Clark Kent, This Is Your Life
By Yvonne Connell <yvonne@yconnell.fsnet.co.uk>
Rated: PG-13
Submitted: October 2005
__________


This story contains adult themes which some readers may not
enjoy.  It is also not without controversy, particularly in
respect of altClark's life choices.  Whether or not you believe
these to be plausible and/or acceptable, I very much welcome your
feedback.  However, if you find after reading several chapters
that you're still not enjoying the story because of the choices
I've made, perhaps this isn't the story for you.

It's a bit of an experiment, this story.  The first scene popped
into my head out of nowhere, and then, before I knew it, the rest
of the premise had taken up residence in my imagination. 
However, I wasn't entirely sure if I should write the story,
because it presents a version of altClark that goes against
convention and would probably invite accusations of out-of-
character representation.  I was very curious as to where the
story would take me, though, so I continued, hoping to find out
whether I could make it work or not.  Here's the result.

__________


Waking up in the morning was, these days, a very pleasurable
experience for Clark Kent.  He'd surface slowly, taking his time
to emerge from the cosy depths of sleep into the soft embrace of
his new wife, Lois Lane.  A dopily content smile would spread
over his face.  Married for just three weeks and every day life
just got better and better.  There couldn't be another man alive
who was as happy or content as he.

This morning, however, was different.  Waking up was difficult. 
He had to struggle, to fight against the sinewy grip of a
blackness that was neither pleasant nor cosy.  His head swam, and
even with his eyes closed he was disorientated.  He couldn't
focus - couldn't, for the longest moment ever, remember exactly
where he was.  And when he did, he was even more confused,
because Lois was missing.  He knew that even without opening his
eyes.

Well, maybe she'd risen before him.  Three weeks into their
marriage, it was too early to say what was routine and what
wasn't.  They were, after all, still figuring out how to be a
married couple.

He didn't understand the sluggishness, though.  He was used to
waking up fully refreshed and brimming with energy ­ one of the
benefits of being super-powered and super-fit.  A probe into his
cloudy memory yielded a complete blank on why he might feel so
awful.

He forced his way up to the surface.  Perhaps he'd been mistaken
and Lois was lying right next to him.  Opening his eyes, however,
proved almost impossible ­ his eyelids were heavy and refused to
move on his command.  Anxious now and a little alarmed, he rocked
his head to and fro on the pillow in an effort to wake himself
up.

"Shhh."

Cool, feminine fingers brushed his cheek, and he quieted
immediately, relieved that Lois was with him after all.

"Wake up, Clark," she whispered.  "Open your eyes."

Once again, he tried to force his eyes open, and this time was
rewarded by the image of a blurry figure leaning over him.  Lois. 
He blinked to clear the image, allowing a warm and rather
relieved smile to spread over his face.

A blond woman with blue eyes and a brittle smile hovered over
him.  "Welcome back, sleepy-head," she said softly, and bent down
to kiss him briefly on the cheek.

His smile died and for a split second, he blanked out completely. 
Where was Lois?  Who was this woman?  Why was she kissing him?

Where was he?

He gripped the sheets tightly with his hand.  They felt like the
sheets he and Lois had chosen a few weeks ago.  The pillow felt
familiar.  Even the bed felt like his bed.

So who was this woman?

She pushed the hair back from his face and smiled down at him. 
"How do you feel, honey?"

He stared up at her.  Gradually, the features stirred a memory
from his past.  A long, long way back in his past.


"L-Lana?" he ventured querulously.

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

Lois Lane padded through from the bathroom back into their
bedroom, tucking a corner of her towel in around her bust.  Today
was their day off from the Daily Planet, so she and Clark had
slept late.  Still, she was a little surprised that she was the
first one up.  Usually her husband  was dressed and making
breakfast before she'd even hit the shower.

Her husband.

She still got a little thrill from that.  At last, her secret
ambition, the furtive dream she'd only ever let herself dwell on
through the protective prism of soppy movies and trashy romance
novels, had come true.  And a mere three weeks of marriage hadn't
dimmed her excitement at all.  She was living right in the middle
of her very own romance novel.

Over on the bed, the object of her thoughts was lying on his
stomach, his strong, broad shoulders uncovered by the sheets. 
One arm was outstretched towards her pillow, and his dark hair
was endearingly tousled.  She smiled.  He was the world's most
powerful man to those who knew him as Superman, yet to her, he
was just Clark, her extremely lovable and currently sleep-
befuddled husband.

She walked up to the bed and shook his shoulder gently.  "Hey,
sleepy-head.  Where's my breakfast?"

He made a small moan of protest, then sighed deeply and rolled
over onto his back with his eyes open.  "Morning, L-"

Suddenly his eyes went wide with shock and he froze, her name
dead on his lips.  "What are you doing here?" he hissed
anxiously.  "Has Lana seen you yet?"

His eyes darted around the room as he scrambled to sit up. 
"Where are your clothes?" he demanded, swinging his legs around
and standing up.  "You have to get dressed and out of here!"

Puzzled, she watched as he began to hunt around the room,
snatching up clothing from chairs, checking the floor and even,
at one point, looking under the bed.  "Clark, what are you
doing?" she asked.  "If this is some kind of joke, then I have to
tell you, it's not one of your better attempts at humour."

"No joke," he said grimly, darting back to be bed to rummage
amongst the tousled blankets and sheets.  "Come on, Lois, you
know the deal here."

"No, I don't," she replied, concern beginning to replace
puzzlement.  "I have no idea what you're talking about.  And why
would Lana, of all people, see me in my own bedroom?"

"Please, Lois," he said.  "Don't play games.  I hate this
sneaking around just as much as you do ­ you know that."

Enough was enough.  She intercepted him on his way to the closet
and stared up into his anxious face.  "Clark, what's wrong?" she
demanded.  "You're acting really weird.  Are you feeling all
right?"

"I'm fine, but I won't be if Lana finds you here!" he whispered. 
"You have to go.  Now!"  He gripped her shoulders and kissed her
fiercely.  "I love you, sweetheart, and I wish things were
different, but they're not.  I'll come over to your place tonight
­ she thinks I'm working late."

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

"Yes, it's me," replied Lana, her smile faltering.  "Were you
expecting someone else?"

Well, yes, of course he had been, but looking up into her face
with its fading smile and cool eyes, he got the feeling that he'd
be wise to keep that to himself until he figured things out. 
"No," he murmured.  "Of course not."

"Of course not," she repeated in an acidic parody of his own
voice.  "How nice of you to say that."

He frowned.  Whether this was a dream or reality, Lana had never
spoken to him like that before.  What the heck was going on here?

Lying flat out while she loomed over him was making him feel
distinctly at a disadvantage.  Sitting up, however, proved to be
a struggle which made his head spin and awoke a dull ache in his
limbs.  Wearily, he rested his head back on the headboard and
hoped the room would stop swaying sometime soon so he could
figure out how to handle this crazy situation.

"Still feeling a little woozy?"

Her manner, all pouting face and sing-song voice, was more like
that of a mother quizzing her poorly three year-old than of a
mature woman asking after another adult's health.  Under
different circumstances, he might have made a sardonic remark
about it, but he simply didn't have the energy.

"Yeah," he sighed.

She nodded.  "That was a nasty turn you took last night," she
said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  "What do you think
caused it?  I haven't seen you look so ill since that time you
fainted back home in Smallville."

"I have no idea," he replied truthfully.  Some of his symptoms,
like the aching limbs, felt like kryptonite poisoning, but he
didn't usually feel this thick-headed after exposure.

She placed a hand on his bare chest, making him distinctly
uncomfortable.  "It scares me when you get sick."  The hand slid
up his chest to his shoulder.  "What with you being...you know. 
So different.  There'd be no-one to help you if you got really
ill."  Her fingers pressed deep into the muscles of his shoulder
as she leant forward, her eyes cool despite the upward curve of
her lips.

He braced himself for her kiss.  Thankfully, her lips touched his
for the merest nanosecond.  Just a brief, dutiful kiss and a
glancing whiff of light floral perfume, and then she was drawing
away.  "I know you were planning on working late tonight, but
maybe you should take things easy today," she said, removing her
hand from his shoulder and withdrawing into a prim, self-
contained unit at the side of the bed.  "How about I phone Perry
and tell him you're sick?"

"Okay."  Anything to get rid of her for a few minutes so that he
could do some thinking.

Had he encountered kryptonite last night?  He couldn't remember
clearly, but he didn't think so.  Surely he and Lois had spent
the evening working on their latest story...the Star Labs press
announcement, wasn't it?...then tumbled into bed.  Made love ­ he
definitely remembered that part ­ and fallen asleep in each
other's arms.  So what was Lana doing in his bedroom acting like
she was his wife?

And where was Lois?

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

"Get off me!"

Lois tore herself out of his grasp and staggered backwards in
horror.  He wasn't Clark.  He'd just kissed her and was standing
half-naked in her bedroom, but he wasn't her husband.

It was the little things, the minute, tiny things that weren't
right.  His hands holding her just a little too tightly.  His
lips just a fraction too rough.  His stance...wrong.  Not
Clark's.

She clutched at the towel anchored around her bosom, suddenly
feeling very exposed.  "Who are you?" she demanded.  "And what
have you done with my husband?"

His face crinkled up into a frown.  "What?  Your husband?"  He
sighed.  "I told you, Lois, we don't have time for this.  Please
- just get dressed and we'll talk tonight."

"It's Tempus, isn't it?" she deduced.  "He sent you here.  Well,
you can tell him that whatever trick he's trying to play on us
this time, it won't work.  Just head back to your own dimension
and give me my husband back."

"Who's Tempus?" he asked.  "And why do you keep on about this
non-existent husband of yours?  Are you sick?  Maybe you're
feverish."

He stepped forward with a hand outstretched towards her forehead
but she quickly ducked away.  "Stay away from me," she snapped.

Backing up a few paces, she eyed him warily.  Either he was a
clone, or he was from another dimension.  If he was the latter,
then the chances were that he wasn't particularly dangerous, just
really confused.  If he was the former, then, in her experience,
he was likely to have more in common with a lost little boy than
a threatening superhero.  Either way, she concluded, she could
handle him.  Okay...

"How do you feel about eating frogs?" she asked.

"Huh?"  He was frowning again.

"Just answer the question ­ do you eat frogs?"

"No, of course I don't!" he exclaimed.  "I mean, I once tried
frogs' legs in Paris, but there's all those tiny bones and you
don't get much meat on them..."  He shook his head.  "Why am I
even having this conversation?  You need to get out of here
before Lana comes back..."  His voice trailed off and he gazed
around himself slowly.  "From wherever she is..."

"Where do you think you are?" she demanded.

"In our bedroom, of course."   But he was clearly beginning to
have second thoughts about that.  His frown deepened as he took
in his surroundings.

"Who shares the bedroom with you?"

"Lana.  My wife," he answered absently, drifting over to the
closet and drawing open the door.  "What have you done with her
clothes?"

His wife?  But the Clark she'd met in the other universe had
split with Lana!  Surely he hadn't gone back to her?

But no.  This Clark was obviously new to the concept of universe
hopping, so he must be from a different dimension to the other
Clark.  Oh, boy.  Just how many dimensions were there out there,
and just how many Clarks was she destined to meet in her
lifetime?

Focus, she instructed herself.  Forget all the other Clarks and
concentrate on the one who is now closely examining your shoe
rack as if he'd like it to magically acquire an entirely new set
of footwear.

"I haven't done anything with them, believe me," she told him. 
"And I'm not the Lois Lane you think I am, either.  That sounds
crazy, I know, but it's true."

He snorted.  "You're right ­ it sounds ridiculous."  He slid open
the opposite door of the closet.  "Where are my suits?"

"Um...red and blue or charcoal grey?"

"Red and blue?"  He swivelled around and laughed nervously.  "You
are kidding, right?  You know what colour all my suits are."

"Actually, I don't."  She tightened her grip on her towel. 
"Okay, here's what we're going to do.  One, I am going to get
dressed.  In the bathroom," she added, just in case he had any
other ideas.  "Two, you are going to get dressed.  In here. 
In...whatever you can find in there ­ " she pointed at the closet
­ "which fits you.

"Three, you have to have figured out by now that your wife, Lana,
is not going to come storming in here.  Scan the entire house if
you like with your x-ray thingy and you'll find she's not here. 
So you can relax a bit.  And four, after we're both dressed,
we'll meet back in here and figure out what to do next.  Okay?"

His eyes had flickered at her mention of his x-ray powers.  Did
that mean his Lois didn't know who he really was?  Well, tough ­
she knew, and she didn't have time to tip-toe around his
sensitivities on the subject.  She wanted her husband back. 
Anything else was secondary.

"No, it's not okay," he replied, his fists clenched tight by his
sides.  "It's very far from okay.  But since I have no idea
what's going on and why you're behaving as if you don't know me,
I guess I'll have to go along with this crazy game of yours.  For
now."

"Okay, that's good enough for me," she said crisply.  "See you in
five."

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

Clark sighed with relief when Lana left to phone Perry and fetch
some breakfast.  Perhaps he could figure out what was going on
now that he didn't have to play-act with her.  Wearily, he let
his head roll to one side against the headboard and gazed around.

Everything looked...off.  The same but different.  For example,
he could have sworn their curtains were russet-coloured when he'd
climbed into bed last night, but now they were beige.  The carpet
was a darker brown than he remembered.  Lois's dressing gown was
missing from the chair in front of the vanity unit.

This wasn't his bedroom.

Which meant one of three things.  One, he was dreaming or
hallucinating.  There was no way to test that theory, so it was
probably safer to assume that he wasn't.  Two, he'd been hit with
some kryptonite, kidnapped and brought here.  That was a
possibility, although unless these were particularly devious
kidnappers, it was difficult to explain away Lana's weird
behaviour.  Three, he was in an alternate reality.  Now, normal
people wouldn't even consider that option, but given his previous
experience of universe-hopping, it wasn't such a crazy idea.

In fact, all things considered, it was the most likely
explanation.  Unless he was dreaming.  Or hallucinating.

He groaned softly.  Going around in circles wasn't much help. 
Time to do a little investigating.

But preferably with the minimum of effort.  He turned his gaze to
the closet and sent the usual instruction from brain to eyes to
do their x-ray thing.  Nothing.  Just solid, opaque wood and a
faint throb across his temples.

Definitely kryptonite.  Nothing else could rob him of his powers
like this.  Okay, time to do things the old-fashioned way...

Slowly and carefully, he swung his legs around and sat on the
edge of the bed.  Not so bad, if you ignored the weird tilting
floor and swaying furniture.  Hey, some people would pay good
money for an effect like that.  Standing up was interesting, too. 
Who knew it was possible to stand perfectly still yet feel like
you were dancing a slow waltz around the room without a partner?

All this needed was a little determination and a willingness to
accept mobile furniture as a perfectly normal phenomenon.

He made it to the closet with the barest minimum of detours left
and right.  Gripped tightly onto the side and slid open a door. 
A rack of business suits, shirts and sweaters greeted him.  Nope,
not his.  He slid open the other door.  Feminine things.  Nice
colours, but far too neatly arranged.  Yikes, they were even
arranged by colour.  Lois would never do that - Lois wasn't
capable of doing that.  Thank goodness.

Okay, the alternative universe theory was looking good.  What
else?  Lana seemed to think she was his wife.  He lifted up his
left hand ­ yup, the wedding band was still there, although it
seemed a bit wider than he remembered.  Shame he and Lois had
never had it inscribed with their names...or maybe these people
had.  He twisted it off and studied the inside.

"Till death us do part.  Love, Lana."

A shiver ran down his spine.  What a morbid sentiment to choose,
especially when there was such a vast difference in their life
expectancy.  Lois and he usually avoided anything that could
remind them of what might happen as they entered old age. 
Coupled with Lana's barely-concealed hostility, the inscription
even seemed a little threatening

He shook head: now he was getting hysterical.  It was perfectly
normal to quote from the traditional wedding vows on your wedding
band.

Okay, what next?  The wooziness appeared to be lessening, so
perhaps he ought to figure out how he'd ended up here and how to
get back again.

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

As soon as she'd returned to the bedroom ­ and found her visitor
fully clothed, thankfully - Lois had wasted no time.  She hadn't
allowed him to utter a single word while she'd launched into a
resume of everything she knew and had experienced of alternate
universes.  She'd made it clear that he'd arrived in a different
universe to his own, and that over here, Clark Kent was not
married to Lana Lang, but to Lois Lane.

She was now regarding him warily and awaiting his reaction.  His
expression was unreadable, which was a bit disconcerting: usually
she could tell exactly what Clark was thinking, the poker face
not being one of his greatest talents.

He crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips.  "Prove
it."

She gasped.  "You're kidding, right?  Do I look like I'm making
this up?"

"No, but I've learned the hard way that not everything in life is
necessarily what it claims to be," he said harshly.  "Prove it."

"Just how much proof do you need?" she retorted.  "I'm obviously
not the Lois you know.  Lana, your wife, is nowhere to be seen. 
You don't recognise any of the clothes in that closet.  This
bedroom probably doesn't look much like your own and I'm willing
to bet that if you took a look at the rest of the house it would
look different, too."

The corners of this mouth turned downwards and he shrugged. 
"You're an actress made up to look like Lois.  Lana is out on an
errand.  You changed the clothes and the appearance of this room
to fool me.  I haven't seen the rest of the house."

"When?" she exclaimed.  "When would I have had time to do all
this?  Why would I do all this?  My God, you sure redefine the
meaning of the word 'paranoid', you know that?"

"And talking about parallel universes is perfectly normal, is
it?" he sneered.  "You, lady, redefine the meaning of the word
'crazy'."

"Okay, fine!" she retorted.  "If you don't accept my explanation
for all these differences, what's yours?"

Angrily, she crossed her arms and stared up at him, willing him
to quit wasting time with his stupid, paranoid objections.  Why
couldn't he just accept that she was telling him the truth so
that they could move onto the important business of getting Clark
back?  She was damned if she was going to let this universe-swap
last one minute longer than it absolutely had to.

"I don't have one yet, but I'll find it," he said through gritted
teeth.

She threw up her hands.  "Be my guest!  Search the entire house
if you like," she added in exasperation.  "Just do me a favour
and do it at Superman speed, okay?  We're wasting time."

"Superman?  As in Man and Superman?  By George Bernard Shaw?" he
asked, his face screwing up into a frown.  "What the heck are you
talking about now?"

Darn - she'd forgotten he didn't know about Superman.  "Using
your...you know.  Fast.  Really fast.  And seeing through things. 
All of that."

His expression turned cold.  "If you represent who I think you
represent, then the last thing I will do on this earth is perform
for you like some kind of grotesque circus act."  He swivelled on
the balls of his feet and headed for the bedroom door.  "Your
set-up was good, I'll give you that ­ but you just blew it big
time."

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

Dressed in his counterpart's work clothes, Clark paused on the
threshold to the kitchen.  Lana was leaning over the kitchen
counter with her back to him, apparently writing something in a
notebook.  He took the opportunity to compare her with the Lana
he'd known back in Smallville.  Yep, same build.  Same colour
hair, although this Lana wore it shorter.  She was also perhaps a
little thinner than his Lana and didn't have such nice legs ­
they weren't as curvy and smooth as the Lana he remembered.  Not
that any woman's legs were as nice as Lois's.

Which brought him to the task in hand: get back to his own
universe as soon as possible.  Assuming he really was in another
universe and not in the middle of some incredibly devious plot to
outwit him.  He'd run through all the possibilities again while
he'd been dressing, but no theory had seemed any better or worse
than this one, so he was sticking to it for now.  At least this
way he didn't need to worry where Lois was.  She was safe at home
in the correct universe.

Yep, safe.  No reason to worry.  So long as he got himself home
soon.

To do that, he needed lots of information and facts, and he
wasn't going to get those lying on his back in bed.  The place
for information was the Planet, and so he'd decided to tell Lana
he was feeling better ­ which wasn't entirely untrue ­ and that
he was going to work after all.

"Hey," he said, walking into the room and heading for a coffee
pot he'd spotted near Lana.

She started, then hastily closed her notebook and shoved it to
one side under a pile of papers.  Clearly flustered, she pushed
her hair out of her face and looked over to him with a brittle
smile.  "Darling," she said.  "What are you doing up?"

Lifting a mug from the drainer, he poured some coffee and glanced
surreptitiously around for the fridge.  Ah, ha...   He strode
confidently across the kitchen and opened the door.  "I'm feeling
a lot better," he said, pouring milk into his coffee.

"But not so much better that you can face your usual black
coffee, I see," she said.  "Upset tummy?" she enquired, back to
her mommy-voice again.

Darn.  "No," he replied breezily.  "Just felt like a change." 
Lifting the mug to his lips, he eyed the pile of papers where
she'd shoved her notebook.  Why the sudden need to hide it?

He couldn't even x-ray it to find out ­ not without drawing his
glasses down his nose, and she'd be sure to recognise the gesture
immediately and know what he was up to.  Besides, he wasn't too
sure he could x-ray anything right now.

She frowned.  "Well, I still think you shouldn't work late
tonight," she said.  "In fact, how about I pick you up at five
and we'll drive home together?  Save you having to take the
subway - and we can collect a take-out from the Chinese on Green
Street."

She seemed very keen to prevent him from staying late at work. 
Why?

And was this growing sense that something was off-kilter in this
household merely because he was in the wrong dimension, or was
there really something odd going on?

"Sure," he said.  "Thanks."

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

Lois leaned up against the kitchen counter, pensively watching
the coffee machine splutter its way to the end of its cycle. 
She'd never really understood how it worked.  Ground coffee and
water went in one end and coffee came out the other ­ that was
all she cared about.  How much more complex would it have to be
to turn it into a universe-switching machine?  And would Star
Labs have the answer?  They had, after all, recently announced
the successful transmission of matter from one side of a lab to
the other: she and Clark had covered the recent press
announcement and had tickets to the forthcoming demonstration.

A demonstration, she realised with a jolt, which was due to take
place this morning.  She'd have to take her intruder in place of
Clark.  Damn.  Was he even press trained?  Did he know how to
behave like a reporter?

And just where the heck was he?  Still prowling the house,
presumably, looking for evidence of some massive conspiracy plot
against him.  Idiot.

She glanced at her watch.  There wasn't much time before they
were due at Star Labs.  Impatiently, she shoved herself away from
the counter and went to search for him.

"Clark?" she called.  "Where are you?"

She found him in the lounge.  He was standing by the mantelpiece,
holding one of their framed photos and staring down at it.

"I just remembered I'm due at a press conference," she told him. 
"You'll have to come with me in place of Clark...my husband."

He didn't respond.

"I said, I need you to come with me," she repeated, annoyance
lending an edge to her words.  "Now."

Slowly, as if he was wilfully ignoring the urgency in her voice,
he set the picture back on the mantelpiece.  It was her
favourite, she noticed.  Christmas at Smallville, with a broadly-
grinning Clark standing with his arms around both his parents.

He turned and faced her, his expression set firm and
uncompromising.  "Why are you doing this to me?" he demanded. 
"It won't work, whatever it is.  I got over their deaths a long
time ago.  Lana should have told you that much."

"Those are my husband's parents," she said.  "The man in the
centre is my husband ­ their son."

"Your alternate universe story again."  He turned back to face
the mantelpiece and stared as his own image in the mirror above.
"I don't understand," he said, his face creasing with confusion
and anxiety.  "I need to get out of here and find some answers."

Watching his struggle reminded her of the time she'd been dumped
into an alternate reality.  She'd been frightened ­ finding your
own tombstone wasn't exactly confidence-inspiring ­ and very
confused, but at least she'd had H G Wells with her to help
figure out what was going on.  This man had no-one.

She joined him at the mantelpiece and faced the mirror with him. 
"Look at me, Clark," she said softly.  "Look closely.  Do you
really believe an actress could be made up to look as similar to
your Lois as this?  You can see how little make-up I'm wearing."

His gaze slid to her reflection.  Flickered over her face.  "You
look so much like her," he murmured.  "I wish you were her," he
added in an aching whisper.  His gaze lingered on her eyes for a
moment then shot away quickly.  "But you're not."

"And what about that picture-"

"God, what is happening to me?"  He leant forward, staring deep
into his own reflection.  "I don't even recognise..."  His voice
trailed off and he brought a hand up to his face to rub at his
chin.  Tilted his face backwards and studied his image through
narrowed eyes.  "No scar..."

"Scar?" she asked.  "What scar?"

"I fell off my bike when I was three and split my chin open," he
said, his voice distant as he continued to study his own face in
the mirror.  "The scar never healed, even after I grew up."

He drew away from the mirror and brought his hands slowly up for
study, turning them around and scrutinising every line as if he'd
never seen it before.  "I...I don't understand," he said faintly,
the blood draining from his face.

When he rocked slightly on his feet, she grabbed at his elbow. 
"Here, sit down," she said, leading him to one of the sofas.  He
sank down and leant forward with his head in his hands.

"Would you like a glass of water?" she offered, glancing at her
watch again.  Time was fast running out if she was going to make
the press conference in time, but she couldn't very well leave
him alone like this.

"No," he said.  "Just tell me what's going on."

"I already did that, but you wouldn't believe me."

He shook his head.  "No, you don't get it."  He fell quiet for a
moment, his breathing heavy with distress.  She began to think he
might faint, he was so shaky, and wondered whether she ought to
make him put his head between his legs or something.  "I need..."
he said, "I need you to explain why this isn't my body."

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

The elevator doors slid open and there was the usual polite
shuffle of people exiting and entering.  Murmurs of 'excuse me'
and 'my floor'.  The odd greeting between fellow workers.  A waft
of hot bacon from someone's McDonald's breakfast.
With a great deal of apprehension, Clark joined the exiting crowd
and stepped out onto the newsroom floor of the Daily Planet.  The
place was already buzzing with activity, phones ringing shrilly
above the early-morning chatter.  Which was probably a good thing
­ no-one would notice a curiously uncertain Clark Kent lingering
near the elevator doors.

Glancing quickly around, he saw that the layout was largely
similar to his own universe's newsroom and, with an air of
confidence which was nine-tenths false bravado and one-tenth
blind optimism, he made his way over to what he hoped was his
desk.

Sinking down behind the relative sanctuary of the computer and
its screen, he pretended to shuffle papers on the desk while
trying to gather up his scattered wits.  The subway ride had
given him a chance to reflect on his situation with more clarity
than he'd had a chance to with Lana buzzing around him, and he'd
rapidly come to a frightening realisation: this body he was
currently inhabiting was not his own.

The wedding band had been his first clue.  If he'd merely swapped
universes, he should have still been wearing the ring Lois gave
him, not the one Lana had given this universe's Clark.  After
that realisation had come the thought that the underwear he'd
woken up in had not been the underwear he'd gone to bed in.  He'd
long ago exchanged baggy white Y-fronts for closer-fitting marl-
grey briefs ­ around the time he and Lois had begun dating
seriously, in fact.  And come to think of it, he should have
woken up butt naked: he distinctly remembered Lois undressing him
during their lovemaking the previous night.

The clincher, though, had been the scar on his chin.  He'd
spotted it in his reflection on the window opposite him.  At
first, he'd thought it was a mark on the window, but when he'd
moved and the mark had moved with him, he'd known for certain: he
was inside someone else's body.

Coupled with a faint echo of the wooziness he'd felt earlier,
this new revelation was making him feel distinctly queasy.  This
body didn't fit right.  When he moved its arms and legs, they
felt awkward and wrong.  Clumsy.

He leant his face in his hands and told himself sternly to get a
grip.  People would start to notice-

"Here."  A polystyrene cup came into his field of vision.  "You
look like you need this."

The oh-so-familiar voice.  But his heart clenched: it wasn't her. 
Not his Lois.

Slowly, bracing himself for the impact on his jangling nerves, he
wrapped a hand around the  cup and looked up.  "Thanks."

Oh, God.  Just like her.  So, so, like her.  With longer hair,
just like she used to wear it.

She leant closer.  "You look terrible," she murmured, her warm
hand sliding over his where it rested on the desk.  "What
happened?"  Her thumb slowly stroked the back of his hand, the
nearness of her filling his senses with gentle citrus perfume
mixed with her own sweet essence.  Her low-cut top revealed the
upper swell of creamy breasts and a hint of cleavage, and he had
to consciously will himself to keep his eyes on her face.

Not his Lois.

But she reminded him of his wife, and she gazed down at him with
his wife's sympathetic eyes.

"Nothing."  He shrugged.  "Just didn't sleep too well last
night."

Her hand withdrew and her lips pursed.  "I see.  Kept you up
late, did she?"

Something was out of kilter here: she wasn't addressing him as a
fellow work colleague, but as...what?  A close friend?  And who
was 'she'?  Lana, presumably.

"No, I just-"

"It's okay," she said.  "I know you have to keep up appearances." 
She bit her lip.  "I just wish you weren't so...so dedicated to
your role."  She laughed shakily.  "Sorry.  I know we agreed I
wouldn't do this.  Look, drink your coffee, it's getting cold."

Thankful for the excuse not to respond, he lifted the cup to his
lips and drank.  Strong, black coffee slid down his throat, so
bitter it made him grimace.

Not a close friend, he decided.  A lover?  Surely not.

Maybe he was misinterpreting her body language.  Reading more
into her behaviour than was actually there, because he expected
her to act like his wife.  Wishful thinking, that was all.

"I have to go out in a few minutes, but I'll see you tonight,
okay?" she said, straightening up and raising her voice to the
level of the others around them.  "For that stakeout we planned?"

"Uh, I can't," he said, remembering Lana's determination to
collect him at five and take him straight home.  "Lana..."

She pursed her lips again.  "But you promised," she said.  "This
is important, you know that."

No, actually, he hadn't a clue.  "I know, but-"

"We've been planning it for days, Clark."  She crossed her arms
over her chest, her voice bristling with barely-concealed anger. 
"I can't believe you're backing out now."

"I'm sorry, but Lana wants us to go for take-out."  God, that
even sounded lame to his ears, but what could he say?  He had no
way of knowing what this stakeout was for and no way of backing
out of Lana's arrangements.  Although perhaps he might be able to
phone her, if he could figure out where she worked...

Lois's eyes flashed angrily.  "Fine.  I'll go alone."

She whirled away and strode stiffly over to her own desk, sat
down and buried herself behind her computer.

A wave of deja vu swept over him.  How many times had he sat
guiltily at his desk while a bruised Lois had sat opposite him,
simmering with anger and hurt because he'd broken off a date? 
Sorry, I just remembered I have to return a video.  Oops, I think
I left the gas on at home.  Lame excuses had been his speciality.

And just as he hadn't been able to offer any comfort or
explanation back then, he was equally unable to give this Lois
anything other than a weak apology.  Sighing, he began opening
mail and discarding most of it ­ the junk mail - in the trash. 
It didn't get any easier, watching her move jerkily around her
desk, slamming drawers and tossing pens around, flinging files
across her desk and treating her keyboard as if it was a creature
from hell.  His own Lois had been just the same.

He thumbed on his own computer and began to find his way into the
system.  Password.  Oh, heck, how was he supposed to guess that? 
He tried a few, praying the system wouldn't lock him out after
too many failed attempts.  On the other hand, he could then just
phone tech support and ask them to reset his password.  If he
could find the number for tech support...okay, that was handy. 
It was stuck on the monitor.

One phone call later, he was logged in and beginning to search
for clues on how to get back to his own universe.

And two minutes after that, Lois was back, standing rigidly in
front of his desk.  "I need to talk to you," she said in a
clipped voice.  "Privately."

If only he knew how this Clark would have responded.  What leeway
might he have to refuse, or at least stall until he'd figured out
his role in all of this mess?  Not much, he concluded, looking up
into her thunderous face.  She was ready to drag him out from
behind his desk if needed.  Warily, he nodded.  "Okay."

He'd barely closed the door on the conference room when she began
speaking.  "We had a date, Clark," she fumed, her hands clenched
tight by her sides.  "Our first real date for weeks, and you
break it off to fetch take-out with Lana?"  Her voice rose. 
"Take-out?  What kind of an excuse is that?  No excuse, that's
what.  God, when are you ever going to see how she's manipulating
you?"

Lovers.  Definitely lovers.  Good God, his counterpart was an
adulterer!

Squashing down his surprise and instant disapproval, he replied,
"I'm sorry.  She caught me off guard," he added truthfully. 
"You...you know what she's like."

Probably a whole lot better than he did, in fact.

"No!" she said.  "I don't know what she's like, actually.  Who
can possibly understand a woman who calls her husband a freak?  A
woman who lies for years to her husband about her real feelings
for him.  Who brainwashes him into believing he's some kind of
monster just because he's not like the rest of us.  Tell me,
Clark, just what goes on inside the head of a person who marries
someone just so she can spy on him?"

He flinched.  Was that really what Lana thought of this Clark? 
His head began spinning again and he grabbed at the back of a
chair.  What kind of a mess had he landed in the centre of?  He
sank down onto the chair in despair.

"Well?" prompted Lois shrilly.  "Are you going to answer me or
are you just going to sit there pretending you've got the most
perfect marriage of all time?"

"Just give me a minute..."

"No, I won't!" she snapped.  "I've given you
minutes...hours...days, even.  Weeks."

She let out a gusty breath and sat wearily down on a chair beside
him, her anger seemingly spent for the time being.  "Look what
she's doing to you, Clark," she said heavily.  "You're a wreck."

"I'm okay."

She shook her head.  "She's making you ill."

"I'm fine."  What else could he say?

"You always say that, but I know you're not."  And then she was
wrapping herself around him, her soft, feminine curves so
familiar yet so wrong.  "I hate seeing you like this," she
murmured.  "I think about what she wrote in that notebook and I
want to scratch her eyes out."  She kissed the side of his neck. 
"I want to show you again and again how wrong she is."  Her lips
pressed against the curve of his jaw-line.  "Show you how human
you are."  She closed her mouth around his earlobe and sucked
gently on it.  "How sexy you are."

Wrong.  This was all wrong.  Only Lois ­ his Lois ­ kissed him
like that.  Resisting the urge to snatch away from her, he
instead prised her gently off him and leaned away from her.  "I'm
not who you think I am," he said.  "I-"

"Don't say that," she protested, reaching back for him.  "Don't
listen to her-"

"No, you don't understand."  He got up and paced down the room. 
"Something happened.  Last night."

Was this the right thing to do?  He had no idea.  But sharing the
truth seemed a lot more honest than letting her continue to
believe she was talking to her Clark.  Besides, this was Lois. 
She'd be a strong ally in his efforts to return to his own
universe, if he could win her trust.

"What do you mean?" she asked in a low voice.  "Not while you
were...with...her?  I don't want to know, Clark.  Not that level
of detail, please."

"No," he replied quickly.  "Nothing like that."  God, where did
he start?  She'd never believe him.  He drew in a slow breath. 
"When I went to bed last night, I was with my wife.  My wife,
whose name is...Lois Lane."  

Her face darkened.  "That's not even funny, Clark.  Don't try to
make a joke of this."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he pointed out.  "I'm telling you
the truth, Lois.  When I woke up this morning, I was with a
stranger - or nearly a stranger.  In my world, you see, Lana and
I were school friends.  No more than that.  So I think...and I
know this is going to sound crazy...I think there's been some
kind of body swap between universes."

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

Usually, only a handful of press turned up for Star Labs'
announcements and demonstrations, obscure scientific advances not
being very high on the agenda of most newspapers or media
organisations.  Today, however, was different.  The small
pressroom was packed with reporters, all eager to see the magical
transplanting of matter from one location to another.  Extra
seating had been brought in to accommodate the swelling numbers,
and now even the aisles were filled.

Lois, however, with a judicious use of elbows and a good dose of
sheer cussedness, had managed to fight her way to the front row
and was waiting impatiently for the demonstration to begin. 
Beside her sat a brooding, silent Clark.

He'd hardly said a word since he'd accepted the undeniable fact
that he was in a new universe, inhabiting her husband's body. 
She couldn't entirely blame him: she'd been pretty shocked
herself when she'd realised he hadn't just swapped universes, but
also bodies.  In fact, she would have skipped the press
conference if it hadn't been for the fact that they were probably
going to witness one of the most important scientific
breakthroughs of the century.

Memories of Woody Sam's swap with Clark's body had come flooding
back.  That dreadful moment when she'd looked into Clark's eyes
and seen the fierce red of an impending laser blow.  The one time
in her life when she'd been terrified of her own husband.

But this Clark, although bitter and upset, didn't seem dangerous. 
Just confused and troubled.

And what the heck was going on in his private life?  He was
married to Lana Lang, yet that kiss he'd given her in the bedroom
had been highly passionate ­ a lover's kiss.  He'd told her he
hated 'all this sneaking around.'  He'd been appalled to find her
undressed in what he'd thought was the bedroom he shared with his
wife.  There was only one explanation: he was having an affair
with the Lois of his universe.

How weird that, in just about any universe, Loises and Clarks
just didn't seem able to remain apart for long.  But an affair?

She snatched a sideways glance at him.  He didn't look like an
adulterer.  Other than the bleak expression and the tense jaw
line, he looked just like her Clark.  What could have happened to
make him unfaithful to his wife?  Her Clark would never break his
marriage vows - a promise was a promise, as far as he was
concerned.

Although, what if her Clark was, right this minute, with the
wrong Lois?  Oh, God, if she treated him as if he was her lover
and he didn't realise she wasn't his wife...

No.  Clark would know.  She was confident of that.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for turning up
despite the dreadful weather to attend our demonstration."

Lois turned her attention away from Clark to the smart PR woman
now standing behind the small plinth in the centre of the stage. 
This was the boring bit, where the glossy PR men and women
expounded the importance and relevance of this latest scientific
advance, usually making it sound at least three times more
significant that it really was.  But Lois knew that useful clues
as to the real story could be winkled out at this stage ­ if she
could keep her eyes from glazing over when the heavy science
began.

As a slide show presentation started, Lois scanned the room for
Dr Bernard Klein.  She already knew that this wasn't his project,
but she had a hunch he wouldn't be far away: this was Star Labs'
big day, after all.  And sure enough, after a few moments, she
spotted him in a huddle with a few more white-coated men and
women.  Surprisingly, he didn't look as happy and proud as she'd
expect him to be on such a momentous occasion.  In fact, he
looked downright worried.

Her gaze shot back to the stage, where the PR woman was
introducing the scientist in charge of Project Scott ­ thus named
because of the engineer in the TV series Star Trek who'd made
such extensive use of similar technology.  This scientist ­ Dr
Henry Schulz - was all confident smiles as he explained the
equipment arranged before him on the stage and took them through
the brief demonstration they'd be witnessing.

As the demonstration commenced, Lois kept checking on Dr Klein. 
Interesting.  The closer they got to the actual point when the
equipment would be operated, the more uncomfortable he appeared
to be.  He was actually biting his nails when Dr Schulz announced
he was about to teleport the small block of wood sitting inside a
Perspex box on top of the biggest pile of jerry-built scientific
gizmos Lois had ever seen.

She nudged Clark's ribs to draw his attention to Dr Klein's
expression, forgetting in her excitement that he wasn't her
husband.  All she got for her efforts was an irritated frown.

"Forget it," she mouthed to him, turning her attention back to
the smiling Dr Schulz.

"Please watch the box on your right very carefully," instructed
Dr Schulz, with all the showmanship flair of a magician about to
pull a rabbit out of a hat.

"Watch the other box," hissed Lois to Clark, just before an
almighty electrical humming noise filled the room followed by a
loud pop from the right-hand box.  There was a collective gasp
from the audience and then suddenly the box was filled with white
smoke.

Dr Schulz donned a large protective glove, opened the lid of the
box, and out of the billowing smoke, produced the block of wood
and held it triumphantly up for all to see.  "As you can see, the
block has been successfully teleported from the box on your left
to this box here," he announced.

Immediately, the room erupted with questioning reporters.  Lois
shot up from her chair, and, using the strident, piercing voice
she'd developed over years of practice, drawled, "Nice party
trick, but how do we know it's for real?"

The PR woman stepped forward.  "Hi, Lois.  Good to know the Daily
Planet maintains its healthy scepticism of all things
scientific," she replied smoothly, then gestured around the room. 
"As you can see, we haven't been shy about inviting the televised
media to this event.  You can also see that we've ensured that
they're positioned all around the room, recording the
demonstration from every angle.  I'm sure experts from all over
the country will analyse and dissect the resulting footage, and
naturally, we have independent scientific observers in the room
who can verify the genuineness of the demonstration you just
witnessed."

Oh, really?  Lois had her doubts.  "But given that this is a Star
Labs breakthrough," she replied, "and no other scientist in the
world is familiar with your technology, how can these independent
observers do their job effectively?"

"Because we've already published our research widely within the
scientific community," said Dr Schulz.  "Today is just the
physical realisation of our theories."

"So other labs will shortly be teleporting wooden blocks too?"
Lois asked.  "Gee, life has never been so exciting for the humble
wood block, I guess."

The room tittered.  "This is just the beginning, Ms Lane," said
Dr Schulz.  "Imagine a world where no-one need travel on gas-
guzzling machines ever again.  Where people can travel from
Metropolis to Milan in seconds."

A ripple of muted excitement passed through the room, suddenly
pierced by a familiar voice.  "Clark Kent, Daily Planet."

Lois jumped.  She hadn't expected him to actually take part in
the proceedings!  What was he up to?

"Is the technology safe?" he asked.

Dr Schulz held up his woodblock and smiled indulgently at Clark:
the brilliant scientist enlightening the ignorant hack.  "Well,
this little critter looks pretty happy."

The room laughed again.  "But is the equipment safe to operate?"
Clark pressed.  "You talk of a utopia without cars, but is this
technology any cleaner?  How is it powered?  Do you fully
understand the possible knock-on effects of moving matter around
like this?"

The PR woman stepped forward.  "Which question would you like us
to answer first, Clark?" she simpered.  "I think you asked about
four or five."

Lois rolled her eyes, although the woman had a point: it really
wasn't good journalistic technique to ask more than one question
at a time.

"The most important one," replied Clark firmly.  "Is it safe?"

The woman shrugged.  "For woodblocks, sure.  Anything else, watch
this space - it's still early days, guys.  However, you can be
assured that Star Labs observes the highest standards of safety
in all its experimental work.  We wouldn't have invited all you
people here today if we weren't confident that it was safe."

Lois glanced over to Dr Klein's spot to find out what he thought
of that, but he'd gone.  Back to his lab, or to sit quietly
somewhere and bite his fingernails some more?  Thoughtfully, she
sank down onto her chair.  A visit was in order, she decided.  Dr
Klein knew something, and she was going to find out what!

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

Clark checked the clock on his computer screen: ten to five. 
Thank goodness.  The day had dragged along, every hour bringing
with it a new challenge in play-acting the part of his
counterpart in this universe.  Phone calls from contacts who
expected him to recognise their voice and know what they were
talking about.  Fellow members of staff referring to events he
had no knowledge of.  Jimmy asking for further guidance on some
research work the other Clark had handed over.  Perry chasing for
stories he didn't even know were due.

And all the time his mind had kept wandering over to the fact
that his counterpart was an adulterer.  No matter how much of a
witch Lana might be, he just couldn't bring himself to approve of
the affair.  If the other Clark was unhappy in his marriage and
loved another woman, then he should simply tell his wife so and
move on.  It was neither honest nor manly to do anything else. 
In fact, he'd found it hard to believe anyone who shared even the
most tenuous similarity with himself could be an adulterer, and
had spent a lot of time trying to figure out why the other Clark
was behaving so differently to himself.  Time he could ill afford
when he was trying to cope with all the pitfalls even the most
mundane of conversations presented.

Anyway, he'd bluffed his way through it all, and now he was
exhausted.  At least he didn't have to face Lana for a while:
after a lot of deliberation, he'd decided the better course of
action was to go with Lois this evening.  She was more likely to
be able to help him return to his own universe than Lana, and
while he hadn't entirely managed to persuade her that he'd been
telling the truth this morning, she was still a more sympathetic
ear than Lana would ever be.

Besides, being with Lois would be...easier.  Less challenging
than Lana.

After searching around for a bit, he'd found the phone number for
Lana's work and had called her to announce that he was feeling so
much better that he was going to work late after all.

"Oh," she'd replied coldly.

"I'm sorry, honey, but we're really close to cracking this
story," he'd said, speaking for the first time that day with a
grain of truth.  When he'd been poking around the computer, he'd
discovered some highly disturbing notes on an investigation which
this Clark and Lois were carrying out into a covert military
group called Skywatch.  Some of what he'd read had been horribly
familiar.

"But you were so sick this morning," she'd said without an ounce
of sympathy in her voice.  

"I'm okay."

"You don't want a relapse."

"I feel absolutely fine, Lana," he'd insisted.

Silence.  Except for her frustration, which had come through loud
and clear from her short, agitated breathing.

"I'll see you later," he'd said, when it had seemed she wasn't
going to say anything more.

"Clark, please."  Suddenly there had been real pleading in her
voice.  "Please stay home tonight.  I...I was looking forward to
our take-out dinner.  I thought we could pretend it was like old
times ­ you know, like when we first moved in and didn't even
have a bed, let alone a stove?  I thought we could have some
fun...like we used to..."

She'd sounded so plaintive, he'd felt like a complete heel.  If
this was what having an affair was like, how did other men cope? 
How could they do this to their own wives?  "I...I'm sorry, Lana. 
Maybe tomorrow night we can do that.  It sounds like fun."

"You mean you won't be working late tomorrow night as well?"
she'd asked bitterly.

"No, in fact, I'll come home early."  What was he saying?  How
could he promise to leave work early when he had no idea whether
that was even a possibility.  The desperation of the adulterer,
he'd supposed.

She'd sighed.  "In that case, you can do the shopping tomorrow. 
We're nearly out of milk and bread.  And we need light bulbs
again.  Another one blew this morning."

"Okay."

So he'd rung off with instructions not to wake her up when he
finally joined her in bed.  He wished now that he'd suggested he
sleep downstairs.  Perhaps he'd do that anyway.

In the meantime, he had an evening with Lois in which to find out
all he could about how he might have got here and how to get
back.  Assuming she ever returned from wherever-

"Still here?"

He looked up to find Lois shrugging off her coat while
simultaneously sitting down at her desk and switching on her
computer.  Taking a deep breath, he stood and crossed over. 
"Yeah, I phoned Lana and told her I'm working late," he said
quietly.  

Even as the words left his mouth, shame and guilt washed over
him: he hated the lies he was being forced to tell on behalf of
this Clark.  The guilt wasn't eased, either, by the delighted
smile which spread over Lois's face.

"Great!" she exclaimed, keeping her voice down low.  "I was
wondering what I was going to do with all that food I bought for
our..."  Her eyes dipped coyly.  "Stakeout.  Just let me write up
this interview and I'll be right with you."

She turned to her computer and suddenly froze, her hands poised
over her keyboard.  "Oh, I forgot," she said dully.  "You're not
Clark.  You're just some crazy person who looks and talks like
Clark."

He hitched a hip onto the edge of her desk and leant down towards
her.  "Lois, I know you don't believe much of what I told you
this morning, but please let me have this evening to explain it
better to you.  I need help to get out of this mess, and you're
the only one I can turn to."

Her mouth twisted.  "You knew I wouldn't be able to refuse that,
didn't you?  A plea for help from the man I love?"

"No, it's not like-"

"Lois, you got that interview written up yet?"

Clark scrambled off the desk and turned to face an oncoming Perry
wearing his sternest editor-on-the-warpath expression.  "She's
working on it, Chief," he said.

"And I suppose you were helping her," deadpanned Perry.  "Don't
you have a wife somewhere to go home to?"

Did Perry know about the affair?  "I...she..."

"I asked Clark to help me," said Lois.  "That's what partners do
for each other."

"Hmph!" snorted Perry.  "I hear they also cover for each other,
but maybe I'm just a cynical old newshound.  Thirty minutes,
Lois, you hear?  No longer.  With or without Clark's help."  He
made 'help' sound like a dirty word.

"On it, Chief," called Lois to his retreating back.

Clark eyed her as she began rattling out the story on her
keyboard.  "So we're still on for tonight?" he murmured.

"Yes," she snapped.  "Go away so I can get this thing done in
peace."

***********

Lois unlocked her front door and pushed indoors, her unwanted
visitor following behind her like a stray puppy.  She'd had a
frustrating afternoon trying unsuccessfully to track down the
elusive Dr Klein and was in no mood to act the welcoming hostess.

Dumping her briefcase and throwing her keys on the coffee table,
she glanced back at him.  "Do you want take-out?  We've got a few
places on speed dial if you want to order something."

"Uh...sure," he said, hovering awkwardly between her and the
front door like he didn't know where to put himself.  "What about
you?"

She shrugged off her raincoat and walked past him to the hangers
in the corner.  "I'm not hungry."

"You didn't eat lunch either," he observed.  "You're missing him,
aren't you?"

Dumb-ass question.  Of course she was missing her husband.

She bit back the angry retort and made her way over to the TV. 
"Yeah," she said, switching it on.  "Just like you're missing
your wife, I imagine."

It was a cheap jibe, but it pretty much summed up her feelings
about him.  She slumped down onto one of the sofas to watch the
news.  As she'd expected, they led with the Star Labs
demonstration.  Once again, a smiling Dr Schulz did his party
trick with the wooden block.

"Not that it's any of your business," said a coldly angry voice
from behind her, "but you have no idea what you're talking
about."

"Oh, really?" she drawled, keeping her eye on the scientists
gathered behind Dr Schulz.  "Don't they call it adultery in your
universe, then, when a man cheats on his wife?  Must be more
different over there than I imagined."

"No, we call it adultery, too," he said.  "And I'm not proud of
what I'm doing, you know."

"Oh, then that makes it all right," she retorted.  "You've got a
conscience."

Was it her imagination, or did one of the other scientists on the
back row flinch when Dr Schulz activated the machine?  She leant
forward and grabbed the phone on the coffee table.  Dialled.

"Hello?"

"Jimmy, turn on the news," she barked.  "LNN.  Right now."

"I'm kind of in the middle of something-"

"Now, Jimmy!"

"Jeez...okay, I'm watching.  Now what?"

"See that guy third from the end on the back row?" she said.

"The one with the moustache?"

"Yeah, him.  I want everything there is to know about the guy on
my desk by ten am tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Believe it or not, I do have a private life, you know-"

"Hey, I gave you a whole hour in the morning.  More if you get up
early."

"I was planning on going out tonight, actually," he protested
with just a hint of a whine.  "On a date.  You remember dates,
Lois ­ they're what normal people do-"

"She'll understand if you tell her it's for an important news
story," said Lois crisply.  "I would.  See you tomorrow."

She rang off before he had a chance to protest any more, certain
in the knowledge that, for all his complaining, he'd deliver the
research on time.  And it was definitely important: her sixth
sense was telling her that she needed to find out what was
happening behind the scenes at Star Labs.  Maybe she was being
fanciful, but she had a strong hunch that Dr Klein's nail-biting
performance this morning and the impostor filling Clark's shoes
behind her were somehow connected.

"You don't give people much of a chance, do you?"  He'd sat down
opposite her while she'd been talking to Jimmy and was now
regarding her with an unreadable expression.  Respect or dislike? 
She wasn't sure which.

"What do you mean?"

"Jimmy is expected to drop everything at your convenience.  I'm
judged guilty before you've even heard my defence," he said. 
"That poor receptionist at Star Labs got an earful from you this
afternoon.  Tell me, does everyone in your world have to dance to
Lois Lane's tune?"

"And are you always this rude to people you've only just met?"
she retorted.  Ungrateful idiot.  Didn't he realise she was doing
this for his benefit as much as her own?

"Only the ones who treat me like something the cat dragged in,"
he said heatedly.  "Look, I know you're missing your husband, but
I didn't ask to be switched into his body, you know.  It's not my
fault we're in this mess."

"I know, but I look at you and I see Clark, except you're not
Clark and you're nothing like him."  She bit her lip as it
threatened to wobble.  Damn lip.  Traitorous lip.  "You're even
wearing his clothes, dammit.  I bought that tie for him just last
month."

His hand drifted up to the object in question.  "I'm sorry.  Do
you want me to take it off?"

She shook her head.  Stupid tie.  Stupid suggestion.

He dropped his hand into his lap.  "It's going to take more than
a tie to fix this, huh?" he murmured ruefully.  "Okay.  I think
we got off to a bad start here.  You're missing your husband and
I'm still trying to adjust to living inside someone else's body ­
and in the wrong universe.  So why don't we try again?  I'll
apologise for being rude to you, and you can...well..."

"Apologise for treating you like something the cat dragged in?"
she suggested, allowing a faint smile to lift the corners of her
mouth.  "Okay.  Where do we go from here?"

"Well, how about I order that take-out for us?  I'm starving."

She let her smile grow a little.  "If you order a pepperoni
pizza, I might even eat a corner of it."

He grinned.  "Pizza it is."

After he'd ordered the pizza, they spent a few minutes discussing
their options for reversing the switch between universes.  Lois
explained how and why Tempus had made it happen previously, but
mused that, based on past experience, she would have expected him
to have shown up by now if he were responsible.  Tempus could
never resist the chance to crow to his victims.

"What if it were accidental?" suggested Clark.  "A...a rip in the
space-time continuum, or some kind of...I don't know...black
hole?  A...a door between the universes that one of us
accidentally opened somehow."  He grimaced.  "I have no idea what
I'm talking about here."

"Which is why we need Dr Klein," said Lois in frustration.  "He's
normally easy to track down, too, which is making me even more
suspicious."

"Suspicious?"

"I think something is going on at Star Labs, and Dr Klein knows
all about it," she said.  "We need to find him."

"Yes."  He sighed.  "Maybe if that Dr Schulz has something to
hide, we should speak to him.  Get him talking about the project
and then try to trip him up."

"Good idea.  And if Jimmy comes through on that research about
the other guy, we can speak to him, too," she said.

He nodded.  "Sounds like we have a plan," he said.  "Now all we
need is that pizza."

She smiled, letting herself relax a little now that they'd
figured out what to do next.  "You really are hungry, aren't
you?"

"Yeah.  Must be what universe-hopping does to you."

"Maybe."  And maybe he wasn't such an idiot after all.  At least
he wasn't as surly as he'd been earlier.

She flicked her gaze over him.  She'd been lying a little when
she'd said he looked exactly like Clark ­ he didn't.  He wore
Clark's body differently to her husband.  Less...comfortably. 
Less confidently.  Was that just because he felt awkward in a
body which wasn't his, or was it how he normally carried himself? 
"So...what makes you think you deserve a chance?"

His face crinkled in puzzlement.  "Huh?"

"Earlier," she said.  "When we were...disagreeing...you said I
should give you a chance to explain yourself."

She might have expected an angry retort for raising the subject
again, but instead he sagged forward, his arms resting on his
thighs.  "Maybe I can't," he muttered to the carpet.  "I mean,
it's not like I understand it myself."

"This morning, you said you'd learnt that things aren't always
what they seem," she prompted.  "What things?"

"Not things.  People," he said.  "One person, to be exact."

"Who?" she prompted, although she was pretty certain she already
knew the answer.

He looked up, his mouth twisting bitterly.  "I'll give you one
guess."

"Lana...your wife?"

"Yeah.  I found out she...doesn't feel about me the way I thought
she did."  He snorted.  "And that's the understatement of the
century."

"She was cheating on you?" she asked.

"No.  I might have coped with that."

"What, then?"

He shook his head and pushed up from the sofa to pace restlessly
towards the mantelpiece again.  Lifted the picture of Clark and
his parents down and gazed at it.  "Are they still alive?"

"Yes, that picture was taken just last year," she answered. 
"They still run the farm in Smallville."

He nodded.  "He's very lucky to have them," he said huskily.

"Yes, we both are," she agreed.  "So...you miss them, I guess? 
It must be hard losing your parents as a kid."

"Yeah," he murmured reflectively, his eyes still on the picture. 
"If it hadn't been for Lana's parents, not to mention Lana
herself..."  She watched him drift away into old memories, his
expression softening for a few moments.

Then he moved abruptly, replacing the picture back on the
mantelpiece.  "To answer your question," he continued, his voice
acquiring a hard edge,  "Yes, just lately, I have been missing
them."

Okay, whatever Lana had done had clearly hurt him very deeply,
so...  "Why haven't you just left Lana?"

"I...don't know.  I mean, I do, but...  Lois wants me to, of
course, but I just...I can't."  He brought his hand up to the
back of his head to worry at his hair.  "She was there for me
when Mom and Dad died, and she helped me when weird things began
happening to me...she knows all about me.  I can't just leave
her..."

"But she's obviously done something that really hurt you," she
said.  "Why would you want to stay with someone like that?"

He sighed heavily and came back to the sofa.  Lois settled back
against the cushions, realising this was going to be a long
explanation.  "I found a piece of paper..."

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

He hadn't believed it at first.  Standing in the middle of the
living room, the vacuum cleaner still shrieking impotently beside
him while he stared down at the scrap of paper it had sucked up
from beneath the sofa, he'd decided there must be some mistake. 
Either this wasn't Lana's handwriting, or he'd misunderstood the
words she'd written - it wouldn't be the first time he'd
misinterpreted his wife, after all.  Still...

"...floated in its sleep again last night.  Woke him up
immediately and instructed him to stop.  Will remain vigilant to
further occurrences and will wake and stop as needed.  No
evidence at this time that the behaviour is anything other than
involuntary.  Sleep disruption and emotional conditioning should
ensure this latest alien aberration is soon suppressed.

"Other alien behaviour: none.  Marriage and the move to
Metropolis seem to have settled him for now."

He'd read it again.  And again.  And yet again, but the same two
words had sprung out at him each time.

Its sleep.

Its.

The thing was, he remembered.  How she'd repeatedly shaken him
awake and caused him to crash back down to the bed.  Told him, so
apologetically, that he was keeping her awake with his floating. 
Please, honey, she'd said.  I can't sleep when there's this big
black thing looming over me.

He'd been understanding.  Apologised that he was being freaky
again.  Over the following couple of weeks, he'd developed a
sixth sense that had kicked in whenever he was starting to float
in his sleep - had trained himself to sink back into the bed
without even having to come fully awake.

Its.

He'd searched frantically through the house, looking for pictures
of her, of him and her together.  Stared down at her face.  Tried
to read her eyes, to find the real Lana behind the pretty smile,
the oh-so-straight teeth and the gleaming blond hair.  Where was
the person that called her husband a thing?  Who wrote so
clinically and coldly about the man she shared a bed with?

Its sleep.

He'd begun to shake like a man with a high fever.  The walls had
closed in on him.  The house they'd bought together had suddenly
become a prison.  A laboratory.

He'd burst out of the front door into the fresh air, gasping for
breath and fighting nausea that had threatened to turn his guts
inside out.  Momentum had carried him into the street and set him
running to her, to the one person he could confide in.

The pull towards Lois Lane had been there from day one.  When
she'd walked into the newsroom, brimming full of energy and with
an attitude that could slice through cold steel, he'd felt a tug
deep in his belly.  All of his senses had locked on to her,
making him acutely aware of her wherever she went.  She'd been a
magnet for all the feelings and emotions he'd long forgotten he
even possessed.

And then they'd been made partners.  The pull had become
stronger, and worse still, had  been reciprocated.  Together,
though, they'd resisted it.  They'd buried themselves in their
work and become good friends instead.  More than once, he'd
considered telling Perry he couldn't work with her any more, but
he'd never been able to come up with a good enough reason. 
Instead, they'd become even closer.  She even knew who he really
was.

And now, God help him, he was running to her.

By the time he'd reached her apartment, he'd reigned in his
emotions.  He was just a work colleague dropping by for some
friendly conversation.  If she'd noticed his hands were trembling
or that he was still gulping back the nausea, she didn't say
anything.  Not at first, anyway.

He'd been standing at her kitchen counter, stirring sugar into
his coffee, when she'd come up beside him and placed the flat of
her hand on his back.  Right between his shoulder blades.  Even
now, if he closed his eyes, he could recall the exact sensation,
the exact spot where her hand had lain.  "Clark, what's wrong?"

"Is this coffee new?" he'd asked.  "It smells different. 
Smokier."

"It's a new blend I'm trying."

He'd taken a sip.  "Nice."

"I thought you'd like it."  Her hand had begun rubbing small
circles between his shoulder blades.  Soothing him.  Making him
ache to confide in her.  "Tell me what's happened."

He'd shaken his head.  "I can't."

"Then why did you come here?" she'd asked softly.

"I don't know.  I made a mistake."  He'd placed his mug on the
counter.  "I should go.  I shouldn't be here."

He'd made to go, turned away from her, but she'd caught his arm. 
"I want to help."

"I...I'm not sure you can."  Lana's words danced before him,
taunting him.  Its sleep.  Alien aberration.  Emotional
conditioning.

"You're shaking."  She turned to face him.  Grasped his other arm
and gazed up into his face, a concerned frown creasing her brow. 
"You look awful," she said in a hushed whisper.  "What's happened
to you?"

"I...got a glimpse of reality," he said.  "How things really
are."

"What do you mean?"

"Lana.  She..."  He tore away from her.  "It can't be true.  I
should go."

"No, stay," she'd said, moulding herself to his back, her soft
body pressed close against his, her face resting on his shoulder,
her arms around his waist.  Gentle citrus perfume filled his
senses.  "Talk to me," she murmured.  "Tell me what's wrong."

He'd closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from revelling in
her forbidden closeness.

They'd been avoiding contact like this - known instinctively that
it was dangerous, that once they broke through the safety barrier
they'd erected between them, there'd be no going back.

The warmth of her body seeped through his back and melted into
his soul.

"Tell me what's hurting you," she prompted again.

Her liquid voice, so understanding and easy to respond to.  He
couldn't resist her any longer.  "Lana," he said.  "She wrote
something."

"What?"

But he hadn't been able to repeat the words he'd read.  He'd
reached into his jacket pocket, where he'd stuffed the sheet
before his flight from their house.  Drew out the crumpled paper
and handed it back to Lois.

Waited while she read.  Cringed with shame while she read the
words his wife ­ the woman he had entrusted with his entire life
- had written about him.

"My God," she'd muttered in a hushed, appalled whisper.  "What is
she?  Who is she?"

"My wife," he said harshly.  "My darling, beloved wife.  The only
family I've known since I was a kid."

"Clark..."  She'd turned him around on the spot and drawn him
into her arms.  He'd gone willingly, finally allowing himself to
draw the comfort he'd sought from the moment he'd decided to come
here.  He'd held her tight against his chest, clinging on to her,
burrowing deep inside her protective circle.

"I don't know what's real any more," he'd confessed, his voice
cracking.

"This is real," she'd replied firmly.  "And you...you are the
most human person I know, Clark Kent.  Don't you dare believe
what's on that piece of paper."

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

Night had fallen while Clark had been telling his story.  The
room was dark except for the moonlight streaming in through the
patio windows.  It glanced off one side of his face, sending the
rest of his huddled body into deep shadow.

He'd fallen quiet a few moments ago.  His voice had faltered,
and, rather than attempt to continue, he'd simply stopped.  Now,
the half of his face that Lois could see was bleak, the eye
hooded as he stared blindly into the darkness.

Lois had been transfixed ­ horrified, even ­ by his tale.  From
the sound of it, Lana had been studying him for years while she
played out the role of good friend and then loving wife.  There
was even a hint that she'd been exerting some kind of control
over him.

No wonder he was so bitter.

And no wonder he'd gone running into the arms of Lois Lane.

But still... "I can understand how upset you must have been, but
I still don't understand why you haven't left her," she said
softly.

"Well, in the beginning, it was all so new..."

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

Nothing more had happened between him and Lois that night.  He'd
returned home to Lana, still unable to completely believe what
he'd read on that scrap of paper.

But, after that night, he began setting small tests for her.  One
day he activated his extremely rusty heat vision to reheat her
cold coffee.  She immediately scolded him and told him they had a
microwave oven for that sort of thing.  The newly hot coffee
remained untouched.  Contaminated?

Another time he let himself float in his sleep and was
unceremoniously pulled back down to the bed.

At dinner, he chilled their wine with his freezing breath. 
Fortunately, he did it while facing away from the table, because
his lack of skill caused him to also hit a nearby pot plant and
freeze it, quite literally, to death.  Lana was horrified and
immediately assaulted him with a barrage of questions about why
he'd done it and what was wrong with him.  Couldn't he control
himself any longer?  Had he forgotten how dangerous it was to
give himself away like that?

None of these tests, however, proved anything more than he
already knew: Lana cared deeply that he repress any
abnormalities.  No big deal: he'd known that from an early age,
and had willingly gone along with it as the only way to survive
in a hostile world that distrusted anything alien.  God, he'd
even been grateful when she'd helped him train himself out of
each new deviation from the norm.

So he also searched the house for more evidence of her note-
taking.  Furtively, whenever he was alone in the house, he looked
in drawers and cupboards, underneath furniture and on the tops of
closets.  He searched the kitchen.  Turned the den inside out.

And while he did that, he also tried to test her love for him. 
How often did she touch him, he asked himself?  Kiss him?  When
did she last inconvenience herself on his behalf?  Do something
on impulse just because she loved him?

On the last two questions, he came up with a cold, empty blank. 
They did things together, sure, but they were small, habitual
things like a meal out after the weekly shop.  An evening at the
opening of a new art gallery ­ tickets courtesy of her job at the
Metropolis Museum of Art.  

Their marriage, he began to realise, was held in a straitjacket. 
Everything, from sharing the domestic chores to their minimal
social life, was kept within strict parameters.  Nothing too
adventurous, nothing that wasn't routine, and definitely nothing
unusual.

One night, he watched her during their lovemaking.  Monitored
her, just as that scrap of paper had implied she monitored him. 
Were her responses genuine or faked?  But her head had been
turned to one side and her eyes screwed shut.  Hiding her real
feelings?

"Look at me, sweetheart," he'd murmured.

She'd opened her eyes and turned her head to face him.  Wide open
eyes gazed steadily up at him with a slight cloudiness behind
them.  Was that haze borne of love or a need to be somewhere
else, far away from this bed and this man invading her so
intimately?  He'd never bothered to analyse her reactions before
­ had never questioned her love for him before ­ and now found
that he couldn't read her at all.

Wasn't a husband supposed to be able to sense his wife's
emotions?

Afterwards, he'd muttered a weak excuse and stepped into the
shower to try and cleanse himself of the ugliness which now
infected all his thoughts about Lana.

The experience didn't stop his search for proof that she was
studying him like a lab rat, however.  The grain of doubt had
been sown and he couldn't ignore it.  He widened his search to
include unlikely hiding places such as the laundry cupboard and
the under-stairs cupboard.  The spare bedroom and the linen
basket in the bathroom.  The umbrella stand in the hall. 
Searching became his obsession.

And he began to spend more time with Lois.  Not by any conscious
means, but by stealth.  The working day extended: they began
earlier and finished later, their rationalisation being that the
quieter hours at either end of the day allowed them to get more
done.  The fact that it also gave them more time alone together
was merely coincidental.  Late stakeouts and evening meetings
with interviewees became more commonplace.  Meals out together
became a necessity ­ what else could you do between finishing
work late and waiting for that mid-evening interview with the
mayor, after all?

He and Lois laughed together.  They played intellectual games of
wit and quick-fire banter.  Ideas for stories bounced between
them like juggling balls.  Lois was easy to talk to, and she
didn't always follow convention.  She brought bright, brash light
into his life where Lana would have changed the bulb for a
duller, easier on the eye model.

Finally, one wet Tuesday night when Lana was out at her weekly
art class, he found it.  A single notebook, buried under a pile
of old school textbooks in the loft.  Page upon page of clinical
observations, written in Lana's neat handwriting.  He guessed,
from a familiarity with her style borne from hours spent studying
together through high school, that the book dated from their late
teens to early twenties.  Most of it was incredibly mundane, a
simple chronicle of absolutely everything he did during the day
while in her presence.

But what sent him rushing into the bathroom to lose the contents
of his stomach was the pronoun she used throughout the entire
book.

It.

It got on the bus and sat next to me.

It ate a hamburger and fries for lunch.

I let it kiss me on the cheek today.

He'd fled through the rain-drenched streets to sanctuary, to the
place he always turned to these days.  Turned up on her doorstep
soaked to the skin and half out of his mind.  She'd taken him in
and held him while he shook in her arms and babbled about how
he'd found the book, how he hadn't been able to believe that
first scrap of evidence, how he wished more than anything that he
hadn't found the book.  She'd soothed him and told him again and
again how incredibly human and loveable he was.

"Come on, let's get you out of those wet clothes," she'd said
after a bit, reaching up to the first sodden button on his shirt.

"No, Lana will be home soon from her class," he'd protested,
covering her hands with his own.  "I should go."

"Clark, you can't confront her like this," she'd said.  "At least
get yourself dry and have a cup of coffee before you leave."

He stood, undecided and still holding Lois's hand against his wet
shirt.  It would be so easy to stay just a little longer.  Delay
the confrontation with Lana for as long as possible.

"You're in no shape to confront a limp lettuce leaf, let alone
Lana," she'd pressed, a faint smile dancing around her mouth. 
"Here..."

And she'd begun to unfasten his buttons.  One by one, her fingers
deft and nimble, unlike his own trembling, clumsy hands now
hanging loosely by his sides.  Such a simple, innocent little
task, he'd told himself: one adult helping another, like a nurse
might help a shell-shock victim.

She'd reached his belt and tugged the shirt out to finish the
job.  Spread the edges of his shirt and splayed her hands flat
against his bare chest.  The warmth of her hands seeped through
his skin.  "I don't understand how anyone could write such ugly
words about you," she'd murmured, pushing the soggy material off
his shoulders to land with a faint plop on the carpet.

She'd stood so close to him he could hear almost feel her
quickened breathing.  "Lois, we can't..."

"Can't what?" she'd asked, sliding her arms around him, the soft,
feminine fabric of her blouse brushing over his skin.  "Can't do
this?"  Her lips had closed over his, as full and luscious as
he'd imagined through all the long, aching hours working by her
side.

He'd responded instinctively, his sluggish, shell-shocked brain
lagging far behind his desire to hold her and kiss her, to wrap
his arms around her lithe frame and lose himself in her.

"Let me show you how loveable you are," she murmured around their
kiss.

Hands had worked quickly at his belt and his zipper.  Yeah,
removing his wet clothes.  His focus had been their kiss - her
intensely sensuous lips, her sweet taste, her warm curves as she
moved under his hands.

He'd been lost in his need for comfort, for solace from the cruel
world outside where the rain lashed down and his very existence
had been turned inside out.  Here was Lois, here was
understanding.  Here, he could prove that he wasn't a thing, but
that he was a sensuous, living being.

Here was love.

Afterwards, her hands had twined in his hair, soothing him as
he'd sagged against her, gathering his scattered senses together. 
Smooth palms had caressed his back, calming him and easing away
the icy tendrils of guilt already trying to infiltrate his
thoughts.

Here.  Here was love.  Not...there.

He'd risen above her with a vast sigh.  Found her already there,
not hiding from him but gazing wide-eyed up at him.  No
cloudiness, no convenient haze cloaking her emotions.  
Just...love.  Without a doubt, he'd recognised that immediately:
unlike Lana, he had no difficulty reading Lois's feelings.

And so it had begun: he had entered the tortuous, secretive world
of the adulterer.

At first, of course, he'd fully intended to confront Lana and
tell her he was leaving her.  He'd agreed that much with Lois the
very first night.  In fact, Lois had needed to calm the seething
anger that had threatened to strangle his heart once the shock of
his discovery had worn off.  He'd been ready to storm home and
tell Lana to pack her bags that very night.

But, returning home, he'd discovered that the monstrous, evil
woman of the notebook was none other than Lana, his companion and
confidante since childhood.  Surrounded by his old, familiar
things and a house full of their memories together, he'd found
that he couldn't yell at her.  Couldn't even be sure that he'd
got things right ­ where was the cold woman who'd written 'it' so
many times?  She'd smiled as she'd asked him about work and told
him about the still life she'd begun at her art class.  She'd
made coffee for them and they'd sat watching the late news on the
TV together.  The scene had been excruciatingly normal, but for
his conscience screaming that he'd cheated on his wife.

And yet, he'd kept snatching glances at her.  Her face, so serene
as she gazed at the TV, had taken on an evil, malicious cast. 
Those blue eyes, which only this morning had seemed familiar and
friendly, now looked cold and scheming.  That mouth, so small and
neat, was now pinched and sour.  Her forehead, so smooth it could
only belong to someone with a clear conscience, now hid a callous
brain that had called him a thing.

Anger had bubbled up inside him again. His fists had clenched. 
The mug in his hand had acquired a hairline crack and he'd put it
down with painstaking care lest he crush it to dust.

Then, sitting isolated on their rarely-used armchair because he
couldn't any longer bring himself to cuddle up to her on the
settee, his mind had travelled ahead to a chilling scenario:
would she play her trump card if he told her he was leaving her? 
Snippets of past conversations had floated through his head.

"So I'm the only person who knows you're...you know...not really
human?"  A young, ten year old Lana, strolling by his side on the
walk home from school, the late afternoon sun lighting up her
face and her blonde pony tail, which swung lightly from side to
side.  She'd slipped her hand into his and avowed with all the
earnest gravity that only youthful innocence could provide, "I
promise I'll never, ever tell another living soul, so long as I
live.  Cross my heart and hope to die."

Then their first, shy kiss, taken in his foster parents' living
room while the adults had driven into town for groceries. 
Afterwards, her finger had pressed against his lips.  "I'm never
going to let them take you away from me.  You're all mine, Clark
Kent."

And always, always, "No-one must ever find out what you really
are."  Repeated so many times that it had become her mantra from
early teens to the present day.

Finally: "As long as we're together, I'll keep your secret safe,
my love."  First murmured when he'd proposed to her, and repeated
endlessly since.  A reminder of her loving care and protection of
him, he'd thought.

As long as we're together.

The words had taken on a new, sinister meaning as he'd sat there
blindly watching TV.  If he left her, she'd tell everyone.  That
was his new interpretation, and he could all too easily imagine
it: a jealous and betrayed Lana wreaking revenge on her
traitorous husband.  He'd seen her possessive side more than once
in their marriage, and he knew she had a fiery temper.

His gut had twisted and the room had tilted sickeningly.  Bile
had crawled up his throat.  A world where everyone knew that he
was an alien.  He'd be hounded by the media and stalked by the
government.  They'd find a way to capture him and strap him to a
table, probe him and inject him and take samples from him...

He couldn't bear...couldn't risk that.

So he'd let things drift a little while he figured out how to
deal with the situation.  The notebook went to work with him and
lay in the bottom drawer of his desk, a dark, evil presence
constantly stalking his thoughts.  Lois asked him repeatedly if
he'd spoken to Lana yet; he brushed her off.  One day, she even
dragged him into the conference room where he flew off the handle
and told her she didn't understand what she was asking him to do.

She wanted him to risk everything.  He might as well write the
headline himself right this minute: "Alien Found Living In
Suburban Metropolis."  Didn't she realise what Lana was capable
of?

Lois had yelled back that he was being a doormat.  Why would
anyone even believe Lana?  The idea that a farmer's son from
Kansas was really an alien was preposterous.

He'd pointed out that Lois herself had believed it when he'd told
her.

And so the argument had raged on throughout the day and continued
to simmer under the surface for several days afterwards,
colouring everything they did together.

A week had passed and bruised feelings had gradually healed. 
Then, working late one night with Lois after a trying day during
which she'd seemed unusually irritable, they'd ended up making
love right there at her desk.

He'd begun by comforting her, having discovered that the source
of her bad mood wasn't, for once, his own lack of progress with
Lana, but a particularly nasty encounter with her mother.  He
already knew that Lois didn't get on with either of her parents,
but this time, it appeared, her mother had exceeded herself in
her bid to make her daughter aware of how little she thought of
her chosen career, her lack of a good husband, and even her
inability to dress herself appropriately.  Clark had seethed
internally at the faceless Mrs Lane and automatically drawn Lois
into his arms.

It hadn't been until they were locked together in a tight embrace
that he'd realised how little control he now had over his
feelings and responses to her.  What had begun as innocent
comforting had quickly escalated to needful kissing and heavy
fondling, and thence to exciting and illicit lovemaking in the
darkened newsroom.

"So...when are you going to tell her?" she'd murmured afterwards,
planting a small kiss on his neck.

Unwilling to disrupt their languorous intimacy with guilt and
recriminations, he'd replied with a distracted, "Soon."

"We can't keep doing this," she'd pressed.

"No..."

"She called you a thing, Clark," she'd reminded him.  "Your own
wife."

"I know..."

"I don't understand why you can't just leave her."

"You know why," he'd replied.  "I need time...to figure things
out."

He found her lips, so full and soft, so tender-

She jerked away from him.  "Don't."

He stilled again, breathing heavily.

Abruptly, she pulled off him and stood up.  "I can't do this,"
she said.  "I can't be the other woman."

"I...I'm not asking you to do that," he replied.

"No, you're not," she conceded.  "It's my fault.  I shouldn't
have let this happen."

Grimacing, he bent forward to retrieve his clothes .  "Takes two
to tango," he observed.  "I'm just as much at fault as you are."

She finished dressing herself with a final tug on the sleeves of
her jacket and a swift finger-comb through her hair.  "Yes, you
are."  Leaning on the edge of her desk, watching him as he
stuffed his shirt into his pants and fastened the buttons, she
continued, "Clark, I understand how difficult this is for you,
really I do.  Coming on top of the Skywatch investigation, this
thing with Lana must be the last straw for you.  But sooner or
later, you'll have to make a choice.  

"Either you forget Lana's notebook and go back to playing happy
families, or you accept it for what it really is and do something
about it.  Sure, there's a risk she'll tell the world about you,
but which would you prefer?  A stifling, miserable life
handcuffed to a woman who calls you a thing, or a life with a
woman who...who really cares about you.  Who probably loves you,
but is too scared to admit it to herself until she's sure she
actually comes first in your life."

And with that, she'd snatched up her purse and fled from the
darkened newsroom, leaving him alone and feeling more wretched
than ever.

********

"Hold on," interrupted Lois.  "What's the Skywatch investigation? 
You never mentioned that."

In the dimly-lit living room, he was a dark, brooding figure
hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees.  He'd been
relating his story in a husky, strained voice, sometimes stopping
altogether for long, emotionally-charged silences.  When even the
light from the moon had been lost to cloud, she'd turned on only
a small table-top lamp, sensing his need for the cover of
darkness to tell his tale.

"No, I guess I haven't," he replied, burying his face in his
hands.  "Look," he said, his voice muffled by his fingers, "I
don't think I've got the stomach for this any longer.  Do you
mind if we call it a night?"

She blinked, frustrated by his abrupt full stop.  Skywatch
sounded important - he'd drawn her into a compelling tale of
deceit and wrecked dreams and now she was ready for the next
chapter.  Besides, listening to his story saved her from dwelling
on her missing husband.

She was already dreading the long, lonely night in their empty
bed.  Funny how quickly you could get used to sharing your bed
with someone, even if you'd been single for years...

However, he did have a point about the lateness of the hour. 
"Sure.  Um...I'll bring you down some blankets and pillows, okay? 
The sofa's pretty comfortable as a bed."

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

Following Lois into an eerie facsimile of his wife's old
apartment, Clark faltered.  Fire engines were hurtling towards a
fire on the other side of the city.  He could hear them as
clearly as if they were screaming down the road just outside
Lois's apartment.

Great.  His powers were back.

But he couldn't respond, could he?  He had a strong hunch that
this universe didn't have a Superman.

Heck.  This was going to be torture if he had to listen to
accidents and emergencies without being able to do anything to
help.

"What?"  Lois's irritable demand dragged him back from his
thoughts.  She'd paused half-way across the living room and was
regarding him impatiently.  "Oh, let me guess," she drawled,
placing a hand on her hip and rolling her eyes, "this is nothing
like your Lois's apartment."

"No, actually, it's very similar," he replied.  "Or, at least,
it's very similar to her old apartment.  We're living at my place
these days."  Anxiously, he tuned back into the fire scene.  The
fire fighters were shouting instructions to each other and in the
background he could hear the roar of the blaze.  From the tone of
their voices, the firemen sounded confident they could contain
the fire.  Okay.  He let himself breath more easily.  No super
help needed.  Not this time.

He followed Lois into the kitchen, where, to his surprise, she
began pulling out food from the fridge.  "You cook?"

She twisted around and looked at him as if he'd just asked what
colour the sky was.  "Doesn't everyone?"

"Lois...my wife...doesn't."  He watched while she filled a pan
with water for pasta and emptied a tub of pasta sauce into
another pan.  "She leaves the cooking to me.  Says we stand a
better chance of survival that way."

"Clark and I usually cook together," she replied.  "He does the
salads while I do the complicated stuff like emptying sauces into
pans and heating things."

Clark and I.  In Lois's mind, he noted, she and the other Clark
were already a couple.  Did Clark feel the same way?  He
certainly didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave his wife.   
What was stopping him?

"I can make a salad if you've got the ingredients," he offered.

She opened the fridge door and gestured at the salad compartment. 
"Be my guest."

He pulled out a lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber and sundry other
salad ingredients, found a knife and a chopping board and set to
work.  "So, how much has your Clark told you about himself?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I think you already know he's not exactly...from around
here," he said cautiously.  "Don't you?"

"He's from Kansas, you mean."

"Well, that too, but when I say 'around here,' I mean...here.  As
in...Earth...here."  He snuck a quick glance at her to check on
her reaction.  Nothing.  Reassured by her relaxed prodding of the
pasta in its pan, he began to pull apart the lettuce, taking
great care not to do so at superspeed.  No sense in blowing the
other Clark's cover if he hadn't told her everything.

"Yes, I know that," she said, moving over to stir the pasta
sauce.  "What of it?"

"I wondered what else he told you," he said. 
"Other...differences."

Her spoon stopped moving in the sauce.  "I don't know what you're
talking about," she said bluntly.  "Clark is no different to you
or me."

"Actually, I'm very diff-"

"Look, just who are you, and why are you asking all these
questions about Clark?" she demanded, whirling on him with her
eyes blazing.

Okay, definitely a reaction this time.  He suppressed the urge to
take a step backwards.  This was a Lois.  He could handle Loises. 
"I told you, I'm another Clark.  From another universe."  Boy,
that sounded even crazier spoken out loud than it had in his
head.

"If that were the case, you wouldn't have to ask all these
questions about him," she pointed out.  "Give me one good reason
why I shouldn't throw you out right this minute."

"Because I'm your best chance of getting your own Clark back," he
said.  "Believe me, I don't want to stick around in this universe
any longer than I have to."

"How do I know you haven't just kidnapped him?" she said,
brandishing her spoon at him.

"Have I asked you for a ransom?" he countered, eyeing the drippy
spoon and wondering how long it would be before a blob of sauce
landed on the floor.

She snorted.  "The people who want to kidnap Clark won't be
asking for a ransom."

"What people?" he asked in alarm.  There were people planning
kidnap?  "Who wants to kidnap him?"

She bit her lip and turned back to stir her sauce.  "If you're
who I think you are, then I don't need to answer that question,"
she muttered.

Talk about paranoid!  "Indulge me," he said heavily, trying not
to shred the lettuce into tiny pieces in his frustration. 
"Pretend I'm not who you think I am."

She lifted the lid off the pasta to check whether it was cooked. 
"How well done do you like your pasta?"

"Al dente," he replied.  "Definitely not mushy."

"Okay."  She took the pan over to the sink, grabbed a colander
and tipped in the pasta to drain it.  Then she gave the colander
a couple of practised shakes and placed it back inside the empty
pan with the lid balanced on top to keep the food warm. 
"Skywatch," she said at last.  "Although, I don't think they want
to kidnap him.  Not yet, anyway."

Skywatch!  Wasn't that the name of the group he'd seen mentioned
in Clark's files at the Planet?  The quasi-military group headed
by Jason Trask?

Thoughtfully, he turned his attention away from the hapless
lettuce to the sturdier cucumber.  Should he admit he'd read
those files or not?  If she thought he was involved with
Skywatch, she probably wouldn't believe him whatever he said.

She pushed past him back to the stove, not noticing that her hip
had caught the handle of his knife where it lay on the chopping
board.  It spun around, the blade heading straight for her
midriff.  His response was automatic, his hand grabbing the blade
before it sliced into her.

Damn!  He'd moved at superspeed without even realising it.

She stared down at his hand where it still grasped the blade of
the knife, then slowly peeled his fingers away from the sharp
edge and turned his hand around to examine the unblemished skin.

He closed his eyes briefly.  Not Lois's fingers.  Just someone
who looked, felt and even breathed like she did.

"You knew," she breathed.  "You knew the knife wouldn't cut you,
didn't you?"

He took in a deep breath and drew his hand away, unable to cope
with the confusing and conflicting mix of the familiar with the
unfamiliar.  "Yeah.  My body works just the same as his does."

"And you moved as fast as he can..."

"Yeah."

"But you're not him.  You...you don't touch me like he does."  A
little pink crept into her face.

"No."

"My God," she muttered.  "How can this be?  How can you be in
Clark's body?"

"I wish I knew," he said, shifting along the counter so that she
wasn't so close to him.  "That's what we need to figure out, so
that we can reverse it.  Is there any chance these Skywatch
people could be involved?"

"I doubt it," she replied, turning off the heat under the sauce
and fishing out plates and cutlery from a cupboard.  "Their
speciality is spying and covert operations, not scientific
experimentation."  She glanced over to him.  "Is that salad done,
because the pasta's ready."

"No, but..."   He shifted into superspeed and completed the job. 
"Now it is."

She gaped.  "Clark's never done anything like that.  Wow."

"He doesn't use his extra abilities in front of you?" he asked in
surprise.

"He doesn't use them, period," she replied.  "I mean, he's shown
me some of what he can do, but he says they're useless in
everyday life because they're so clumsy and unreliable."  A
corner of her mouth turned upwards.  "When he showed me his heat
vision, he sent me into the lounge for safety and even then I had
to buy a new sink afterwards.  He was mortified."

"Sounds like he never practised enough," surmised Clark.  "It can
be pretty useful, as you can see."

"I'll say," she agreed.  "He could clean this apartment in
seconds."  She began dishing up the pasta.  "He never will,
though."

"Why not?" asked Clark.  "It's never too late to start
practising."

She shook her head.  "He hates what he calls the freak-show
stuff.  I've been trying to make him realise that a lot of people
would love to be able to do what he can do.  I tell him he's
special, not freaky.  I tell him he's as human as you or me.  But
it's not easy after all these years, and Lana-"  She bit off the
sentence and pursed her lips.  "Let's just say that Lana doesn't
help."

She took the plates over to the table and motioned for him to
bring the salad.  "I've just about trained him not to say
'freak,' but then Lana does or says something and we're back to
square one again."  She sat down and continued in a strained
voice, "She's slowly tearing him apart, and the worst of it is,
he doesn't even see it."

He joined her at the table and handed the salad bowl over to her. 
"Why doesn't he just leave her?"

She shrugged her shoulders and gave a funny half-sob.  "I don't
know.  I really don't know."  She pressed her fingers to her lips
as if trying to prevent her emotions from spilling out, and he
saw that her eyes had become glassy with unshed tears.  "I'm
sorry," she said.  "I'm not usually so emotional, but I...I care
about him, you know?  He's already been through so much, and now
there's this body swap thing, and I just don't know how well he's
going to handle it.  I mean, he's pretty resilient ­ stronger
than a lot of people - but everyone has limits, don't they?"

He nodded.  "But he's with my Lois.  She'll make sure he's okay." 
Assuming she didn't beat him up first when she figured out he
wasn't her husband.  Lois could be pretty resourceful, even in
the face of superpowers.  "I'm sure they're already well on the
way to figuring out how to reverse this thing."

"I hope so," she said miserably.  "I miss him."

"Tell me more about these Skywatch people," he suggested.  "I
know you don't think they're  anything to do with this, but
they're the best lead we've got so far."

"I guess so."

And so, over dinner, she related their investigation into the
covert military-esque group headed by none other than Jason
Trask.  Apparently, a couple of months ago, Clark had discovered
quite by chance that his parents' old farmhouse had been acquired
by a faceless business consortium, which, on closer inspection,
turned out to be a cover for Trask's group.  Not only that, but
the acquisition had taken place right back in the early
Seventies, just after his parents' death.  Clark had been
horrified, because, on the face of it, Skywatch appeared to have
been investigating him ­ perhaps even watching him ­ since he was
a kid.

Clark felt the blood drain from his face.  "That's terrible," he
murmured.

"Yeah," agreed Lois, sipping the coffee they'd made after dinner. 
"It's the only time I've seen him get sick, when he found that
out."

Clark could sympathise: it was too close to his own worst
nightmare.  "So what do you think Skywatch is up to now?"

"We think they're just watching him," she replied.  "Now that he
knows about them, he's noticed a couple of people who've seemed
to take just a little too much interest in him, and once he was
pretty sure he was followed."

"And what does Lana think of all this?" he asked, remembering her
cold behaviour this morning.  He'd imagined that was due to
suspicions about her husband's fidelity, but perhaps there was
another reason.

"She doesn't know," said Lois.  "At first, he didn't want to
frighten her until he was sure of his facts, and then, just when
he was about to tell her, he found out...he found the notebook."

"Notebook?"  Suddenly, an image of a guilty-looking Lana hastily
concealing some kind of book this morning in the kitchen came
back to him.

Lois sighed.  "I shouldn't be telling you all this, but I guess
you have to know if you're going to go back there tonight. 
Lana's been keeping a diary.  She writes down absolutely
everything Clark does.  And she calls him a thing."

He frowned, sure he must have misheard her.  "I'm sorry - did you
say a thing?"

She nodded and took a swift gulp of coffee.  "It.  It ate a
hamburger.  It kissed me."  Her mouth twisted.  "Now you know why
I hate her..."

He didn't hear the rest of whatever she was saying.  Disgust
anchored him to his chair for a moment, until seething anger
propelled him from his seat to storm blindly into the kitchen. 
He grabbed the coffee pot, snatched a mug from the drainer on the
sink and sloshed the hot liquid into the mug, heedless of the
scalding spillage over his fingers. Lifting the mug to his lips,
he drained it down in one, letting the fiery coffee sear down his
throat to join the fire in his stomach.

It.

How dare she?  What right did Lana have to call someone not of
her own species a thing?  

For a moment he was back at school, listening to his classmates
discussing the latest monster alien movie and shrivelling inside
whenever they laughed at the aliens and called them names.  Made
out that they were evil, emotionless creatures.  Things.

"Are...are you okay?"

Lois's tentative voice from the threshold of the kitchen drew him
back to his surroundings.  "Yeah," he said thickly.  "I figured
drinking your coffee was preferable to smashing my fist through
your wall."  He took a couple of deep breaths and turned around
to face her.  "Sorry.  How can he bear to stay with her?"

She pushed away from the door jamb and came to mop up the mess
he'd made on the draining board.  "You'd have to know him to
really understand the answer to that one, but basically, it's the
lesser of two evils.  He's always been terrified that people will
find out he's not human, and he thinks Lana would do just that if
he left her."

There was something in her tone...  "You don't agree?"

"No.  She'd be ruining her own life as well as his if she gave
him away."  She sighed.  "But Clark's fear of exposure is
pathological ­ like I said, he actually threw up when he found
out that Skywatch might already know about him, and you'll know
how rare it is for him to get sick ­ so he refuses to take the
risk."

All of which explained a lot, but Lois seemed to be clinging to a
hopeless cause if Clark was that fearful of exposure.  "Leaving
you...?"

"Leaving me picking up the pieces and putting him back together
again every time his sham marriage gets too much for him."  She
shook her head in self-disgust.  "I'm a fool to stick around, but
I can't seem to give him up.  I keep hoping that if I chip away
at him long enough, he'll see things the way they really are."

He nodded.  "I've kind of been there myself.  I had to chip away
at my Lois for a long time before she even noticed me."  He
paused, wondering if he should voice what was on his mind.  The
facts he'd been given were beginning to add up to a pretty ugly
picture, and he suspected that, because this Lois and Clark were
too close to the situation, they hadn't made the connections he
was now making.  Of course, he could be entirely wrong, but he'd
never forgive himself if he was right and didn't say anything...

"You know, I caught Lana writing in her book this morning," he
said.

This time it was Lois's turn to lose the colour from her cheeks. 
"She's still doing it?  We weren't sure, because the notebook
Clark found dated from their late teens."

He nodded.  "Oh, yeah."  He drew in a slow breath.  "Look, has it
ever occurred to you to wonder...Lana's keeping a diary about
Clark, and you know that Skywatch is watching him...is there any
chance that Lana is working for Skywatch?"

She stared at him for a moment and then laughed.  "Lana?  She's
just a country girl with a warped sense of right and wrong. 
Sure, her family is pretty reactionary, but I can't see her
working for an organisation like Trask's.  She's too well
brought-up.  Too...nice."

"Well, consider this," he said.  "This morning, when I woke up in
Clark's body, I felt ill.  Okay, maybe you could attribute that
to the body swap thing, but some of the symptoms I was
experiencing...they were pretty familiar.  On my world, I would
have suspected I'd been exposed to kryptonite."

"Kryptonite?  What's that?"

"Something that makes us sick," he answered cagily.  "And I might
be reaching here, but I think there's a possibility that Lana
exposed Clark to it last night while he was asleep."

Lois lobbed her cloth into the sink and leaned back against the
worktop.  "Why would she do that?"

"Well," he said, turning to rinse out the mug he'd just used. 
"She was really insistent that I stay home today and especially
tonight.  What if she knows Clark's having an affair with you and
tried to keep him at home by making him ill?"

"Oh, get real!"

He up-ended the mug on the draining board.  "They grew up
together, didn't they?" he asked, warming to his theory as he
developed it.  "So if anyone is likely to know what could hurt
him, it would be Lana, don't you think?  Especially as kryptonite
is usually found wherever his...craft...first landed. 
Smallville," he added in case she was still in any doubt.

She stared at him.  "You're serious, aren't you?  Lana Lang:
master spy."  She looked away from him for a moment, closed her
eyes, then opened them again.  "Nope, I still get xenophobic
country girl, not Mata Hari.  Anyway, how sure can you be that it
was this kryptomium-"

"Kryptonite," he corrected.

"Whatever.  That this stuff was what made you sick this morning?"

He grimaced.  "I can't.  But I just thought you should be aware
of the possibility."

"Okay."  She glanced at the kitchen clock.  "It's getting late. 
You should probably go home to Lana."

Was she dismissing his theory?  "You'll think about what I've
said?" he pressed.

She nodded.  "I just...I need to be alone for a while," she said. 
"You're too much like him ­ well, you are him when I look at you. 
It's...confusing."

"I know," he agreed.  He understood exactly what she was going
through, he reflected with an inner sigh.  At least her hair was
longer than his wife's...

"I guess this is just as hard for you," she said.  "I'm sorry."

He shrugged.  "We'll figure it out somehow.  In the meantime, I
guess you're right ­ I should head home."

Not that he was looking forward to seeing Lana again.  This
morning's encounter had been bad enough, but now he'd have to
work twice as hard to be convincing.  He'd also better have a
good cover story ready for her, and as for sharing a bed with
her...

Perhaps he could sleep downstairs on the sofa.  Yes, that would
be much better.

But no.  If she was awake when he got back, he'd have no choice ­
he'd have to join her.  Even if she asleep, there was still the
risk that she'd wake up in the night and see that he wasn't
there.  And what if she woke up before him in the morning and
found him downstairs on the sofa?  He'd never explain that away.

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

Meanwhile, far away in a grey featureless building on the
outskirts of Metropolis, a clerk broke the Skywatch seal on a
brown padded envelope and tipped out today's tapes for
transcription.  From the labels, she saw that these were the
project director's weekly report tapes and duly opened the
relevant file on her computer.  Entering the date and time at the
top of the page, she slotted the first tape into the tape
recorder, pressed play and began to type.

Project Status Review: Recommendations

1. Analyse the alien's newspaper articles for subversive content
and subliminal messaging: this has been a serious oversight and
requires urgent attention;
2. Increase surveillance of Lois Lane;
3. Instruct Lana to strengthen all security and control measures:
the alien must remain within her sphere of influence.  However;
4. Lana not to be informed of suspected sexual relations between
the alien and the Lane woman.  More evidence needed (see point
2);
5. Authorise more frequent applications of Smallville B.

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

Clark found that he was in luck when, later, he entered the
bedroom he'd woken up in that morning.  Lana was fast asleep,
curled up with her back to the centre of the bed.  Relieved that
there would at least be no further confrontations that night, he
undressed quickly.  Oh, how he wished the other Clark wore
pyjamas in bed instead of just his underwear!  Even an added t-
shirt would be difficult to explain.  Oh, well...  Steeling
himself to a night spent virtually naked beside a complete
stranger, he lifted the covers gingerly and slipped under them as
silently and smoothly as he could.

This was horrible.  He lay on his back, every muscle tense with
unease.  Lois should be sleeping here beside him.  Just three
short weeks of marriage and his love for her grew stronger and
more intense with each day.  She'd become part of his soul.  She
was his best friend, his lover and his companion.  And he kept
thinking of all the little things he was missing ­ had she found
that CD she'd wanted to buy?  Were her new shoes still killing
her?  He could be rubbing her feet and soothing away her aches
and pains instead of stuck here in this horrible place. 
Tomorrow, he resolved, he was going to figure out a way to
reverse this-

"So did you catch the bad guys?"

He froze.  Lana was turning around to face him.

"Not this time," he said.  "I might have to try again tomorrow
night."

"Can't you skip it?  Let someone else go in your place," she
murmured, easing closer to him.  "I miss you."  She kissed his
bare shoulder.

"It's my story," he said.  "I have to go."

"Give the story to someone else," she said.  "Your partner, for
example."

Oh, boy.  How much did she know about Lois?  "She's got enough
work of her own."

"I just bet she has," she muttered, planting another kiss on his
shoulder.  "Women like that always do well."

Women like that.  Just what was she trying to imply?  Fighting to
keep any edge out of his voice, he said, "What do you mean?"

"Smart and good-looking," she said.  "It's an irresistible
combination for most men."

Was she trying to get him to lie?  Say Lois wasn't irresistible
to him, because he had Lana?  Well, he wasn't prepared to lie on
the other Clark's behalf, that was for sure.  "Lois isn't like
that," he replied as a compromise.  "She hates women who sleep
their way to the top."

"Of course she does."  A small, warm hand landed on his stomach
and began tracing small circles there.  "You're so tense," she
murmured.

Repulsed, he turned quickly on his side.  "I'm tired," he
muttered.  No doubt his refusal would fuel any suspicions she
already harboured about her husband's affair, but too bad.

He listened to the pregnant, angry silence behind him.  Deep,
frustrated breaths full of recrimination.  "You know," she
muttered eventually, "if you're having trouble getting...you
know...there are things that can be done.  Pills you can take."

He grimaced and remained silent: there was no response to a
remark like that.

"Of course, they might not work on you," she continued. "But you
won't know until you try, will you?"

There it was: the reminder that her husband wasn't human.  How
many times a day did she do that?  As for her implication that
Clark was impotent ­ well, he was pretty sure she didn't really
believe that herself.  She was just testing him.  Needling him.

"Just a thought," she said, turning away from him again.

Glad he was being left alone again, he forced himself to breathe
deeply and relax.  Sleep was, for once, a necessity after the
day's stresses and strains.

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

Lois opened a baleful eye and glanced at her bedside clock. 
Three minutes past midnight.  The last time she'd looked, it had
read twenty seven minutes to midnight.  The time before that,
twelve minutes past eleven.

Time just seemed to move so incredibly slowly at night. 
Especially when there was a gaping emptiness on the other side of
your bed where your husband was supposed to be.

Sighing, she pulled herself out of bed and crossed to their chest
of drawers, where she drew out one of Clark's sweaters.  Holding
it close to her face, she breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent. 
Better.  As soon as she smelt that fresh, clean, male scent, she
could picture him in the sweater, smiling broadly down at her.

She padded back to the bed and slid under the covers on his side,
hugging his sweater to her chest.  He'd come back to her, she
knew he would.  She just had to figure out what had caused the
switch, and then reverse it.  Easy.

In the meantime, where was he?  Was he with Lana, sleeping next
to her in her husband's place?  He'd hate that.  He'd be tense
and unhappy, and that little muscle in his jaw would be jumping
along his jaw-line.  He'd try to sleep but she doubted he'd
manage it.  She'd discovered almost immediately after they'd
married that he wasn't good at sleeping when he was unsettled.  A
particularly upsetting rescue had kept him tossing and turning
most of the night ­ or at least until she'd pulled him into her
arms and held him tight.

She didn't much like the imagine of him sleeping next to Lana, so
she moved quickly on.  Had he figured out that the other Clark
was having an affair with the other Lois?  Well, if he'd gone to
the Planet and met her, he probably would have.  He might even
have told her who he really was, if he'd thought he could trust
her.

Could you trust a woman who was having an affair with a married
man?

She pursed her lips, remembering how much she'd hated Mrs
Belcanto, the next-door neighbour her father had courted over the
garden wall.  For a time, she'd laid the blame for the entire
affair squarely at the evil woman's feet; labelled her as a
Jezebel who'd schemed to lure her Daddy away from the family
home.

But life wasn't that simple.  She'd learned later that her father
was as complicit in the affair as Mrs Belcanto  As the old cliché
would have it, and as the other Clark had said himself, it took
two to tango.

And so it was with the other Clark and Lois.  Her counterpart
probably wasn't a Jezebel, just a woman in love who'd met the
right man at the wrong time.  Should she have resisted
temptation?  Of course she should, but Lois herself was only too
acutely aware of how powerful true love was.  Not only was it
impossible to ignore, but it made you do almost anything to make
your partner happy.  No doubt the other Lois thought that was
what she was doing ­ giving her man the support and comfort he
desperately needed while he was married to a monster like Lana
Lang.

Did that mean Lois condoned the affair these two were conducting? 
No, she didn't think she did, but she understood it.

Still, the man sleeping on their sofa downstairs really did need
to gather the strength together to leave Lana.  If he was here
much longer, she'd tell him that.  Quite often.

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

Right at the edge of Clark's consciousness, a funny whining noise
was preventing him from dropping down into deep sleep.  He
frowned.  Unless he was very much mistaken, that was their
fridge-freezer, which he didn't usually hear when he was asleep. 
He heard things like the water tank in the loft, but not
equipment downstairs.

He allowed a little more consciousness to bleed into his sleep. 
Yup, definitely the fridge-freezer.  He shifted in bed...why was
there a hard button underneath his hip?  It felt like one of the
buttons on the sofa.  And this pillow was resting on something
considerably less yielding than their mattress.

Okay, he was awake.  No denying it any longer.  He opened his
eyes and gazed around the darkened...living room.  Not their
bedroom.

Funny.  He could have sworn he'd gone to sleep in a bed in a
bedroom.

Oh.

Everything came flooding back to him.  He'd been switched with
the other Clark.  Spent the day with the other Lois.  Gone to bed
with Lana...

He sat up abruptly and gazed intently all around the room.  Found
their wedding photo.  Him and Lois, with his parents flanking
them.  He was back!

Exultant, he sped upstairs to their bedroom.  Lois was asleep,
curled up on his side of their bed clutching one of his sweaters. 
His heart clenched, and, before he could stop himself, he'd x-
rayed her from top to bottom to make sure she was okay.  Relieved
to find her unblemished, he lifted the bedcovers and slipped into
bed beside her.

"Lois?" he whispered, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Mmmm."

"Lois, honey, I'm back," he whispered, shaking her very lightly.

"Jus' five more minutes," she mumbled.

"Wake up, sweetheart," he urged.  "Your husband's back."

"Mmmm."  Her eyes flickered open and her head stirred on the
pillow.  "Clark?"

"Yes, it's me," he whispered, clasping her shoulder softly.  "I'm
back."

"Clark?"  Her gaze lifted at last, but as her eyes focused on
him, they grew wide with alarm and her body tensed.  "What the
hell do you think you're doing?  Get out of here!"  She scooted
away from him to the very edge of the bed.  "Get away from me!"

Dear God, what had the other Clark done to her?  "Lois, it's me,"
he urged.  "Not him."

Her eyes narrowed and examined him suspiciously.  "Where did we
go on our honeymoon?" she demanded, clutching the sheets high
around her neck.

"We didn't," he replied quickly.  "We were planning on Hawaii,
but we never got there."

"What were you wearing on our wedding night?"

"Which one?" he asked.

"Okay, bad question.  What's the inscription inside my wedding
band?"

"There isn't one.  But this year I gave you a silver locket for
your birthday that said 'CK loves LL' on the back," he added,
aching to reach out and comfort her.  Instead, he contented
himself with inching just a little closer to her in the bed. 
"Lois...you're scaring me.  What did he do to you?"

"Nothing," she replied.  "I just..."  She closed her eyes.  "It's
really you, isn't it?" she whispered.

"Yes," he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

And then she was in his arms, his beautiful, adorable Lois, all
feminine softness and indomitable spirit.  "I missed you," she
said just before her lips closed over his and sent his senses
soaring and his pulse racing.  He'd missed her so much ­ they'd
spent barely one day apart and it had felt like a lifetime.

It wasn't long before they'd shed their clothes and they were
together again, skin to skin, melding back into the single entity
they'd created when they'd married just three short weeks ago. 
Her voice, uttering quiet murmurs and soft gasps of pleasure, was
like the most sensual music he could imagine, caressing his soul
and calming the jittering nerves he'd been living on throughout
the day.

Afterwards, lying loosely together, they exchanged stories of
their day spent apart.  They soon discovered that they'd both
found out about the affair fairly quickly, and they both knew
that Lana was treating her husband like some kind of experimental
animal.  However, Clark didn't know that Lois had already begun
to investigate the possible cause of the body-swap.  When she
told him about Dr Klein's twitchiness at Star Labs' teleportation
demonstration, he had to agree that she might be on to something.

"You think he knows the device isn't as safe as they're
claiming?" he said.

"Exactly.  What if it doesn't always work?  Or what if it
actually does something other than what they think it's doing?"
she replied.

He frowned.  "Hmm.  In that case, why didn't we switch back when
they ran the demonstration?"

"No idea.  But tomorrow you and I are going to interview the
project director, Dr Schulz, and find out what's going on," she
said.  "Jimmy's researching one of the other scientists who
looked like he knew something, and we'll also track down Dr
Klein.  I don't want to lose you again."

"Me either."  Although a part of him would have liked to know
that his counterpart and the other Lois were going to be okay. 
He worried that Lana really had used kryptonite the other night,
and might even use it again.  The other Clark, not being aware of
kryptonite and its effects, wouldn't even know what was happening
to him ­ he'd just think he was sick.  Perhaps it would have been
wise to tell the other Lois a lot more about kryptonite than he
actually had.  Then she could have warned her lover...

"Hey."

Her murmur interrupted his thoughts.  "Yeah?"

"You're wishing we could have done more to help them, aren't
you?"

He smiled softly.  "You know me too well.  Yes, I guess I am.  I
think he may be in real danger."

"Oh?  Why?"

So he told her about Skywatch, and his suspicions that Lana might
be working for them.  He also told her about his kryptonite
theory.

"The Lana I know is nothing like that," he exclaimed.  "I mean, I
haven't seen her for years, but I can't imagine her growing into
a complete monster.  I wonder what made this Lana so different?"

"Who knows?" replied Lois.  "The Clark I met wasn't much like
you, either.  I mean - an adulterer?  I don't exactly approve of
what he's doing, but don't forget he has a different background
to yours ­ no loving parents to reassure him when all these weird
things started happening to him.  Not to mention that he was
unlucky enough to marry a woman who kept reinforcing all his
negative feelings about himself."

"Unlike you," he murmured, dipping down to kiss her.  "I am so
lucky you finally figured out I was worth marrying."

She smiled.  "And I'm lucky you didn't give up on me."  Her face
grew wistful as she reached up to smooth her hands over his bare
shoulders.  "Do you think we could have ended up like them? 
Having an affair, I mean?"

He hadn't really considered it.  In fact, he realised, although
he'd been disapproving of his counterpart's attitude, he hadn't
judged the other Lois at all.  Hadn't condemned her, hadn't been
angry with her, hadn't even thought about the rights and wrongs
of what she was doing.  He'd been too busy figuring what to say
and do every single minute of the day, he guessed.

But his instinct, now that Lois had asked, was clear enough. 
"No," he said.  "If you'd been married when I met you, I'd have
respected that.  It would have killed me, of course, but I guess
I've been brought up to believe that marriage is sacrosanct.  I
could no more break my wedding vows than slit my wrists, and I
couldn't ask anyone else to do it for me."

He hesitated.  This was kind of an awkward conversation to be
having so soon into their marriage.  The natural thing was to ask
in turn how Lois felt, but he didn't want her to think he didn't
trust her, or that he needed some kind of reassurance that she'd
never break her vows.

"What if I'd been married to Lex?" she asked softly.

"Honey, please don't bring him into this," he murmured, rolling
over onto his back and taking her with him so that she was lying
on top of him.  "That man has no place in this marriage, and
besides, he's dead."

"Sorry," she said, kissing his chest.  "I guess I was just
fantasising about you riding in on your white charger and
rescuing me from a fate worse than death."

He cocked an eyebrow.  "You have fantasies?"

She rose up to sit astride him.  "Oh, yeah," she replied with a
grin.  "You never asked me if I thought we could have had an
affair."

"Okay, I'm asking," he said, playing along with interest.  "What
do you think?"

"Oh, I agree with you," she said airily.  "You're far too well
brought up to do this sort of thing with another man's wife." 
She winked mischievously as her hands slid over his stomach.

"Too right," he agreed.  "My parents never taught me to do this
with a married woman."

She laughed.  "Boy, am I glad to hear that."

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

Back with Lana, his darling, beloved wife.  Back in the middle of
the chaotic mess he laughingly called his life.  Thank God he'd
awoken early and could come down for breakfast on his own.  He
needed some time to figure out how to face the day.

How much did she know about the switch, he wondered?  Had the
other Clark told her who he really was?  His mouth twisted:
knowing Lana, she wouldn't have given him much of a chance to
tell her anything.  She'd have steamrollered through any attempts
he might have made to alert her, preferring to live life at her
own pace and entirely on her own terms.

No, that wasn't fair.  Lana could listen.  Listen and make
copious, detailed notes about everything you did.

Why did she do it?  That was what he simply couldn't understand. 
What possible motive could she have to watch and record
everything he did?  Why would she want to live such an appalling
double life of lies and secrets?

He could only imagine that he held some kind of incredible
fascination for her.  She'd found herself right in the middle of
the sort of science fiction adventure most kids could only dream
about, and she'd revelled in it.  She'd acquired her very own pet
alien and had resolved to study him like a lab rat.  Perhaps she
was hoping she could sell her story at some point.  Portray
herself as some kind of expert on alien life.

Oh, God.

His gut twisted and he tasted the sour taste of bile in his
mouth.  Exposure.  The one thing he dreaded above all else.  Bad
enough that he had Skywatch on his tail, although at least their
agenda was covert.  They'd want to use him for secret experiments
and tests, so it was in their interests to keep his existence out
of the public arena.  Lana would have no such qualms.

Time, it would seem, could be running out for his existence as
Clark Kent, and, meanwhile, Lois was growing impatient.

Lois.  He loved her so much that sometimes he thought his heart
might burst.  Why, oh, why couldn't he have met her sooner?  If
only he'd known her before he and Lana had become so intertwined,
perhaps things would have been different.

As it was...occasionally he wondered if he should distance
himself from Lois.  There was the feel of danger in the air, and
the last thing he wanted was for Lois to get caught up in
anything dangerous.  He was pretty certain that she'd be upset if
he turned his back on her, but that was surely better than
risking her life.  In fact, perhaps it would be best for both of
them if he just turned tail and ran ­ took off to some far-flung
place on the other side of the planet and began again.  All those
miles would make it easier for