WHISPER FROM THE DYING By Wendy Richards and Kaethel Rated PG 13 Submitted December 2004 _______________________ It all started with an IRC conversation; one of those conversations that start about one particular premise and go on with idle "what ifs". That night, we were all talking about That Old Gang of Mine, and Kathy Brown suddenly wondered aloud what would have happened, had Clark revealed his feelings to Lois right as he "died". Needless to say, we both jumped on the premise and, thanks to Kathy's encouragement, we quickly got started. We'd originally planned to make this another short collaboration, but it took on a life of its own. Suddenly we found ourselves with a much more complicated premise than we'd initially bargained for, and the story grew... and grew... and grew... into what it is now. Not that we can complain! It was a lot of fun writing it, and even more fun posting it to the boards and discovering our readers' reaction, part after part. So we'd like to give our most heartfelt thanks to the readers on the boards for being so supportive and pointing to typos and glitches, as well as to Annette, Elena and Bethy, who, at various points in the story, gave us their opinion, their ideas, and their encouragement. :) And last but not least, thanks to Jeanne Pare for her very helpful GEing. Thanks, you all! Wendy and Kaethel :) ~ Whisper from the Dying ~ How had she got into this? Lois wondered in irritation. She'd been busy minding her own business, keeping an eye out for the supposedly resurrected gangsters, until that innocent-looking - hah! - old lady had stolen her bucket of nickels. And, of course, Capone and his associates had chosen just that moment to walk in. And then, before she'd had a chance to ask any of the questions she'd come here to get answered, that sleaze Dillinger had put the moves on her. She sighed. She didn't particularly want to get his back up - not if she and Clark were to get what they'd come for. On the other hand, the guy was getting persistent. He was starting to paw her now. And suddenly, Clark was between her and Dillinger, telling the guy to back off. Protective as always, and it was sweet of him... but not very sensible in the circumstances, she thought in faint exasperation. She'd have to talk to him about that later. But what was...? A glint of metal caught her gaze. That was... Clyde Barrow, wasn't it? And he was holding... Oh, god, he was holding a gun! He was only threatening to shoot, wasn't he? Trying to frighten Clark into backing off? After all, her partner was looking pretty intimidating with his fist raised towards Dillinger. Wait... He'd taken the safety off... He wasn't going to shoot! He wouldn't... he couldn't! The explosion of gunfire shook her to the core. Appalled, terrified, she turned to Clark. Surely the bullet wouldn't hit him? Clyde wouldn't possibly have shot to injure or even kill, would he? She grabbed at Clark's arm even as she saw him clutch his chest. A look of pure shock was on his face. And he staggered. Clark had been shot! Her partner, her best friend, had been shot. She fell to the ground beside him, catching at his hand, his chest. He was okay, wasn't he? He had to be okay. He couldn't be... He couldn't be dead. No. It wasn't possible. He couldn't be dead. Suddenly, his hand covered hers, and she felt a rush of sweet relief flood her. He was okay! He was alive! He'd be fine. "Lois." His voice was thready. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she bent closer, bringing her face to his. "Clark! Clark, you're okay, aren't you? Tell me you're okay! Please... Clark, you can't die on me!" His voice came as a whisper. "Lois, I love you." And then there was silence. His head fell to one side. And his hand slid away from hers. There was no heartbeat. Nothing but silence. Clark was dead. He couldn't be dead. There had to be something she could do, something to revive him. Her hands fumbled against his chest. No pulse. No pulse! Her face close to his, she could feel no breath against her lips. Nothing. Oh god, he needed help. She needed help! She screamed, but the crowd around her took a collective step backwards. Cowards! Load of cowards! Her hands framed his face and slid down to his throat, looking for his pulse, his warmth, a sign that he was still here with her, that he hadn't abandoned her... "You moron! What did you do that for? Let's get out of here. And take the stiff. I can't afford to be linked to a murder." She rose to her knees to look at Capone through blurry eyes. He wasn't paying attention to her. He was gesturing towards Clark and already Barrow was leaning down to grab her partner by the ankles. What were they doing? Her grip on Clark tightened. They would not take him away from her! Not when there was a chance he might be saved, somehow. There had to be a way. There had always been a way. They'd been in near-death situations countless times, and luck had always been on their side. Tonight wouldn't be different. Tonight had no reason to be different. Barrow ignored her protests and kept tugging Clark's body until she had to let go. Let go. Give up on the one man who had ever... She couldn't even face the truth. She collapsed to the dirty floor of the club and watched the gangsters drag Clark away from her and out of her sight. Out of her life. The only man who had ever really loved her was... Gone. ********* Clark tried to remain as still as possible as Capone and his goons carried him outside. Inside he was boiling, torn between his wish to go back to Lois and his need to protect a secret that had suddenly become too heavy to carry. He was dead. Clark was dead. And because no-one knew the truth about him - *could* know the truth - his life had just been ruined entirely. He'd had no choice but to ‰die'. And the realisation was slowly sinking in. He could never go back. The Daily Planet, his life in Metropolis, Lois... his life as Clark Kent *anywhere*, for that matter - were all lost to him. Forever. He would have to move on, as he'd done a dozen times before. Only this time it would be different: he would have to change his name, his identity, and ensure that nothing remained to connect him with the man he'd once been. And he had to leave Lois behind. Lois, the woman he loved. Lois, the only woman he'd ever loved. Lois, the only woman he would ever love. Now, he could never have her. He remembered her frantic sobs, her pleas to him to be okay. She really cared about him. But then, he'd known that. They were best friends. Had been best friends for at least a year now, despite a few hiccups along the way. Hiccups he'd long ago forgiven her for, just as she'd forgiven him for those he'd caused. And Lois now thought that her best friend was dead. That was why he'd said it - told her, once more, that he loved her. Knowing that he would have to pretend to be dead, that Clark Kent could never again be anywhere near Lois Lane, he hadn't wanted his last words to her to be anything else. Honesty, then, at the last second, as his parting gift to her. Whether or not she wanted to hear it, whether or not she returned his feelings, he loved her and he wanted her to know the truth. Pretending to die, after that, had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. Especially as he'd seen her tears, had even felt the moisture splash onto his face. But he'd had no choice: no human could have survived being shot at that range, and allowing himself to be exposed as Superman was simply not an option. Clark allowed himself a silent sigh, taking great care again to make no movement at all. He listened in to the conversation at the front of the car. Capone and Barrow were arguing; Bonnie was losing patience with both of them. He carefully opened an eye; Dillinger was there, too. Okay, so no-one had stayed at the club. With a bit of luck, the police would be there any minute, and Lois would be all right. The car screeched to a halt and his body moved forward, violently hitting the front seats. He felt a rush of cold air, a pair of hands seizing his arms, and then the hard ground beneath him. The sound of tyres announced the departure of the car. Silence again. He opened his eyes at last, making sure he was alone before he got to his feet and brushed down his suit. Well, at least they hadn't thrown him into Hobb's Bay or tried to cut him down to pieces. That was something. He reached down inside the hole in his shirt to retrieve the bullet that had hit him. At least the good thing was that his clothes had prevented it from bouncing off and maybe hurting someone else. Maybe hurting Lois... Oh god. Lois. No matter how much he told himself that the truly dangerous crowd had left with him, he'd still left her in an illegal gambling club, surrounded by people who were barely worthier of her trust than Capone and his gang. Spinning into the suit, he took off full speed towards the South side. Finding the club was easy - it was surrounded by police cars. Lois... Where was Lois? Handcuffed members were being led away. He scanned the crowd of bystanders: people in their pyjamas, probably from the buildings around. Lois! He wanted to call her name. The club was empty, bar a forensic officer who was examining the floor where a body had so briefly lain. His body. Standing next to that scene was a woman in red, wrapped in a blanket and in Henderson's arms. Without thinking, he walked into the club. He heard an officer call to him, but ignored it. Lois was there. Lois needed him. She looked up at him as he approached. Her cheeks were tear- stained. Her eyes were bright. Her lips were trembling. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was cold. Colder than he'd ever heard. Colder than he'd even imagined. He froze. "You're too late, Superman. Too late!" She pushed herself out of Henderson's embrace, letting the blanket fall to the floor. "He was the *only* man who ever mattered to me, and he's *dead*! Dead! Do you understand that? Dead! Clark's dead! And you didn't save him! You saved me countless times, but when it truly mattered, you weren't there!" Her fist connected with his chest, then he felt her pummel him repeatedly. She'd lowered her head so he couldn't see her face, but he could hear her sobs as she kept on hitting him. He grabbed her hands and pulled her against him, trying to give her comfort in an embrace that was obviously not welcome. She struggled out. He let her go. "You weren't there!" "Lois, even Superman can't be everywhere at once." The dry tones, laced for once with sympathy, of Inspector Henderson drew Clark's attention. "So what was more important than saving Clark's life?" Lois demanded, her voice shaking. "I... uh..." Clark stopped abruptly, realising that he was behaving in a distinctly un-Supermanlike manner in front of Lois. But then, she was behaving in a way she never before had to the Man of Steel. She'd never before treated him with anything other than respect verging on awe - along with, of course, liking and even flirtatiousness. She'd never questioned him. She'd never challenged his priorities. She'd never accused him of putting anything before saving a life. But then, she'd never seen her best friend shot dead in front of her before. "Lois, I'm sorry," he said softly, catching and holding her gaze. Fresh tears were falling from wet brown eyes; her lashes were damp as she stared back at him. "Sorry isn't going to bring Clark back!" "I know," he acknowledged. "Lois, if I could change anything about what happened here tonight, don't you know that I would?" She continued to stare belligerently at him, but after a few moments she bit her lip and her gaze fell. "You... He was your friend too, wasn't he?" Feeling like a hypocrite, Clark just nodded. Behind Lois, Henderson shifted slightly, and Clark seized on the opportunity. "Inspector, is there anything I can help with?" The policeman shook his head. "As you can see, it's all over. The suspects had left the scene long before we got here. There's an APB out on them and officers are scouring the city. Oh, and they took Kent's body with them. So obviously we want to recover that too. Chances are they'll have dumped it." "Him!" Lois exclaimed. As both Clark and Henderson turned to look at her, she added, "Clark may be dead, but he still deserves respect. Don't call him ‰it'!" "I'm sorry, Lois." Henderson's tone was soft, his manner completely unlike anything Clark had witnessed previously from the laconic, hard-bitten detective. It was a mark, Clark thought, of the genuine respect and liking he had for Lois. And probably for himself too. "I could help with the search," Clark offered. He should have thought of that anyway - Barrow and the others needed to be apprehended before they caused any further damage or injury. They were all very dangerous criminals and, while Capone hadn't been at all happy with Barrow for killing someone, it was clearly the fact that the murder had been committed on premises owned by Capone which had angered him. A murder which couldn't be traced back to any of the gangsters wouldn't trouble him at all. He'd expected Henderson to agree that Superman's help would be very welcome. But instead the detective glanced discreetly, but somewhat pointedly, at Lois. And Clark realised that he wanted him to stay with her. There was nothing he wanted more, of course. Lois was upset and grieving, and he'd considered it his prerogative over the past year to comfort her when she needed it. But that was as Clark, not as Superman. Clark could never comfort her any more. Wasn't it time he started getting used to that? And anyway, regardless of his own inclinations, what was the best use of Superman right now? There were other people Lois could call on. There were other people she'd prefer to be with, no doubt. He touched her arm, and she glanced up at him again. "Lois, can I take you somewhere? Or call someone for you?" She shook her head and took a step backwards, bumping into Henderson. "Superman will take you home, Lois," the detective said. "Make sure you drop by tomorrow morning, but tonight I think you've had enough questions and it's time you got some rest." Clark extended his hand towards her. She ignored it. She watched Henderson leave the room, then she lowered her head, and he watched the tears trail down her cheeks. He wanted to close the distance between them and take her in his arms. He wanted to take the pain away, tell her everything would be okay. Nothing would be okay. Nothing would be okay again. He was dead. Clark was dead. There was nothing he could do to bring him back, nothing to comfort his best friend and partner. The truth? Could he really tell her the truth when Clark was well and truly gone, when there was no way to bring him back? Maybe he owed her the truth... Maybe - "Let's get this over with." She was standing in front of him, determination on her face, coldness in her eyes. "Take me home." Wordlessly, he wrapped her in his arms and took off. ********* Lois had never thought she wouldn't enjoy a flight with Superman, but tonight there was nothing she wished more than for it to be over. She wanted to push him away; his closeness was unbearable. She wanted to yell at him, insult him, tell him about the pain scorching her heart because of him... he'd let her down when it counted most. He'd let Clark die. He might just as well have killed him. Her muscles were hurting from the tension she felt, and she was aware of the worried glances he gave her now and then. He cared, didn't he? He cared about *her*. He didn't care about Clark. He had never cared about Clark. He had claimed to be a friend to both, and he had saved her too many times to count. But the one time Clark had needed him, he hadn't been anywhere in sight. He had let the man die... A shudder ran down her spine. No matter how much she had hated Lex, no matter how glad she was that he was dead, part of her had always wondered where Superman had been while Lex had jumped off the LexCorp building. She'd always ignored that nagging question, especially during the campaign led against her superhero, but tonight... Tonight, in reflection of Clark's death and Superman's conspicuous absence, she couldn't help but wonder why Metropolis's Man of Steel hadn't been there to save either man. She didn't care about Lex. He could rot in hell for all she cared. But Clark... Clark had meant everything to her. He had been her partner. He had been her best friend. He had been... She didn't know if he had been more than that. She hadn't had enough time to find out. Superman pushed her window open and let her slide to her feet. She didn't linger in his embrace. Pushing him away and murmuring a ‰thank you' she didn't mean, she started towards the bedroom, only to feel a steel grip around her arm. She froze. "Lois..." Not that voice. Please, not that voice. Sometimes he reminded her of Clark. But if she turned around, her best friend wouldn't be standing there. Instead would be the man who had let him get shot. Instead would be the man responsible for his death. The grip on her arm softened, and she realised she was shaking. That voice. Clark's voice. Clark's last words. Clark had loved her. How dare Superman speak to her in anything like Clark's voice? "Lois, you shouldn't be alone." That was more like it. It was Superman's voice. She turned her head, knowing that she would see the man in the Spandex. But the expression on his face... She had never before seen Superman look like that. Bleak. His face was drawn, pale - almost grey, even. And his eyes... He looked like a man who had just lost his best friend. How could she have thought that Superman didn't care? He obviously cared. He was hurting a great deal. And, she realised, it was probably far worse for him because he could have saved Clark, but he hadn't. He hadn't been there. He was blaming himself. Just as she was blaming herself for having dragged Clark there to the club in the first place. And for having attracted Dillinger's attention to herself, leading to Clyde pulling the gun. "Superman." Her voice was shaky, but it was the best she could do. "Yes?" "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blamed you. It wasn't your fault either." He blinked. "Either?" "I... I've been blaming myself..." "You?" He looked appalled. "How could it have been your fault? Lois, you can't - " "Can't blame myself? You mean I shouldn't wish that I'd never insisted we go to that club? I shouldn't wish I hadn't - " The hand on her arm slid up, and then he was cupping her shoulder. With a gulping sob, Lois threw herself into the willing, waiting arms. They closed around her and she cried, bitter, heartwrenching tears for the loss of her friend. The man who had loved her. The man... she had loved. "That's right, Lois. Cry," Superman encouraged gently. His head lowered until she could feel his cheek resting against her hair. And she cried until there were no tears left. A long time later, she drew back, looking up at Superman through eyes blurry with tears. "He loved me, Superman. Clark. He loved me." "I know." Again, the hero's voice shook. "I know, Lois." "He told me," she said jerkily. "That was the last thing he said to me. He... he was lying there... he had to have been in pain... he was dying. He knew he was dying. He... he held my hand and he told me... he loved me." "Clark always loved you, Lois." He released her and stepped back, though still remaining close - close enough to touch. Superman sounded so very sure. And Lois supposed that he would know - because, no matter what crazy ideas had been occurring to her earlier, the two men had been friends. No doubt they'd talked about her. And, yes, Clark had loved her. She'd always known that, somehow. Even though he'd taken back his declaration of love last summer - and that had hurt - she'd been aware that he still had deep feelings for her. She was the one who had been unsure... Not unsure. Afraid. "I wasted the best chance I ever had, Superman," she said miserably. "What do you mean?" "Clark. I... I did love him too, Superman. But I was too scared to tell him. And I thought we'd have all the time in the world... I thought I'd never lose him. And now... now he's dead and I'll never know what it's like to be loved by him." "Oh, Lois..." A groan escaped Superman, and he gathered her close to him again. Held tightly in his arms, Lois gazed up at him. There was such tenderness in his eyes as he looked down at her; such care and consideration. They were both grieving, of that she had no doubt. And, despite her insistence earlier that she didn't want Superman anywhere near her, now she knew that there was no-one else she would rather be with right now. The distance between them was narrowing; she had no idea whether it was her doing or his. But, suddenly, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to raise her lips to his. And for him to dip his head to meet her. And then they were kissing. Deeply, madly, passionately, as their tears mingled and they shared their grief for the loss of their friend. ******** If Lois still felt any of the bitterness she had displayed for him earlier, it didn't show in the way she kissed him, in the way her body pushed into his, in the way she leaned onto him until he knelt on the floor, taking her with him as he lay on his back. Her lips never leaving his, she levered herself on her hands to settle fully onto him. Trembling hands reached down to unfasten the belt at his waist while his fingers clumsily tugged at the straps of her dress. Time. They'd wasted enough time. There was no time. No time to think. No time to get undressed. He needed her. Now. He needed to feel the love she claimed to have for him, to feel the comfort of the woman who meant the world to him. He needed her to remind him that he was still alive. He needed to wipe the tears from her face and give her everything he owned. Everything he was. Everything he used to be. Everything he still was. He buried his face in her neck, stroking her skin with his lips and tongue, seeking oblivion. He found it in her kiss and moans of pleasure. Her movements were getting more and more desperate against him, and he rolled them over until he was pushing her onto the soft carpet of her living-room floor. There was no hesitation as they kissed and stroked and reached beyond all the boundaries that had kept them apart until that night. ********* Breathless and covered in sweat, Lois sat up to straighten her dress and cover her half-naked body. The hand of her lover, warm and comforting, reached up to her shoulder. She felt a shiver run down her spine. Self-consciousness and horror assailed her, and she shrugged away from his touch. She knew he was looking at her. She knew her rejection must hurt him... She'd made love to Superman. No... no, there had been no love involved. She'd had sex with Superman. Nothing more to it. Their coupling had been fast, without much in the way of foreplay or finesse. Neither had wanted to linger. Neither had wanted to wait. But they hadn't made love. There was only one man she could ever make love with, and that man was gone. Gone forever. Dead. Superman tugged her back to lie against him, and she didn't find the strength to resist. Her energy spent, her hope gone, she laid her head against his shoulder and tried to get her breathing under control. Thoughts and emotions cascaded in her mind. She had fantasised about this moment for so long. Ever since she had met Superman, she had believed that he was the one man she had always waited for, that if he ever felt about her the way she felt about him, she would touch happiness, grab it with both hands and never let it go. She'd had what she wanted, hadn't she? She'd had exactly what she had always dreamt of. But none of her expectations had found an answer in his lovemaking. Oh, it had been passionate all right. Passionate, but frantic and mingling with the regrets, grief and sorrow they both felt tonight. She had made love to Superman, but she couldn't shake Clark out of her mind. Every kiss, every touch had reminded her that she should have been with the man she truly loved. With the man she would always love. With the man she could never have. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and Superman hugged her tighter against him. He was so perceptive, so attuned to her needs... That was one thing he had in common with Clark. Clark had always known when she needed comfort; he had always known when to offer a hug or a mug or coffee, or when to stay away because she needed her space. He had known her better than anyone else. He had been her best friend. He could have been so much more. Making love with Clark would have been... different. Oh yes, so very different. He would have told her how much he loved her. He would have kissed her, his hands framing her face and caressing her. He would have driven her wild with desire and the magic of being with the man you love. He would have been the one. Clark had loved her. Quietly. Unselfishly. He had put her needs before his, going as far as taking back his declaration of love when he felt his feelings weren't welcome. He had salvaged their friendship even if it meant he had to suffer from her indifference. And when death had come to claim him, his last thought had been for her and the love he felt for her. His feelings had been pure and unselfish, exactly like him. There couldn't be two men like Clark Kent. He was one of a kind. He was a man she had learned to trust and rely on. She hadn't been afraid of being dependent on him, because she had known that he would never take advantage of her. And she loved him. She loved him so very much. It had taken his death for her to realise how deep her feelings for him were. She had buried them for too long. She had waited until it was too late to admit to herself that she felt a lot more than friendship for Clark. Now that she couldn't have him any more, she loved him without restraint and without fear. And she'd just betrayed his memory by giving herself to Superman... Why had she done it? It was her own fault. She couldn't blame Superman - he was a man, after all, like any other, as he'd told her once upon a time. She'd handed herself to him on a plate. She'd done that once before, and he'd rejected her. This time, he hadn't - but then, as she'd recognised, he'd been grieving too. She was the one who'd initiated the kiss. She had pushed him for more. She had given him no choice but to slide to the floor and take her with him. She had wanted him. No; she had wanted Clark. But Clark hadn't been there. Wasn't there. Would never be there any more. And in that moment, for some reason, Superman had seemed like the closest thing she could have to the man she loved. The next best thing. Even his voice sounded like Clark's sometimes. And so she'd grasped at something which, even in a little way, reminded her of Clark. And, in doing so, she'd made a huge mistake. She'd had sex with Superman, and now she felt... Empty. Ashamed. And even more grief-stricken than she'd been before. She loved Clark. And even having Superman could never make up for what she'd lost. She pulled away from her lover's embrace and got to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself. And, as she did so, she realised that the embrace was a mockery, a memory of the way Clark used to hold her when she cried. The way Clark would never hold her again. Lois was aware of Superman sitting up and straightening his own clothing, of his gaze on her. But she didn't turn around. All she wanted now was for him to go. She needed to be alone. ********* Clark stood, securing the remaining fastenings on his Suit as he did so. The Suit - a reminder, if he needed any, that he was here with Lois as Superman. Not as Clark. He would never be with her as Clark again. And that was something he needed to remember. Starting now. Making love with her, wonderful as it had been, had been a terrible mistake. He'd taken advantage of a distressed woman, clearly out of her mind with grief. It was no excuse to say that she'd started it, she'd reached for him first, that she'd been the one to start tugging at his clothing. He could have stopped her. He hadn't had to cooperate. But he had, and now he had to deal with the consequences. Including Lois - who was now looking as if the last place she wanted to be was here, with him. Oh well. As much as he'd dreamed so often of making love with Lois, and in his dreams it had always been amazing, the best experience of his life, there'd been times when, in his dreams, she'd laughed at his inexperience or just awkwardly told him that he had a lot to learn before he could give her the sort of pleasure that she expected - needed - from lovemaking. And perhaps that was what she was thinking; perhaps it really hadn't been that wonderful for her. Perhaps making love with him had done nothing to take away the pain, after all. Her pain. Because she thought Clark was dead, and because - as she'd told him - she loved him. Loved Clark. The thought came to him suddenly, causing joy to course through him. He could tell her. Let her know that Clark wasn't dead at all. That he was here, with her, and he loved her too. But, as abruptly as it had come, the impulse vanished. What could he offer her? Clark *had* to be dead. He'd been gunned down in front of witnesses, at point-blank range. The most Clark Kent could now offer Lois was a relationship behind closed doors, or a new life away from everything she loved and held dear, even her own identity and profession. He couldn't do that to her. And the alternative - a relationship with her as Superman - was impossible to contemplate. Assuming, of course, that she would even consider it. It would put her at too much risk. And anyway, how could he possibly be that close to her and not tell her the truth? Or let something slip? The kindest thing to do was to let her continue to believe that Clark was dead. He crossed to her, laying a hand gently on her shoulder. "Lois?" There was a lengthy pause before she finally said, "Yes, Superman?" "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I never should have allowed that to happen. I... feel I took advantage of you." She didn't turn around. "You didn't take advantage of me. You could just as easily say I took advantage of you." The lack of emotion in her voice worried him. She wasn't okay. He knew that. And yet she wasn't letting him see how she really was. "I feel responsible, Lois," he persisted, unable to allow her to absolve him of blame. "Nobody's responsible," she said immediately. "If you want to blame somebody, blame Clyde Barrow. And, by the way, Superman," she added tightly, "if you really want to help me, you'd help the police find those gangsters. I want Clark's murderer behind bars. It won't bring him back, but at least I'll know that the bastard can't hurt anyone else!" She was right. That was something he definitely should be doing. But he still felt unsure about leaving her alone in her current state. He hesitated. "Look, Superman." She swung abruptly around to face him. Her expression was shuttered, her eyes devoid of emotion. "It was a one-time thing, okay? From the way you sound, you regret it as much as I do. Don't worry - I don't want an affair with you. I'd rather we both just forgot all about this. I... I still consider you a friend. I still want to be your friend, but..." "But nothing more," Clark finished, the lump of ice in his stomach swelling. "I understand, Lois. And you know you'll always be my friend. Okay, if you're sure I can't do anything else for you..." "Just go, Superman," she said quietly, bleakly. "I... there are things I need to do anyway. Thank you for... for being there for me." He longed to take her in his arms again - to hug her, hold her against him until the tears came again and he could kiss them away. He longed to tell her how much he loved her, and would always love her. Most of all, he longed to tell her the truth - that he was Clark. But it was too late for the truth, and so all that he could do was follow her wishes. With a soft "Goodbye, Lois. Call me if you need me," he left. *********** Walking into the Daily Planet newsroom was a lot harder than Lois had bargained when she'd got ready for work that morning. Her daily routine had allowed her to keep her thoughts away from the previous evening... and the previous night. But as soon as she stepped off the elevator, Clark's death assailed her through the silence of her co-workers and the void at his desk. His nameplate was still there... the picture of his parents... his notepad. From the moment he'd been hired here, Clark had brought personal stuff to work. She'd once made fun of the useless knick-knacks on his desk. She'd made fun of lots of things that made him the man he was. The man she'd come to love... She resolutely turned her gaze away from his desk and sank onto her chair. She booted her computer and pulled up the notes that she and Clark had taken the previous day. Notes on their story. Notes on the story that had got her partner killed. Her finger traced his neat handwriting and she smiled, remembering her annoyance at his interference when she'd been trying to concentrate on their investigation - who cared if robbery was spelled with one or two ‰b's? That kind of thing had been part of their partnership, something they were both used to; something that had become a game between them. "Lois?" She looked up to see Perry approach her carefully. His expression betrayed his state of mind. He was grieving, too. Probably just as he would be grieving if she'd been shot. She should have been shot. She should have been Barrow's target. Clark had done nothing but protect her. He had died for her. He had - "You didn't have to come in today." "I couldn't stay home," she whispered through her tears. "I just kept thinking about Clark... lying there." And Superman... and herself... lying there, in the middle of her living-room, losing themselves in each other's arms and trampling on Clark's memory. "I feel like it's all my fault that he was killed." "Oh, honey, you can't blame yourself. You had no way of knowing what was gonna happen." "No. He died trying to protect me." She looked up at Perry's concerned face. "In one... lousy second, I lost my partner... and my best friend." She'd lost him. Forever. Clark was dead, and he wouldn't come back. Oh god, he wouldn't come back! And... and she'd been too stupid, too *blind* to tell him how she really felt. "He died without ever knowing... I never told him..." "Lane?" Henderson stood across from her desk, looking ill-at-ease. She nodded to him, trying to reassure him that it was okay, that she was a professional, that she could handle this. "You think you could give me a statement now?" She nodded, and gestured to the detective to pull up a chair beside her desk. Slowly, haltingly, she went through the events again, and then another time while Henderson asked her questions to jog her memory and to ensure that she wasn't leaving anything out. Wanting it over with as quickly as possible, she then called Jimmy over to take Henderson to a computer he could use to type it up - amazingly, the detective made no objection to being expected to play the typist. When he returned, she grabbed the printed sheet he was handing out to her and wrote her name with trembling fingers. She tried her hardest not to re-read what she'd said - she didn't need the reminder. The previous night was still too vivid in her mind, every second playing out over and over and screaming at her that she could have prevented it, that she could have saved Clark's life. If only she'd listened to him when he'd warned her that it was dangerous! If only she hadn't wasted time playing on a slot machine when they had entered the club to work! If only she hadn't stayed rooted to the spot when Dillinger tried to make a pass at her. A few tae-kwon-do moves would have taken care of him in no time. Instead, she'd let Clark get involved. She'd let him protect her. And now he was dead. And even though it was her fault, even though he had to know that he'd given his life for her, his last thoughts, his last words had been for her. Those words, whispered as he was dying in her arms, would haunt her for the rest of her life. "Henderson?" The voice of Steven, assistant-editor, broke through her thoughts. "There's a call for you on line two." Henderson grabbed her phone and started jotting down notes on her day planner. He left almost immediately, having torn half a page and... and left a mark on the next one. She could make out the address he'd written. Capone's address. Barrow's address... ********* Clark had spent the day flying around the city, saving more cats in trees than he had ever done in his Superman career. At least the activity had kept his mind off the previous evening. Mostly. His thoughts kept returning to the hours he had spent with Lois. He had taken advantage of her. She had been grieving and vulnerable, and he had kissed her, caressed her... made love to her. They'd made love. It had been totally unlike he'd ever dreamt of - passionate, yes... but not loving and tender like he had always pictured it in his fantasies. He'd been starving for her, so much that her needs had come second to his. He'd been selfish. Incredibly selfish. Lois had wanted - needed - comfort from him. And that was what he should have given her. That was *all* he should have given her. What on earth had made him think that she'd wanted sex, of all things? his cynical inner voice suggested. But that wasn't fair. He'd known - who better? - that she wasn't her usual self. She'd been torn apart by grief and guilt. She hadn't known what she was doing. And he'd been too blinded by his own needs to *think* about what he was doing. He hadn't thought. Even now, those few minutes - seconds, even - before they'd ended up on the floor were a hazy blur. He perched on top of a skyscraper and sighed. There was no point in going over and over what had happened. It should never have happened. Oh, sure, it had been one of the best experiences of his life - but in the worst possible circumstances. Lois was right. They should both try to pretend that it had never happened. Certainly, they would never speak of it again. It was time to put it behind him and move on. But that led to another problem - exactly what was ‰moving on'? Clark Kent was dead and gone. Only Superman remained of the life he'd made for himself in Metropolis. The trouble with that, though, was that he'd always been far more than just Superman. He'd long known that the hero in the Spandex would drive him crazy if he didn't have another life besides that one. There was only so much rescuing people he could do, after all. Well, that wasn't strictly true. He was pretty sure that, if he really did become Superman full time, he could find enough work to keep him busy - it was a large and dangerous world, after all. But it was no life for him. He needed something more than that. He needed interaction with people who knew him - *him*, the man, not the superhero - and whom he cared about. Otherwise he might as well be the robot, the automaton without feelings, that some of the media portrayed him as. So... he needed a life. But it couldn't be as Clark Kent. And it couldn't be anywhere he was known, or might be recognised. So he couldn't go back to Smallville, except for very discreet visits - he'd already spoken to his parents and explained the situation to them, and they'd been shocked but understanding. He hadn't told them about what had happened with Lois, of course... but then, he couldn't imagine telling anyone about that. Where to go, then? London? Paris? Prague? Lagos? Moscow? Beijing? Tokyo? He spoke the native languages of each city fluently, so that wouldn't be a problem. More difficult would be re- establishing himself as a journalist, since he couldn't use Clark Kent's resume. He could just try to be a writer - a freelance columnist, a travel writer, a novelist, even. But he couldn't seem to summon up enthusiasm for any of those places, any of those roles. The trouble was that he wanted his own life back. And he couldn't have it. What he could do, he realised suddenly, was what Lois had asked him to do. Catch Barrow and the others. And then a trivial detail from his research on the gangsters' past returned to him... Dillinger was a movie buff. It was a long shot, but still... Half an hour later, he'd covered all the cinemas and multiplexes in the city and he'd hit pay dirt. Sitting cross-legged in the air above a city-centre cinema, he waited patiently for the feature to end. Ten minutes after it did, he'd terrified John Dillinger so much that the man had given him the address of the gangsters' hideout. He deposited Dillinger into Henderson's custody, giving the detective the address on Old North Road; he'd decided to leave it to the police to raid the hideout. Given his current feelings about Clyde Barrow, his ‰murderer', Clark didn't trust himself anywhere near the gangster. Henderson already had the address, though, and he'd had a team keeping watch on the place since mid- morning. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the gangsters were captured, a fact which gave Clark considerable pleasure. He was just beginning to think that he should go to Smallville and spend some time with his parents, discussing what options were open to him, when a faint cry pierced his super-sensitive hearing. "Help! Superman!" A familiar voice. A *very* familiar voice... calling for him! Clark shot into hyper-speed, shooting across the city sky as fast as he was capable, all the time wondering just what danger Lois had got herself into this time. A vat of liquid cement! And it was already up to her chin. Horrified, he darted down and pulled her out, along with a man whom he quickly realised was Emil Hamilton, the scientist responsible for resurrecting the gangsters in the first place. Hamilton quickly brushed off the cement and scurried off, leaving Clark alone with Lois. "Are you okay?" he asked her, a lot less calmly than he felt. Her voice was shaky, telling him a lot about how shook up she'd been. "A lot better than I was ten seconds ago. Thanks, Superman." "Any time," he said automatically. "Who did this to you?" "Al Capone," she said briefly. At his quizzical expression, she added, "I found their hideout." "And they found you?" he questioned. Typical Lois - rushing into danger with both feet as always. And getting caught. How could he possibly leave Metropolis? If he moved somewhere else, spent most of his time somewhere else, who would be around to protect Lois from the consequences of her actions? Who would save her when she cried for help? "Yes, they found me," she said dryly. "Nice detective work, Columbo." Clark winced at the sarcasm. No, Lois hadn't forgotten last night yet either, and it looked like, no matter how convincing she had tried to sound when she'd claimed that nobody was responsible for it, she was blaming him. "Anyway, I'm fine now." The message was loud and clear. That was his cue to leave. He wasn't needed any more. She didn't want to see him, let alone talk to him. He nodded at her, then took flight again. He would keep an eye on her from the air and make sure she got home - or back to the Planet - okay. ********* Lois made her way into her apartment with a sigh of relief. So much for getting rid of Superman... he'd followed her to the Planet, of course. He must have guessed her intentions, or figured out something was up, or... whatever it was that alerted him she might be in trouble. And, all right, she could have ended up in trouble. All right, Capone had ordered his goons to fire at the whole Planet staff gathered for the paper's sixtieth anniversary. All right, she could have been killed. Big deal. He'd been there. He'd flown through the window and caught every single bullet at super speed. Every single one of them. No-one had been hit. Why hadn't he caught the bullet that had taken Clark away from her? She sunk onto the couch with a strangled sob. Why hadn't he saved Clark? Why? *Why*? The phone rang, startling her. She grabbed it with the firm intention of lashing out in anger at whoever was disturbing her now, when Martha Kent's soft tones greeted her. Martha. Clark's mother. A mother who had probably spent the previous night crying over the death of her only child, while... She turned away from the floor by the window, where she'd dealt with her grief with Superman less than twenty-four hours before. What could you say to a grieving mother? What could you say when you were the one responsible for her son's death? She probably knew. The police must have told her about the circumstances of Clark's death. Martha knew that she was the one to blame for her son's murder. Oh god... "I called to ask how you were," Martha said, taking her by surprise. "The police officer who called us last night mentioned you were there when it happened, and - " "Martha, I'm so sorry! About... about everything. It was my fault, all my fault. Clark tried to convince me that it was a bad idea, but as usual I didn't listen to him and - " "Lois, you're not blaming yourself over what happened, are you?" The breath she exhaled was probably enough of answer, for Martha went on. "Oh, honey, you can't torture yourself! Nobody could have had any idea that this would happen. Not even Clark." "I dragged him into that club, Martha. He wouldn't have gone if it wasn't for me. And he tried to protect me. That's why he died." "Just like you would have died protecting him if your roles had been reversed." How could Martha be so calm? How could she find the words to comfort her when she should be the one in grief? When she should be the one blaming her for the death of her son? "Martha..." She paused, unsure of her next words. No matter how steady Martha's voice sounded over the phone, she was probably more grief-stricken than she was letting on. Now was not the time to burden her with more. And yet... she wanted Clark's mother to know what his last words had been. She wanted to share them with her, also to make sure she hadn't dreamt them, maybe to get confirmation that Clark had really felt that way about her. More than anything, though, she wanted Martha to know how she had felt about Clark. How she still felt about him. "Lois?" "Martha, Clark said..." But would have Clark wanted his mother to know? And did Clark's mother want to know about that kind of thing? How would she react? She seemed to like her, true, but maybe not as someone her son had been in love with. Maybe - "Clark said?" "Clark said he loved me," she blurted out at last. "Before... before he... died. He said he loved me." "Oh, honey," Martha said gently. "Clark's always loved you. More than anything, you were what tied him to Metropolis." Lois felt tears welling up again. He'd always loved her? And she hadn't known? Or, more honestly, hadn't been willing to admit that she knew. And... "You mean... if it hadn't been for me, he might not have been here? He might still be alive?" she demanded, choking out the words. "Lois, you know you can't think like that! Just remember that Clark had never been so happy as he was working with you at the Planet. He loved working with you and spending time with you." Martha was right. Lois knew it - she'd always known that Clark loved being with her. He'd always shown real pleasure whenever she'd suggested spending time together socially, and he'd gone out of his way to ensure that she enjoyed whatever they did together. If only she'd let him see how much she enjoyed spending time in his company too... "I'll always miss him, Martha," she said after a pause. "We know you will, honey. And any time you want to call us, or come and see us, you just pick up the phone, you hear?" "I will. And... thanks, Martha. Oh, this feels so wrong!" Lois exclaimed. "What does?" "You comforting me - it should be the other way around!" "Talking with you is a comfort to us. Believe me," Martha assured her. ********* "Why did you say that to her?" Clark exclaimed in frustration. "Say what?" "That she could come and visit any time!" "Clark, the poor girl's torn apart with grief. What did you expect? That we'd just ignore her?" "Mom! Lois can't come here!" "Why? Because you're hiding out here?" his mom retorted. "Of course!" he exclaimed; it was obvious, wasn't it? "Clark, son, you can't hide here for ever, and you know it," his father interjected. "We've already had a couple of close calls - as it is, Patty Banks only just missed seeing you when she dropped by earlier. Besides, it's no life for you - being Superman most of the time, and only being yourself behind closed doors with us." "I know you and Mom want me to go back to Metropolis," Clark said wearily; they'd been around this discussion several times already that day. "But I can't - dozens of people saw Clark Kent shot dead at point-blank range. And Lois was one of them. There's no way I can just reappear." He shook his head. "I know I have to decide what to do - and the only idea that's occurring to me is to change my identity and start again on the other side of the world." "You can't be serious, Clark -" "I was thinking maybe Indonesia..." "Clark Jerome Kent!" Clark looked in resignation at his mother. He'd known that his parents wouldn't be happy, but what choice did he have? He began to say so, but he was interrupted again. "Clark, your father and I really think that you should consider telling Lois the truth." He froze. It wasn't as if the thought of confessing everything to Lois hadn't occurred to him at least a hundred times since that split-second decision to play dead. But there'd been a time for that, and that time had been before he'd made love to her. How could he possibly tell her now that Superman was Clark Kent? That the man she'd cried painful tears of grief over was alive after all - and had stood there and watched her sob her heart out over him? That he'd held her while she'd cried, and had kissed her, and then had... Had explored her body, touched her intimately, made love to her. All on the floor of her living-room while she'd still been weeping over his death. If he told her the truth now, she'd tear him limb from limb. Never mind that he was invulnerable - Lois would murder him. And she'd have every right. He'd been very touched to hear Lois's reaction to his 'deathbed' declaration of love. It seemed as if it had really meant something to her. But how would she react, how would she feel about that, if she discovered that he'd been lying to her all along? That he'd pretended to be dead and let her believe it despite her grief? That he'd stood there and watched her cry over him? That he'd even listened to her obvious emotion over the fact that he'd told her that he loved her, and yet hadn't told her the truth? That he, while claiming to love her, had taken advantage of her grief in an unforgivable way? She would never forgive him. And she would be fully entitled not to - he didn't deserve forgiveness. Realising that his parents were still waiting for an answer, he shook his head. "I can't, Mom. I just can't tell her now - not after standing by and just watching her last night and saying nothing. But anyway," he added, before they could object, "what good would it do? I'd still have to pretend to be dead." "She is your partner, Clark," his father pointed out. "And she's won... how many Kerths?" "Three," he supplied. "But I won one this year." "The point is, she's a great investigative reporter. And you two are a team. Together, you're the best there is. And if anyone's going to be able to work out a way to explain how Clark Kent can be apparently shot dead and yet still be alive, that's you and Lois. That's why we think you should tell her." One look at his parents' faces was enough to tell that arguing would be useless. They were obviously convinced that his only way out was through talking to Lois and telling her the whole truth. And he probably would have agreed if it weren't for the previous night. "I'll think about it," he said, to avoid further discussion. His parents were not fooled by his lukewarm reaction to their idea, but at least they didn't push the matter. "Anyway, I'd better get back." "You take care, honey," his mother said, giving him a hug. "And let us know what you decide to do." ********* There were so many places Lois Lane wished to be, but the set of abandoned warehouses on Hobb's Bay was certainly not one of them. She'd followed the same lead all day long, checking out with sources that she was on the right track and preparing tonight's search. The police still hadn't found Clark's body, and she knew that she would get no rest until someone found it. Until *she* found it. Barrow and the rest of the gang had been arrested; that should make her feel better, she knew. But Clark was still missing. Clark was still missing. And until he was found, Lois knew that she would never be able to find closure. She would never be able to say goodbye. Martha had mentioned a memorial service being held at some point in the future, though when asked, she'd been very non-committal on when that would be. A memorial... that was all they could give him. He was the best man she'd ever met, and he wouldn't even get a proper place to rest in peace. Who knew where his body was now? Under the murky waters of Hobb's Bay? In one of those dark alleys that you found all over the South Side? Or... or maybe in one of these warehouses she was exploring. She could stumble onto his body any minute. That flashlight wasn't much help when it was pitch dark outside and the city council hadn't bothered replacing the broken bulbs in the few lampposts around here. She dreaded finding him. Yet, if anyone had to find Clark, then better herself than someone who would take him for an anonymous corpse. So far though, she had explored three of those large empty buildings and found nothing. Nothing at all. She heard a muted sound behind her back. Reflexes made her switch off her flashlight and duck behind a crate. There were footsteps, then a voice whispering words too low for her to hear. Another voice answered just as quietly. Lois stayed in her improvised hideout and held her breath. Whoever had entered the warehouse after her, there was a big chance they were up to no good. What else could bring someone to lurk around such a deserted place at this time of the night? So much for thinking that she could lead her own search in peace. She didn't feel like having another investigation on her hands. Not right now. She should be appalled that a job that had always been her escape when she felt down suddenly didn't appeal to her, but she didn't care. Her job was so closely linked to Clark that it was not an escape any more. She started every time the elevator chimed in the newsroom. She kept looking towards what had been his desk, half-expecting him to smile back at her. There was no corner of the newsroom that didn't remind her of him. Tears pricked her eyes; pride made her swallow them back. She had spent enough time crying over Clark's death. The one thing she could do was keep working at what had always mattered to them. Clark had wanted to make the world a better place; he had believed, probably naively, that even mere reporters like the two of them could make a difference by putting criminals behind bars. She hadn't been much use in putting Capone and his gang in jail; all she'd managed to do was get herself in trouble and have Superman rescue her once more. Superman. A man she was eternally indebted to. A man who had failed to save her best friend. A man she had once loved... She shook her head and focused her attention back to the men who had interrupted her quest. She would prove that she still had what it took to be a great reporter. She had been the best before Clark came along. True, their partnership had been the best year of her life and had made her feel stronger, but she wasn't finished just because he wasn't by her side any more. She would prove to him - and herself - that she was still the best. She rose to her knees and peered over the crate concealing her from the men's sight. Damn it! Their faces were hidden in shadows, and their voices were still too muffled for her to hear what they were talking about. She could make out the shape of something that looked like a thick envelope. Frustration made her shift. The muted sound of her toes connecting to the crate in front of her was enough to silence the two men she'd been observing. She held back a yelp of pain and crouched back into the darkness. Too late. Their steps were getting closer now. They would find her... ********* Home at last. Or what was left of it, Clark thought as the lights of Metropolis appeared on the horizon. He increased his speed, eager to get back to his apartment and get some sleep. He hadn't taken the time to rest in over two days. Not that he could have found any sleep if he'd tried. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of Lois's body lying beneath his was haunting his mind and filling him with remorse. The sound of her heartbeat racing against his chest made his head spin. Her heartbeat... Oh god, he wasn't imagining it. Her heartbeat was resounding in his ears, fast and furious. She was scared. She was in danger. Lois! He dove towards the South Side and the dark waters of Hobb's Bay. What in the world was she doing there in the middle of the night? It took only seconds for him to spot her shivering form hiding behind a crate. Two suspicious-looking men were tiptoeing towards her. They'd find her in no time, and who knew what they would do to her then. One quick X-ray of the goons' pockets revealed guns tucked into their belts. Without thinking, he burst through the wall of the warehouse and zipped around the room at superspeed. Less than a second later, the two men were tied and gagged, and Lois was out of danger. She rose to her feet and... and glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?" He blinked, his gaze switching back and forth between the men he had just neutralised and the woman he had just saved. She was... angry? She was *angry*? He kept his voice as low as possible. "Keeping you from getting yourself killed." "I was doing perfectly fine without you. I didn't need your help!" She gestured towards the now impotent men lying on the floor a few feet away. "They wouldn't have found me. And I could have got an interesting lead." His earlier panic gave way to irritation. Giving one last look behind him to make sure that the rope was solidly tied around the two men's wrists and ankles and that they were in no position to make a run for freedom, he grabbed Lois and flew them outside. "My job is not to ensure you get interesting leads!" he said before she could protest. "What I do is put criminals behind bars and prevent innocent people from getting hurt in the process!" "I would have been *fine*!" "Don't you see you're not immortal? That those guys had guns and could have used them? They could have shot you! You could have *died*." The words were barely out of his mouth when he realised he'd gone too far. Tears filled up her eyes. She wiped them away. "What do I care if I die? What does it matter?" He walked up to her and seized her hands. "*I* care," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Lois, if anything happened to you... I don't think I could ever forgive myself." He was standing close. So close that he could feel her breath on his lips. So close that it would be only too easy to lean in and steal a kiss. A kiss that, he knew, would quickly turn passionate. He wanted her so fiercely that it hurt. "Don't." The word, softly spoken, jolted him out of his fantasy. Lois took a step back and raised her hands in warning. "Just because we... gave in the other night doesn't give you the right to control my life. You can't spend your time looking after me, Superman. You can't prevent me from doing my job." No, he couldn't. She was right. There were so many things he couldn't do now. He couldn't work with her; couldn't spend time with her; couldn't protect her by being beside her as they worked together; couldn't spend evenings watching movies and laughing at silly TV shows with her. And he couldn't have her. Couldn't be with her. Couldn't... love her. He shook his head, whether in denial of her words or in regret at everything he'd lost he didn't know. "Let me take you home, Lois." The words emerged more brusquely than he intended. But she shook her head. "My car's parked just a couple of blocks away." "Then let me take you there. It's not safe here, Lois. What were you doing here anyway?" She glared at him. "Working. It's what I do, remember? What pays the bills? Though I guess you wouldn't know about that." He flinched at her sarcasm, wishing he understood just why she seemed to hate him so much now. Was it all because of what he'd done the other night? But he refused to take all of the blame for that. It had been mutual. And she'd made the first move. Deciding the best course of action was to ignore her comment, he said, "You have two choices. Either I take you to your car now, or you call the police to come and pick up those two and I wait with you until they come. Yes, I'm playing the macho super-hero here, but you might consider that I don't really want to lose two people that I care about in the same week." Low blow, Clark, he told himself. But he had to get the message across to her somehow that she had to take better care of herself now that she didn't have Clark to help her do it. And, as he'd expected, she blanched. She turned away from him, and when she spoke her voice was shaky. "You can take me to my car if you insist. But then I want you to leave me alone." Clark nodded, then scooped her up without speaking. Putting up with her anger, even her hatred, was better than seeing her hurt. ********** When Lois finally pulled up outside her apartment building, she realised that her hands were shaking. What was worse was that she could remember nothing of her drive home. All she could think of was Superman leaning in as if to kiss her, and his harsh reminder that Clark had been killed. No, worse: he'd been talking about her carelessness, her risk-taking; and it was because of her carelessness that Clark was dead. Her actions had got Clark killed. And what had she done? Slept with the man she knew he'd been jealous of. He'd hated to hear her hero-worshipping Superman. He'd got better at hiding it, but she'd known it anyway. And it was hardly surprising, now that she knew he'd been in love with her. And Superman... oh, he was a hero, but he had feet of clay. He hadn't been there to save Clark. He'd slept with her knowing that she was grieving and in no fit state to make that kind of decision. He'd arrogantly decided that he could tell her what to do. And he'd assumed, tonight, that she'd be willing to kiss him again, and maybe more. Her conscience pointed out that, as Superman had reminded her, Clark had been his friend too. He had been upset - she'd seen the grief, and the guilt that he hadn't been there to save their friend. The expression in his eyes... she would never have imagined Superman looking like that. Not ever. No. The real reason she didn't want to be anywhere around Superman wasn't any of the things she'd been pretending. It wasn't anything he'd done, or not done. It was, she admitted to herself at last, because Superman reminded her of what she'd lost. And of how she'd behaved on the night when she'd lost the best thing she'd ever had. He reminded her that, on the night her very best friend, the man she'd been stupid enough not to realise that she loved, had died, she'd had sex on her living-room floor with another man. A man she wasn't in love with. A man she had no intention of building a relationship with. A man who wasn't Clark. ********** He was going to have to do something about his apartment, Clark thought as he padded into his bedroom. It would look very odd if anyone noticed that someone was apparently living in a dead person's apartment. He'd have some difficult explanations to make if the police were called. Besides, he wouldn't have a salary coming in any more, so he couldn't keep up the rent payments. He'd have to ask his parents to come and clear the place out. But that was no bad thing; it would force him to make the decision he'd been putting off and which the confrontation with his parents had made him think about again. He had to decide where he would go; where he would live; what he would do. Ghana. Or Nigeria. Or Uganda. Maybe Rwanda, even. He'd almost decided on somewhere in Africa during the flight back from Smallville. It was far away from anyone who had ever known him as Clark Kent. And, while he would stand out as a white man, an ethnic minority, white people and Americans weren't so unusual that he would attract undue attention. And they were all countries where a little discreet Super help would be useful. More than useful, in the case of Rwanda. In fact, he'd thought, he could sign up as a volunteer aid worker. But that had been before Lois had landed herself in trouble once again. She could have been killed tonight. That was the thought which wouldn't leave Clark's mind. She could have been killed. If he'd been just two seconds later on the scene - or if he hadn't heard her heartbeat at all - she would have been killed. He would have arrived to find her cold, lifeless body. Or he would have heard the news report tomorrow. If he'd been in Rwanda, he would never have known that she was in danger. Never have known that she needed him. How could he possibly leave Metropolis? It was out of the question. He couldn't go - not now. It had never really been an option. If he left, he'd be abandoning Lois to whatever fate might happen to her. He knew what she was like - headstrong, unafraid of danger, always jumping in feet first. And then there was her attitude to the danger she'd been in tonight. She'd scared him rigid with her words. Those few words which showed him that, now, she placed no value at all on her own life. Who would care if she died? She'd asked him that. And he'd told her: he would. He did. But if he left... That was stupid, he told himself angrily. Lots of people would care. And Lois knew that. She'd remember it, too, when she was less upset. Perry. Jimmy. Her sister, Lucy. Her parents. *His* parents, come to that. And, he was sure, lots of other people. Surely Lois wasn't so lacking in self-worth that she thought no- one would care? No, not lacking in self-worth, he told himself, and wondered why he didn't feel more pleasure at the knowledge of what was really behind Lois's depression. She missed him. Clark. And that, he felt sure, was why she'd reacted the way she had. The irony was painful. When he'd been around her every day, she'd barely noticed he was there, or later just seen him as her best friend. And now, now that he was officially dead, when it was too late to matter, she realised that he'd meant more to her. Life was full of ironies, he told himself, trying to swallow the bitterness in his throat. What mattered now was making sure that Lois stayed alive. And the only way he was going to be able to do that was by staying in, or at least very close to, Metropolis. And, in order to do that, he was going to have to be Superman full-time. Okay. So now he had to work out where he could stay. There had to be somewhere private, away from prying eyes, that he could use as a base. ********** Lois had never feared a summons to Perry's office. Usually her boss's request meant that a hot story was going to fall right on her lap and he wanted her to handle it for the Daily Planet. That was always a good sign. She watched him close the door behind her, excitement bubbling in her mind. The gesture probably meant that at last he had stopped treating her as if she were a grieving widow. At last she was going to get back to what had always saved her before. Her job. Her life. Or what was left of it. She quashed the depressing thought. She would not let herself be brought down by another fit of tears over Clark's death. Not now. Not here. Here in the Daily Planet newsroom, she was back to her old self, barking at anyone approaching or - god forbid - requesting something from her. In the Daily Planet newsroom, she was Mad Dog Lane. She knew the old nickname had reappeared over the last couple of days. She didn't care. Now that Clark was gone, she had no reason to fight against a reputation that actually protected her pretty well. At least it ensured that no man ever dared approach her again... that no man could hurt or abandon her again. She sat in the chair across from Perry's desk and waited, a well- practiced smile on her lips. "Lois, I know things've been rough for you over the past week," Perry started awkwardly, "but you seem to be better now... Maybe I'm wrong. If you're not ready just let me know and we can sort that out later, but - " "Perry, I'm all right! Really, I am," she added when he didn't look entirely convinced. "Yes, Clark's death hit me badly. But he and I knew that our job is dangerous and that we're always taking risks. We'd accepted that part of the deal." Even as she spoke those words with strength she was crumbling inside. She had always known that she was flirting with death. She had never truly minded. Somehow she had thought that there would always be a way out of the mess she got herself into. What she had never imagined was that she would put someone else's life at risk - worse, the life of a man she loved. Clark's life. Accepting that part of the deal. Ha! What a joke of a deal that was! Clark had never wanted to put his life at risk. No, that was wrong. Clark had never wanted to put *her* life at risk. He had proved it yet again in Georgie Hairdo's gambling club, when he'd stepped in front of her to meet a certain death... to protect her. She bit her lip to keep her stubbornly proud and expressionless facade intact. "I'll be fine," she said once again. "All right, then," Perry said, still not looking convinced. "I need you to get down to the harbour and find out what's going on." "Chief, three teenage girls mugged on their way out of a seedy nightclub is Metropolis's daily diet. It's sad but it's no biggie." "Three teenage girls mugged, raped and strangled, Lois. And all three of them in the space of one week. So I want you to go down there undercover, find that guy and bring him down. Take Rogers with you." "Perry!" Perry raised his hand in warning, pre-empting her protest. "Don't ‰Perry' me, Lois. This is too dangerous for you to handle alone." "I've always handled that kind of thing alone." "No." His voice lowered and his face got sombre. "You handled them with Clark." Lois squirmed in her seat and lowered her head. She really didn't need the reminder that she'd spent the past year and a half doing her job with Clark as a partner. "I don't want another partner," she said stubbornly. "It will just be temporary." "I know what temporary is to you, chief. You said that for Clark as well." "And you didn't mind." "But it was *Clark*!" She abruptly rose from her seat and started pacing the room. "I don't want anyone else. I don't want you to try to replace him." She wiped at the tears that were freely falling down her cheeks. "You're getting on with it like nothing happened. You had Jimmy clear off his desk and soon enough someone else is gonna be sitting there, using his computer and everything! And then... then it's gonna be what, ‰Lane and Rogers, the hottest team in town'? I think not." "Lois, I don't want to replace Clark," Perry said calmly. "No- one's trying to do that. He'll always be remembered fondly and - " "His body hasn't even been found and you're already moving on!" Perry got up and walked around the desk to stand before her. He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her mad pacing. "Sweetheart, you know what Henderson said." "That they may never find a body? What do you want me to do if they don't? Just assume that Clark's dead and get on with my life? I won't even have anywhere to go if I want to talk to him. God, I'm starting to talk like a silly old woman who's just lost her husband. Clark and I weren't even - " "He would be just as devastated if he'd lost you. That boy was... well, I don't know if I should tell you this, but - " "I know, Perry. He told me. Before he died. His last words." She shook her head. "Oh, god, I can't believe I was so blind!" Perry drew her into a hug, and she let his arms envelop her as she fought the tears that kept spilling from her eyes. She refused to sob in front of him. He was her editor in chief. He respected her. He thought highly of her - or so she hoped. The only man in front of whom she'd ever let herself cry freely was dead. Gone forever. She would be strong. She would not let anyone else see how weak she was. She would not let anyone else under her skin. ********** Clark looked about the room with a critical eye. Well, this was about as good as he would get: a small cabin hidden in the woods covering the hills to the north of Metropolis. Close enough to fly down in an emergency. Close enough to hear... her... if she needed him. And far enough to be sure that no-one would follow him up here. He could see why the place had been abandoned. A large chunk of the rocks on which the forest grew had collapsed, and the old path had become impassable. It was just what he had been looking for. And now that he'd repaired the roof and brought furniture from his parents' farm, it would be okay as a refuge. A fortress of solitude. He sighed and sunk onto the battered couch facing the old stone fireplace. He was certainly not going to feel stifled or crowded up here. When he had first moved to Metropolis, he had told his father that the only stars one could see were travelling in limousines. Well, at least here the night sky resembled much more what he had known in Smallville. No city lights or noise would be troubling his sleep... or his long, lonely evenings. He looked out through the small window. The rosy and orange shades of dusk were colouring the sky over the trees surrounding the cabin. The single naked bulb wouldn't provide much light once the sun set, but it would do. It couldn't be worse than his first accommodation in Metropolis - if you could call the Apollo Hotel accommodation. And he had books. Lots of books he had been meaning to read for months but hadn't found the time to. Juggling two jobs had left him too little free time. On the other hand, he'd already spent most of the day flying around and doing minor rescues around the city, so maybe he wouldn't spend much more than a few hours here. At least his life as Superman was useful to the city, and now that Clark was dead, he could patrol a lot more and make sure Metropolis's crime rate decreased substantially. His hearing picked the sound of a high-pitched scream. He jumped to his feet and less than a second later, a sonic boom could be heard over the northern hills. ********* So much for agreeing to Perry's idea to let Tyler Rogers tag along, Lois thought as she bolted her apartment door with a weary sigh. The guy had been walking on eggshells at first, which had been just fine with her. He had agreed to pretty much everything she suggested: taking a cab to the harbour instead of her car, eating an egg-salad sandwich from a street vendor, then wandering the piers on the lookout for anything suspicious. She could have been on her own for all the difference having Rogers along had made, but she didn't mind that in the least. It was only after the restaurants and pubs had closed that Tyler had started to be a major pain in the... neck. Somehow he'd become more confident, and before she could protest, he was sharing - no, make that *imposing* his ideas on her: they had to melt in with the night crowd, hang out in one of the nightclubs, and worse! He had suggested they played the part of a couple. At that point she'd thought she would kill him. She'd had to take a deep breath and slowly - *very* slowly - count to ten. All in all, his idea wasn't that bad. And in fact it would have been exactly what she'd have done if Clark had been with her. But then, pretending to be a couple had become a routine for them. She had never feared that Clark would read more into it than a simple way to protect a cover. And okay, maybe, deep down, very deep and very down, a teeny tiny part of her had wanted to believe that there was more to it than pretence. Even back then. Lois kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of milk. She wasn't any closer to finding anything about those murders than when Perry had assigned this story to her. In fact, the night had been a complete waste of her time. And Tyler was a complete waste of space. She would have to convince Perry that she had to go on her own and play the part of a potential victim. And if he insisted that she needed Tyler with her, well, she'd find a way to lose that annoying bug in the crowd. After all, losing irritating co-workers was something she was skilled at. She'd had plenty of practice over the years. It had even worked with Clark at first, before he'd started to grow on her. Clark... Lois slumped onto her sofa and buried her head in her hands. She would give anything to have Clark back with her. Anything - her Kerth awards, her job, even her partnership with him. If the devil himself appeared in front of her now and offered to let her trade her soul for Clark's life, she wouldn't hesitate. Not if it meant that she could see him walking through that door, a sunny smile on his face and words of love for her on his lips. "Clark, I love you," she whispered soundlessly as the tears began to fall again. ********** Superman scanned the harbour area for the source of the scream. It had come from... yes, somewhere over there. He dropped down swiftly, then came to an abrupt halt, almost falling to the ground. A young woman lay on the ground, face-down. Her clothes were disarranged in a way which suggested that she'd been raped. She had shoulder-length dark hair, styled in a bob. She was slightly taller than medium height, and of slim build. Her shoes... oh, god, her shoes... Lois's shoes. He recognised that pair of black heels, he was sure of it. His heart in his mouth, Clark crouched beside the body - she was dead, he'd already seen that. Her head lay at too unnatural an angle for anything else. Was it Lois? Oh, god, please don't let it be Lois... Gently, he raised her head... and all of his breath rushed back into his lungs. It wasn't Lois. It was a woman a few years younger than Lois, judging by her appearance. Someone who'd been out for a night on the town and had ended up getting raped and murdered. The bitter taste of bile filled Clark's throat. Okay, it hadn't been Lois. This time. But it so easily could have been. He straightened, then concentrated hard. The scream hadn't come all that long ago, and the woman's body was still warm. That meant that her killer was probably still in the area... Seconds later, he was gripping a man by the back of his collar and flying him to the nearest police station. "Here," he said roughly as he dumped the man in front of the desk sergeant. "If you run tests on his clothing and the blood and skin under his fingernails, not to mention other DNA tests, you'll probably discover that he's the lowlife who's been raping and killing young women by the harbour. And, by the way, you should send an ambulance to Thirtieth and Whittier - there's another victim there." The officer, whose jaw was still slack, nodded and made a note of the address. "Dead?" he enquired. "Unfortunately, yes." Clark, feeling that he'd done enough, turned on his heel and walked out. It hadn't been Lois. Not this time. But it could have been. And maybe one day it would be. His eyes burning with tears which he refused to shed, Clark took off in a vertical motion. Not even pausing to consider where he was going, he found himself hovering outside Lois's apartment window. He had to see her. Had to know that she was all right. Had to see for himself that she was alive and well. And she was there. Sitting on her sofa, alive and well... ...and crying. Sobbing her heart out. With an inarticulate cry, he pushed her window open and rushed into the room, reaching for her and tugging her into his arms. She came, slumping against him and laying her head against his chest. Her tears soaked the front of his Suit, even as his own eyes filled with the moisture he'd been fighting back for so long. For too long. She was safe. And, as long as she was safe, he could endure anything. Because he loved her, and always would. ********** Lois didn't know how long it was before the tears stopped and she raised her head. All she knew was that she'd been held in warm, strong, comforting arms. Arms which didn't belong to the man she wanted more than anything else in the world - but which would suffice for now. She didn't even know when Superman had come in. All she'd known was that she'd been desolate, unable to stop crying, and suddenly he'd been there, pulling her into his arms, holding her. She was grateful. But, at the same time, all the reasons why she didn't want to be around him remained. Being close to him was too painful a reminder of the night Clark had died... the night when she'd desecrated his memory by having sex with Superman on the floor. So she pulled back, escaping Superman's hold, intending to thank him for his concern but insist that she was okay. And then she noticed the glistening in his eyes, and the words dried up on her tongue. He'd been *crying*? *Superman* had been crying? Hesitantly, awkwardly, she reached up and touched him just beneath one eye. Her finger came away moist. "What is it?" she whispered. He caught her hand, holding it tightly in his. "Can... do you mind if we talk?" Unable to refuse - the dark, haunted expression in his eyes reminded her too much of her own emotional state at the moment - she nodded and gestured towards the sofa. "I - heard a cry for help tonight," he began jerkily, once they were seated and she'd looked at him enquiringly. "Sure, I hear those all the time, but... When I got there, Lois, I found a dead woman. She'd been raped and strangled. And she... she looked just like you." "What?" She gasped and stared at him. "She looked like me?" "From behind, yes. She was lying face-down on the ground. But her height and build, her hair... even her shoes were like yours. Lois, for a moment - the longest moment of my entire life! - I thought you'd been killed!" He shuddered. Lois could only stare at him. It wasn't the fact that the dead woman resembled her which shocked her. It was Superman's reaction to it. She'd never seen him so distressed; not even on the night Clark had been killed. His harsh words from a couple of nights ago came back to her, and she blanched. He really did care about her. And believing that she was dead had clearly affected him just as much as Clark's death had affected her. Superman cared deeply about her. And she'd been treating him like something the cat had dragged in. So what if she was angry with herself for what she'd done the night Clark had been killed? That was no excuse for using Superman as a scapegoat. Lois reached out for Superman's hand, squeezing it comfortingly; he responded by gripping hers tightly in return. "I'm not dead," she said softly. "I'm here. I'm alive and well." "I know," he whispered. "I can see that. I just can't help being afraid that... Lois, you take risks. And you told me the other day that you didn't care whether you stayed alive or not -" *She* had made him so terrified for her safety? "Superman, I'm sorry! You caught me at a low moment, okay? I didn't mean you to think that!" His gaze didn't leave her face; his hand tightened around hers. "I'm glad, Lois. I can't lose you too..." Involuntarily, her hand reached up to stroke his face. "You're not going to lose me, Superman." "I... oh, god, Lois..." And he leaned closer to her until his lips covered hers. The strangled cry never made it past her mouth. In his kiss, she could feel the despair, the fear, and her initial desire to push him away quickly died away. She remained passive in his arms, letting his tongue trace the outline of her lips, granting him entry into her mouth, offering no resistance as he pushed her against the back of the sofa. She closed her eyes. Her senses heightened, she could feel his hands caress the back of her shoulders and slide down her ribcage to rest at her waist. She could hear his breathing, coming in short puffs between his maddeningly sweet kisses. Her heart was hammering against her chest. Her fingertips tingled where she reached for him for support. She felt the tight control she exerted on her self-control slip away; no matter how much she wanted to keep a clear head, Superman's kisses were driving her to the brink of insanity. She had wanted him for so long. She had dreamt about his arms holding her close and his mouth trailing fire on her skin. She had fantasised about passionate nights of lovemaking... It was all within her reach now. Superman was hers. He'd been hers a few nights ago, and he was giving himself to her once more. The gate was open; she'd taken a step in already. Was it too late to go back? Did she even want to go back? His lips left hers for a moment, and she felt their moisture on the side of her throat. His hand supported her neck, and she shifted to lie fully on the couch until her head rested against the armrest. Superman was lavishing her skin with kisses, seemingly unaware of her restrained response. "Lois..." Her head fell back in surrender to the whisper of her name. She gave him full access, acknowledging that he would burst through the physical gate she was opening for him. Like every other man in her past, he would take more than she gave. Like a starving man, he would rush through those first moments of lovemaking to get what he wanted. He hadn't spent a great deal of time on foreplay the other night - not that she had cared. She had been just as eager as he to get on with it and just get the whole thing over with. "Lois, I - " Her kiss silenced him. She didn't want to hear his voice. Somehow it reminded her of Clark, and she wanted to remember at all times that she wasn't with the man she loved. She wanted to be strong and push him away; pull away from him and tell him they didn't have a future together. He knew they had no future together. He had incessantly rejected her before Clark had died. He had told her there were things about him she would never know, and which made any relationship impossible. They might be physically intimate, but he didn't know her any more than she knew him. She would not give in to the pull of her attraction to him. He might have been the man she had most wanted a few weeks ago, but her feelings had changed. She would not let him know how much his ministrations enticed her. He was not Clark. Clark was who she wanted. She would not surrender to her mad desire for him. She would not... would... not... " - need you..." he gasped before kissing her again. Not... Her whimper of protest dissolved in his kiss. She could feel his fear, his despair, and she wanted to soothe his distress away. He needed her. The words, blurted out so fast she'd barely heard them, resonated in her mind. He needed her, just like she needed him. Her arms hooked around his waist, pressing his body to hers. She felt one of his hands sneak between them and tug at her shirt. She heard the buttons snap, then a fresh breeze caressed her skin, making her shiver and press closer to him. Gathering her in his arms, Superman rose to his feet. She saw the room move about them, and then she was lying on her bed, the dark shadow of her lover looming over her. Her lover. Superman was her lover. She had to come to terms with what it meant and the consequences on her life. Their life. She had thought of their first night as a one-time thing. Something they both regretted and would never happen again. Now, though... He was being tender with her, taking his time as he worshipped her body and whispered sweet nonsense into her ear. And she wanted to believe him. She wanted to give in to feelings she'd suppressed since Clark's death. She couldn't love Superman. She couldn't be in love with a man who had failed to save her best friend. She couldn't be in love with a man... and cry days and nights for another. She couldn't be in love with two men at once. Every touch, every kiss felt like a betrayal of Clark. Every touch made it harder to pull away and deny her body the love it craved. The love she craved... But this wasn't it. This wasn't what she wanted... wasn't *who* she wanted... Superman's lips met hers again, as his fingers trailed a fiery path over her body and towards where she most needed his touch. It would be so easy to shut her eyes, to give in again to the sensations, to let him take her to ecstasy... to allow him to possess her body once more. To pretend that she loved him. Yes, it would be easy... but in the morning she would regret it once more. And she would hate herself much more than before, because this time she knew what she was doing. This time her mind wasn't clouded by grief and anger. This time, she was fully conscious of where she was and who she was with. Of who it was who was kissing her and touching her and... and making love to her... "No!" The cry escaped from her almost without volition. But it was the right thing to do, and she knew it. Her lover's head jerked up; his brown eyes, so like Clark's, met hers in passion-dazed confusion. "No?" She dragged herself away from him; he let her go, rolling over and away from her without taking his gaze from hers. "Lois, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice low. "Oh, so I can't say no without there being a problem?" she snapped at him. "Of course not!" he exclaimed, sounding stung. "You should know that I wouldn't... Look, it's just that you look so... I don't know... as if you were appalled. Did I do something wrong?" No, she had... but then, she reminded herself, hardening her heart, he had too. Simply by being there. By being alive. By not being Clark. "*This* is wrong," she said flatly. "This. Us. You." He was sitting on the bed now, his Suit in perfect order - when had he pulled it all back into place? - and with a sombre expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Lois. I thought you wanted...?" "Not with you," she said abruptly, uncaring that he flinched at her words. "I love Clark. How can I be with you, Superman, when you're not him? ******** He wasn't Clark. She thought he wasn't Clark. Even as he got to his feet, even as the mask he was taking care to keep on his face to prevent her from seeing his feelings threatened to crack, a tiny, flickering light of hope dawned. She loved Clark. Loved *him*. And that was why she'd just pushed him away. Because she thought he wasn't Clark. But he was! And all he had to do was tell her! He rehearsed the words in his mind, vocalising them silently as if he needed to remember how to pronounce the name. As if it had been so long since he'd introduced himself as Clark Kent that he had actually forgotten. And then, even as he opened his mouth to voice the words, painful reality struck him. He couldn't tell her. What purpose would it serve? If she found out now that he was Clark... well, apart from unleashing all the fury of Lois Lane at her worst upon him, and she'd be justified, what good would it do? Clark Kent was still dead. There was no way that he could change that reality, no matter how much he wanted to. Dozens of people had seen him shot at point- blank range. Despite his body not having been found, he'd been declared dead by everyone who mattered - the police, the media... Lois. So what good would telling her the truth do? He felt his shoulders slump as he accepted that there was nothing he could do. At last, Lois loved him - but she loved the wrong him. It was ironic - for so long he'd wanted her to love Clark and not Superman. He'd been jealous of her feelings for his alter ego - so much so that he'd even occasionally made spiteful remarks about her interest in Superman. And now, when he wanted her to love the only part of him which remained, she was only interested in Clark. So he presented the mask to Lois and inclined his head. "As you wish, Lois. I'll get out of your way. Goodnight." And he turned and walked towards her bedroom door, wishing that his pride wouldn't insist that he move at normal human speed. That he could just fly out of there and be away from her in under a second, away and on his way to somewhere remote and lonely where he could weep in private for all that he'd lost. Including Lois - for after this how could he ever see her again? ********** He was leaving. Walking out the door. In another couple of seconds, he'd have reached the window, and then he'd fly off into the night. But wasn't that what she wanted? Lois stared at Superman's retreating back, wondering why it was that, ever since Clark had died, she seemed to have no idea at all what she wanted. But what she didn't want, she was very sure right at this moment, was to lose the one friend she seemed to have left. And Superman was her friend. Once she pushed aside the memory of them sprawled on her bed, kissing frantically as he tugged at the buttons on her shirt and lavished caresses all over her heated skin, she remembered those moments in her living-room. When she'd been crying, and at exactly the right time he'd come to her and held her, and soothed away her tears. When he'd shown her that he cared whether she lived or died. When he'd shown her that she meant something to him... that he needed her. And she'd just told him that she could never care about him, because he wasn't Clark... The look in his eyes as he'd told her goodnight would haunt her. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the memory of the way he'd looked at her; and yet the pain, the hurt in his brown eyes, eyes so like Clark's, stared back at her from inside her closed lids. And his voice reverberated inside her skull... She'd told him that she didn't want him. That he was in the way. Suddenly appalled, horrified at the realisation of what she'd done, Lois scrambled to her feet and ran, slipping in her stockinged feet as she did so, out of her bedroom and into the living-room. It was empty, the curtains swishing lightly in silent reproach to her. Superman had just left, probably mere seconds before. How could she let him go like that? How could she let him believe that she hated him? She leaned out the window. "Superman! Please, come back! I'm sorry!" Silence greeted her call of his name. She waited, hoping to see a streak of red and blue fly back to her window. Nothing. If he heard her, Superman was choosing to ignore her apology. Her fists tightened on the windowsill, and she leaned down, looking at the street below. There was no trace of him, of course. Damn that superspeed! She had no chance of catching up with him, even if she ran down the stairs and searched the whole neighbourhood. He'd flown god knew where to nurse his wounds. Wounds she'd inflicted upon him. She'd hurt him. He was Superman; he was invulnerable; and she'd hurt him. He'd been there for her while she mourned for the loss of her best friend - *their* best friend - and now she was pushing him away, rejecting him so callously that he hadn't been able to hide his pain as he flew away. With a despondent sigh, she padded back to the bedroom and reached for the phone. Her finger started to dial a number she knew by heart and... and she jerked away just as quickly. Her eyes stayed fixed on the keys she'd pounded. 555 6142. A number she'd dialled so many times before. When she needed comfort... When she wanted to share something... When she felt like hearing his voice... She curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. Unbidden, tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn't fight them. Loneliness was taking its toll on her. There was no-one left she could turn to. Nobody to hold her while tears racked her body. ********* "Superman!" Her voice tore at his heart. She was calling him. She needed him. No, he amended quickly. She didn't need him. She didn't want him. "Please, come back!" How could he come back? How could he face her after... after he'd practically made love to her again? After she'd rejected him. After she'd told him that she loved another man. Not another man. Him. Him, before he died. A shadow of what he was now. He couldn't face her now. He couldn't comfort her. "I'm sorry!" Oh, Lois... He couldn't bear to hear the pain in her voice as she pleaded with him to come back. But facing her would be even harder. Clark was dead, but his love for her was stronger than ever, and every breath he took felt like a betrayal to the woman he loved. Conscience battled with him again. He should go back and tell her the whole truth. He should reveal himself to her as what he once had been, and was no more. He should... And what? Destroy whatever love she had left for him by revealing that the man she was in love with was no more than a liar? That he'd never really died? That he'd put her through the grief of losing her partner when he'd never been in any real danger? He put on another burst of speed towards the north, over the mountains and to the small cabin he'd turned into a home. He hadn't had a choice. He'd had to get away. Lois wanted something - someone he couldn't give her. She wanted Clark. For all the times she'd rejected his human self, making him feel like the lowest form of life and never worth the time of her day... his death had made her realise that Clark meant more to her than she'd thought. She was in love with a dead man. A man who'd been shot at point-blank range and had no hope of coming back to life without revealing his biggest secret. His hands fisted. His teeth gritted. Anger flared within his gut, but he kept it in tight check. He would not let his emotions get the better of him this time. He couldn't tell her. Lois's love for Clark was what kept him going. He couldn't take the risk of losing it now. Without her love, he was lost. Left in a world that had nothing more to offer but disaster, crime and pain on a daily basis. He had known that life as Superman wouldn't be easy. He had been aware of the burden that came with taking on his superhero job full-time. And true, tonight, Lois had been there for Superman, soothing his fears and nursing his pain as he told her about the woman he'd been too late to rescue. Tonight, more than ever, he'd realised how hard it would be to learn to live without the extra perspective that Clark's life had given him until now. He couldn't pretend that he was a normal guy leading a normal life. He couldn't pretend that he could give Lois the man she now wanted. Clark was dead. He wouldn't come back. Telling her that he'd once been her best friend and partner might relieve his conscience, but what good would it do for her? For them? He couldn't give up on her either, though. The one night they'd spent together, as short as it had been, had haunted him every minute of his life since. Grief and passion had mingled as they let their desire overtake reason, but his love for her had never been as strong as it had been then. He didn't want to let her go. His hearing tuned into the noises of the city far below, searching for a sound that never failed to reassure him. There it was. The strong beating of her heart. The... Sobs. She was crying. Less than a second later, he was airborne and flying back towards the West Side. Towards Lois. The window to the sitting room was still open, and he silently made his way inside the darkened apartment. He could hear her soft whimpers now, and every one of them felt like a knife twisting in his gut. He floated to the bedroom, careful to pause at the door and give her time to make out his shape before he sat on the bed. Wide eyes, bright with tears, looked up at him, but she didn't flinch. His hand reached down to touch her shoulder. He expected rejection. She didn't move. There was no sign of reaction on her face. He wanted to lie next to her and hold her close. He wanted to offer her comfort, take her pain away. Fear kept him at arms' length. Lois had made her feelings clear earlier. He could be her friend, but she was not looking for intimacy with him, and after tonight, she was bound to take any gesture of affection for another attempt at seducing her. He didn't want her to be scared of him. He wanted her to trust him. She held out a shaky hand towards him. Her eyes pleaded with him to take it. And, with an inarticulate murmur, he sank down on the bed beside her and pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest. She snuggled against him, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder, and for several moments all he could hear were soft sobs. He stroked her hair, not trusting himself to say anything. What could he say? She was crying because Clark was dead, and what could he say about that? He'd already had that argument with himself, several times over. It was best that she continued to believe he was dead. Then the sobs ceased and he heard her say quietly, "I'm sorry, Superman." "There's nothing to be sorry for," he murmured in response. "Yes, there is," she insisted. "I was cruel to you. Just because Clark's... d- dead, that's no reason to be horrible to you. You were his friend too. And it's..." She broke off to sniff again. "... it's not as if you killed him." Clark asked himself brutally. He'd made the decision that Clark should play dead. And he'd made the decision to stay dead, too. But he couldn't tell Lois that. Instead, he said quietly, "I know that you loved him. I understand that. And that... I'm not him." "Yes, but - oh, Superman, it's much more complicated than that!" Lois exclaimed. She wriggled to a sitting position, and he released his hold on her, thinking that she wanted to be free. But she tugged at his arm, sliding closer to him at the same time. He took the hint and floated himself so that he was sitting up, then put his arm around her shoulders and drew her against him again. "That's better," she said approvingly. "Anyway," she continued, now sounding sad and regretful again, "what you don't know is that I never *told* Clark that I love him! I... I think I've known I love him for a long time. But I was horrible to him, Superman! I... Did you know that he had feelings for me last summer? When I almost married Lex Luthor? And I rejected him. And in the very same moment I pretty much told him that you were the only person who could make me change my mind about marrying Lex Luthor. I don't know how he ever forgave me for that." She sniffed then, dropping her head to his shoulder. So she did realise just what she'd done to him then, Clark thought, and an old injury, which he'd wrapped up and hidden away for months, swearing that it really didn't hurt any more, began to heal. "I think Clark forgave you because he loved you," he ventured after a short silence. It was the truth, and if it would help Lois now, he wanted her to know it. After all, he *had* forgiven her long ago, and her apology now, even if she didn't know she was making it to the right person, did help. "Yeah, I know. That's what makes it all so much worse!" she exclaimed, then sobbed again. "See, Superman, Clark did love me. And I... He was right under my nose, Superman, and I never saw him! I never looked at him, not really. And he was the best thing ever to happen to me, and all I could do was date other guys - men not fit to tie his bootstraps - instead of him. Or - and this is worse - keep comparing him unfavourably to you!" "Lois, there's no point torturing yourself about the past," Clark said, hugging her gently. "It's over. You can't change it now. Just remember that Clark loved you, and he'd want you to be happy. He'd be glad to know that you love him, but he'd want you to find someone else who'll love you just as much as he did." Lois shifted, then shifted again; Clark knew from experience that she was working up to asking him something he wasn't sure that he'd like. But he waited, knowing that she'd get to it in her own good time. And she did. "Superman," she began, her tone careful. "Yes?" "Do you believe it's possible to love two people at once?" "What?" He'd had no idea what to expect from her, but it certainly hadn't been that. "I mean," she explained, "I love Clark. You know that. And I wish I'd known it sooner, because... well, you know about that. But what if I told you that I love... someone else too?" A white-hot arrow made of Kryptonite had pierced his heart. Clark was sure of it. How else could he feel so much pain? Lois loved someone else? Already? But he'd only been dead a week! How could she move on so soon? How could she forget him so easily? But he couldn't let those feelings show. Staring rigidly straight ahead, he forced himself to say, "You... do?" "Yes," she whispered. "I.. realised it earlier. That's why I stopped you, Superman - I was having a really hard time dealing with it." She'd realised that she loved someone else while *he* was making love to her? Boy, this woman really knew how to make a man feel good. Everything in him wanted to pull away from her, to walk out, for good this time. How could he possibly want to be with a woman who could treat him like this? "You're not saying anything... I guess that means you think I'm... shallow?" she ventured. "I... I don't understand it either. I mean, how can I love Clark, but be in love with you too, Superman?" He leaned back against the headboard, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from his chest... to be replaced with an equally heavy weight. She loved Superman. She loved Clark, but she also loved Superman. A week earlier, he would have considered this his dream come true, but now... he had only Superman to offer to her. Lois sat up and turned towards him. She brushed the hair away from her face and held it in a ponytail for a few seconds before releasing it with a sigh. "I know it's probably not what you wanted to hear, that you probably think that what we've got going is nothing more than... well, mindless sex and - " "It's never been mindless to me, Lois." "It's... what?" He reached for her hand and held it tightly. "I'm in love with you, too. I have been in love with you for such a long time." She closed her eyes. Opened them again. She didn't talk, nor smile. She sat there, staring at him. Her hand felt warm in his, and reminded him that he wanted to pull her into a hug. He didn't dare. Her reaction was not what he'd expected. After her declaration of love, he'd thought that she would jump into his arms as soon as he told her the feeling was mutual, but... "Superman," she said, interrupting his musings. "Last year, I dreamt of hearing you say those words, but so much happened... I mean, there was, well, my wedding, and - " "And I'm sorry! I'm so sorry about what I told you then. I never meant to... well, okay, I did mean to hurt you." He lowered his head and sighed. "You'd hurt me." "How could I have hurt you? All I said was that I was in love with you!" He blushed. Of course she hadn't hurt *Superman*. She'd hurt Clark. She'd rejected Clark, then thrown herself at Superman and pretended she loved the real person in him, not the superhero. Not to mention... "You made it sound like blackmail. If I didn't respond to your feelings you were going to throw yourself at Lex." She blanched. He watched her body stiffen. Her fingers tightened around his, and he could feel her nails dig into his palms. "Lois, I don't think it's a good idea to talk about this." "No! No... We never actually talked about this. *I* never talked about this. With anybody. Not even with Clark. And yes, it's a part of my life I'd rather forget, but I realise I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I hurt Clark, too. I wish... I wish I'd had time to tell him..." He squeezed her hand. "He knows. I mean, he forgave you a long time ago," he added when she blinked at him. "How do you... Oh! I guess he talked to you." Clark nodded and relaxed against the headboard. He wished she would change the subject. He hated lying to Lois, and even though the truth was pointless now, he didn't like having to pretend that Clark Kent had been somebody else. He felt her arms sneak around his waist. Her head rested against his chest. His hand brushed through her hair. It felt so good to hold her like this, to know that she really wanted to be in his arms and had initiated their embrace. For the first time since Clark's death, she was showing genuine affection towards him, the same way she had for Clark. "What did he tell you?" "What do you mean?" "What did he tell you about me?" ********* Why did she want to know? She was hurting herself again and, judging from the way Superman was looking at her now, eyes full of concern and something akin to... was it embarrassment? - she was hurting him, too. Of course she was. He was holding her, the woman who had just told him she was in love with him, in his arms, and all she could do was think and talk about the other man she had very strong feelings for. She sighed and lowered her head, unable to sustain his puzzled gaze any longer. "I'm sorry, Superman. I won't talk about Clark again. I know it's insensitive towards you, and I never meant to make you think that he matters more to me than you do. I mean he does matter to me. Very much so. And I can't lie to you about the strong feelings I have for him. Even though he's... dead, there's still one part of me that won't let him go." "You really loved him." It wasn't a question. It didn't sound like a reproach either. She felt Superman's embrace tighten a little before he spoke again. "I can't be Clark Kent, Lois. I can't bring him back either, although I dearly wish I could. But I do love you. And, okay, a relationship with me is far from being simple. I can't be a boyfriend who takes you out and treats you to dinner. I won't be able to hold your hand or kiss you or even show the tiniest of affection towards you in public. It'd be too dangerous. It's already dangerous enough that I'm here. If anybody found out..." "Villains have always used me to get at you," Lois pointed out. "But they would do it even more if they knew how much you mean to me. I told you, Lois. I can't bear the thought of losing you. If you died..." "I'm alive. And I guess it's time I admitted to myself that I need you, too." Just like he needed her, she added silently. His expression as he'd found her at the gambling club still haunted her thoughts; he'd looked haggard and lost, as if his entire world had just crumbled. She'd been so busy crying over her own loss that she hadn't spent much time dwelling on Superman's feelings, but he was hurting, too. Clark and he had obviously been close friends. He bent down to kiss her. It was sweet. Shy. Almost chaste. Quite unlike their earlier passion. It was the way she'd always thought Clark would kiss her. He was so like Clark in lots of ways, she thought, wrapping her arms around Superman's neck to pull him down beside her. Of course, he was very different too - not just because of the powers, but because of the air of confidence, of authority, he projected to the world. Clark had never been like that; he could be confident, but he could also be diffident and would frequently defer to others out of politeness. He had lacked Superman's air of command. Yet she was now seeing a side of Superman that she had never imagined existed. Vulnerability, for one. The strongest man in the world, the man who was utterly impervious to anything except Kryptonite, had shown her over the past couple of weeks that he had feelings and that he could be hurt. *She* had hurt him. And losing Clark had hurt him deeply too, she acknowledged again. She wasn't the only one who had lost a very dear friend. And, it occurred to her, friends weren't something that Superman seemed to have a lot of. He'd as good as told her that when he'd said he didn't want to lose her too - when he'd been so distressed at the thought that she might have been killed. He loved her. And he also needed her. He *needed* her. When had anyone ever needed Lois Lane before? Even Clark, though he'd loved her, hadn't really needed her, had he? No; Clark had always seemed happy with his life and, although she'd known that he enjoyed her company, he'd had plenty of friends. In fact, she thought with a shock, she'd probably needed Clark more than he needed her. Unlike Superman. She turned onto her side to look at the man lying next to her on the bed, his arms lightly around her. He was watching her, his brown eyes a little wary. Was he thinking that she might change her mind again and ask him to leave a second time? She raised her hand and stroked his cheek; he caught her hand with his and held it there. "I love you, Superman," she murmured, holding his gaze with hers. "And I love you, Lois," he whispered. "But... you have to know what you're getting yourself into here." "I know," she assured him. "You told me - and anyway, I guess I knew it anyway. I went a little crazy last year, didn't I? I mean, I had visions of being on your arm in public, as your girlfriend. I even imagined walking up the aisle to you. I can't believe that I was so naive!" He shook his head. "Not naive. Those are perfectly reasonable expectations when you're in love. But I can't offer you any of that. And I'd understand it if you can't bring yourself to settle for what I can offer," he added quietly. "Do you love me?" she demanded. "You know I do." "Then even if all you can offer is a few nights like this, Superman, I'll take it," she said immediately. "I'll take *you*." Lois bit her lip. "I never took what I could have had with one man I loved, and I'll regret that for the rest of my life. I can't risk losing out on love a second time." "Then, if you're sure..." He trailed off, watching her. She nodded, reassuring him once more. And he gathered her closer, kissing her deeply and letting her know through his caresses, his soft whispers and his tender kisses, how much he wanted her. And this time, when they made love, she had no regrets at all. ********* Clark lay on Lois's bed, staring up at the ceiling as the woman he loved slept in his arms. He should be feeling as if all of his dreams had come true. Lois loved him. Him, Clark. And him, Superman. She'd made love to him as if he were the most precious thing in her life. She'd matched him touch for touch, kiss for kiss, caress for caress... and echoed all his words of love. She was his. But he couldn't be hers. Not the way he longed to be. Not the way she needed him to be. Now, he could only give her a tiny part of himself, the part which wasn't real - the part which could only be her secret lover and never her boyfriend. Never her husband. He wanted to be in her life in every way. Working beside her at the Planet. Going out on dates with her. Spending evenings with her snuggled up on his sofa eating pizza and watching videos. Telling the whole world that he was in love with Lois Lane and she with him. Declaring that love in front of the people they cared about by becoming her husband in a marriage ceremony, which would be the best day of their lives. Yes, he wanted it all. And, because of a gangster's bullet, he couldn't have any of it. If he could only go back, relieve those few seconds in the club all over again, he would... he would... No, he admitted after several minutes' frustration. He would do none of it differently. If he could relive that evening and they again got to the point where Dillinger started pawing Lois, he would do exactly the same thing again. He would protect her, even knowing what he would be giving up in order to do so. Okay. So Clark Kent was gone, and instead of wallowing in self- pity over the death of his alter ego it was time that he got on with living the half-life he had left to him. So he was Superman full-time; well, in some ways that would make things much easier. After all, there would be no more need for barely-plausible excuses, no more need to live a lie in front of the people he cared about. Except the lie that he'd never been anyone other than Superman... but that was a past he needed to bury if he were going to be able to move on. "Superman?" Lois's voice, thick with sleep, came at just the right moment. Yes, he was Superman now. He turned his head towards her, noting that her eyes remained closed and she was still pressed against him under the covers. "Yes, sweetheart?" "What's your name?" Her eyes flickered open briefly. The name almost escaped his lips, but he stopped himself just in time. Hadn't he just agreed that he wasn't Clark any more? Clark was dead. Long live Superman. "What do you mean, Lois?" he asked instead. "Well, I know your name's not Superman," she said, sounding more awake now, and her hand began to trace paths over his chest. "I christened you that, remember? So you must have another name." Of course he did. "Kal-El," he told her. "I'm Kal-El, son of Jor- El and Lara of Krypton." "Kal...el," she repeated slowly. "Can I call you Kal? Is El some sort of last name?" Was it? Clark didn't know. But then he remembered what his father had actually said in the hologram. "El is our house, so I guess it is kind of like a last name. So, yes, I'd like it if you called me Kal." And there was his new identity, now that Clark was gone forever. To the woman he loved, he could be Kal of Krypton. It was far from being everything he wanted, but it was something. "Kal?" "Yes, Lois?" "Love me," she whispered, pressing herself close to him again. The request was a soft murmur against his throat. He pressed his hand to her cheek, amazed with the adoration in her eyes as she looked up at him. She'd always looked at Superman with awe, but this was different. This was real. She truly loved him, the real person. There were no more doubts to have. No more questions about Lois preferring the man in the Suit to her work partner. The work partner was no more. The real man always wore the Suit now. "Your wish is my command," he promised her, and kissed her deeply. He was not Clark any more. He was finished pretending that his human identity prevailed. He was finished faking the need for another job. What did it matter that Superman was the real person anyway? He was a real person, and right now he was nothing more than Superman. Clark was not part of this relationship. He had been, briefly, on that very first night when Lois had been looking for comfort and he had desperately needed her to love him and reassure him that he was still alive. She had made love to Clark that night, even if she had been with Superman. In any case, it was *Clark* who had made love to her. He deliberately pushed Clark aside. Tonight, and for the rest of their lives, Superman - *Kal* would be the man holding her in his arms. Kal would be the one she whispered sweet words of love to. Kal would not hide his abilities from her... He floated with her several feet off the bed and revelled in her gasp of surprise. She wasn't scared. Lois had never been afraid of what he could do; she'd always taken his powers as something positive. She kissed him again; it was all the encouragement he needed, and he proceeded to show her how a super-powered man could make love. ********* There was nothing but warmth around her. Nothing but love. There was no sense of loneliness, of insecurity. Just the knowledge that she was loved by one of the most wonderful men she'd ever met. She hadn't felt this good in... years. She was alive. She was happy. Deliriously happy. Stirring into wakefulness, Lois propped herself onto her elbow and reached for K... He was gone! Within a second, she was on her feet and fighting to wrap the sheet around her naked body while running to the living-room to turn on the TV. She had to know what had happened. She had to know what had dragged him out of her bed. Why he'd left her. Whether it had been an emergency, or... Or if he'd just changed his mind. If he'd decided he didn't want her after all. She had to know if he was okay. LNN's live footage was showing a fire raging on the East Side; the commentator was mentioning Superman's presence on site and the hard work he'd accomplished over the past hour, getting people out of the furnace and fighting the flames alongside the Metropolis fire department. He hadn't run out on her. Chastising herself for her lack of faith in Kal's love, Lois quashed the unwelcome thought and sank onto the couch, her eyes not wavering from the screen. Kal was zipping in and out of focus. Most of the time he was just a blur, slowing down only to bring the building's inhabitants back to safe ground. Despite her knowledge that he was invulnerable, she winced every time she saw him run through the flames. Here was the man she loved, fighting a raging fire with, she was sure, only one thing on his mind: to save as many people as possible. He was the most unselfish person she knew. Her thoughts immediately returned to Clark. Clark would have been just the same as Superman. Maybe not on the same scale, but he had always put others before himself, sometimes at the risk of his own safety. Like on the night he'd died. He had been killed protecting her, and she was pretty sure that, if given a second chance, he would do just the same. He hadn't known, though, that by saving her life he would also kill a part of her, that he would break her heart... If only he'd known how much he meant to her, maybe he wouldn't have taken so many risks and - No. She took a deep breath and bravely swallowed back her tears. She would not cry again. Most of all, she didn't want Kal to find her crying over Clark again. It was already embarrassing enough that he knew so much about her feelings for her dead partner. Clark haunted her thoughts constantly, but it was unfair to let Kal see that any more. After last night, talking about Clark as anything more than a friend was off-limits. She wouldn't put their relationship at risk. She loved Kal too much to lose him. He was being interviewed now. Lois turned up the sound and listened to the firmness of his voice. She admired the self- confidence he displayed in front of cameras. After seeing him cry for the woman he hadn't saved the previous night, she knew that he was a lot more insecure and vulnerable than he appeared to the public eye. He'd let her see that secret part of him. He'd shown her that he had weaknesses, too. And she loved him all the more for his imperfections. And yet being in love with Kal felt like a betrayal of Clark. She couldn't forget Clark. She couldn't put out of her mind the way he'd smiled at her every morning when she walked down the ramp and into the bullpen, the way he'd brought her coffee without her having to even say she needed her caffeine fix... She growled and threw her head back against the cushions. She had spent the entire night making shameless, passionate love to an amazing, super-powered man. Superman - *Kal* - was her lover now. Not just a man she felt uncontrollable desire for, not just a man who filled her daydreams and midnight fantasies, not just an unreachable idea of perfection. He was real. He was there. And he was hers. Well, mostly. She still had to share him with the world. There would be many mornings when she'd wake up to an empty spot beside her, with only the faint scent of his hair on the pillow to confirm it wasn't all a dream. But it was about time she let go of her little girl's fantasies. She had to share Kal with the world. After all, he had warned her that he could not be a normal boyfriend to her. He hadn't mentioned the rescues, but she had known that he could run out at any moment's notice. And since he could come back just as quickly, it was about time she did something productive. She rose to her feet and looked down at the sheet barely covering her. For the first time in her life, she wished she could wear her lover's shirt. She'd always considered that a useless mark of possession from men to the woman in their life, but now... She walked back to her bedroom and the chest of drawers at the back. She reached down to retrieve the piece of light blue clothing... a shirt. His shirt. He'd been clumsy at times, and coffee stains became a problem if not washed immediately. And so she'd insisted on washing his shirt, and then forgotten to give it back to him once it was dry and ironed. It was still there. Her hands brushed over the soft material, and she had to fight the desire to put it on. Her lover's shirt. Clark wasn't her lover. He'd never been, and he would never be. Not now. And yet it was his shirt she wanted to wear. It was large and loose on her, enveloping her in its warmth and comfort. She could almost imagine that she had his arms around her, holding her close, instead of just being wrapped in his shirt. Clark. Always Clark. Why couldn't she get him out of her mind? Why couldn't she accept that he was dead and move on? She had a wonderful man in her life now. And, even though she knew that Kal had loved Clark too, she didn't want to hurt him by letting him see that she couldn't forget her partner. Kal was vulnerable, and he needed her. She couldn't let him think that he came second in her heart, a poor substitute for the man she'd really loved. It was time she took a shower anyway. Walking into the bathroom, Lois let the shirt slide to the floor and she stepped into the cubicle, turning the jets up to full and hot. It was what she needed to wake herself up properly and make herself focus on what was important. Moving on. Working out with Kal exactly what kind of a relationship they could have. And putting Clark away where he belonged: in a mental drawer labelled ‰precious memories'. The past was gone, she told herself. And - though she despised the clichE even as she silently uttered it - today was the first day of the rest of her life. *********** The fire had been long and brutal. He'd heard the alarms a little late, having had his first decent night's sleep since being shot, and so by the time he'd arrived on the scene the flames had engulfed the building. Firefighters had been working hard to try to control the blaze, and the order had just gone out to vacate the roof - he'd plucked to safety a couple of smoke-eaters who'd been slow to obey instructions. Finally, working together, they'd managed to extinguish the inferno, and he'd stayed for a few minutes to help check the building's interior - always a distressing task as it involved looking for people who hadn't managed to escape. Bodies. This time, there hadn't been anyone trapped inside, for which Clark was very relieved. But he was tired, and he reeked of smoke. And he longed for companionship. He longed for Lois. After the emotion of the late night and early morning, he was anxious to see if she still felt the same way. If she was prepared to put up with a relationship with a man who was half what he'd once been - a man she could never have openly as her boyfriend. Kal. He was Kal. Not Clark. He knew that he should go back to his Fortress, the cabin in the woods. But, regardless, he headed for Lois's apartment. It felt far more like home than his new accommodation ever could. The window was s