine, and no infringement on anyone's copyright is intended. Rage *** The phone rang only once before it was picked up. Good. “Hello?” “You alone?” Rule one. Always check. “Yeah.” “You all set?” Rule two. Get to the point. No chit chat. And no details that weren’t absolutely necessary. “Yeah. How ‘bout you?” “Of course.” He didn’t stifle the irritation. “What about Ferrell and Jenkins?” “They’re all set.” “Good. Eight o’five sharp. No delays. You got that?” It was a command, not a question. “I got it. Listen, there gonna be cameras at this thing?” “Should be. It’s a pretty big to-do.” A tickle of apprehension in his belly. “That a problem?” “Nope. We can handle it.” “Good. ‘Cause this thing has got to go off without any screw ups.” His voice was hard, echoing against the walls thick with peeling paint. “We don’t screw up.” It was said with confidence, so he let himself relax. Only a bit. “Man, after tonight everyone in this town’s going to know about us.” “Yeah. Especially with cameras...” “I’m telling you, the cameras are a bonus. When this goes down, there won’t be a set of eyes in Metropolis that aren’t glued to their TVs. Talk about power. You think the PD or the mayor ain’t going to do what we tell ‘em and risk having this blow up right during prime time family hour?” “I guess.” “Damn straight, you guess. Now if you guys just don’t screw up...” It bore repeating. “We ain’t gonna screw up.” “Eight o’five.” Rule three. Always double check the time. “Yep.” “I’m taking the phone so don’t bother callin’ this number. We’ll meet up before.” “Yep.” With a violent jerk, he pulled the phone cord from the wall. The entire socket came with it, leaving behind some wires and a small pile of crumbled wall plaster. *** Clark drummed his fingers on his desk, the rhythmic sound only slightly soothing as the phone issued its fourth ring without an answer. Two more and the machine would kick on. “Hello?” “Lois?” His relief instantly turned to concern when he heard her breathless answer. “You all right?” “Yeah. Sorry. Bit out of breath.” She panted slightly. “I was just getting the mail when I heard the phone so – ” “You shouldn’t be running!” he admonished. “Clark – ” “I mean it, Lois.” His voice became louder. Sterner. He stood, glancing around the bull pen. Maybe he should dash home... “Clark, it’s not like I just ran a quarter mile in under thirty seconds! Besides, it wasn’t running anyway. More like a slow jog. Or even a really fast walk. From the front door to the phone. I don’t think I’m going to be setting any speed records.” A bit appeased by her teasing, he sat down, smiling sheepishly at the people who’d stopped their work to stare at him. “Still, I don’t want you getting yourself tired.” She sighed loudly, no longer out of breath. “Clark, did you call just to yell at me?” “No.” “OK.” He started again. “So, hey.” “Hey.” Her reply was low and intimate, coming through the line to remove the last lingering concern. A warmth seeped through him, and he smiled into the phone. She’d left the office only two hours ago and already he missed her. “How’s the story coming?” she asked. “Slow. Perry’s still reading through our work-up.” Clark leaned back in his chair, cradling the phone in the crook of his shoulder. He tapped a pencil against his palm, glancing at Perry White’s door. “He’s got the door closed. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” “Hmmm,” Lois muttered, then remained silent for a minute. “You know, maybe I’d better come in.” “Lo-is...” He leaned forward, steeling himself for a battle. “Really, Clark. You know how important this one is to me. I’d hate for us to miss tomorrow’s edition just because I’m not there – ” “Lois, you are not coming in,” he commanded firmly. He heard her gearing up and could imagine her indignant frown. But this time he was just as determined. “I can handle it. Remember, we talked about this. You’re going to slow down. And that one other thing. What was it? Oh, yeah. You’re going to trust me. I’ve been doing this for a while now. Three years. Plus.” “I know. I know,” she admitted, defeat in her voice. Clark blinked, a bit surprised that she had acquiesced so quickly. “It’s just I feel like I’m playing hooky. It’s only two thirty, and all that’s on TV are soaps and talk shows. I don’t know what to do with myself.” Clark chuckled at the image of Lois glued to a battle between cross dressers and the hair stylists who betrayed them. “Take a nap.” “Nap? Clark, I haven’t taken a nap since I was seven.” “Well, maybe it’s time you started doing it again,” he suggested. “Sure. That’d go over big. I’ll just curl up on Perry’s couch every day around three.” “Sounds good to me,” he offered. He took a deep breath, ready to get to the point of his call. “So...” “So...” she echoed. “You gonna tell me how it went?” he prodded, playing her game. “Oh, yeah.” She sighed with great exaggeration. “Well, it went OK, I guess. I mean, I’m a little disappointed, but I’ll probably be all right once I get used to it.” Clark tensed, his stomach clenching tightly. “Lois, what? Tell me!” “Well, Jamie suggested a darker red, since the weather’s turning and all. But I know you usually like the lighter shades. Still, I thought I’d take a chance and go with the Russet Rage.” He frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?” “My manicure,” she explained. “That appointment I had today?” “Lois!” he scolded, relief once again washing through him. She had to stop doing this to him. His heart couldn’t take it. “I wish I were there,” she murmured. “What?” He was still trying to regain control of his runaway pulse. “You’re so cute when you’re all riled up!” “Lois, I’m about to lose it here.” “Sorry. Just teasing,” she said with a lilting laugh that afforded her immediate forgiveness. “Actually, it went great. Really great.” “Yeah?” he asked, feeling the corners of his mouth begin to work into a grin. “Yep. Dr. Payton says everything looks wonderful. She said that we’ve made it past the danger point with flying colors, and from here on out, it should be smooth sailing.” “And what about Dr. Klein?” he grilled, wanting a full report. He’d planned on going with her, as he had to all of her other appointments, but then the story had exploded and she’d insisted he stay behind. “Clark, Dr. Klein isn’t an obstetrician,” she reminded him gently. “I know,” he acknowledged. “But considering our special situation, we need to keep him up to speed...” “Dr. Klein agreed with Dr. Payton. He said that from what he can tell by the amnio results, the baby seems just like any other baby.” “Oh, Lois. That is great news!” The slow grin had blossomed into a beaming smile, and he waved at Cindy, a research assistant, slowing on her way past his desk to give him an odd look. “Yeah, well, he said that at this point, it’s hard to say what’s going to happen. It might be that the baby will seem normal for a while and then...change or start showing signs that it’s different.” Lois’s tone was cautious, but he could tell that she was smiling on the other end of the line. “But for now, all systems are go.” Clark released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and leaned back in his chair again. “God, Lois. This is such a relief. You don’t know how worried I’ve been – ” “Clark. You’ve got to stop.” It was her turn to scold him. “Worrying about the baby. And me.” “I can’t help it.” He lowered his voice, both because of his fairly public placement and because the sentiment called for intimacy, his words meant only for her. “You two are the most important people in the world to me. I don’t know what I’d do if something bad happened.” “Hey, we’ve gotten this far, haven’t we? I mean, look at all we’ve overcome. And now the baby’s fine and I’m fine. Relax, Clark.” Even filtered through the fiber optics that carried it to him, her voice had the ability to push aside all of his fears, wrapping him in a cocoon of hope and happiness. “I’m trying to. It’s just really hard. I’m new at this, you know.” “Yeah, well, me too.” She laughed. “Who’d ever have thought that you’d be the uptight one and I’d be so mellow.” “Yeah, no kidding,” he agreed with a chuckle. He still marveled at the change the last three months had wrought on his normally frenetic wife. Everything about Lois had slowed and calmed. Except her devotion to the Planet, and he was working on that. “You know, Dr. Payton said they could tell from the amnio what sex the baby is,” Lois noted casually. “I thought we decided about this? That we’re going to wait until it’s born to find out?” “I know. I’ve just been thinking that maybe it would be nice to know. You know. So we can think of names and decorate and buy the right clothes. It just seems kind of crazy to wait if we can find out now.” “I don’t know. There’s something kind of nice about finding out the old fashioned way.” “Clark, this is the end of the twentieth century. There’s nothing old fashioned about having babies anymore.” “Well, this one got in the old fashioned way, and I firmly advocate the method. Some things you just can’t improve with modern technology.” He smiled when she laughed appreciatively. “I’m still not convinced. Let me think about it?” “I suppose,” she agreed, then changed the subject. “Hey, I have something that might help you relax.” Her voice had taken on a silky smoothness, low and husky with a promise that he hadn’t heard in a long time. He matched her now sultry tone with one of his own, his curiosity piqued. “Oh yeah? What is it?” “It’s a surprise,” she teased. “I can’t tell you.” “That’s mean.” He grinned, enjoying their game. He had a little bit of an idea of what she might be planning, but he loved the sensuous tease of cat and mouse. “You won’t think so once you...see it.” “See it? I’m intrigued.” “Of course you are.” “Maybe I should come on home now...” he suggested, checking to see if Perry’s door remained closed. “No,” she retorted vehemently. “You need to stay and finish the story!” “What story?” He’d stop on the way home and pick up some flowers. Red tulips. He knew a place in Holland. She’d pretend to be mad at him. Maybe even yell a bit. But then she’d smile. He lived to see her smile at him that way. “Clark!” she yelped in indignation, but she was laughing. “Just kidding! So, you’ll show me when I get home?” His mind was already walking through the front door. It had been so long. Taking the advice of Dr. Payton offered in deference to what she considered a high risk case, he and Lois had abstained from making love since her pregnancy had been confirmed nearly three months earlier. The obstetrician explained that the precaution was probably completely unnecessary and an overkill, but neither he nor Lois felt the need to tempt the fates in any way. They’d been given a tremendous gift, and they certainly weren’t going to squabble about the fact that they had to make some sacrifices for the short term. But if Lois had received the green light today, the long drought was about to end. She’d become very adept at pleasing him, a skill that she liked to boast of using a wide variety of euphemisms at very inopportune moments, such as when they were being seated at Chez Randolph’s for a six course dinner with the owner of the Daily Planet. Or as she sat down next to him for the daily call meeting. Never before in his life had he needed to call upon his powers of distraction so often, and surely by now everyone at the office believed him afflicted with some sort of joint disorder that kept him seated long after they all had left the room. But for good as she was, he missed her. Giving Lois pleasure had become such an intricate part of his sexuality that he felt handicapped, as if one of his senses had been taken away from him. He’d definitely enjoyed her attention to detail, and over the last few weeks he’d experienced pleasures that he hadn’t known were possible. But it was nothing compared to the feeling of her body wrapped around his, while she trembled with the power of her own need. Nothing could match the sense of oneness, that he and she were so much a part of each other it was conceivable that they’d be unable to resume separate identities ever again. He’d never felt closer to Lois than he had during the last three months, and his body longed to make the same connection. Lois was speaking, and he tore his thoughts away from the night to come. “No. Clark, we’ve got that thing tonight.” “Thing?” He tried to focus, pushing his mind as far away as possible from the surprise that awaited him. “Clark. Don’t tell me you forgot?” Lois wailed. “The benefit for the Metropolis Women’s Shelter?” “Oh, that. Yeah, sorry. I did forget.” Clark felt his excitement sinking, a blessing for the moment but a definite disappointment as he knew what her answer would be to his next question. “Do we have to go?” “It’s a great organization. I really want to support this place. And you of all people should appreciate what it does for women.” “Lois, Lois. Stop. I know. Of course I want to support it. It’s just...well, with the story and everything. And now you have a surprise for me. Couldn’t I just make a celebrity guest appearance...” he offered hopefully. “Clark. We need to go. As much as it cramps your style, we’ve developed a reputation, and I think our presence there is going to give this place some good press. Besides, all the papers are sending people. And Senator Jacobson will be there. And the Mayor. I think one of the local affiliates is even doing a live red-carpet thing. We have to go. Lane and Kent. Not Superman.” “Yeah. I guess.” He sighed, resigned. What was one more night, anyway? “Besides, aren’t Perry and Alice going?” Lois reminded him. “I think so.” “Perry’d kill us if we didn’t show.” She paused for a minute. “And maybe tonight we could break it to him. He’s going to need some time to come to terms with this.” “You think it’s OK? I mean to tell him?” “Yeah. I think so. Dr. Payton says we look good, so I guess there’s no reason to keep it a secret any longer.” “I kind of hate to tell anyone.” Clark spun the gold band around his finger absently. “Why?” “I don’t know. I guess, it’s just been this special thing between you and me for these past three months. It’s like this bond, bringing us even closer. I didn’t know that was even possible. I just kind of hate to let anyone else in...” He trailed off. Lois remained silent for a minute, and he knew instantly that she understood exactly how he felt. “I know. But Clark, we’re going to have to tell people eventually. Sooner rather than later, actually,” she said with a chuckle. “And just think how excited your parents are going to be. I can’t wait to see the look on your mom’s face when she finds out she’s going to be a grandmother.” Clark smiled, imagining his mother in full-on grandma mode. “Yeah, she’s going to love it. You know she’s going to spoil this kid rotten?” “Naturally. As she should.” “Well, between your parents and mine, we’re going to have our hands full.” He stopped as a movement on the edge of his peripheral vision caught his attention. Turning to it, he sat up straight. “Hey, Perry just opened his door.” “Yeah?” she asked expectantly. Perry’s face was twisted into a scowl, and Clark could see the sheets of paper crushed into his tight fist as the older man strode toward Clark’s desk. “Uh-oh. Doesn’t look too good.” “Is he wearing the same face that he had last year at the Christmas party when Ted Williams knocked over his Elvis mug and it shattered...” “Yeah, something like that.” “Nope. That’s no good.” Clark sighed, readying himself for a long afternoon. “Listen, what time is the benefit tonight?” “Cocktails at seven...geez, what I wouldn’t give for a cocktail,” she muttered, “and the dinner starts at eight.” “You probably better plan on meeting me there. I can catch a ride with Perry and Alice or...you know, find some other mode of transportation. But it looks like I may be here for a while.” “Oh. OK.” Clark smiled at the disappointment in her voice. “Well, what about your tux?” she added. “Just bring it and leave it in the Jeep. I’ll change when I get there.” “Hmmm. Sorry I’m going to miss that.” “Lois!” He hadn’t missed the seductive drawl, feeling his face redden as his boss approached at an alarming rate. “Promise you’ll call me if you need help with the story. Really, Clark. I mean it. Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I’m incapable. I can be there in fifteen minutes.” “Go take a nap,” he insisted, cutting her off. “Why do husbands always tell their wives to take naps when they’re pregnant? What I want is for you to tell me to take a nap once the baby’s here and I’m totally exhausted.” “You can do that too. Listen, Perry’s standing right here. Gotta go.” “OK. Call me...” she stressed again. “I love you,” he whispered, low enough for her alone to hear. “Love you, too.” It was almost as good as a kiss. Almost. With a smile, he gently set the phone down and turned to look up at Perry. “So, Chief, what do you think...” *** Placing the phone gently on the table, Lois touched a fingertip to her lips, feeling the soft smile that had settled there. No matter how many times he’d told her, and it had been oh so many over the past year and a half, hearing it again always sent a warm flush of joy through her heart. And instead of feeling burdened by the weight of his love for her, she reveled in it. It was as if she no longer had to worry about her heart. Clark owned it, and he took such good care of it that she didn’t have to give it a second thought. The effect was one of overwhelming security, of being so safe that nothing could touch her. Somehow, his super abilities had expanded to envelope her, the shield of his love a barrier against the harshness of life. For as long as she lived, it was the one certainty to which she could return for strength and comfort. Clark loved her. And she loved him. They existed in a world so separate from those around them, sometimes they had to remember to let others in. Lois understood completely his reluctance to tell others about the baby. It was a gift that belonged to them, something so precious and hard earned that they felt justifiably selfish about keeping it to themselves. Intellectually, she knew that the happiness of others for their good fortune would only add to their own joy, but in her heart, she wasn’t quite ready to let anyone else in on the secret they had created together. The security of Clark’s love, along with the appreciation of how blessed they were, had done much to assuage her fears about impending motherhood. In a way so contradictory to her normal approach to things, for once Lois was happy to go with the flow. She blamed her new lackadaisical attitude on the hormones pumping through her system and on Clark. She accused him of rubbing off on her, and with a devilish grin, he’d promised to keep doing so, preferably if they were both naked. God, she loved him. It scared her sometimes, the intensity of her feelings. She’d never known she was capable of loving someone so fiercely. Lois had no doubt that the child born from such a love would be special beyond all abilities, super or not. And if what she’d heard was true, her feelings for this baby were going to be beyond her comprehension. Still grinning, the new and more relaxed Lois headed up the stairs, wondering how to fill the hours before she needed to get ready for the benefit. In truth, she agreed with Clark and secretly wished for a good excuse that could get them out of attending. But she’d been right about insisting. This benefit was important. They would show up, have some dinner, and head home for a long night of slow, delicious dessert. Walking across their bedroom, she reached up to tug the plastic dry cleaner’s bag off of the black evening gown that she’d pulled from her closet that morning, hanging it up on the door to let any small wrinkles fall out. A tight sheath of crepe chiffon, the low v-neck bodice was held in place with thin straps and exposed a substantial expanse of her skin and a dizzying view of cleavage. She stood back to examine it with a small frown. Cleavage. That could be a problem. Her normally ample breasts had definitely benefited from the pregnancy hormones surging through her body, becoming even more rounded and full during the past few weeks. It was quite possible that she now possessed too much cleavage for the gown, and the thought of spilling out in an embarrassing display in front of Senator Jacobson was less than appealing. Perhaps she’d better try it on. She shimmied the long tube of black crepe over her shoulders, letting the straps slide into position. As the fabric neared her middle, it halted, meeting resistance of some form. She grasped the dress at her hips, tugging softly. With her encouragement, the sheath finished its journey to the floor with a whisper, the cool satin refreshing against her skin. Turning to look in the full length mirror, she moved this way and that, trying to see what had caused the hiccup. With a gasp, she saw the smallest bulge at her abdomen, imperceptible in all circumstances except when encased by a form-fitting, black evening gown. She rubbed a hand down her stomach, pressing slightly when she reached the offending bump. There it was. Small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things to come, but there all the same. She was officially “showing”. With a mixture of elation and disappointment, she maneuvered the gown over her head and hung it back on its hanger. It was the first item of clothing that her condition had rendered un-wearable. She had other dresses. It was just that this was one of Clark’s favorites. One that never failed to spark a certain light in his eyes, and his lingering glances were held a few seconds longer and containing a few degrees more of expectant heat. Perhaps it was because she’d informed him once, as they’d been about to enter the crowded reception for a visiting foreign ambassador, that due to the form-fitting nature of this particular dress, she wore nothing under it to mar the lines. Nothing. Needless to say, they hadn’t stayed long at that particular gala. A rush of excitement coursed through her at the thought of her husband and his reaction to the dress. She’d entered that glorious phase of pregnancy where the morning sickness was gone, as well as the aching breasts. Her figure was still pretty much intact, and as promised by her What to Expect book, her libido had taken a swing upward. It was probably a good thing Dr. Payton had suggested they hold off from sex, because in her current state, she imagined she and Clark would have not made it very far from their bedroom. If she had to admit it to herself, the past three months hadn’t been entirely miserable. She’d certainly missed making love, and if she had to face the prospect of an entire nine months of abstinence, she’d probably go mad. But she’d proven to herself and to Clark that she could be quite ingenious in getting around technicalities. She’d lived vicariously through Clark, who had greatly benefited from her repressed energy. If it was possible to know someone else’s body better than one’s own, Lois felt certain that it applied with her and Clark. For weeks she’d explored every inch of his beautiful form, thrilling in the steely muscles and smooth skin that twitched and heated beneath her fingertips and mouth. It remained a mystery to her how a man who had no ability to feel pain could be so responsive to her touch and derive such pleasure from it. In those moments, she felt immensely powerful and slightly in awe, aware that beneath her hands she controlled the strongest being on earth. He’d had a hard time learning to receive pleasure without giving all that he wanted in return, but she’d been insistent that he remain as passive as he could stand. The heated caresses that he'd tried to give her only caused her monumental frustration, igniting an ache that took far too long to cool and left her feeling bereft. She’d rather not be teased, she explained, promising that the satisfied look on his face was pleasure enough for her. Besides, she had told him on many, many occasions as he lazed in the afterglow of her attentions that she was banking all of this and planned to collect with interest as soon as Dr. Payton gave her the go-ahead. He'd always agreed with a lazy smile and a sleepy nod. Today she’d gotten her stamp of approval, and she had her savings passbook in hand. Clad in her black bra and panties, Lois fetched the small fuchsia bag she’d carried in with her, the result of a quick stop at her favorite boutique after her successful visit with Dr. Payton. Reaching in, she extracted a tissue-wrapped bundle and, careful to keep the delicate paper intact, she unwrapped her surprise for Clark. Lois brushed her hand over the black babydoll nightie, fingering the lace that bordered the top of the low-cut bodice and made up the hem. Black was Clark’s favorite color in the lingerie department, and he was especially fond of lace. This particular item ended well above her mid-thigh, covering just enough to make it especially alluring. She’d known instantly when she’d seen it that it would drive him crazy. Returning to the mirror, she held the black slip of silk up to her body. It wouldn’t be much longer before she wouldn’t be able to wear sexy stuff like this. With a frown, she wondered if they made black maternity lingerie, and if they did, how bad would she look? Of course, by then it wouldn’t matter much. Clark probably wouldn’t want to touch her anyway. Lois took an inventory of her body, changing every day in mysterious and sometimes frightening ways. Her breasts were larger, a fact Clark had noticed almost immediately. She’d asked him if he was especially perceptive to those sorts of things or perhaps it was just another one of his super abilities. With a laugh and gentle hands cupping the body parts in question, he’d whispered in her ear that, even blind, he’d notice the change, just by touch alone. While her waist remained narrow, Dr. Payton had assured her that, in a matter of weeks, she’d notice a thickening. Even now her normally flat belly definitely contained a slight swell that indicated something was happening deep inside her. Tucked safely within the warmth of her body, the life that she and Clark had created was growing, a physical manifestation of the love that they shared so intensely. Wrapping the tissue around the nightie, she placed the soft package on Clark’s pillow where he’d be sure to find it. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Three fifteen. She had plenty of time for a long bath and a couple of chapters of her book. She glanced at the bed. Maybe a nap wasn’t such a bad idea, she thought with a smile. She planned to be up late. Very late. *** “Over here!” The shout ricocheted through the concrete cavern of the parking garage, making Hamilton wince. Damn idiot, Jenkins! Kid must have mashed potatoes for brains. Striding over to the skinny boy who looked to be no more than seventeen on the outside, he grabbed a fistful of his black sweatshirt, hauling him up close. “Shut up! Do you want every cop in Metropolis to hear you?” Bits of spittle landed on Jenkins’ cheek, but he wisely didn’t try to wipe them away. “Sorry,” he squeaked, turning beet red. His pale green eyes started to bulge as his air flow diminished. Hamilton lowered the boy, holding his gaze with an unblinking glare until the kid looked away in shame. Satisfied, he shoved Jenkins away with disgust. Turner had brought amateurs. “Enough of this crap. Let’s go,” Turner barked. A burly man with a thick brown beard, he walked toward the rear of a dark blue Intrepid, backed into its parking space and poised for an easy getaway. With a push of a button on the slim pad he held in his hand, the trunk popped open. “Where’s Ferrell?” Hamilton asked, looking around the dim garage. “Should be here,” Turner answered, unconcerned as he flipped back a dirty wool blanket to reveal an array of guns of various sizes. All were semi-automatics, and a tattered cardboard box was full to the brim with magazine clips. The three men gathered around the trunk, each selecting weapons of their particular choice. An object laying to the side of the trunk caught Hamilton's attention, and he reached for the black-handled hunting knife, sliding it from its sheath. Smiling as the five inch blade picked up the weak fluorescent glean, he jammed the knife back into its housing and shoved the thing into the waistband of his black cargo pants. He selected the appropriate clips for two Beretta 9 mm’s and filled its various pockets as well as those of his jacket. At that moment, a tow-headed man jogged up to the Cadillac, winded. He wore black slacks and a white shirt covered by a black vest. A name tag pinned to his front identified him as “John” and bore the logo of the Royal Victorian Hotel. “Where’ve you been? You’re late,” Turner remarked with a dark frown. “Sorry,” Ferrell apologized, still trying to catch his breath. He pulled at the black bowtie wrapped tightly around his thick neck. “Got caught in the kitchen. This undercover stuff is a pain in the – ” “You got it?” Hamilton interrupted. “Yeah.” The waiter pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket, handing it to Turner. Turner moved to the side of the car as he unfolded the paper, smoothing the wrinkles and laying it atop the car’s roof. Hamilton came to stand next to him, squinting carefully at the stained diagram of ten circles placed in an orderly fashion about the sheet. “Here.” He indicted one circle and then another. “And here. Jacobson’s at table one and the Mayor’s at table three.” Turner nodded, then pointed at circles on the opposite end of the room. “I think we go for eight and ten. That puts us in good position if the cops decide to act heroic.” “OK. I take one and you get three. Jenkins can cover eight and Ferrell can handle ten.” He glanced at his watch. 7:55. Time to roll. He scooped up the army issue backpack laying on the concrete, slinging one strap over his shoulder. Hamilton looked at Jenkins and Ferrell, who was in the process of jamming a gun into the top of his pants and adjusting his vest over the handle. “Listen up. No mistakes. You hear me? You screw this up, they’ll never find your bodies.” Jenkins had the decency to look scared, but Ferrell rolled his eyes. Turner folded up the sheet of paper and shoved it into his pocket. “C’mon. Let’s go.” As if to punctuate his command, he slammed the trunk closed, the echo ringing still as the four men exited the garage. *** Lois glanced at her watch. 8:02. Sweeping the broad ballroom, she failed to spot Clark’s tall form moving between the tables. Most of the dinner guests had been seated, only a few rogue souls venturing to the bar for a drink refresher. Three chairs remained empty at her table, and she smiled weakly over the black “8” at the other four guests who would be sharing conversation and the hopefully not-too-bland meal. She could only imagine what had held Clark and Perry up at the Planet, and when she let her mind run with the possible problems, her blood started to boil. They should have called her if they were having trouble with the story. If they missed the morning edition, there would be hell to pay... Taking a deep breath in through her nose and releasing it slowly through her mouth, Lois forced the violent thoughts from her mind. This was exactly the kind of thing she was trying to learn to control. It would help, she mused as she took a sip of the flat club soda tinged with the flavor of one thin slice of lime, if she could actually enjoy a real drink. She smoothed the skirt of her dark red dress, the substitute she’d settled on after discarding her first choice. It afforded a higher neck line and an empire waist falling to a full skirt, assuring that both her chest and abdomen would receive adequate cover. It also offered the advantage of being Clark’s second or third favorite, the deep crimson giving her a gypsy-like air that he claimed was a big turn-on. Of course, Lois was pretty sure that, even if she showed up wearing a gunny sack, Clark would still declare it to be quite the sexy little number. For her part, she was anxious to see her husband attired in his tux. Something about a dark-haired man dressed in a black suit, especially her dark-haired man, never failed to stir her blood. She remembered the black nightie and wondered exactly how long they needed to stay to be respectable. After all, she’d already chatted with both Senator Jacobson and the Mayor, so she’d fulfilled her quota of face time. She’d even be willing to sacrifice desert for a little bit of Clark, she thought with a smile. Provided, of course, that it wasn’t chocolate. OK, well maybe even if it was chocolate. Or maybe she could ask for it to-go. They could eat it together. In bed. Before. Well, OK. After. Of course, that was if he ever showed up. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back in her chair as the master of ceremonies began to rap on his crystal water goblet, signaling that, with or without the presence of Clark Kent and Perry and Alice White, the evening’s festivities were about to get underway. *** Clark thanked the valet, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that no curious eyes followed him before dodging at super speed between the parked cars to the Jeep, buried in the back of the parking lot. His tux hung neatly on the hook inside the back door, as promised by Lois, and he smiled to himself when he saw that she had even shined his black dress shoes. Thanks to the odd skill that enabled him to don the complicated suit within a tightly controlled spin, the deed was accomplished in mere seconds. Checking in the side mirror that his bow tie was straight, he nodded slightly, satisfied with his clean-up efforts. Not too bad, if he had to say so himself. He ambled back to the street and down the short block to the Royal Victorian Hotel, wondering absently what Lois might be wearing. She had quite a few evening dresses that he liked, but his favorite by far was the black full length one that hugged her curves like a caress. Of course, if she was wearing that one, he doubted that he’d make it to desert. He wanted his surprise. Clark glanced at his watch, wincing when he noted that it was already 8:20. Hopefully, Lois wasn’t too angry and had saved him some of the first course. Rubber chicken or no, he was starving, and he quickened his pace slightly, anxious to see her. As he pushed through the revolving door, he was surprised to see the grey head and dark back of Perry and the full length midnight blue gown of Alice White. They’d arranged to meet up with him in the ballroom. Both figures were huddled at the back of a crowd focused on something that Clark couldn’t make out. With an eerie sensation that pulled on the hairs at the back of his neck, he heard the low, unmistakable wail of sirens, their pitch increasing as they neared the hotel. “What’s going on?” he asked as he reached Perry. Lifting up slightly on his toes, he could see several security guards and a few police officers pointing at a security monitor mounted behind the concierge’s counter. Perry turned at Clark’s question, his weathered face full of concern. “There’s been an incident.” Clark’s heart started to hammer. “What kind of incident?” *** “Vacation my ass,” Sergeant Roy MacKay uttered under his breath. If that SOB Henderson hadn’t left for a week fishing in the Poconos, he’d be the one dealing with this instead of MacKay. The older sergeant had believed his seniority bought him out of tough pinches like this. Hostage situations never ended well. In his twenty three years on the force, he couldn’t recall a single incident when everyone walked away pleased with the results. He shook his head sadly. SOB Henderson. As he barked orders at a young rookie who was letting some of the gathered crowd move too far past the police line he’d established, the worried murmur filling the hotel lobby dimmed slightly, and he glanced over his shoulder with a frown. Parting like the Red Sea, the crowd separated to allow a tall form to move past them, stunned silence turning to admiring whispers. Superman strode up to the concierge’s desk that now served as mission central, his long red cape billowing behind him authoritatively. The junior officers stepped back, giving him clear passage as they stared with open awe. Even after three years in Metropolis, Superman’s presence still inspired amazement. Everything about the man exuded confidence and strength. For his own part, MacKay felt an odd mixture of relief and apprehension over the appearance of the Man of Steel. Superman had always been a friend to the MPD, but in this situation, the boy had better understand that orders came from MacKay and MacKay alone. He wasn’t about to tolerate any fancy heroics or tricks. MacKay had too much to lose. Too many lives at stake. Crossing his brawny arms over his chest, Superman nodded respectfully to the senior officer, which earned him several points. With no preamble, he got down to business. “Tell me.” Stepping to the console that housed six security monitors, MacKay pointed to two of them, indicating the dark forms. The image was grainy and in black and white, but still it was clear that the figures were pointing weapons. “There’s four of them. You can only see two now. They’ve all got semi-automatics. May have a few hand grenades. We’re guessing about fifty hostages, based on the head count for the benefit.” Superman nodded, understanding. “What do they want?” MacKay sighed. “We’re not sure yet. We’ve got a negotiator on the phone with the leader, but he hasn’t made any demands.” “Do you know who we’re dealing with?” “The head guy’s name is Hamilton. Joseph Hamilton. He’s a member of the Peoples’ Republic for White Purity.” “The PRWP?” Superman started, his dark brows lifting with surprise. “Aren’t those the – ” “Yeah,” MacKay confirmed. “Next to the Klan, they’re the second largest hate group in the U.S. Got chapters all over the country. Apparently, a pretty big one here in Metropolis. This guy Hamilton’s got quite a reputation down at the station. He’s wanted for questioning in the murder of a Metropolis University student, and he’s already served time for aggravated assault.” “And he told you his name? So he must not be too concerned about getting caught,” Superman surmised, leaning down to peer closely at the monitor. “Nope.” MacKay agreed, offering the theory that he’d arrived at minutes after learning who was responsible for the situation. “The PRWP’s made it pretty clear how they feel about Senator Jacobson. They wouldn’t go so far as to assassinate a U.S. senator, but we’re guessing that Hamilton is out to be some kind of martyr. Take out the Senator and maybe even the Mayor, who was pretty vocal in his support of Jacobson. It would be quite a coup even if the PRWP doesn’t openly claim credit for it.” “What about the others?” MacKay rifled through the handful of computer printouts that had been shoved into his hands minutes after they’d learned the name of one of the terrorists. “We think one of them is Gerald Turner, another upstanding member of the PRWP. Big guy with a thick beard. He’s a real problem. Spent fifteen years in the Army before receiving a dishonorable discharge for assaulting a superior.” “And the other two?” “Don’t have positive IDs, but from what we can see on the surveillance camera, one looks like a waiter. We’ve questioned the hotel’s staffing manager, but all he can tell us is that the guy started less than a month ago. His work application lists him as John Tarlin. We’re running a check on that name now, but we’re not hoping for much. He was probably a plant, sent in to case the place.” Superman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He glanced up the wide marble staircase that led to the hotel’s mezzanine level and its largest ballroom. “If all they have is semi-automatics, I should be able to take them out. I can have them down before they even know I’ve shown up...” MacKay shook his head. “Won't work. They’ve split up.” “What?” Superman swung his gaze back to stare at the sergeant, and MacKay felt slightly uncomfortable at the fierceness he saw in the man’s dark brown eyes. If he hadn’t found Superman’s sheer physical strength intimidating, the determination etched on his face was certainly enough to inspire such feelings in a man with less experience and self confidence. Thankfully, MacKay had twenty-three years behind him and refused to be cowed. “They’ve split up into two groups. Turner and the waiter have taken the Senator and the Mayor and about a dozen others into a service corridor. Hamilton’s keeping the rest of them in the main ballroom. It’s a sure bet that they’ve got comm established, and if we try to go after one group, the other pair will execute the people they’re holding.” MacKay shook his head sadly. “These guys might not be the most rational beings walking around, but they know what they’re doing. They’re incredibly dangerous.” MacKay noted the twitch in Superman’s jaw, his dark eyes becoming harder. The man might be a force to be reckoned with, but so was the Sergeant. He wasn’t about to let Superman go barging into the ballroom without a firm plan in place. “Unless you can be in two places at once, we can’t let you go up there, Superman. I don’t care how fast you are. You may be bullet-proof, but those hostages up there aren’t.” “Hey, Serg,” a skinny officer named Sam called out, clutching a phone to his chest. “It’s Paul.” MacKay took the receiver. “This is MacKay. What do you got?” “They don’t want ransom,” the soothing voice of Paul Harrison, the MPD’s negotiator explained. “They want a helicopter on the roof. Without a pilot.” MacKay glanced at the sheet of paper he held. “Yeah. Says here that Turner was a chopper pilot. Figures. No wonder they weren’t too worried about getting caught.” “There’s more,” Paul went on. “They want us to send up the camera crew. The one that was doing the red-carpet event.” MacKay rolled his eyes, incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding? They really think we’re going to send a camera up there? What, are they hoping we’ll interrupt all programming to broadcast on – ” “I think that’s exactly what they want,” Paul interrupted. “These guys hate Jacobson. They want him dead, and if they can put the fear of God in every ethnic group in Metropolis by killing him on live TV, all the better.” Paul’s theory sent a shudder down MacKay’s spine. “They don’t really think we’d let them do that?” “If we don’t send the camera crew up in fifteen minutes, they’re going to start killing people,” Paul warned. MacKay was silent for a moment, processing the information. This was where it got ugly. Really ugly. “You think they’ll negotiate?” “I can see,” Paul replied. “Tell him if they send down the women, we’ll send up the crew.” If they could get the women out of the way, that would reduce the number of hostages to less than thirty. “It’s a start. Make it happen,” MacKay ordered grimly. “Yeah. I’ll get back to you.” With a click, Paul severed the connection. MacKay placed the receiver down and looked up to see Superman staring at him intently. He sighed loudly. How much easier it would have been if they could have just sent this guy up to wipe the floor with these lunatics. SOB Henderson. “Hamilton wants us to send up a camera crew. If we don’t, they’re going to start dropping people.” *** Lois lifted her head slightly, trying to look inconspicuous as she swung a low-level gaze around the room. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, she might have laughed at the sight of all of Metropolis’s movers and shakers with their heads resting on their folded arms, like kindergartners taking a nap. At least these brutes had let them stay in their seats. The room was eerily quiet considering the pure chaos that had reigned less than a half hour earlier. Screams and indignant shouts. Shattering crystal, harsh commands and the loud clap of shots fired in warning over their heads. Pleas and sobs, then finally acceptance. Now all she could hear was the occasional sniffle or whisper. But the men who’d burst into the room only seconds after the Senator had taken the podium for his welcome speech tolerated no noise and were quick to subdue any insubordination. From her head-tucked position, she’d heard one of the attackers barking orders and a group of people being led away. Now she could see the two empty tables at the head of the room. Senator Jacobson and the Mayor were gone. The rest of the guests remained in their seats, huddled over their arms with their faces pressed firmly out of sight. She didn’t blame them. One look at the sheer quantity of guns the four men had brandished about convinced everyone that these guys meant business. She tried not to wonder what might have happened had Clark and Perry arrived on time. There were four of the captors, and they had quickly spread around the room, pointing their weapons at anyone who dared to protest. Clark might have been able to disarm one or two of them, but all four would have been problematic. And any efforts he could have made would have blown his Clark Kent cover once and for all. She’d lived through that scenario before, and going through it again held no appeal whatsoever. It was probably a good thing that he had been held up at the Planet. Now Superman could make an organized attack with help from the police. Lois glanced at the ballroom’s main entrance, the heavy doors tightly shut. Any minute, he would burst through them and they could go home. Suddenly, her view was blocked, and she looked up into the face of a young man, his pale skin covered with freckles. He scowled down at her, and she smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” she whispered, ready to return her head to her arms still folded neatly on the table. “Hey, you look familiar.” The boy squinted as he looked at her more closely. “I’ve seen you before.” “Hmmm,” she answered noncommittally. But instead of putting her head down, she stared at him. He wasn’t even really a man, more like a kid. Of course, she didn’t know many kids who walked around with the handle of a gun sticking blatantly out of their waistbands. She wondered how someone so young found himself in this situation. He rubbed his thin chin, thinking. “I know. On the side of the route 313 bus. An ad for some newspaper.” Suddenly, his face brightened, a wide smile showing front teeth that were slightly crooked. “You’re Lois Lane!” She nodded regretfully. Once again she had reason to curse the ad manager who had insisted on the splashy “Lane and Kent” ads spread all over Metropolis. The side of the bus, for heaven’s sake! “Wow! I read your stuff all the time. In the Daily Planet, right?” the boy gushed. “Wow. I can’t believe it. Lois Lane!” Sitting up a little, she leaned on her elbows trying to find a comfortable position. “And you are?” “Adam Jenkins,” he offered without hesitation, and Lois thought his chest puffed out slightly. “Geez, you know, I remember this one article you did. About guys who scam old people out of their savings by telling them that they’ve got poison gas in their basements. And just after that, this jerk tried to do that to my grandma. If I hadn’t seen your story, she’d have lost it all. But I ran the guy off. Could tell from a mile away he was a total scumbag.” Adam was shaking his head with disgust, and Lois tried to fathom a world where this boy, who had helped to take a room full of people hostage, could be outraged by a petty crook who’d tried to scam his grandmother. “I’m glad you found the story useful,” she said quietly, still afraid to call undue attention to herself. Adam’s sudden fixation on her was making her nervous. She glanced over at the larger man, who had his back toward them. He seemed to be talking into a cell phone, so she let herself relax. Maybe, if this kid was a fan, she could convince him what a horrible mistake he was making. “Oh, yeah. You’re the greatest,” Adam was saying. “And don’t you work with some guy named Kent? You two are married or something, right?” Lois nodded. “That’s right.” She had the strangest feeling that under different circumstances, Adam would simply pull out a chair and bend her ear all night. She didn’t want to like him. “And isn’t he, like, really good pals with Superman?” The kid grinned, clearly pleased with his sudden brush with celebrity. Seeing a chance to influence the boy, she nodded vigorously. “Yes, and I’ll let you in on a little secret. Superman isn’t going to be too happy with what you and your buddies here are doing.” “Oh, we don’t got no problem with you, Miss Lane.” He rushed to assure her, and she took mild comfort in the knowledge that this attack wasn’t, for once, aimed at her personally. “It’s that Senator Jacobson that we’re after.” “Senator Jacobson?” she repeated, trying to make a connection. “Yeah. Hamilton – ” he indicated the older man “ – and Turner says that we gotta get rid of him and any more like him.” She tried to understand. What was wrong with Senator Jacobson? He’d won by a wide margin, nearly a landslide. “Why?” “‘Cause he ain’t white,” Adam stated simply. “And nobody’s going to come to no good if we let people like his kind run our government. No sir. People like us are the real Americans, and in America, you don’t have no business running stuff unless you’re an American.” Lois felt her stomach twisting. So that was what this was all about. A group of idiotic bigots trying to make a political statement the medieval way. “Sounds like a real nice bunch of friends you got yourself there, Adam.” Adam crouched down next to her, bringing his light green eyes level with hers as he tried to make her understand. “No, Miss Lane. You don’t understand. You see, once you get people like that Jacobson in the government, well they’re just going to start taking over. Already they’re giving away all the jobs to people like them. My brother lost his job last year ‘cause those people started passing laws and stuff. And he’s got four kids.” She shook her head in disbelief. What kind of people were these guys? They’d totally brainwashed this poor kid and dragged him into their mess. They were blaming all of their problems on anybody not like them. “So what are you planning to do?” “Get rid of Jacobson.” Lois gasped. “You’re going to kill him?” Adam shrugged his shoulders. “I guess. Not me, though. Hamilton, or maybe Turner’ll do it.” “It won’t matter, Adam,” she warned him stridently. “Even if you aren’t the one who kills him, you’ll still go to jail as an accomplice.” Adam’s eyes grew larger and his face paled until the freckles stood out in sharp contrast, but he shook his head vehemently. “Turner says that the PRWP will protect us. We’re going to get out of here real easy. We’ll be heroes.” “And will the PRWP keep you from getting killed when the cops come barging in here?” she asked, afraid for him. Afraid for everyone in that room. “Sounds like you maybe just let these guys talk you into this. If you help me out, maybe I can put in a good word for you with Superman and the police. Make sure that they aren’t too hard on you – ” “What the hell are you doing?!” Lois jumped, her heart pounding when the deep voice sounded behind her. Adam leapt to his feet, looking guilty. “Uh. Nothing. Just talking,” Adam explained. His voice took on a boyish tone that tore at Lois’s heart. He really was just a kid. “Hey, Hamilton. You know who this is?” “The queen,” Hamilton guessed sarcastically, clearly not caring. “No. It’s Lois Lane. From the Daily Planet. Did you know she’s friends with...” Hamilton raised his gun as if he were going to pistol whip Adam, and the boy lifted an arm over his face protectively. “I don’t care if she’s friends with the President,” Hamilton growled. “Just shut up and stop talking to her.” Adam gave her a sad smile before walking away. Lois cowered down in her chair. She’d caught the look in Hamilton’s watery blue eyes. It was one of intense hatred. A kind of hatred that was steeped in delusions and mistrust. She started to shake, and as surreptitiously as possible, she lowered her head back down to the table. The less this man was aware of her existence, the better. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she heard Hamilton murmuring into his cell phone again, and she didn’t dare lift her head for another look around. So when the rough voice sounded right next to her, she jumped, her heart racing. “Well, Jenkins. Looks like your lucky day,” he snarled. “We’re letting the women out of here, but I think we’ll hang on to your friend, Miss Lane. If she’s a great reporter like you say, maybe she’ll have something good to say about us in that paper of hers.” He placed a tight grip on her shoulder and squeezed painfully until she lifted her head slowly. The sneer on Hamilton’s face made her stomach twist. “That is, of course, if she’s a good girl and doesn’t make any trouble.” He let out a short laugh and walked to the wall where he leaned, his arms crossed with a gun in each hand as he surveyed the room. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched Jenkins herd the twenty-odd women out the door, several pausing to give their remaining partners grief stricken glances. One elderly lady was openly sobbing, and her husband had to pry her arms from around his neck. Lois thought of Clark. Would she have the strength to leave him in such a situation? It was a question she would never have to answer; unlike these women. Clark could survive anything. Lois, on the other hand, could not. Never before had she felt more vulnerable. It was as if suddenly she were made of the thinnest glass, a mere breath of wind all it would take to shatter her. A terror unlike anything she’d ever known crept over her, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from pleading with Hamilton to let her leave with the rest of the women. It wasn’t pride that kept her from begging. It was certain knowledge that he’d never let her go simply because she’d asked and would take inordinate pleasure in seeing her cry. Always before a small portion of her had retained an emotional detachment during dangerous situations. She was the reporter who was neutral, who took no sides and saw all actions as objectively as possible with the story uppermost in her mind. It was that part of her that enabled her to ignore fear. Scrape after scrape, she’d managed to keep it at bay, divorcing herself from the situation as though she weren’t really a part of it but merely a sideline observer. Now, she searched desperately for that ability, feeling the rising tide of panic as she failed to find it. The reporter’s instinct was gone, replaced by one inbred into her very genes and thousands of years older than ink and paper and printing presses. Lois’s hand moved to her abdomen, cupping protectively over the life it concealed. She had so much more to live for. It wasn’t just her life that was in peril. Inwardly, she sobbed, crying out for Clark. And it wasn’t his superpowers that she wanted. She needed him to wrap his strong arms around her. To tell her that everything was going to be all right, that nothing could touch her. She wanted a chance to see him again. Her only solace was that her last words to him had been a declaration of her love. *** “Perry!” Clark skidded to a halt behind the chief, once again dressed in his tuxedo. Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to convince Sergeant MacKay that Superman should be allowed to assist with the rescue, and his frustration had hit near panic levels. Only the assurance that the attackers had agreed to let the women go had kept him from ignoring the surly sergeant altogether. He’d changed out of the suit, deciding that he’d probably get farther as the husband of a hostage than as an unwelcome super hero. Of course, he and Lois would stick around as long as it took to get this situation under control. But then they’d go home, and he would hold her so tight she’d fuse with him. “Clark! Where’ve you been, son?” Without waiting for an answer, Perry continued, highly agitated. “These idiots won’t tell me anything.” Clark glanced around, frowning when he didn’t see his wife. “Where’s Lois?” “She’s not with you?” Perry asked, making the same sweep of the area that Clark had just completed. “No. I was...” Clark paused, deciding how to explain the minutes he’d disappeared. “Um...talking with the sergeant. They let all of the women go. I just expected that she’d be with the rest of the crowd.” Before he’d ducked outside, he’d seen the stream of frantic women trickling down the wide staircase. And knowing that Perry was firmly planted at the base of the stairs, he’d felt comfortable slipping out for the few seconds he needed to change. Now he felt the same odd prickling sensation at the back of his neck. “Have you been standing here the whole time?” Perry nodded, then blanched as he reached the same conclusion that Clark came to a nanosecond earlier. Glancing up the staircase that now produced no more women, his eyes widened with fear. “Dear God. You don’t think she’s still up there?” Clark didn’t remain to respond to Perry’s dire speculation. With his heart falling into his stomach, he flashed through the revolving door and straight up into the sky. *** “I’m going up with the camera.” Clark stormed up to Sergeant MacKay, ready to do battle if necessary. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. As he’d expected, the sergeant shook his head. “We can’t let you do that.” “Why not?” Clark insisted, this response expected and prepared for. “I’m a reporter. Clark Kent from the Daily Planet. They’ve had to have heard of me. They want media attention, I’ll give it to them.” “I don’t care if you’re Walter Cronkite. It’s too dangerous. We can’t take the chance that they’ll take you hostage, too.” When MacKay turned away from him, apparently finished with the discussion, Clark grabbed his arm firmly. The sergeant looked at Clark’s hand, then up to his face. Assured that he had MacKay’s full attention, Clark spoke low and hard, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “I’m willing to take that chance. If you don’t send someone up there, someone they’ve heard of, these maniacs are going to start killing people. We don’t have time to argue, Sergeant.” MacKay looked at him for a long minute, then nodded slowly. “All right. But you aren’t going to try anything heroic and stupid, do you understand? You’re going to do exactly what I tell you, which is nothing.” Clark nodded and removed his hand from the sergeant’s arm. He’d agree to anything if it would get him in the same room as Lois. MacKay indicated a man standing nearby, waiting patiently as a camera harness was strapped around his torso. “Officer Hanson is a member of the SWAT team,” MacKay explained. “He’s going to go in as the camera man. He’ll be trying to locate the transmitter these guys are using to communicate with each other and take it out.” “Superman told me that he saw a backpack,” Clark offered, glad that he’d been able to give this information. He’d floated for long minutes outside the building, scanning the length of the ballroom. Now, he tried not to let his mind wander to the image of Lois in her red gown, seated at a table only a few feet from a man waving a semi-automatic pistol. “Superman!” MacKay snapped. “I thought I told him to stay away?” “He did. He took a look from outside. That’s all.” Clark hurried to assure the sergeant. He didn’t want MacKay to take his anger at Superman out on him, possibly denying him the chance to do something. Of course, MacKay or no, he was going to do something. “Hey, Hanson.” When summoned, the SWAT officer came jogging over, his equipment firmly in place. “Kent here says that Superman spotted a backpack. Transmitter’s probably in it so try to locate that. Once you put it out of commission, we’ll send a team into the corridor. The second team’s going to be waiting right outside the doors.” Turning his attention back to Clark, MacKay went on to give the rest of the details of the plan. “Kent, you’ll have the microphone. Once Hanson’s taken out the transmitter, you need to give us a sign that it’s OK to advance.” Clark accepted the microphone the real camera man shoved into his hands. “Anything specific I should say?” “Keep it casual. Say something like ‘What exactly do you hope to accomplish by doing this?’ It’s a legitimate interview question so they won’t suspect anything. When we get the signal, we’re going to send the teams in, so you’ll need to get out of the way.” MacKay shouted at a young officer. “Sam, get Mr. Kent a vest.” “I don’t need it.” MacKay snorted loudly. “What, are you impervious to bullets? If you want to go in, you’ll wear it. Besides, they'll probably make you take it off anyway when they see it.” Before Clark could argue, a vest was being strapped to his chest. A few short minutes later, he and Hanson were heading up the wide staircase. Clark resisted the urge to run. He had to stay calm. He forced himself to take several deep breaths. This was nothing more than a normal rescue. He wouldn’t look at Lois. He’d deal with these guys and get her out of there. Then he’d think. And he had to remember that more lives were at stake than just Lois’s. She would never forgive him if he did something stupid all in the name of saving her. “Hanson. We’re giving you twenty,” MacKay called after them, and Hanson lifted a hand in silent acknowledgment. Clark stopped and turned, not understanding the cryptic message. “What do you mean, ‘giving him twenty’?” “If Hanson can’t take out the transmitter in twenty minutes, we’re going to send in tear gas through the vents.” “You can’t do that!” he protested heatedly, taking several steps back down the stairs. “There’s innocent people in there!” “Tear gas won’t do any lasting damage,” MacKay insisted. “It’ll be enough for us to take these guys out. Sometimes we have to do this if we want to get these people out alive. I think they’ll be willing to deal with a little discomfort knowing that it’ll save their lives.” Clark shook with fury. He wasn’t a doctor, but he knew enough to be sure that any kind of toxic gases would be detrimental to Lois and the baby. They weren’t talking about minor discomfort. It could be catastrophic for them. Still, he remained silent. He’d take care of this in less than twenty minutes. As they turned the corner at the top of the stairs and headed down the short foyer to the closed doors of the ballroom, he reached across and ripped the bullet proof vest from his chest. *** Adam Jenkins shifted from foot to foot, restless. Hamilton was talking to Turner on the walkie-talkie again, and he’d been given the important job of shooting anyone who “so much as breathed wrong.” Adam wasn’t quite sure exactly what that meant, and he wasn’t positive he’d actually be able to shoot someone over something that seemed to him kind of stupid. But Hamilton was the boss, and you didn’t mess with him if you wanted to live long yourself. He glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on the one female hostage that Hamilton had insisted remain with the fifteen others. Her dark head rested on the table in front of her, her red back like a drop of blood against the white table cloth. Adam still couldn’t believe his luck. Lois Lane! She was so nice. Adam had never met anyone famous before, and he would have thought that she’d be all stuck up. But she talked to him just like she was a regular person. She even treated him like he was a grown up. Not like Turner or his brother or Hamilton. Those guys always treated him like a kid even though he was almost eighteen. Gosh, she sure was pretty. Way cuter than that picture on the side of the bus. Her eyes were so big and dark, with long, thick eyelashes. And when he'd crouched down next to her, the spicy scent of her had tickled his nose. The red dress she was wearing had given him a good view of her creamy chest, dipping low enough that he’d been able to see the dark valley between her breasts. Adam felt his heart race, his young body responding embarrassingly to his wayward thoughts. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a rush of heat flood his face. What was it Charlie had told him to think about when he had this problem? Something about calculating batting averages. Problem was, he’d never been very good with math. Instead, he ran over the details of the plan. Turner hadn’t told him much, only that he should do whatever Hamilton told him and keep his mouth shut. They were going to get that Senator Jacobson and a couple of others and take them away on a helicopter. Turner had promised him they wouldn't get caught, so he'd been pretty relaxed until he found out he was going to have to be pointing guns at a bunch of fancy people. He wasn’t quite sure why Hamilton had wanted the cops to send up a camera crew, and he wondered absently if they were going to be on TV. If so, maybe Charlie and Linda would see him and make a tape so he could watch himself. He’d never been on TV before. It was funny. Adam wasn’t even supposed to be there. His brother, Charlie, had to back out at the last minute when his oldest kid broke his arm, and he’d told Adam to go with Turner. Turner hadn’t seemed too happy with the change, but it was too late to do much about it. Truth be told, if Adam had known where Turner was taking him and why, he sure as hell would have put up more of a fuss about going. He was hungry, and his beef with Jacobson wasn’t bad enough to risk going to jail for. A hard thump on the doors made him jump, and he remembered what Miss Lane had said. Something about the cops busting in. He felt a wave of fear creeping up his neck, his body tensing. He glanced at Hamilton, who was pocketing the black walkie-talkie. The dark scowl on Hamilton’s face did little to ease Adam’s concern, and he started to sweat all over. “Camera!” A muffled voice called through the closed doors, and Hamilton nodded, motioning for him to open them. Adam pulled the wide door open a crack and peered cautiously around it, half expecting to see an entire army of cops pointing their guns in his face. Instead, two men stood a few feet away. One man carried a big camera. The other was dressed in a tuxedo and held up a microphone, as if showing Adam that he was legit. He had dark hair and wore glasses, but for some reason they didn’t make the guy look wimpy. Adam thought of his own glasses, lost somewhere in the disaster that was his bedroom. He never wore them even though it meant that the whole world looked a lot blurrier from a distance. He thought they made him look like a geek. This guy looked pretty cool, though. Adam stepped back to let the two men pass by. The man carrying the camera held it up against his face, blocking his features, but the guy carrying the microphone looked Adam right in the eye. He felt a sudden chill when he caught the fierce hardness in the dark brown eyes, and the uneasiness of moments earlier when he’d imagined his life was over came back with a new intensity. Closing the door, Adam leaned against it and clutched his gun a little more tightly in his hand. The microphone guy was huge, and he was glad he had something that that man didn’t. Hamilton was mean, but something about the tuxedo-clad form made Adam think that Hamilton wouldn’t stand a chance in a fair fight. Good thing Hamilton never fought fair. When the dark head swept the room, taking it in, Adam was afforded a brief glimpse of the man’s profile. Something about the guy looked a little familiar, but without seeing his face full-on, he couldn’t quite place him. He guessed that it was just because this guy was on TV, and he thought about moving across the room to get a better look, amazed that he was meeting two celebrities in one night. Then he decided he didn’t want Hamilton to yell at him in front of all of these people, especially not Miss Lane, and he remained rooted where he stood. “You wanted to see us?” The microphone guy addressed Hamilton, his tone even and firm. Adam felt a flicker of admiration. This guy didn’t seem very afraid of Hamilton, and even the burly Turner held a healthy respect for their leader. “Took you long enough,” Hamilton barked. He indicated the camera by pointing his gun at it. “That thing on?” “Not yet,” the man holding the camera answered, lowering it away from his face. “You able to send a live feed from anywhere?” Hamilton asked. Camera Guy nodded. Hamilton smiled, his thin lips pulling back into reveal teeth stained with nicotine. “Good. You two are coming with us.” Microphone Guy asked, “And where exactly are we going?” “A few of us are going for a little ride. ‘Course, I’m sure you’ll understand why I can’t be more specific than that. And I can’t guarantee who’s getting a round trip ticket and who’s not.” Hamilton laughed at his own joke. “Why are you still holding these people? You have Jacobson and us. Let them leave,” Microphone Guy suggested coolly, and once again Adam admired the man’s bravery. He was big, but Hamilton was holding a semi-automatic pistol and had another tucked in the waistband of his pants. The guy must have nerves of steel. Hamilton snorted. “Until that helicopter is sitting on the roof, nobody’s leaving this room.” Microphone Guy gestured toward Miss Lane. “Why not her? You let the rest of the women go.” Adam was glad he’d asked that question, because he’d been wondering the same thing himself but hadn’t dared ask. Hamilton didn’t take too kindly to having his commands questioned. Adam had a sickening feeling that Hamilton was planning on making Miss Lane one of the people they took with him, and he wasn’t too sure he was on board with that part of the plan. “‘Cause she’s no better than one of them,” Hamilton explained as he walked to the table where Miss Lane sat. He stood behind her, grabbing a handful of her dark hair and using it to pull her head upward so that Adam could see her pale face. He felt an odd pinch in his stomach when he saw her big brown eyes, looking kind of scared like his little niece did when she woke up from a bad dream. Hamilton kept talking to Microphone Guy, holding Miss Lane’s head back. “She’s another commie reporter who helps those people get into power then tells their lies to the public. You people are all the same. You think we don’t know what’s really going on? What your plans are? Well, I know.” Hamilton leaned down into Miss Lane’s face, holding her head still when she tried to pull away from him. “You getting all of this, honey? For your story?” With a rough shove, he pushed Miss Lane’s head forward and released her hair. From where he stood, Adam heard her forehead make hard contact with the table, and he felt a bubble of anger welling from deep within him. Microphone Guy took a step toward her but stopped suddenly, as if he had changed his mind. “Jenkins,” Hamilton bellowed, and Adam jumped slightly at hearing his name. “I want you to stand next to your friend Miss Lane here while I call Turner. If anyone in this room so much as breathes wrong, you shoot her. Got it?” Adam blanched but nodded submissively, glancing at Miss Lane. She’d lifted her head at the sound of her name. She looked really scared, and there was a red mark on her forehead where she’d banged the table. He felt sorry for her as he hurried to stand next to her. When he got close, he could see that she was shaking a little, and the pinch in his stomach tightened. Grasping his gun with both hands, he found himself unable to actually point it at her head. Instead, he kept it directed at the ground behind her, shifting nervously as Hamilton stepped to the far side of the room. Adam could feel Microphone Guy’s eyes boring into him, and with a hard swallow, he kept his eyes fixed on the pulse he could see pounding under the smooth skin of Miss Lane’s neck. He wondered briefly what it would feel like if he were to touch that spot with his lips. He bet it would be warm and soft. Gosh, she sure was pretty. Too bad she was married. *** Acutely aware that the clock was ticking, Clark spared a quick glance at his watch. It had been almost seventeen minutes since MacKay had issued his ultimatum. Soon tear gas would begin pouring through the vents, filling the room with its poison. He had no more time to waste. With Hamilton a safe distance from Lois and distracted with his conversation, Clark moved into position, uncaring if Hanson saw what he was about to do. The backpack hadn’t been moved from the spot where he’d located it from his earlier scan, and he sent two short bursts of heat into it. Another scan revealed the transmitter, two charred holes rendering it useless. He tensed, ready to leap toward Lois the minute he heard the SWAT team make its move. Hamilton pulled the walkie-talkie away from his ear and started to bang it against his palm, confused as to why it had suddenly stopped working. He looked up with a frown, and Clark lifted the microphone to his mouth. Just as he was about to say the words that would bring the waiting team of police bursting through the doors, the kid named Jenkins pointed directly at him, his eyes wide with recognition. “Hey, you’re Clark Kent! Of Lane and Kent!” “Adam, no!” Lois cried, trying to stop him. But it was too late. Hamilton looked from Lois to Clark, a furious expression hardening his watery blue eyes to chips of ice. He glanced down at the malfunctioning walkie-talkie clutched in his hand, then tossed the thing on to the floor where it broke into several pieces. His lips twisted into a cruel sneer. “Kent of Lane and Kent? How cozy.” “So, this was all just a set up. Did ya think to come in to save the little missus? That’s real sweet. But I’m just not that stupid. Jenkins, do it!” Hamilton commanded sharply. Clark felt his heart stop and looked at Jenkins. The boy’s eyes had grown large and round, and he shook his head slightly as the realization of what Hamilton had just commanded him to do sunk in. “You little bastard! I knew you were going to be trouble,” Hamilton bellowed as he strode toward Lois and Jenkins. He lifted his arm, leveling the barrel of his gun directly at Lois’s head. “Miss Lane, watch out!” Jenkins cried, lunging toward her. The impact of his body sent her flying out of her seat just as a deafening crack echoed through the room. The shot meant for Lois hit the boy instead, and he landed hard on the floor next to her. Clark swung his eyes from Jenkins’ inert form to Hamilton just in time to see him pull the trigger again. Hanson reeled backward with the force of the bullet slamming into his shoulder, sending the gun he’d drawn flying from his hand and the camera crashing to the ground. As Hamilton trained the barrel on him, Clark focused intently, sending a beam of heat directly down the shaft of the pistol. Hamilton cried out as his hand was burned, his reflexive jerk sending the bullet far to the right as the gun fell to the floor and skittered away impotently. Before Clark could rush forward, Hamilton had hauled Lois to her feet. Spinning her around so that her back was pressed tightly against his chest, he pinned her arms firmly to her body with his left arm, eliciting an indignant yelp as he crushed the air from her lungs. In one smooth motion, he pulled a black-handled hunting knife from his waistband. Clutching it tightly in his right hand, he rested the long blade against the side of Lois’s neck, its point poised just below her left ear. Clark felt the blood drain from his face. “Let her go.” Hamilton laughed sharply, a dry bark. “No chance of that, pal.” “You’re making a mistake. Let her go,” he commanded again, taking a step forward. “You take one step closer, she’s a goner.” Lois gasped when Hamilton tightened his grip across her chest, clutching his forearm until her knuckles turned white. Clark spared a glance at her face, then quickly looked away, unable to bear the pure terror he saw in her dark eyes. He swallowed hard, fighting against the bile that burned the back of his throat. For as long as he lived, that look would haunt him. “Bet you don’t feel so smart now, do ya? Did you think I was just going to walk out of here with my hands raised over my head like some kind of pansy-assed wimp?” Hamilton shook his head, dragging Lois backward as he moved toward the service door. With every step he took, Clark felt her slipping further and further from his grasp. “Some kind of big hero you turned out to be,” Hamilton continued. “Since you’ve ruined plan A, I’m just going to have to resort to plan B. She’s coming with me, and if I even think that you’re following me, I’ll do it.” The knife’s blade indented Lois’s tender skin as Hamilton applied pressure, giving emphasis to his threat. Panic flooded through Clark. There was no way he could get there fast enough. “Don’t...” The warning was issued so low and hard it was almost guttural, an animal sound coming from the most primal element in him. He reached out his hand instinctively. “WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED. PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND LIE DOWN ON THE FLOOR.” The booming command was magnified by the SWAT team’s megaphone. Like a voice from above, it left no room for disobedience. Hamilton glanced at the doors, his eyes widening slightly. Clark could see the uncertainty flicker across the man’s face before being replaced by a wild glee, as if he relished the thought of dying in such a way. It was a look of complete insanity. MacKay had suggested that Hamilton saw himself as some sort of martyr, and Clark realized at that moment that Hamilton didn’t care if he died or not. Even more than the knife pressed against Lois’s neck, the knowledge that Hamilton didn’t even value his own life sent icy terror running through Clark's veins. There was nothing he could do or say to stop this man from slitting her throat. Right there in front of him, Hamilton was going to kill her. “I’m not going down alone,” Hamilton drawled coolly, giving voice to Clark’s fears as he held his terrified gaze. The pale blue eyes mocked him as he laughed, the evil sound echoing through the massive room. At his words, Lois twisted desperately, struggling to get away. The blade glinted, as if alive. The movement of Hamilton’s hand was so slight, so infinitesimal that Clark thought he’d done nothing at all. Then he heard Lois’s indrawn breath, knew the moment that the knife broke through her skin. Almost instantly a razor thin line of blood appeared. So dark against her pale skin, it seemed unnatural, as if it had been drawn with a fine-tipped black marker. The effect was soon destroyed when small beads welled up, their own wet weight pulling them downward to create rivulets of bright red following gravity and the curve of her neck, only to meet again in a steady course along her collarbone. She didn’t cry out, but Clark heard the whimper, a sound so small that only his super hearing could detect it. Lois’s eyes rolled upward before being concealed by unconsciousness. She slumped forward, and Hamilton let go of her immediately, allowing her body to slide to the floor. As if to display the true horror of her injury, her head lolled to the right, hair spilling darkly against the contrasting marble tiles. Its terrain altered, the stream of blood trickled down the back of her neck to puddle in a crimson pool that almost nearly matched the deep red of her dress, tangled around her legs. Clark let out a roar, the anguished cry filling the vast ballroom and rattling the crystal chandeliers. In the blink of an eye, he reached Hamilton and hoisted him over his head, hurling him against the wall nearly twenty feet away. Hamilton impacted with a crash, shattering the plaster as he fell heavily to the floor. Sparing only a second to make sure that Hamilton wasn’t moving, Clark turned his attention to Lois. He bent over her carefully, his own breathing stopped as he watched her chest, searching for the reassuring rise and fall of life. When it came, shallow as it was, he let a strangled cry escape and scooped her into his arms. She felt lighter than she ever had, and he was reminded of a bird whose wing had been broken. The doors burst open, the room filling with officers from the SWAT team. Their heavy boots and loud shouts blanketed the space, moving to hover over Hamilton and Jenkins’ inert forms with their guns drawn. Paramedics and the sound of metal gurneys being wheeled across the floor added to the cacophony. Clark turned in a confused circle, Lois’s voluminous red skirt tumbling over his arms. “Sir, right here!” a young paramedic shouted as she rushed a gurney toward him. Clark shook his head, swallowing hard as he tried to find his voice. “No. I can take her – ” “An ambulance is faster. And she needs medical attention...” “No, Superman. I mean, Superman can fly...” “Superman isn’t here, sir.” Clark shook his head again, ready to argue with her. He glanced down, ready to point to the S on his chest. But the paramedic was right. There was no magic S. Only his white tuxedo shirt, streaked with blood. Lois’s blood. It was everywhere. “Please, sir,” the paramedic was insisting. “We need to stop the bleeding...” Reluctantly, he placed Lois on the gurney, then stepped back as the paramedic began to examine her. The sounds of the room receded to a low muffle, shouts and urgent calls reduced to background noise. Clark stared at his wife’s face, taking in the milky white skin so pale and cold. He wanted to clutch her to him, to send the heat of his own body into her until she opened her eyes and complained that she was too hot. At that moment, he’d have given anything to see her sit up, to hear her laugh. Or argue. Or yell. Anything. He wouldn’t survive if Lois died. If he lost the baby before he even had a chance to know it... Clark struggled against the terror pulling him down, fought the darkness that was wrapping itself around his heart. He watched Lois’s chest rising and falling, forcing his own to keep the same rhythm. Breathing with her. For her. If he just kept breathing for both of them. For all of them. The paramedic was speaking, and he brought his focus back to her. “She’s lost some blood and she's in shock. But the cut’s angled almost straight down instead of forward. Thank goodness it missed the jugular and carotid. Still, there may be some internal damage, so we need to – ” “She’s pregnant.” “Excuse me?” “She’s pregnant,” he rasped. “Almost seventeen weeks.” “Charlie, we got a hot one here,” the paramedic shouted over her shoulder, and a young black man came running from where he crouched helping an elderly gentleman with silver hair. “Pregnant. In her sixteenth week,” the woman explained as she pulled out an IV bag from her red box and laid it on Lois’s chest. Quickly she gave vitals to Charlie as she prepared Lois’s arm. Charlie placed a stethoscope on Lois’s abdomen, squinting in concentration. “You the husband?” “Huh?” Clark started. The paramedic was speaking to him and staring pointedly at the ring on his finger. “Is this woman your wife?” she repeated patiently. He nodded, unable to speak. “Do you know if your wife’s allergic to anything, Mr....” she asked as she tapped the back of Lois’s hand, looking for a vein. “Kent. No. I mean, I don’t think so,” he stammered. After all the tests, why didn’t he know for sure? The paramedic stopped her work to lay a plump hand on his arm, obviously sensing his distress. “My name’s Barb. We’re going to take good care of Mrs. Kent here.” He didn’t correct her, the woman’s mistake giving him an odd flare of comfort. He tried not to notice that Barb hadn’t mentioned anything about taking care of the baby. He picked up Lois’s free hand, stroking the top of it gently with his thumb. Her skin was so soft. So fragile. Taping the IV catheter into position, Barb turned her attention back to Charlie. “You got a fix on the fetal heartbeat?” Charlie nodded. “Yeah, it’s here. Pretty faint but steady.” “Let’s call it in.” *** Clark watched as they slid Lois’s stretcher into the ambulance, giving her hand a tight squeeze before she drew out of reach. If she felt it, she gave no indication. Her eyes remained closed, her pale face serene. He took solace in the fact that she didn’t seem to be feeling any pain. A bandage now covered her neck, and he fixated on the red stain seeping through the pristine white gauze. “Would you like to ride with her?” Barb asked over her shoulder as she handed the IV bag attached to Lois’s arm to Charlie. He nodded mutely. Placing a foot on the low step, he prepared to hoist himself into the ambulance. A shout from behind caught his attention, and he turned. Light bulbs flashed, blinding bolts slashing through the dark as reporters focused their cameras on the entrance of the hotel, shouting questions one on top of another without waiting for answers. Clark looked beyond the crowd to see what caused their fascination. Two police officers led Hamilton, limping, from the building, his arms clapped behind him in handcuffs. As if in slow motion, the man turned his head toward Clark, thin blue eyes meeting dark brown ones in a flash of defiance and contempt. Aware that he’d captured Clark’s stare, Hamilton’s mouth drew back in a wide sneer, a mocking smile so chilling that Clark felt his blood run cold. Images flashed before his eyes, a horror-filled slide show. Bottomless brown eyes full of terror. A line of deep red slashed across creamy skin. Falling. Falling. Dark hair spilled across the marble floor in a silky pool. Tangled red wrapped around her legs. Crimson puddles of blood. Lying so still and pale. Motionless. An intense pain seared through his brain, blinding white hot like a brand. He staggered slightly, his vision narrowing to a pin-point tube. All but that in front of him diminished to blurry shapes and colors running together like a watercolor thrown into the sea. Blue and red blended, lights flashing in the dulled periphery of his eyesight. The earth spun wildly. Blood pounded through him, a steady beat so full of bass that he imagined it reverberated through the street like a car stereo cranked to maximum volume. The sounds around him receded, the only thing left the scream of anguish that echoed through him when Lois had fallen. Underlying it wailed the constant drone of sirens, unrelenting in their plaintive cries. He reached out an arm, blinded, trying to understand what so completely controlled him that every muscle locked until the tension resembled steel cables supporting a suspension bridge. His body felt as if it would shatter, brittle shards of glass falling on the concrete in a million rainbow splinters. The disquiet built, his chest clenching tighter, crushing him until he felt that he would implode with the force of it. As he struggled to pull air into his constricted lungs, he tried to place the feeling. Like he was going to die. Or worse. Only one thing had ever made him feel such agony. Glowing green poison. But this time, it wasn’t kryptonite. And he couldn’t escape it no matter how far or fast he flew. It was inside him, living and breathing and growing. It was rage. A rage so overpowering that it obliterated all rational thought and, more importantly, any inhibitions that might kick in as a fail safe. He was a nuclear device, armed with launch codes and dropped from a bomber, hurtling toward the earth to destroy everything in its path. In his life he’d known anger and hatred. But never before had the two emotions mixed so intensely within him to create the toxic heat flooding through his body. “Mr. Kent. Mr. Kent! You have to let him go! You’re strangling him! Let him go!!” From a distant place, penetrating the haze of red surrounding his brain, someone shouted. He felt a hard pressure against his arm, and he flicked it away with no more thought than one gives a bothersome gnat. Faceless voices shouted over him, a movie soundtrack running without the visual and coming from another world. “You’re going to have to shoot him, Sam!” “Sir, it was his wife. The one who got cut.” “Mr. Kent! Please. We don’t want to hurt you!” “Clark! Son. Let him go.” A voice strangely familiar broke through, triggering something in his awareness. He felt his hands relax slightly, the edge of the pain dulling to a steady pulse. He turned toward the voice and his vision started to return. Perry came into blurry focus. “Let him go, Clark. You have to let him go now.” As if the man were on fire, Clark released Hamilton immediately, his heavy form falling limply to the ground. The two officers who had escorted him from the building dropped to their knees. “Is he dead?” His own voice sounded like it came from someone else, hoarse and far away. One officer looked up at Clark, his young face etched with horror. “No, unconscious.” “Come on, Clark.” Perry pulled him, dragging him away from the heap on the cement as the reporters moved in. He blinked, the flashing cameras snapping in his face finally breaking through the lingering haze. “There’s nothing the police can’t take care of here.” Lois’s ambulance had already departed, and as he ducked into Perry’s waiting car, Clark heard the police officer named Sam shouting. “We need an EMT over here.” *** Clark let the door close behind him only after being assured by two nurses and Dr. Payton that Lois was sleeping comfortably. He walked to the waiting room, feeling oddly like he was moving through water. Perry leapt to his feet, hurrying from the cluster of leather-clad chairs meant to convey a sense of home to anyone waiting for word on a loved one. Somehow the effect was lost when combined with the institutional-gray walls and the antiseptic smell permeating the waiting room. It was a hospital, and no amount of leather or framed prints or homey fabrics would let anyone forget that fact or the reasons they had found themselves there in the first place. “How is she?” Perry asked anxiously. His bow tie lay crumpled around his neck, his salt and pepper hair disheveled. Clark thought that the Chief looked twenty years older than he had when they’d left the Planet only a few hours ago. “She’s suffering from shock, and she’s had about fifteen stitches. But overall, she’s in pretty good shape considering what she’s been through,” he answered, his voice leaden. “Oh, thank God!” The editor’s sorrowful face brightened considerably. A weak smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and Clark felt a brief twinge of guilt for delivering bad news. “There’s more, Perry.” Clark raked his hand through his hair, a sudden wave of exhaustion making him feel dizzy. He took a deep breath. “Lois is pregnant.” Perry’s smile quickly disappeared, replaced with a look of astonishment. “What?” “We were going to tell you tonight. She saw the doctor this afternoon and got the word that everything was progressing fine.” Clark laughed at the irony. “We were just waiting until she was out of the danger period...” “Oh, Clark. I’m so sorry. Is the baby...?” Perry seemed afraid to say the words, as if speaking them would cause the deed for certain. “The baby’s heartbeat is erratic. It’s too soon to tell either way. All they can do is watch them through the night. Dr. Payton says they should know better tomorrow...but she warned me that Lois lost a lot of blood and this kind of stress might be too much.” Clark used almost the same words Dr. Payton had used, his voice strangely neutral as he dispensed the information. It was almost as if he himself were no more than a medical professional talking about a generic case, and he wondered if the key to such detached numbness was in the cliches. But when he delivered the final blow, the stab of pain that pierced his heart was just as strong as when he’d heard the words himself, obliterating his theory. “They don’t have a lot of hope.” Perry paled visibly as he took in the information. He turned abruptly and took a few steps back toward the chairs. Clark noticed a slight shake in the older man’s shoulders and briefly thought to offer comfort, but then he realized he had none to give. All he felt was hollow, as if every emotion had been wrung from him. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, son.” Perry turned back to face Clark. His eyes held a shininess but his voice was firm. “But you just remember. Lois is a strong woman. If anyone can come through this, she can.” “Thanks, Chief.” The words were meant to help, but they did little to offer any real hope. How could anyone be strong enough to come through this? Even he wasn’t strong enough to do that. Taking a deep breath, Clark prepared to ask the question that had tormented him since he’d been assured that Lois wouldn’t die. “Did they bring him here?” “Who?” “Hamilton.” “Uh, yeah.” Perry paused a minute. “Listen, Clark, I think you should let me take you home...” “How is he?” Clark asked, uncowed by Perry’s attempt to change the subject. Perry proved to be as stubborn. “I don’t think you should be worrying about that right now, son.” “Tell me, Perry.” Clark felt an uncomfortable twitching in his chest, a tightening that made his breathing come shallow. Perry sighed. “They had to intubate him. His trachea was nearly crushed, and his collarbone is fractured on both sides of his neck. You did some pretty serious damage.” Clark nodded. “Will he live?” “Yes, unfortunately,” Perry muttered, then shook his head. “I never knew you had it in you, Clark. Of course, no one could blame you, after all. I would have killed the bastard myself if...” Clark didn’t hear anything else. Inside, relief warred with fury that Hamilton lived, and he felt his hands clench tightly as he struggled to subdue the wave of pain that started to pound in his head. A bitter taste flooded his mouth, and the room started to spin. Through the descending haze, he felt Perry’s hand on his arm, and he focused on it, using it to pull him above the churning pool of anger. He forced himself to breath deeply through his nose and exhale through his mouth, a silly exercise Lois had taught him in a vain attempt to show him the benefits of yoga. “C’mon. The car’s out front.” Perry gestured in the general direction of the hospital’s main entrance, expecting Clark to follow. He took several more breaths, feeling a little calmer. “I’m staying here,” he said stonily. “Clark, you need to get some rest.” “No, she might need me.” Clark turned to leave the waiting room, anxious to get back to Lois. “At least go home and change,” Perry urged. “You might feel better if you get out of that monkey suit.” Clark looked down, blinking in surprise when he saw that he still wore his tux and blood-stained shirt. It seemed like years since he’d put it on. An entire life time ago. Nodding silently, he let Perry lead him out of the waiting room. *** Clark didn’t bother turning on the light in the bedroom, thankful for the darkness that matched his mood. Yanking off the black jacket, he threw it in the general direction of the corner. With a few jerks, he unbuttoned his cuffs and shirt front. His bow tie had been discarded and lost long ago. As he passed the bed on his way to the closet, a ghostly glow of white lying atop his pillow caught his attention. He walked to it, lifting the tissue-wrapped package slowly. Reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp, he frowned. Slipping a finger under the small gold seal holding the tissue closed, he let the filmy white paper fall away. His hands were filled with black silk, cool and slippery between his fingers. Maneuvering the fabric, he managed to right it, holding up a nightie with thin straps and lace edging the top and bottom. It was not one he recognized, and he knew instantly that it was the surprise to which Lois had alluded that afternoon, in their phone conversation. He could imagine her slender form filling out the sleek silk, her mischievous grin as she paraded seductively in front of him. He clutched the fabric tightly, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply. It smelled new, but he could detect a hint of her fragrance, transferred perhaps when she’d tried it on or held it up to admire. Lowering himself down to the edge of the bed, he felt his eyes sting, a raw ache tearing at the back of his throat. When the tears started to flow, he didn’t stop them, and before long, his shoulders started to shake as the sobs lifted from deep in his chest. *** From the overstuffed chair angled in the corner of their bedroom, Clark watched Lois sleep. Hands tented, he rested his fingertips against his lips as he glanced at the bedside clock, the red numbers glowing across the darkened room like the timer on a bomb. 2:20. It always happened at nearly the same time every night, and by his calculations, she’d start screaming in about ten minutes. When he’d called her trauma specialist in a panic after the first three nights, the kindly doctor had assured him that this was all perfectly normal. Not only were Lois’s nightmares to be expected, but their surprising punctuality was simply a part of her body’s natural sleep rhythms. In way more detail than Clark had needed, he’d received an education about REM sleep and alpha waves and dream cycles. Apparently, these nightmares were Lois’s very healthy way of coping with what had happened to her, and her body had a very specific internal clock that meant that Clark now dreaded the time of 2:30 a.m. Only Dr. Rosenblum’s assurance that, over time, the dreams would lessen and eventually stop altogether kept Clark from going completely insane. The first time it had happened, he’d broken out in a cold sweat, the sounds of her screams sending a terror through his body that made him nauseated. When his mother had headed back to Smallville after her two-week stint as Lois’s in-home caregiver, she’d mentioned to Clark that Lois was having bad dreams. What Martha had failed to explain, however, was that “bad dreams” were her highly softened description of what Clark termed full fledged night attacks. He’d almost called her after his first night alone with Lois to beg her to return to Metropolis immediately. He didn’t think he could bear night after night of the pure hell they endured, Lois subconsciously and he all-too consciously. The nightmare always started with a whimper, a small cry that quickly escalated in both volume and intensity. Within seconds, Lois would begin thrashing about the bed, tearing at the neckline of her nightgown. After the first two occurrences, she’d had to cut her fingernails nearly to the quick to keep from scratching her own skin, the long, red welts she’d inflicted upon herself adding additional distress to an already disturbing situation. As the dream continued, she bolted upright, sitting ramrod straight amidst the tangle of sheets and blankets as her unintelligible cries became real words. Real pleas for her assailant to stop hurting her. To stop hurting her baby. When she began to call for Clark in a voice so full of fear and despair, he could barely contain his own tears, pulling her tightly against him while he murmured assurances into her unhearing ears. It was at those moments when his own nightmare began afresh, but his was a terror for which there was no waking. Thankfully, the entire ordeal played itself out in less than ten minutes, after which she would sag weakly against him, and he would lay her back against her pillows like a limp doll. Brushing the damp strands of hair from her tear-streaked face, he watched until her breathing evened. She never completely woke up, and in the morning when asked, she never remembered any details. Only Clark knew what she begged for in the darkest hours of the night, and it served as a constant reminder of what he’d been unable to give her. The trauma doctor had been correct in that the quantity of the dreams had diminished, dropping from the half a dozen episodes in one night down to the single performance at 2:30. It had taken six weeks for that to happen, but at least now he could make sure to be there when she needed him. And when confident that she was once again soundly asleep, he wasted no time in changing into the suit and flying straight up into the blackened sky. It took his own body an entire hour to calm down, and it wasn’t until he returned to the house at dawn that he felt even close to normal. As the last digit on the clock’s display inched toward zero, Clark felt himself tensing. Readying. His head started to pound, his lungs constricting as it became harder and harder to breathe. When the number flipped from eight to nine, his vision started to blur, narrowing to a thin tube as the darkness around him became a palpable thing that pressed against him. He leaned forward, his hands clenched together tightly as he tried to remain calm. Lois needed him to be calm. The whimpering started, but this time instead of the thrashing, Lois sat up slowly. She reached out a hand, as if she were trying to touch something. Suddenly, her mouth lifted, a small smile lighting up her face. Even though her eyes remained closed, Clark could tell that whatever she saw pleased her. He stood, not sure what to do. This dream was different than all of the rest. Instead of panicked, she seemed very calm. Almost joyful. Suddenly, the smile disappeared and her brow creased. A sadness pulled her face downward, and she stretched her arm further out in front of her, reaching. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “Please, don’t go...” He took a step toward the bed, calling out softly, “I’m here. I won’t leave.” “Don’t leave,” she repeated, a little louder and with such a lonely tone it pulled at his heart. Clark walked to the bed and sat on the edge of it, but instead of pulling her into his embrace, he watched her carefully. “I’m here, Lois. I’m right here.” She nodded, appeased. Then she laid back down. He watched her for a minute, her face now serene. Somewhat disbelieving that it was over, he gazed into the darkness of the room. This was so different. So unlike the other nights full of cries and frantic movements. Could it be that she’d turned a corner? That maybe now, the dreams would stop altogether? Or was this the start of another symptom? Another result of what had happened. With a heavy sigh, he released the air he’d been holding in his lungs. “Clark?” He started, turning back to see her eyes opened wide and lucid. “You’re awake?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. She nodded and struggled to sit up. He reached out to help her, then stopped himself, pulling his hands back before they could touch her. Lois reached over to flip on the bedside lamp. Both of them blinked when the low-wattage bulb cast its warm glow over the bed. “I was dreaming, wasn’t I?” she asked, smiling apologetically. “Was I talking again?” Clark nodded. “Let me get you a drink of water,” he offered quickly, grabbing the glass from the bedside table without waiting for her to object. He took his time rinsing out the stale water from earlier that evening, waiting until the tap ran icy cold. He needed the minutes to gather himself. To get control of the emotions spinning through his belly. Never before had she awakened. Always he’d been able to slip away to safety. Returning to the bedroom, he handed the glass to Lois, who gave him another smile. “Thanks.” She took a drink, clasping the glass between both hands as she lowered it to her lap. Clark returned to the edge of the bed, careful to keep a fair distance between himself and her blanket-covered hip. Staring at a point just beyond her right ear, he hoped she wouldn’t notice that he didn’t look her directly in the eye. He’d learned that if he wanted to retain control, he had to avoid looking into her dark eyes. “Do you remember anything? What you were...dreaming about?” He asked the question knowing that really, he didn’t want to hear the answer. He knew very well what she was dreaming about. It was the same thing that had kept him awake for six weeks. Lois took another sip of her water and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sort of. I was swimming in the ocean. Underwater. I didn’t have any kind of scuba tank, but I could still breathe. And everything was so beautiful. All blue and shimmery. With tons of fish in all kinds of rainbow colors. It was amazing.” She stared ahead wistfully, as if she could still see the image. “Then this dolphin came up to me. It nudged my hand with its nose or snout or whatever its called. It was like it was telling me that it wanted to play. I touched its side, and it was so smooth and cool. It felt wonderful. We started to play. Chasing each other. And I was laughing. Underwater.” She laughed, remembering. “I was laughing.” “Then all of the sudden, the dolphin turned around and swam away really fast. I called out for it to stop but it kept going. Upward, toward the surface. Like something was chasing it. I turned around to see what it was, but I nothing was there. Only the dark water, getting blacker as it got deeper. That’s when I woke up.” Her story finished, she returned her gaze to him and shrugged her shoulders. Clark looked away, not sure what to think. The dream Lois described certainly didn’t sound anything like the nightmares that caused her to scream in terror. He didn’t dare hope that it meant something significant. It wasn’t his to hope anymore for anything. “You should probably tell Dr. Rosenblum about it. It’s the first time you’ve remembered anything.” “Yeah. I suppose,” she agreed with a frown, as if being reminded about Dr. Rosenblum took away some of the pleasure of the dream. Rumpled from sleep and wholly vulnerable, the sight of her sitting in their bed sent a surge of panic through his chest. It swelled up, pushing aside the tenderness that he wanted to feel but couldn’t grasp quickly enough to convert into physical action. As had happened many times since she’d come home from the hospital, he found that his mind was waging a war with this body and heart, and to his growing bewilderment, the more irrational part of him was winning. Instead of pulling her in for a warm, reassuring hug, Clark stood, unable to remain next to her any longer. She looked up, startled by his sudden departure. “Aren’t you coming back to bed?” With a glance over to his side of the bed, she noticed that the coverlet and linens remained fairly neat, an indication that he’d never been there in the first place. “Or coming to bed at all?” “Not yet. I need to take a pass over the city.” He offered a reasonable excuse, then added another just in case. “Besides, I’m not really tired.” Lois squinted at the clock and noted the late hour. If she thought it odd that he wasn’t tired at almost three in the morning, she didn’t mention it. Instead, her smile became sultry. “You know, Dr. Payton said if we wanted to make love, it would be OK.” He swallowed hard. The low light cast a golden glow over her skin, and her eyes held something that fueled the unease in his chest. Trying to keep his tone playful, he shook his head. “You need to get some rest.” She laughed lightly. “I think I’ve rested more in the last six weeks than the whole of my adult life. I’m fine, Clark. Actually, I’m feeling pretty good. Why don’t you come to bed?” As if to add emphasis to her invitation, she patted the empty spot next to her. “I really need to check things out,” he offered again, feeling a bit guilty about the lie. He’d perused the entire city at least ten times already that night. He turned away and walked to the window, unable to bear the disappointment on her face. It had been so easy those first weeks after she’d come home from the hospital, her fragile condition and overall exhaustion offering perfectly acceptably reasons for them to refrain from making love. Even after she’d returned to work, the dreams and the stress had sent her to bed far earlier than he, her breathing soft and even when he’d stick his head in to check on her a mere half hour later. Now, he could no longer count on her to offer excuses for their continued abstinence. She was starting to ask questions, and he had no good answers for her. For that matter, he had no good answers for himself. “Yeah, I guess you should check things out,” Lois agreed behind him, spurring his guilt with her easy acceptance and understanding. She remained silent for a minute, and he prepared to spin into his suit. Her next question stopped him cold. “Clark. Have you slept in this bed at all since – ” He wouldn’t let her finish. Couldn’t let her finish. “I’ve been sleeping in the guest room mostly. I thought you needed the space. And the sleep.” He didn’t bother telling her that, mostly, he hadn’t been sleeping at all, much preferring the dull haze he walked through during the day to the visions that came to him when he did manage to lapse into unconsciousness. The constant tiredness was comforting, casting a numbness around him so that any emotions that managed to fight their way to the surface became faded and weak. He used his insomnia like a drug and had found it highly addictive. “Well, really, there’s no reason for you to sleep in the guest room anymore. I’m fine. And I think I’d actually get more rest if you were next to me,” she speculated with a sheepish grin. “I’ve missed you.” “I miss you, too,” he whispered, his voice choked. Before his resolve disappeared completely and sent him across the room in two long strides, he spun into the suit. With a final apologetic smile offered over his shoulder, he launched himself out the window and headed directly toward the moon. *** Lois opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the slanted light pouring between the wooden blinds. With a groan, she looked at the clock. 8:30. Drat. She’d overslept. Again. Clark must have turned off her alarm, deciding that she needed the extra sleep. It was sweet of him and appreciated, but now she was going to be late. Again. Sitting up, she glanced over her shoulder to his side of the bed. The coverlet remained as it had several hours earlier, neatly tucked except where her own restless movements had pulled the covers askew. She shook her head sadly. He’d never made it to bed. With a frown, she wondered if it was a Superman emergency that had kept him away or a Clark-made one. The sound of the shower running sent her out of the bedroom and down the stairs to start a pot of coffee. She yawned as she puttered around the kitchen, turning the radio on to a light rock station. Pushing several pieces of bread into the toaster, she poured herself a glass of orange juice and headed to the front door to get the paper. Shaking her head, she scanned the front page as she walked back to the kitchen. It had been several weeks since the night of the benefit had garnered much column space, and certainly nothing on the first page after the first week. But today, she winced when she read the headline. The calls would probably start again. Lois only hoped no one would be parked on the front lawn, waiting to ambush her or Clark. The first time it had happened, he had nearly lost it, a broken camera and a severely frightened reporter the result of his displeasure. It was hard to be on the opposite side of the story, she mused, having your most personal information splayed out for all the world to know. Setting the paper on the table, she determined once again to make sure that, in the future, she was always on the telling side. Clark entered the kitchen, pulling the knot of his patterned tie tightly against his shirt collar. His hair was still damp, and she could smell the clean scent of his aftershave as he brushed past her on his way to the coffee maker. Her heart raced and warmth crawled over her skin. She thought briefly of taking the morning off if she could convince him to do the same. The small scowl on his face made her think twice, and chalking it up to his lack of sleep the night prior, she gave him a sympathetic smile. “Thanks for letting me sleep. You should have taken the extra hour for yourself. Did you run into trouble last night?” “Yeah, something like that,” he said absently. She tried not to be hurt by his brusque attitude or the fact that he hadn’t even offered her a good-morning kiss. “Man, Superman sure has been busy lately. He may have to take a vacation. That or find a sidekick to cover for him.” She chuckled at her own joke, then noticed that he wasn’t at all amused. In fact, he seemed in a very foul mood. “Really, Clark. I’m worried about you. You look really tired.” “I’m fine. I just need some coffee.” He poured himself a cup, and taking a sip despite the thick steam floating in a cloud over the rim, he headed to the table. “Hey. Take a look at the front page,” Lois called over her shoulder as she spread a thick layer of strawberry preserves on the slices of toast. “They’ve set Joseph Hamilton’s trial date. They’re saying they may have to move this out of the county in order to get a fair and impartial jury.” “Yeah. I see,” he mumbled, flipping the front section to the side without looking at it. She carried the plate of toast to join him at the table, pulling a chair out to sit down. “You know, I was thinking I might try to get in to interview that kid, Adam Jenkins. I think he’d be willing to spill a lot about the PRWP and maybe even name some names.” Clark set his coffee cup down with a loud bang, sloshing the black liquid over the top and onto the newspaper. “Lois, I told you that I thought it was a really bad idea for you to do any kind of story on these people.” “I know.” She grinned. “But since when did I ever let that stop me? Besides, this is Pulitzer level stuff, Clark. The attempted assassination of a U.S. Senator – ” Clark stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over with an angry clatter. “That’s your problem! You never listen to what other people have to say. If just for once you would take the advice of someone else, you might save yourself a lot of grief.” The sting of hurt over his outburst was quickly replaced by an indignant defensiveness. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you talking about what happened at the benefit?” “No,” he retorted sharply. “I’m just saying that you manage to get yourself into a lot of trouble because you just can’t let go of a bad idea.” She stood, placing her hands on her hips. “I think you *are* talking about the benefit. I think maybe you think its my fault that I was there when those lunatics came busting in all over the place.” She waited for his denial, and when it didn’t come immediately, she felt herself crumbling inside. “Is that it, Clark?” “Of course not,” he said softly, reaching down and righting the fallen chair so that she couldn’t see his eyes to know if he really meant what he was saying. “Nothing about that night is your fault. I just want you to be a little more careful. And I want you to stay as far away from Hamilton as possible.” Feeling a bit appeased by his explanation, she returned to her seat, ready to convince him that she wasn’t looking for trouble. “I didn’t say I was going to interview Hamilton. I was talking about that kid, Adam. He was really chatty that night, and I think...” “Lois, I don’t really care what you think. It’s a bad idea, and that’s all there is to it.” Clark turned sharply on his heel and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” she cried, bewildered by his complete dismissal of both the topic at hand and her personally. “To work,” he called over his shoulder, and she ran after him, clutching her robe tightly around her. “Aren’t you going to wait for me?” He shook his head as he shrugged on his long wool coat. “I’ve got some stuff to get done before the call meeting. I’ll meet you there.” “Clark,” she demanded, “what is wrong with you?” “I’m late. That’s what’s wrong.” He pulled the door closed behind him with a heavy bang. Lois bit her lip, tears of confusion streaming down her face. What had just happened? What had she done wrong? *** Clark pulled his chair away from his desk with a hard yank. The office was quiet, only a few dedicated souls and chronic procrastinators pounding away at such an early hour. They’d all become used to his new schedule and were very much aware that he didn’t like to be approached, assuming that he simply needed a few cups of coffee to ramp up to a respectable politeness. By the time they would have noticed that he’d had ample time to consume a good quantity of the brew, they had become so busy with their own work that they took little notice that he’d become no less surly. It wasn’t a new-found dedication that brought Clark to the Planet just as the night cleaning staff was packing up to leave. It was pure and simple avoidance. Ever since their argument at the breakfast table a week earlier, Clark had made it a point to leave for the office before Lois was out of bed. In fact, his routine had become a matter of flying home for a quick shower and change of clothes before heading right back out again. Lois hadn’t complained about his absence because he hadn’t been around enough to give her a chance. He’d just turned on his computer when the faint cry came. It was feeble, the plea of an elderly person. He sighed loudly. There was no way he could ignore it. Touching down softly on the sidewalk only a few blocks from the Planet, Superman was immediately approached by a frail woman with tightly curled white hair who rushed over to him as fast as her stooped form would allow. “Oh, Superman. Thank goodness you came!” The woman placed a gnarled hand on his forearm. “That thug stole my purse. He just came out of nowhere and snatched it right from me. Nearly knocked me down!! And I just cashed Harold’s disability check. Oh, heavens. I don’t know what we’ll do without that money.” Her thin voice held panic, and he winced inwardly at her distress. “It’s all right m’am,” Superman assured her with a small smile. “I’ll get your purse back. What did this guy look like?” “Oh, let’s see. He wasn’t nearly so tall as you. Not as big either. Just a skinny thing. Wearing a black jacket, I think. And a cap.” She thought for a minute, her wizened face scrunching tightly with the effort. At last she nodded, confident in her memory. “Yes, a blue cap, like those baseball players wear. He ran off that way.” Superman scanned the length of sidewalk in front of him, following the woman’s pointed finger. Less than four blocks away he could make out the blue-domed head of someone wearing a cap, dodging between the rush-hour pedestrians before ducking sharply to the left and into an alley. He launched himself upward, going only high enough to perfectly arc back down into the alley where a black-jacketed, blue-capped man was frantically digging through a large white handbag. In one long step, Superman grabbed the man’s collar and hoisted him clear off the ground. The thug issued a loud gasp and dropped the purse immediately. His face quickly became covered with dark red splotches as the realization of who it was who’d found him reached his dull brain. “You like taking money from old people?” Superman hissed dangerously, disgusted by the creep. “Is it fun scaring them? Knocking them down?” When the purse snatcher didn’t answer, Superman gave him a rough shake. The motion sent something tumbling from inside the terrified man’s jacket, and with a clatter it landed on the concrete. Superman glanced down, taking in the silver pocket knife that skittered a short distance before coming to a stop. Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced his skull, blood pounding in his ears until the sound of it was deafening. He could feel his chest tightening, and the ground began to spin. Every muscled tensed, and he hoisted the thug higher, his grip almost painful. As the turmoil within him increased, Superman hurled the man across the alley with a snarl. The thug hit the brick building with a loud thud, dropping several feet to land in a motionless pile. Superman took several deep breaths, trying to resist the urge to pick the guy up and throw him again. Waves of nausea washed over him, and he staggered back slightly. “Superman, you need some help?” a voice sounded behind him, offering a welcome distraction. He turned to see a police officer slowly walking into the alley. As his vision came into focus once again, he noticed that several people had stopped to watch from the sidewalk. “Guy’s over there.” He motioned toward the heap slumped against the wall as he scooped up the abandoned purse. Stopping only long enough to return the handbag to its grateful owner, Superman shot straight up into the air, flying as fast as he could away from Metropolis. He headed west, finally landing on a mesa high above the arid floor of Arizona’s Painted Desert. The time difference meant that the day had yet to completely rise over this portion of the country, and he faced the rose-tinged sky, seeking the warming rays as the earth turned toward the sun. It was getting worse. It took less and less to trigger an attack, and seeing the silver switchblade had almost thrown him completely out of control. If things kept going the way they were, he was going to have to turn himself in. He was becoming a real danger to people, and despite his current attitude, he still retained the knowledge that he couldn’t let that happen. The problem was, he couldn’t stop it. The emotions that had been unleashed the night of the benefit were now like a pride of unruly lions, impossible to capture or cage. Just as he thought he might have regained control, the smallest incident would set him off. It was why he didn’t sleep. He needed the foggy feeling of exhaustion to dull the colors and sounds of the world. For the first time ever, he had a true empathy for alcoholics and drug addicts. Facing life and the pain within it while sober was simply too hard. Lois was another matter. When he was with her, he oscillated between panic and guilt. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t talk to her. Why the words just wouldn’t come out or even what words they would be had he been able to say them. Even more confusing was his own body’s reaction to being near her. Simply standing close to her or looking at her face sent the earth tilting beneath his feet and the odd twisting in his stomach. Waves of panic crashed over him until he had to get away. It was becoming completely impossible for him to be around her. Only by staying away was he able to ignore the emptiness that being so close to her yet being unable to touch her created. But it was getting harder and harder to come up with excuses. And the pained look in her eyes every time he flew away tore him apart. Almost more troubling than his inability to get close to her either physically or emotionally was his new uncertainty about the love that they shared. He’d always thought it was strong enough to weather anything, so steeped in mutual need and tenderness that nothing could tear them apart. But now he was letting them both down. Something beyond his control was causing him to lash out at her, or to hold her at a rigid distance. His love was failing them, and he felt completely powerless to do anything about it. In truth, he was tired of fighting against it. If he could get away for a while, regain some semblance of control. He’d talk to Perry. Come up with a viable story to send him out of town. It wouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks. Or maybe a little longer. Just enough time to regain his equilibrium. Then maybe things would get back to normal. His gut clenched with a sudden guilt. After all they’d been through, Lois would never understand why he was leaving. As the sun turned the desert rose and gold and all the shades in between, he felt a hard indifference settle over him. It didn’t matter what she wanted, or thought she wanted. He couldn’t allow his own confusion to cause her any more heartache. *** When he stepped off the elevator, he paused slightly when he saw Lois seated at her desk. She looked up in time to catch his eye, and her face brightened with a beaming smile. A silky cream scarf was wrapped loosely around her neck, perfectly matched with her cream suit as if the item was purely used as an accessory rather than as a disguise. He, of course, knew what lay beneath the filmy fabric. A rush of heat flooded through him, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “Hey. I missed you this morning,” she called as he passed her desk, not stopping. “Yeah, sorry. Couple of things I wanted to get done early.” He explained away his departure before she’d even awoken that morning. Sitting down, he began leafing through the pile of phone messages. With careful determination, he avoided glancing up at her, hoping that she would return to her own work. Undeterred by his obvious distraction, she rose and approached his desk, perching on the edge of it. “You just take care of a call?” she asked, her voice kept low. He nodded, trying to ignore the sudden increase in his pulse that her intimate tone generated. Lifting his eyes from the messages, he caught a long expanse of her thigh, expos