TO WAKE FROM DREAMS
By Nicole Sullivan <shabella2@aol.com>
Rated: PG13
Submitted: October, 2005

"Clear the front page.  We have a new story to write," Perry
White said, walking through the newsroom and toward his office,
not looking at anyone, but merely addressing anyone who was
listening.  "I want the headline to read 'Reporter Killed in Line
of Duty,' and the rest... the story of how Clark was... murdered..."

He quickly shook his head, trying to shake away the magnitude of
what he'd just said, trying to return to Chief-mode.  But it
wasn't easy.  Not at all...  "I'll, uh... I'll write this one," Perry
said, his face pale, his voice cracking.

"I'll write it, Chief," a voice said.  A voice he knew, but at
the moment didn't recognize at all.

He turned to see her standing there, pale, trembling... and
breaking a sad gaze that had been fixed on her partner's ­ her
former partner's ­ desk, to look at him, she showed a strength in
her eyes that was really more desperation.

She had been the strongest woman he had ever met.

One look and he knew.

She was broken.

*
*
*
*
*
*
*

The cold, harsh rain fell on Lois Lane's bare shoulders as she
walked out of the club.  She hadn't remembered a mention of rain
in the forecast... but then again... no part of the night had ended
up being predictable or routine or anything she could have
planned for.

She wasn't prepared for rain, in her slinky red, sexy dress, with
nothing to cover her up.  Just like she wasn't prepared for what
had happened earlier in the night. 

Just as she wasn't prepared now to face the world... without him.

"Lane, I'm driving you home.  And what happened to that coat I
gave you?" Henderson asked, cutting through her thoughts like a
sharp knife.

"I took it off," she said, staring ahead, numbly.  Talking to
him, but not looking at him.  Not looking at anything except the
horrifying images that played themselves out before her eyes over
and over again.  Breaking her.

Rain hit her in splashes on her face and eye lids.  Her face was
completely wet.  The cause now: the rain.  Before, it had been
wet because... because she'd been crying.  Quite a lot. 

"Why did you take it off?" Henderson asked.  "Jake, get the coat
again for Miss Lane.  She's gonna catch a cold."

"Yes sir," Lois heard a man say.

She didn't want a coat.  Why should she have one?  Her partner,
her best friend... *Clark*... was probably lying somewhere alone ­ no
one who loved him knowing his whereabouts ­  in the freezing
cold, bleeding, rain hitting him.  Soaking him.  His cheek
probably pressed roughly against concrete.  His body possibly
twisted at an awkward angle.  Or maybe he was floating in some
disgusting body of water...

Why wasn't anyone worrying about that?  Why were they wasting
their time worrying about her catching a cold?

When the coat was thrown over her shoulders, though, she did not
resist.  She did not want to hear anyone talk about how she
shouldn't catch a cold.  She just wanted to be left alone. 
Henderson, however, was making this difficult.

He kept finding her.  Kept... insisting.

Something on the ground some feet away caught her eyes in her
miserable state.  Something glimmering.

She walked over.  With each step, she could see clearer and
clearer what it was she was walking towards.  Something was
tearing at her insides and she felt sick.  The closer she got,
the sicker she felt.  With each step a noise boomed in her ears.

A gunshot.

She fell to her knees and picked up Clark's glasses.  The glass
was cracked, but there was no mistaking that they were his.  They
were by the door to the club... the door he had been dragged out of
a half an hour before.

She started shaking violently as the tears came again.  She had
never before cried with such energy that it took over her whole
body.  It was scary, how hard she was crying.  But at the same
time, she didn't care.

"Lois?  Lois, can you hear me?" 

Henderson ­ he was on his knees, pulling at her.

And somehow through the fogginess and the sound of gunshots and
sobbing and gasping and screaming, she could.  Hear him.  Every
word. 

"Let's go.  Let's get you home, Lane.  You can get into warm
clothes.  Out of the rain.  It'll be okay," he said again,
sounding emotional himself.

"His glasses fell off.  He needs his glasses!" she said, her
voice sounding lost and sort of pathetic.  Foreign, even to her
own ears.

"It's okay.  He... he'll be okay without them," Henderson said
carefully.  "I'm going to need those for evidence," he said, like
he hated to bring that up, but had to.

"No.  No, you have all the evidence you need in there.  They
touched EVERYTHING... you can get their prints on wine glasses and
on craps tables and even on me.  These are Clark's.  I need to
get them fixed.  He needs them.  He always wears them," she said,
rocking back and forth.  "They already took everything from him. 
These are his.  These are Clark's.  He needs them.  He needs
them!"

"Come on, Lois.  I need to get you home," Henderson said.

"I can't leave without him.  We came here together.  We're
leaving together!" she cried. 

She knew she sounded crazy, but it didn't matter.  Nothing
mattered.

"Clark's... gone," Henderson said softly.

Lois looked at him, her eyes wide. 

It was then that she screamed.  Louder than she'd ever screamed
before.  Louder than when she screamed from the jaws of death
inside which she frequently found herself.

It was a long scream, the veins in her neck and forehead coming
out, blood vessels in her eyes, which were dripping tears as
quickly as the sky was dripping rain, turning red, red, red... like
her dress.  She instinctively leaned her body forward ­ lowering
her chest onto her knees, and pulling at her hair ­ as she
screamed.  She screamed until her face was inches from the
ground.

The ground... she could still see Clark on the ground.

Beautiful eyes... closed.  His body... still.  His heartbeat under
her hand... no... no heartbeat...

She could hear the gunshots... over and over, over and over, over
and over, over and over...

She just kept crying. 

So hard. 

Screaming. 

And Henderson was sure the whole world must have heard that
scream.

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

Clark had been sitting up in the clouds practically on the
opposite side of the world, wondering frantically what he would
do about this mess, when he heard it. 

In seconds he was there.

And nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted
him. 

Lois... huddled on the ground of a dirty city street, her stockings
looking ripped at the knees, rain and dirt on her legs and on her
dress... her beautiful red dress.  She had looked so put together
and stunning just an hour earlier in that dress.  Now... she looked
like a child who had just been abandoned.  Huddled.  Wet.  The
rain just hit her, but she didn't seem to notice.  Her head was
bent, her hands covered her face.  She rocked back and forth. 
The large coat that covered her was soaking wet, barely doing
anything for her.

She sat there, on the street behind the club...

And just cried.  Endlessly.

He met Henderson's gaze and realized the Inspector seemed at a
loss.  He was clearly trying to console Lois, but it wasn't
working.  She was... gone.

"Lois?" Clark said, landing in front of her.

Her head shot up quickly, hope in her gaze.  He immediately
realized why and silently chided himself.  She had heard Clark's
voice.  But the moment her eyes fell on Superman, that light of
hope was extinguished.

She quickly got to her feet and ran toward him, a desperate look
in her eyes.

"Superman.  You have to do something.  You have to... to... to save
the day!  You *always* save the day!  You have to!  Go get him! 
Save him!  Get Clark!  Bring Clark back!" she cried, tears
falling from her eyes as she pounded her fists into his chest. 
She looked like she didn't even see that someone was standing
before her. 

"Lois, I'm sorry..." he said gently, trying to calm her down. 
Holding her fists in his hands.

He finally got her to look at him.

"There *has* to be something you can do!  You always find a way,
Superman.  You always have.  Every time.  Can't you fly into
space and go really fast, and turn the world back!  Turn it back
to that moment!  Make it go differently.  Fly in and save him. 
Or make us duck!  Or have us decide not to go to the club!  Or
change the password so we can't get in!  Or, dammit let *me* take
those bullets!"

She was bawling now.  Completely hysterical.

Clark had never seen Lois like this.  Beyond reason.  Beyond
logic.  Talking nonsensically about things like using his powers
to turn back time.  But what floored him was the last thing she
said.  Something caught in his throat at her words...and the look
in her eyes that said that she meant it.

"Lois, don't say that.  Don't ever say that.  If you'd... if
anything had happened to you ­ " he started, but then closed his
mouth, not trusting himself to continue without revealing his
secret.

"Something's already happened to me!" she cried.  "Clark... Clark...
I need Clark.  I need him!  Where is he?  Superman, find him! 
I...I need him!" she cried, continuing to sob as she allowed him to
pull her into his arms.

"I'll take her home, Inspector," Clark said to Henderson.

"Good.  She could really use a friend right now.  And if you
find... uh, find out... *anything*... just let us know."

"I will," he said, and then turned his attention back to Lois. 

She was sobbing so hard she seemed short of breath.  She was
panting and hiccupping, and still the crying would not stop.

He had no idea her feelings were this strong.  He knew he was her
best friend, and she'd be devastated to lose him tonight like
that.  He could still hear her voice calling out his name in
panic and question, after he'd fallen to the ground.  He could
still feel her hands roaming over him, grabbing at him, looking
for some sign of life.  He could still feel her tears, falling
onto him, and hear her breath catching as the truth began to sink
in.

But she was beyond normal grief right now.  She was hysterical,
illogical, talking about wishing she had died instead.  These
feelings... they were intense.  More intense than he ever could
have imagined her feelings for him to be.

Looking at her, it looked like it was over.  Him, her, them,
life, just... everything.  He could see his life being over, in her
eyes, and in them, it looked like hers was over too.  It was
heart-wrenching.  And it scared him.

"Lois.  Lois, shhh... I've never seen you like this.  Are you okay? 
Tell me you're okay," he said, realizing he, himself, was
starting to tremble.  He was actually afraid.  Afraid for her. 
For the state she was in.  He'd never seen her in this condition,
and it scared the hell out of him.

"He's not gone.  He... he can't be," she said, quiet and shaking. 
"How could I let this happen?" she said, so quietly he wouldn't
have heard her if he weren't, well, him.

"Let it happen?  Lois, you didn't let anything happen.  This was
out of your control.  You didn't know what they'd do."

"I made us come here.  Always chasing the story, always wanting
to win and be the best.  Not caring about danger.  But Superman,
I only didn't care when it was ME in danger.  If I'd known that
Clark could be... that something could happen to... to HIM..."  She
stopped for a moment to catch her breath, and looked down at
something in her hands.

His glasses.

When they'd taken him out of the club, they'd turned him so they
could throw him in the car, and his glasses had fallen off.  And
one of Capone's thugs had stepped on them.  He had heard the
glass crack as he was dragged and thrown into their car.  They'd
broken his glasses ­ a harsh reminder of the life he was losing. 
A symbolic gesture from the heartless thugs to follow their
violent, horrible act.

He looked down at Lois, pushing his own grief aside to be there
for her.  Her breathing was quick and she sounded like she was
choking on her tears.  She was in more pain than he had ever seen
her.

She looked up, her eyes searching his, but not finding what they
were seeking.  They were lost.  So lost.

"I would never put him in danger knowingly.  I'd never have even
gone there if I knew, if I somehow KNEW, that it would be like
that, and that he could be hurt or k... or... " she trailed off,
unable to finish, as the tears and sobs took over her voice.

"Lois, I know that.  Clark does too... I mean, Clark did too," he
corrected himself quickly.  He noticed her wince and shake her
head at his correction.  "You were his best friend.  Someone he
loved.  He knew you'd never put him or any of your other friends
in danger if it could be helped.  If you knew.  Lois, unless you
were holding that gun yourself, I don't see how--"

"He was *protecting* me!" she cried, looking up at him in a way
that made him ache inside.  "Don't you see?  He put himself in
front of me.  He put himself there so I would be okay.  He
*always* made sure I was okay.  Always.  In every way!  And he...
he gave up his *life*... for me!  He didn't even think twice!  He
d... di..." She hiccupped still from the tears.  "He was
protecting me."

She dropped her head and shook it slowly.

"He loved me."  She looked up at him.  "Did you know that?"

"Yes," he said, feeling more horrible about his secret just then
than he ever had before.

"You've got to do something, Superman!"

"I'm going to take you home," he said, scooping her up.

She fell limply against him without resistance, simply wetting
his neck with her tears.

He was upset to realize that he was still shuddering from seeing
her like this.  Seeing Lois... his Lois...

...broken.

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

Jimmy Olsen rolled over in bed, groaning.  He'd been on a date
with Jenny Fields, the new intern from Metropolis University ­ in
his dream, of course ­ when all of a sudden her voice sounded
exactly like a ringing phone.

He looked at his bedside clock and wondered immediately who could
be calling at 2:23 am.

Unless it was 2:23 pm and he'd overslept. 

Frantically, he sat up in his bed and grabbed at the phone on
what must have been its fifth ring.

"Hello?" he asked, trying to will himself awake and alert by
shaking his head and trying to clear his confused, sleepy mind.

"Uh... Jimmy?"

He recognized the voice immediately.

"Chief?  Don't be mad.  I guess I overslept.  My alarm must've ­
"

"No, Jimmy," Perry said, his voice cracking.

Suddenly Jimmy was wide awake.

"What's going on, Chief?" he asked, his heart beating faster and
faster.

"Uh... Al Capone and those guys... and... Lois and Clark were..."

"Yeah, they were going to that illegal gambling place tonight. 
Did they get the story?  Should I come in and help them while
they write it?" he asked, feeling deep down that that was not why
his boss and friend was waking him up.

"Something happened..." he trailed off, sounding choked up.

Lois.  Jimmy knew it.  Something happened to Lois.  She put
herself in danger for the last time.  He knew one day it would
get her... hurt?  Killed?  Something.  He'd never said anything
because she never would have listened to him. 

He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

"What happened to her?" he asked.

"Her?" Perry barked.

"Lois... what happened to her?" Jimmy asked, tears stinging in his
eyes, but not daring to fall. 

His father had once told him boys should never cry.  No matter
what.  He never did.  But he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold his
tears in much longer.  His heart felt ready to leap from his
chest as he waited to hear what Perry had to say.

"Lois... Lois is fine.  Things got out of control and..." Perry
started, sounding about ready to break down.  "They shot... Clark. 
They..."

Jimmy waited.  He could hear his heart beating in the silence and
darkness.  His mouth fell open.  Perry had stopped talking, but
Jimmy could hear him breathing on the other end.

"Is he okay?" he asked.

"Uh, no... "

Oh, no.  Jimmy's mind was moving a million miles a second and he
felt light headed.  Clark... CK...

"He's... gone..."

Jimmy couldn't help what he did next, which was defy his father's
orders.

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

Perry stood at the window in his office, which overlooked the
newsroom.  He watched her.

She wanted to write this story.

She said she'd write it.

He watched her, his hands in his pockets, as she stared, slumped
in her chair, at that unoccupied desk.

He waited a few moments before walking out into the newsroom for
what seemed like the hundredth time, to see if she was okay and
wanted to talk.  To see if he could write the story instead and
relieve her of at least that one burden.  The memory in her mind
was more burden than anyone should ever have to carry in a whole
lifetime, he thought as he approached her desk.

"Lois... Lois, honey, let me take you home.  You don't have to be
here," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Perry," she said, still staring at Clark's desk.  "I
know I said I'd write it.  It's just... every time I write a
sentence, I think about him... remember him... I remember it... and
then I... I..." she started, her voice quivering.

"You don't have to explain, honey.  And you don't have to write
this."

"Yes, I do.  My last story will be about Clark, and it will be
the best tribute to him that I can possibly manage to put into
words.  Although nothing could ever capture..."

"Last story?" Perry interrupted.

"Yeah.  I'm done."  She looked up at him for a moment, before
resuming her post staring at Clark's empty desk.  "There was a
time when I thought reporting was important enough to risk
everything for it.  To die for it even.  But this headline, the
new front page for tomorrow's edition... I can't get it out of my
head.  Reporter Ki ­ Killed in the Line of Duty.  It shouldn't
have happened.  It just should not have happened.  But it did. 
It happened to the best person I've ever known.  He... died," she
said, spitting that word out with disgust and grief, "because of
how important I thought this job was.  This 'line of duty'. 
Well... I'm done.  And this will be my last story."

Perry stared down at her, unsure of what to say.  He'd lost one
of his reporters and good friends tonight forever... and now it
looked as if he was losing another.  Just... in a different way. 

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

"We've lost our boy, Martha," Jonathan Kent said somberly,
sipping his tea as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

"Jonathan, don't be silly.  We're lucky.  Think of all the people
that love Clark who think he's really dead.  We are lucky.  We
know it's not true.  That he's okay and alive."

"Knowing he's alive is great, Martha, I know that.  But... we've
lost him all the same," he said, staring ahead.

"What are you talking about?"

Martha sat next to Jonathan and took his hand, urging him to
explain.

"Next week, we were supposed to go to a baseball game.  Clark got
me those season tickets for Christmas.  We've had such good times
at those games.  We can't do that anymore.  I certainly can't go
to those games with Superman.  Clark's alive, Martha... but he's
gone.  He can't openly visit us ever again.  Walk around
Smallville with us when he's home, like he used to.  And Superman
can't talk with us openly ever.  Why would he?  If we want to
protect this secret, we can't ever REALLY see him again.  He can
visit here, sure, but just to hide.  That's what it would be."

"It'll be hard, but we've hidden for twenty-seven years,
Jonathan.  We're pretty damn good at it now."

"Not like this.  Look at this kitchen, Martha.  Windows
everywhere.  Wayne Irig and the Harrises and the Martins, they
visit randomly all the time.  How could we ever have dinner with
Clark again?  Our friends will find it strange if we are
constantly drawing the blinds in our home for no good reason."

"Honey, just remember.  We need to be grateful right now.  If our
son were an ordinary boy, we'd have lost him tonight.  He would
have died.  We were given something other parents pray for in
these circumstances," Martha said, stroking Jonathan's hand.

"Believe me, Martha, I feel selfish complaining like this at all. 
But this secret is like a double-edged sword.  Don't tell me it's
not.  In many, many ways, we did lose our son tonight.  He's
alive.  No one can know that.  And we're sacrificing something
for this secret, yet again.  He's alive... but lost to us.  And I
am ordinary... human.  And this is how I feel."

Jonathan left the kitchen, as Martha stared sadly after him.

She sighed.  Their lives would never be the same again if they
couldn't figure a way out of this.

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

Lois stared at her computer screen, not seeing the screen at all. 
The only thing she saw, she tried so hard not to think about. 
She tried to get back to reporter mode. 

"Write the story.  It's just a story," her mind told her.  It was
just a story.  Just another story, she reasoned with herself. 
She just needed to hurry up and write it.

And then she could leave.  Run.  Go somewhere.  Away from this. 
This place that had taken him from her.  She would never have to
face it again.

Just as soon as she finished the story.  When she finished the
story, her nightmare could really begin.

It was already there, in her mind.  Numbing her.  *Hurting* her.

But if pushed it back, it couldn't harm her.  Not yet, anyway.

Soon enough, she would face it and see...

And, she realized, she'd probably never wake up.

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

Clark sat on his bed in the room he grew up in.  He looked
around, wondering if this would be where he would live for the
rest of his life.  If this would be what his life would be like
from this night on.  Superman full-time and then a secret journey
back to Smallville.  Land in a deserted field, and travel at
super speed into the house he hadn't really lived in since he
graduated from college. 

Just Superman.

He couldn't start a new life for himself anywhere.  It would be
too much work.  And more importantly... he wouldn't want to. 

He was Clark Kent.

And Clark Kent was dead now.

He looked around the room.  It seemed so much smaller now than
when he'd been a boy, growing up there.  He always loved sitting
in his old room now that he was all grown up.  A city man.  When
life seemed too complicated, it was a place he could go that made
everything seem a little simpler.

But now...

He sighed. 

He didn't want to live there again!  He had moved out of his
parents' house.  He was living on his own.  In an apartment he
loved.  In Metropolis.  He had his own place, his own job, his
own friends, his own life...

But that was no longer the case.

All he had now was Superman.

Superman...

Thinking of his alter ego just now immediately made him think of
what he had been doing two hours ago.

He had been Superman.  And he'd been consoling Lois.

He tried not to think about her just now.  It scared him to think
of her that way.  The way he'd seen her tonight ­ a way he'd
never seen her before.

He'd flown her into her window...

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

"Lois?... Lois?" Clark asked, placing her gently on her couch.

Her body instinctively moved forward, her hands covering her
face.  She was still shaking.

"What can I get you?  Can I make you tea?  Give you something
that will help you sleep?... Lois?"

She looked up at him, a smile that held no joy on her face. 
"Clark would say I need Oolong Tea right now.  And then he'd tell
me about some voodoo tribe of Indians or something that showed
him how to make it, and he'd make it for me."  Her voice was
shaking as the words came out.  "I'd protest and say I'd rather
have coffee.  But it would work.  It would relax me.  Or maybe it
was just his presence.  Maybe a mixture of both.  I don't know. 
He always knew what to do.  In every situation.  He knew how to
handle it... handle me.  He knew how to make me feel the best I
could feel in any given situation.  And if I was going to remain
feeling crummy, he knew it, but would at least calm my nerves
with one of those cups of tea or something!  He did... little
things.  He..."

Clark looked at her, concern overwhelming him.  "Lois, I think
you are in shock."

"I'm not in shock," she said, still visibly shaking.  She
hiccupped from the tears and then looked at him, her eyes wide
and full of realization... looking like even she knew better.  She
was in shock.  As it continued to dawn on her about what she had
lost, she was in great shock.

"Lois, you haven't stopped shaking since Georgie Hairdo ­ "

He trailed off as he noticed the look that passed over her
features as he said the name of the dreaded club that he'd been
killed in.  "Lois," he said, kneeling in front of her.  "Let me
take you to the hospital.  I really think you're in shock," he
said, trying not to sound as if he, himself, was also in shock. 
"They can give you something that will relax you and calm you
down," he said.

She looked at him, controlling her emotions for the first time
since he'd seen her.  "No."  She looked right at him, seeming to
see him for the first time all night.  "No," she repeated. 

And then she crumbled.  "Oh, Superman," she said, shaking her
head.  "What am I going to do?" she cried.  She was sobbing more
gently than she'd been outside the club.  But crying all the same
and still looking completely heartbroken. 

He'd always known her to be this woman who didn't need anyone. 
He was glad to know that she needed him as much as he'd always
needed her... but he'd have preferred to learn that any other way
than this.  Her voice, her tears, her hanging shoulders... it was
all tearing him up inside.

"I can't wrap my mind around this.  It... it didn't happen... did
it?"  She looked up at him and the expression on his face must
have crushed her desperate hopes.  "Oh, god, it did.  It..."

"Lois," he started.  And then he stopped.  What could he say, he
wondered.  Nothing.  Nothing could change the fact that tonight
Clark Kent HAD been killed.

"Why didn't I see it coming?" she asked, as if unaware of
Superman's presence or the fact that he'd spoken.  She talked to
herself mostly, it seemed.  "Clark saw the gun, and he selflessly
stood in front of it... I saw it too and I panicked.  I froze.  By
the time it registered to do something, it was too late to do
anything.  He... he was..." she broke off, shaking her head as more
tears silently fell.

"It's not fair," she said, quietly, after a moment.  "It's not
fair that I was alive and sitting over him and he was. . . he
wasn't.  He wasn't there anymore.  He wasn't moving, I mean.  He
wasn't moving," she repeated, as if trying to grasp it. 

"I can't be here anymore," she finally said, breaking her gaze
from the nothingness before her ­ which seemed to have been
playing a movie for her... a horrible, painful movie ­ and looked
at Superman.  The only side to him that still existed.  "I'm
going to change and then I want to go to the Planet."

"Lois, I really don't think you should do that.  You've been
through something awful and you need to calm down.  If you're not
going to go to a hospital, then you really must stay here, Lois. 
Relax.  Sleep," he said, lamely.

She looked him in the eye, her face hard and determined and
absolutely wretched.  "I need to go to the Planet."

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

Perry approved the copy.  It had taken him so much longer to read
through than any other story in his career... so much longer to
approve.  But it was flawless.  Kerth-worthy, even.

She had done it.  He'd known she would.  He'd known it the minute
he saw her break the sad gaze from Clark's desk with a resolute
expression on her otherwise expressionless face that seemed to
say she would write the story without pause.  And less than an
hour later it was on his desk.  Facts.  Cold, hard facts. 
Layered in pain and emotion.  The perfect dance of news and
emotions and suspense and words.  The perfect combination of
things that the Kerth committee was always looking for when
sorting through the thousands of writers and stories each year. 
He knew that she would get nominated for this story.  Her last
story.  And he knew for a fact that she would not care.  He
didn't care either.  What they both wanted they could never have. 
They could never have him back.  And an award sure as hell
wouldn't make up for that.

As soon as the story was off his desk, he rested his head in his
hands, tiredly, his job as editor-in-chief for the moment done.

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

Lois couldn't go home.  She'd been there earlier.  With Superman. 
And it hadn't been good.  All she had thought about was Clark. 
He was everywhere.  He'd sat on the very couch Superman had
placed her on, countless times.  She could see him sitting there,
beside her.  A ghost of him.  A carbon copy, smiling at her,
working with her, joking with her, talking with her, listening to
her, teasing her. 

Clark...

Superman had stood in her kitchen, asking if he could make her
tea.  Tea.  She could see him.  She could see Clark.  He had
always made her tea when things got too stressful with a case, or
when she got herself worked up over something, or sometimes as a
trick when she wanted her eighth cup of coffee for the day.

Everywhere she looked in her apartment, he was there.

It wasn't that remembering him was bad.  Quite the opposite. 
Thinking of his face was her only comfort just now.  It wasn't
surprising, since he'd always been a comfort when she was upset. 
Unfortunately this time, he couldn't help her pain abate.  And
she knew it never would.  Not really.  The pain could never go
away because Clark was gone.  And as long as Clark was gone,
there would be an emptiness inside of her.  There would be no
fire in her soul or light in her eyes anymore.  If she ever
smiled again, the smile would never again be evident in her eyes. 
She knew with certainty this was true.  Something was gone from
her.  Something intangible that separated her physical existence
from her life.  She knew now that Clark was the reason she had
been living ­ really living ­ for the past year and a half.  And
the moment his life ended, she had begun to only exist.

Sitting in Centennial Park, she found herself thinking about it
again.  Her mind just kept going to that awful moment so quickly. 
Without warning.  Without invitation.

She could see Dillinger pawing at her and Clark's arm go up.  He
had stopped Dillinger from doing anything more than touch her
cheek for a split second.  He had noticed her discomfort, of
course.  And he couldn't stand idly by while she was being mauled
by some creep.  He never could. 

She immediately had shot a look of relief and appreciation in
Clark's direction after Dillinger's hand was shot down.  How she
wished she could have said to him, instead of giving him that
look, "thanks, now back off, they have guns," or "don't do
anything stupid, Clark" or shot him a warning look that implied
all that.  Anything.  But she hadn't done any of it.

No...

Clark's hand had come to her defense for not the first time in
their relationship, and this one time, she initially *had* felt
genuine relief.  Not annoyance, as she had sometimes felt when
he'd tried to defend her.  Not anger because she was well-aware
she could take care of herself and thought he ought to know that
as well.  This one time, with these creepy 1920s gangsters, she'd
felt relief at his interference.  She didn't know what Dillinger
might have had in store for her, and she really had not wanted to
find out. 

Relief. 

She hadn't warned him.  And by the time she could have tried to
pull him off his white horse, he'd already been knocked off of
it.  Shot off of it, she corrected herself, shuddering at that
thought that she couldn't escape, no matter how hard she'd tried.

It had been a few hours and her mind's eye had played the scene
out before her hundreds of times.  Thousands.  Millions.  She
wasn't sure anymore.  But each time was more painful and awful.

Clark had been pushed back.  She had known then that they were in
danger ­ that the situation had suddenly become more serious than
just the threats Al Capone had been rolling off moments before. 
It had become dangerous.  And Clark was right in the middle of
that danger.  The target. 

"Reporter Killed in the Line of..."

Fire.

The sound of a gunshot had shaken her and she had instinctively
turned to him.  She could see the fear in her eyes mirrored in
his. 

One shot.  Two.  Three.  Realizing immediately that she wasn't
being shot so he must be, her mind was screaming "stop!"  She
couldn't believe it.  A nightmare.  There were shots being fired. 
One.  Two.  Three.  It seemed to never end.  One shot was not
enough for Clyde Barrow.  One, two, three... to ensure that Clark
wasn't just hurt, but... killed.  "Clark!"  "No!"  "No, stop!" her
mind had screamed, and when the noise had stopped, she had
stepped forward and grabbed onto him, just in time to see one
last look from him before his eyes closed for the last time. 
Just as he had fallen to the ground.

She had pleaded for it to not be true.  She had called to him
desperately, realizing it was no use.  Realizing he was gone. 
"Breathe!" her mind had screamed.  It was too late.  He'd been
taken from her.  Laying beside her, he was no longer with her,
and when that awful truth set in, a huge part of her left.  A
huge part of who she was ­ who she had become since he'd entered
her life ­ died.

Even Superman couldn't do anything to help.  To save the day. 
Before tonight, Superman could do anything, in her eyes.  But not
the one thing she needed him to do now.  He wasn't a magician,
after all.  Or a miracle worker.  He was a superhero and bringing
people back from the dead was not one of his powers.

She realized she was cold.  In the park, dressed in a large gray
sweater she had borrowed from Clark some night long ago ­ a night
that she couldn't remember, but wished so badly she could find in
her millions of memories of him ­ and warm sweatpants, she was so
cold.  Tears were falling unchecked down her cheeks as the wind
blew gently, making her shiver even more than she was already. 
She was so cold.

She looked around.  She was sitting on a bench that held a
painful memory from long ago. 

As the tears continued to fall, she closed her eyes and imagined
a sunny, spring day.  She heard the voice of her best friend
telling her sweetly and selflessly that he loved her.  That he'd
loved her for a long time.

"I love you, too," she whispered, her voice shaking.  "I love
you, too," she cried, burying her head in her hands, letting the
sobs come and take over.  Letting her body be controlled, once
again this evening, by the forceful tears.

"He loved me," she had cried to Superman earlier in the evening. 
Superman had agreed.  He'd known.  Oh, everyone had probably
known!  Somewhere, deep down, she had known it too.  But what she
hadn't admitted to anyone, especially to herself ­ until this
moment ­ was that she loved him too.  She had loved him all
along.  And he would never know.

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

Clark's apartment was empty and quiet and his things were
scattered around as if nothing had happened.  Everything was just
waiting to be put away and tidied up.  The couch waited to be sat
on.  The television waited to be watched.  The apartment waited,
patiently, for a night like most others.

But this night was different.  The world had changed.

Lois walked through the apartment, bombarded by memories.  She
thought herself insane.  It had been too hard to be at her own
place, but his place she could handle?  She just wanted to be as
close to him as she could be.  He haunted her at her own place,
but somehow comforted her at his, with his overwhelming presence.

She noticed a work shirt that was thrown on his ironing board,
which was set up behind his couch.  She sighed sadly, realizing
he had probably intended to wear it to work tomorrow, and had
ironed it before they'd left for the club.

She started crying again, realizing there would never again be a
tomorrow for him.  She cried, knowing that he had left his
apartment earlier in the evening, expecting a routine night.  He
had expected to find something out... and then to come back here. 
To go to sleep.  And start it all again... she cried more...
tomorrow.

She knew he was aware of the dangers of their job.  She had made
him aware early on in their relationship and partnership.  She
sighed, realizing he never really thought their job was too
dangerous.  She never thought that either. 

They both thought they were immortal.  There was nothing they
couldn't handle.

She looked again at the shirt on the ironing board.  She
remembered what she had been doing before they'd left for the
club, and her cheeks burned with shame and guilt...

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

"Where is it!?" she'd said, throwing more clothes into an ever-
growing pile of colors by her bed.

She was searching for her red dress.  The one she had bought a
month ago.  The one that the saleslady had said would cause a
heart attack to her poor, hapless victim, or any man that saw her
in it, for that matter.

She wanted to wear it tonight, hopefully to get the attention of
one of the gangsters and get information from him for the story.

"Aha!" she'd said, finding the slinky red material dangling
weakly from a hanger, in between two broader, thicker, darker
outfits, that were blocking the sexy, small number.  She yanked
it off the hanger and held it up in front of her in the mirror.

She still had her bathrobe on and hot curlers in her hair.  But
she could see that the red dress was going to stand out.  It was
a hot dress.  She'd known that.

She had smiled at her reflection and said, merely, "This'll do."

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

She picked his work shirt up off the ironing board and brought it
to her face, inhaling his scent and closing her eyes.

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

"What is this?" Clark had said, when he'd come to pick her up.

"Oh, just thought I'd get dressed up for the occasion.  We have
to blend in, you know.  This *is* an undercover assignment,"
she'd said, throwing a shawl on.

"I know," he'd said, his voice deeper than usual.

"Well, Clark, the people that hang out at Georgie Hairdo's aren't
exactly the toast of the town.  They are sleazy and trampy.  And
*we* have to fit in."  She looked at his suit.  "I guess that'll
do," she'd teased.

He had smiled back.  "Well, Lois, if that was your goal, then you
failed.  Big time," he had said, as they walked out of her
apartment.

She had looked at him, her eyebrows raised, as if insulted.

"You don't look trampy or sleazy, for one thing.  You couldn't if
you tried," he had said smoothly.  "And there's no way you're
going to blend in.  All eyes will be on you," he had finished,
looking like he had genuinely meant it.

She had given him a playful look, and turned away, ignoring the
feeling of secret pleasure that had filled her when he'd
complimented her...

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

She put the shirt back down and looked around his empty
apartment.

The silence intensified the emptiness, and she felt it all around
her and deep inside of her, as she thought, somberly, about her
actions earlier.  She had dressed to kill... and it had worked,
ironically, only too well.  She knew she would forever regret the
methods to which she had stooped to get her story.  She had
dressed herself on this fateful night with every intention of
using her sexuality to get close to the story.  To get the facts
and go home so she could write what she knew and be closer to
solving the absurd mystery surrounding this particular story.

It wasn't the first time she had done that on a story.  Hell, she
had done it only a month before, when trying to prove that Lenny
Stoke was the Sound Man.  It had always been harmless.  A quick
way into the circle the villain moved in.  A weakness to that
person.  A way to get the inside angle to better the story.  She
had used this method before.  And it had never cost her a thing.

Tonight it had cost her everything.

Oddly enough, what she had wanted to happen had happened.  She'd
attracted the attention of John Dillinger.  But when he'd
commented to everyone about the "lady in red" ­ while looking at
her in that way ­  and then touched her cheek, she had recoiled
and felt dirty, just wanting him to stop.  And that moment, right
there ­ how she had chosen to react to his pass ­ was her fatal
mistake.

Fatal for Clark.

Or maybe she should have just left when he had suggested.  But
she had *needed* to stick around on account of some stupid
nickels!

Oh, the fates had conspired against her in numerous ways, which
all added up to the very worst moment of her entire life.

She collapsed, finally, on his couch.  She didn't think she could
cry anymore. 

But everywhere she turned, scenes from his apartment danced
through her memory.  Those scenes ­ happy memories that warmed
her soul ­ were intertwined with one scene from earlier in the
night ­ a loud scene, filled with gunshots and the sound of her
own voice pleading for her best friend not to be dead and to come
back, not to leave her ­ that chilled her to the core. 

And finally, when it was too much to bear, she cried and cried
and cried and, at some point, fell asleep.

*
*
*
*
*

"Anything, Jimmy?" Perry asked.

"She's still not there," Jimmy answered, quietly.

Jimmy was checking Lois's apartment daily to see if she was
there.  He and Perry were desperate to know she was safe.  That
she was just okay.  They had no idea.

"Dammit!" Perry said, after a moment.  "When she refused my offer
to stay at my house that night, I should have insisted.  I should
have forced her.  She needed me.  But by the time I finished
reading her story, she was gone."

And she hadn't been back ever since.

Jimmy was going nuts.  The last time he saw Lois, she was with
Clark and they were planning their night.  The night they'd crack
the case on Al Capone and the other resurrected gangsters.

He looked at Perry, realizing that he seemed so much older in the
week since Clark had been killed.  He looked like someone else. 
Not the old news hound who was really more like a loving father
and good friend.  He looked tired and awful and just so sad.

He, himself, felt different.  Nothing seemed good anymore. 
Looking around the busy newsroom, it looked empty.  Vacant. 
Without Lois and Clark there, it seemed quiet and everything
seemed unimportant.  And his own heart felt heavy with sadness
over the loss of his good friend. 

He wished at the very least that he and Perry could find Lois so
the three of them could console each other.  Right now, the only
thing he and Perry could focus on was worrying about Lois and
finding her.  And so far, they were at a dead end.

He just wished everything could go back to normal.  That the ding
of the elevator could reveal behind its doors Lois and Clark,
walking into the newsroom, theorizing about the latest
breakthrough in their current story.  He wished he could see them
talking and laughing and arguing and hugging and fighting their
feelings for each other.  Everything that he knew had been wiped
out so quickly that he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye or
reconcile himself to the change.

Nothing could ever be normal again.  And every time he saw their
desks, which he was supposed to clean out one of these days, he
felt tears prick the corners of his eyes.

Nothing was as it should be.  And his life, which had seemed
pretty darn good the week before, held absolutely no joy anymore.

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

Lois threw the paper on the floor, next to the coffee table in
disgust.  She hadn't read the paper since the day her last story
was published.  The one with the awful headline that played in
her head like a tape on auto-repeat.  It just played over and
over until she wanted to scream.  The headline and the gunshots. 
She couldn't escape it.  She refused to read the paper at all
after that story was published. 

Until today.  One week later.  She came out of hiding and grabbed
the paper that was at his doorstep.

There was an extensive story about how Superman had apprehended
Al Capone, John Dillinger, Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker quite
simply, the day after the worst day of her life, and it went on
to describe their indictments regarding their numerous crimes
including armed robbery and murder.

The murder of Clark Kent.

She wanted not to think about him, but it was pretty difficult
considering she was staying at his apartment. 

When she'd gone there the night of his murder, she had only meant
to sit for awhile, finding comfort in the familiarity of the
place, and his presence there.  But whenever she tried to leave,
she couldn't do it.  The closest she could ever feel to him again
was there, in his apartment.  It was warm and safe and he was
everywhere.  His life was spread around the apartment in photos
and clothing and funny little items.

As the days stretched on, she grew sadder being there, realizing
he never would be again.  Before this, she had actually never
been to his apartment without him there too.  Being at his
apartment, seeing as the days went on that he was not coming
home, made everything so much more real.  She understood
logically that he was gone and wouldn't be walking through the
door at the end of a long day of work ever again.  But being
there, experiencing that fact, made the truth sink in in a
completely gut-wrenching, emotionally draining way.

She looked down at the newspaper and groaned, as fresh tears
welled in her eyes, threatening to fall.  Why... *why*... couldn't
Superman have apprehended those... monsters... the day before they
took Clark from her?  If it was so easy for him to find them once
they'd committed something so serious as murder, why couldn't he
have found them before?  Before her best friend had been gunned
down, while trying to protect her?  It wasn't as if now that they
were caught things could just go back to normal, the way they did
in the past when Superman apprehended a bad guy.  Nothing could
go back to normal again.  Normal was working with Clark on a
story.  Normal was Superman putting the bad guy away.  And normal
was working on the next story with Clark.

"You're only as good as you're next story," she heard her own
voice saying to Clark.  Long ago.  A voice that sounded like
anything in the world was possible and tomorrow would be a great
day to see what might happen.  It was her voice, but it was no
longer *her*.

Her heart grew especially heavy as she realized that this
*should* have been a normal story.  It was just like so many of
their other stories!  It was peculiar.  There were bad guys.  It
was like a fantasy ­ dead people coming back to life ­ that would
make a great story.  Just as most of their other stories had
started out!  This one should not have changed their lives at
all!  It was not *so* special!  They should be working on their
next story now!  Not... not... not this.

Lois hung her head as the weight of "this" continued to sink in.       

And with the already long list of regrets that trailed along with
its meaning, new ones continued to appear and taunt her, adding
themselves to the list.  She felt something twist in her stomach,
as a new one pushed itself to the front of her mind.  His last
moments in life, she wasn't even with him!  Not really.  He'd
been working and she had been... playing games.  She had been
gambling... and moments later, sitting over him, not believing her
eyes.  Not believing fate.  Not believing any of it.

She threw the newspaper down on the coffee table and stood up.                 

She remembered the day Clark Kent had come into her life.  She
recalled him holding his hand out to shake hers in kind
introduction.  She had looked at it, mumbled a "nicetomeetyou"
and then continued talking to Perry as if he were no more than a
paperboy come to drop off his quarters. 

But her crass dismissal of him hadn't caused him to be rude to
her or avoid her.  He had always treated her with respect.  No
matter what putdowns she had shot his way ­ and there had been
many, in those first few weeks especially ­ he had always acted
toward her as if they were great friends and ultimately had
practically forced his way into her heart making it so that they
eventually really were great friends.  Best friends.

She walked into his kitchen, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants
and his Smallville University sweatshirt, which she'd pulled from
his closet. She imagined they were dating and that was why she
was wearing his sweats.  They were so in love and comfortable
together that she could just go and change into something of his
that was more comfortable when she visited. 

She opened a cabinet, and released a small gasp at her sudden
fantasy.  Dating Clark?  Wearing his clothes?  She pulled a can
of soup out of the cabinet and took a seat on the countertop,
letting the thoughts process. 

She smiled sadly. 

It would have been nice to have dated him, she realized.  To have
sat with him, in big, comfy clothes, on his couch.  Cuddling. 
Talking quietly.  Watching movies.  Kissing. 

He would have been a wonderful boyfriend, she thought, as a tear
rolled down her cheek.  A week ago, she realized reproachfully,
she would have looked at someone who suggested such a thing to
her like they'd fallen off the turnip truck.  She never would
have thought about him like that a week ago. 

Consciously, that is. 

On some level, though, she almost always thought of him that way. 
He was her first choice for a date to any event.  The best way to
spend a Saturday night was in his company, whether they played
board games or watched movies or just talked. 

She would see him for such long hours all week long, yet she
still looked forward to spending her free time with him ­ a
notion which was unbelievable to her.  She was just so
comfortable with him... comfortable enough to just be herself.  To
let down her guards and allow him to see the person that she
allowed no one else ever to see.  She was comfortable to open up
to him and know that no matter what she ever told him, he would
never judge her. 

She smiled, remembering him.  She loved when she could remember
the way he was without thinking about the way he had died. 

When she could focus on *him*, everything seemed okay. 
Everything just seemed like it was going to be okay.

She pictured him at work.  He had always made work more fun. 
From messing around or joking around with her when things were
slow, to arguing over the whodunit in a case, he brought
something completely new and... completely wonderful... to her
experience at the Planet.  He could make her laugh like a giddy
teenager and a moment later make her think like a rocket
scientist.  Well, almost anyway.  It had seemed that way.  When
he would challenge her and when she would challenge him, they
were both just challenging each other to be even better than they
thought they could be.  And the end result in their stories, in
turn, was so much more amazing.  So much more amazing than they
had thought it could be in the beginning.

That defined their relationship, really.

So much better than she ever could have thought it would be at
the beginning.

She loved how he could have fun at work.  Loosen up.  Laugh with
Jimmy.  Sometimes at her expense.  But always in good fun!

Oh, that laugh!  That smile!  Such a joy for life.  Such good
nature.  Contentment with the person he was.  Contentment to be
there.  With them. 

Just to be alive...

He could laugh like that so easily.  And make her laugh, too. 
But it was not a problem for him to put jokes and laughing aside
for a story or for something more serious.

He would sit on the edge of her desk, sometimes, looking at her
with all the concern in the world, while she poured her heart out
about something or other.  He would look at her and she would
know he was listening completely.  Wanting to be there for her,
not even having to try.  Just being... naturally... such a good
friend. 

He would not have ever broken her confidences.  Or anyone's, for
that matter.  He was above all that.  Looking at the photographs
laying all around his apartment, she got the sense that he was
always above all of that.  Never one for gossip.  It wasn't him.

He was...

Just good.

A tightening in her stomach reminded her of the one thing she
always tried to forget.

That man ­  that good, fun, man, with that smile ­ had been
killed.  Shot to death before her horrified eyes.  Because he'd
been that.  Good.  Too damn good.

"God, why can't I stop thinking about him?" she said, sniffling.

She hopped off the counter and started to make the soup. 

When she was at her own apartment, cooking ­ even just opening a
can and heating it on the stove ­ was not a part of her reality. 
She just didn't cook.  Eating out or ordering in just seemed so
much easier.  But at his place, she could do it.  The stove was
an okay place to be.  She felt comfortable trying to cook.  It
didn't mean she was some domesticated 1950s housewife or anything
like that.  It didn't even mean that she was any good at it.  It
just meant...

She looked around his place...

It just meant she was home.

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

"Clark, come home, please," Martha said, holding the phone
tightly.  "You've been all around the world this week, not
resting for a second.  You've been everywhere except two places. 
Smallville and Metropolis!"

"I know, Mom," Clark said, standing in a phone booth in Phuket,
Thailand.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just... I'm trying to get used to this. 
You know... my new life."

"Clark, you never even tried to find a way out of this mess so
you could salvage your old one."

"Mom, I thought of everything!  You think I want this?  I've hurt
everyone I love the most.  You and dad," he started.

"Honey, no ­ "

"You aren't admitting it, but you are both beside yourselves with
the realization that your son is gone, and that the only part of
him that still exists, you can't, logically, know.  You can't
talk to me openly ever again.  I can't go to those games with
Dad.  I know he's upset about that.  I briefly saw Perry and
Jimmy at the police station when I caught Al Capone and company. 
The looks in their eyes..."

Martha looked at the ceiling.  She could hear the pain in his
voice, but she couldn't get him to come back.  She couldn't get
him to believe that together they might be able to figure
something out.  It was as if all his hope had been shot out of
him when those bullets hit.

"And Lois," he started.

Martha could hear something change in his voice, talking about
Lois.

"I've never seen her that way.  I... I can't ever see her that way
again.  It's better if I start my new life as just Superman so
she can start to move on."

"Don't you want to go to Metropolis and see how she's doing at
least?"

"Of course I want to see her, Mom.  But I can't.  The last time I
saw her, she was at the Planet.  Perry was watching over her and
I'm sure he and Lois and Jimmy are taking care of each other.  I
don't want to see what my... *lie*... is doing to her!  To all of
them!"

"Then Clark, please.  Just... come home.  Your father and I really
want to see you."

"I'm not moving back, Mom.  You have to understand.  I can't move
back.  Not like this.  Not when so much has changed and I can't
even be me anymore.  I promise I'll check in with you just as
soon as..."

Martha waited.  "As what, Clark?" she finally begged.

"...as soon as I've got my new life worked out."

"What does that mean, Clark?"

"Honestly?  I don't know," he said sadly.  "I have no idea."

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

Clark hung up the phone and stepped out of the phone booth.  He
looked around the strange land he was in for the moment.  He'd
been there before on Superman duty.  He remembered thinking it
was lovely and unique.  Standing on that city street just then,
though, with foreign customs going on busily around him, he hated
it and wished he was anywhere else.  He'd never felt more
wretched and alone.

He sat down on the curb and stared at his hands.

He missed his old life so much.

He missed waking up, knowing he was going to the Daily Planet,
where he would see Perry and Jimmy and Lois and do the one thing
he loved to do ­ report the news.  With Lois.

He missed her the most.

She haunted him every second of every day.  He could hear her
laugh and see her soft, sultry brown eyes.  He could see that
wonderful expression she would wear when he would tease her.  The
expression that always made his smile even bigger.  He could feel
her lips on his from the times they'd kissed.  He'd always hoped
that someday he would be able to kiss her all the time, not
because of a story, but because they were together.  That she was
as in love with him as he was with her.  He'd hoped all the time.

Thoughts of Lois always ended the same awful way, though.  With
her calling out his name, sounding scared and alone and lost. 
Her eyes that night when they had looked into his, begging him to
do something.  Everything she had said that night and the way her
sobs had wracked her body. 

Lois.

He hadn't slept all week.  He just kept thinking about
everything.  How Clark Kent was gone and what it meant for him. 
He just kept thinking about the hopes and dreams ­ those
professional and those romantic and personal ­ that had been
dashed when those three bullets had hit him.

He missed everything so much!  His apartment ­

He missed his apartment.  It was his.  His place in Metropolis. 
It was the only place he ever had that was *his*.  Not a room in
the house he grew up in, not a motel room... but his own apartment. 
A place where *he* belonged.  Where people visited him.  Where he
relaxed after a long day.

As feelings of loneliness and longing began really to swell
within him on that foreign street in Thailand, he realized what
he needed right now.  What he really needed was to be at home.

He wasn't ready to go to Smallville and face his parents yet. 

But there was another home waiting for him where he didn't have
to face anything but the past he'd lost.

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

It smelled like Chicken Soup.

Clark took his coat off and looked around the apartment
suspiciously, wondering why it would smell like anything when he
hadn't been in it in a week.  He shook his head, thinking he must
just be crazy.  Or overtired.

In fact, his eyes stung with exhaustion.  He realized why it was
catching up with him now.  Whenever he'd had a long day before,
he would never realize it until he'd walked through his front
door.  Being home, being near his own bed, his body would finally
realize how tired it was. 

He'd been running around... running away, really... all week, barely
sleeping a wink.  And once again, walking into his apartment ­
flying onto the balcony actually ­ brought his pent up exhaustion
to the surface.

"It probably smells like Chicken Soup because when you think of
home, you think of Chicken Soup.  And I am finally home," he
rationalized to himself, while yawning a big yawn.  Tiredness was
washing over him in waves now.

He had only wanted to stay for a moment.

But he found himself heading for the bedroom on automatic pilot. 

The room was dark and quiet.  So quiet, with a beautiful rhythm
lulling him, that he wouldn't dare turn on a light and break the
silent rhythm. 

He changed quietly at super speed into boxers and climbed into
bed, falling fast asleep to the beautiful, vaguely familiar, soft
rhythm. 

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

The harsh sunlight begged Lois awake.  She turned to the bedside
clock.  It was the same time that she woke up every day.  7:07. 

She sat back against the pillows, wondering why she felt so much
more different than every other morning she woke up in Clark's
apartment.  Then it hit her.

She hadn't had the nightmare last night.  The one at the club. 
With the gangsters and the gunshots.  The one of his face... his
beautiful face...

...she hadn't had it.

"Finally," she said, under her breath.  She tried to remember
what she had dreamed about.  She was sure she'd dreamed about
something.  But it wasn't clear.

But she knew with a certainty that she hadn't had that horrible
nightmare, which a week ago was an awful reality. 

That, at least, was something.

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

For the first time since catching the resurrected gangsters,
Superman flew above the Metropolis skies again!

He made a few appearances, but mostly took to the skies to think. 
Thinking was always easier in familiar skies.  So he flew around
Metropolis, his thoughts scattered in a million places.

When he'd been running around the world, Lois had been haunting
him, preventing him from falling asleep.  And when, finally, he
went home and was able to get some sleep, she haunted his dreams. 
She taunted him with a love she had never offered to him when he
was alive.  A love he sure as hell could never have now.

He'd woken up in the early hours of the morning in tears,
sweating.  Lois.  He'd been dreaming about Lois.  Being in his
own apartment again, finally, had brought thoughts of her
streaming out of his subconscious, and he'd awoken trembling and
sad, thinking about how much he loved her and how hard it was
going to be never seeing her again the way he used to.  Never
hoping again for the future he used to hope for every single day. 

The only way he could ever be with her was in dreams.  Dreams
like the one he'd had from the night before... which he couldn't
quite recall... but had provided him with nothing but comfort and
thoughts of her.

Of Lois.

He left his apartment as quickly as he'd entered it, not
bothering to even look around and commit it to memory, in case he
never saw it again.

He needed to get out of there.  Away from memories of her.

Unfortunately, flying around Metropolis did nothing but bring him
memories of Lois.  He'd flown with her all over the city, and
he'd walked with her on every city street.  It was the city where
their history was.

His hearing picked up a newsflash about a flood in the
Philippines.  With a sigh of relief, he zoomed off, out of
Metropolis, trying to forget what it felt like to be there again.

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

"Jimmy," Perry said, looking drawn and pale.  "Call Henderson. 
We need to find Lois and we need to pull out all the stops.  And
if you see Superman... if you see him at all, tell him too."

Jimmy nodded, looking perturbed, as well.  It had been too long
and Lois had been in too bad of shape when she'd been last seen
by Perry.  They had to make new moves to find her.

They were terribly worried about her.  Desperate, at this point,
just to find her.

When Jimmy walked away to carry out this order, Perry looked at
the vacant desks of his two best reporters, missing them. 

He missed them so much.

He could never have Clark back and he knew that.  But Lois was
somewhere and he needed her.  And he was sure she needed him too. 

Clark's parents had called a few days back, wanting to see how he
and Jimmy and Lois were.  He'd talked to them and given his
condolences and they had returned the sentiment in kind.  But he
hadn't told them that Lois was missing.  He had just said that
she wasn't herself and was taking it really hard. 

He shook his head.  These two people had lost their only son. 
There was no need to worry them over Lois.  Not yet.  He knew
they cared for her.  He could see it when they visited.  And he
could hear it in their voices when they asked about her.  They
had always held out the same hope that he did, where Lois and
Clark were concerned.  And now there was no hope.  They sounded
like their world was forever changed.  And he didn't want to add
to that. 

Finding Lois was *his* priority.  Something he needed to focus
on.  Then, he could tell her that they had called, wanting to
know she was alright.  That they were there for her, too.

His first logical step had been to contact her sister, Lucy.  Her
number was in his rolodex from when she used to work in
Metropolis.  And Lois had updated it when she had moved to
California.

Lucy had shared his concerns over Lois's well-being, but also
alleviated them a bit by saying she had called, sounding "like
*death*, to say she was okay," a few days earlier.

Wherever she was, she was at least okay.  But Perry shook his
head.  Knowing she was just okay was not enough.

He needed to find Lois.  To get her back.  He had to make sure he
didn't lose her, too. 

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

Lois had finally left Clark's apartment.  She had to, if she
didn't want to die from starvation.  She'd used up all of his
food, and needed to take a trip to the grocery store.

She hadn't been eating much all week.  She'd been too depressed
to eat much.  But she had been eating.  And now his food was
gone.

Dressed in his large sweats and wearing a baseball cap, she hoped
she wouldn't be recognized on the quick trip into the
neighborhood.  One thing that had made the past week bearable at
all was that she hadn't had to talk to anyone about it.  She
hadn't had to relive the worst night of her life with anyone who
"wanted to be there for her."  She couldn't talk about the horror
of that night.  Not yet, anyway.  The pain was too fresh.  The
thoughts alone made her cry.  To put those thoughts into words
would probably kill her, she thought.

She could vaguely remember talking to Superman about everything
immediately after it had happened.  She couldn't remember what
she had said.  But she remembered that he had looked scared. 
She'd been out of control, inconsolable... and clearly beside
herself with grief and pain.  If she tried to talk to someone
now, it would be like a repeat performance of that night.  And if
she'd managed to scare *Superman*, she shuddered to think of what
Perry might do. 

After that first horrible night, she'd had other moments ­ many
of them ­ just like the ones she'd had that night.  She'd had
those same intense reactions when Clark's death would again sink
in.  When it would hit her.  She would be fine and then something
as small as seeing a tie of his that she remembered making fun of
would trigger an attack.  That was the only word she could think
to describe the fits.  Attacks.  Her feelings were attacking her. 
Her love was attacking her.  Her grief, her guilt, her shame, her
sadness, her cowardice ATTACKED her. 

It would happen sometimes in the morning.  Sometimes it would
wake her from a sound sleep.  Sometimes it would happen in the
middle of a movie on television.

And she found, flipping through the channels, that any time
someone on television got shot, for entertainment value, to pack
a movie with action, she just could not watch.  The noise would
immediately push her backward in time to when that noise had been
all too real.  And the ramifications were not at all
entertaining. 

She couldn't watch those kinds of movies.

Or romance movies, which brought on the tears, as her many
regrets would surface at the sight of happy couples in love.

Many things brought her emotions ­ which she was constantly
trying to suppress and control ­ rushing to the surface.

She couldn't control the attacks.  But in the week since his
death, they hadn't stopped happening.  Her last one had been just
before she'd stepped out for the grocery store.  When she
realized she'd used up all of his food.  Just the idea that his
food was gone, like him, brought on the intense feelings.

So running into someone she knew who might want to talk was just
out of the question.  She just... she wasn't ready.

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

"Hey, Chief, I just had a thought about where Lois might be,"
Jimmy said.  When Perry looked up, but said nothing, he took it
as a sign to continue.  "Maybe she went to Clark's apartment. 
You know to..."

"Torture herself?  I doubt it," he said.  "That place has
probably been cleaned out.  There may even be someone new there." 
After a moment, he looked up from the paperwork on his desk. 
"But good thinking.  Why don't you head over there and check
anyway," Perry said.  "I mean, if you don't mind, that is.  If
it's too hard for you, son, then..."

"No, Chief, I can do it," Jimmy said.

Which was how he found himself picking the lock at Clark's place
fifteen minutes later.

When the door finally opened, he gasped when he saw the inside. 
It was Clark's apartment... and another reminder of what had
happened. 

It was a lot messier than he had ever seen Clark's apartment in
the past.  But it made sense... he had been pretty busy in the days
that led up to his... murder.

Standing on the landing, he closed his eyes, briefly.  Even just
in thought he could barely trudge over that word.  Murder. 
Death.  Killed.  Shot.  Any of those words.  His thoughts would
stop dead in their tracks when talking about Clark in the same
sentence as those words.  Clark was young and healthy and alive...
To him, he always would be.  So to think of him in that context...

He looked around the apartment, realizing he hadn't been there in
awhile.  Months, really.  He and Clark occasionally went out for
a slice of pizza or something after work.  Sometimes, Clark
invited him over to hang out and watch a game or something.  He'd
refused on occasion because of a date and on occasion because of
another obligation and once because it was just going to be him,
Clark and Lois, and he'd been waiting for them to finally get
together and didn't want to prolong it with his presence.  Just
now, though, he wished he had said yes to those invitations a
little more often.

It was quiet and still at Clark's place.  A quick walk around,
while trying to just keep his emotions intact revealed what he'd
assumed and, in a way, feared.  Lois was not there.  Which
brought him back to square one.  Lois was missing.

He quickly let himself back out, looking once more at the
apartment and trying to commit it to memory.

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

Lois arrived at the grocery store and quickly grabbed everything
she'd come for.  Milk, bananas, chicken soup, bread, tuna fish...
everything she'd used at Clark's place.  She didn't pick up
anything new.  She wanted to keep the place his, and if she'd
bought anything that she would keep at home, like cookies or
macaroni-and-cheese, it wouldn't have been Clark's place anymore. 
Not really.  The cabinets had to contain what they had contained
when she'd shown up at his place the night of his... the night...

"Cash or credit?" the cashier inquired, when her price flashed on
the screen.

"Credit card," she said, keeping her head down.  She'd have
preferred to pay with cash, but she didn't have any on her.  She
handed the card to the woman and watched as it was swiped.

"I'll need your signature here, Miss... Lois Lane..." the woman said,
reading the card.  "Hey, aren't you that reporter?  I thought I
saw something last week about you, some hot news or gossip or..."

"Here you go," Lois said, signing the receipt and handing it to
the woman.  "Thanks," she said, not sounding grateful in the
least.

She walked away, angry at herself for not having stopped at an
ATM and just gotten a little cash out.  She hadn't been
recognized, but her name had, and somehow it was just as bad.  To
this woman, Clark's death *was* a hot piece of gossip. 

Lois realized, with a shudder, that when she read about murders,
she was always intrigued and wanted to know every morbid detail. 
She thought it was maybe human nature or just the inquisitor and
reporter in her.  She also realized that she'd have reacted just
like that woman if it had been some person she'd never met. 

But this hot piece of gossip for some people was the worst thing
that had ever happened to her.  It was her nightmare from which
she couldn't wake up.  It wasn't removed, so it could never be
gossip.  It hit close to home ­ too close ­ it hit her heart ­
and it was all too real.

She walked quickly back to Clark's, her head bowed, wondering how
she could have been so stupid to have left at all.

*
*
*
*
*

"It's been over a month and we haven't seen him," Jonathan said,
sitting down at the kitchen table, looking drawn.

"Two weeks since he last checked in," Martha added.

They looked at each other, seeing their sadness and exhaustion
reflected in each other's eyes.

"What do we do about this, this time?" he asked, holding up an
envelope.

Martha looked at it.  It was addressed to Clark's landlord.

She sighed.  "Pay it," she said.

"Martha, he isn't even checking in with us anymore.  He's given
up and he's running around the world, throwing himself into being
just Superman.  He is trying to show us... and show himself... that
Clark Kent is dead.  So he doesn't even call anymore or stop by. 
It's becoming real, Martha.  It's becoming real that our boy is
gone.  Just as he would be if he'd been a human being at that
club that night.  We can't keep paying his rent!  He won't be
back there.  He's given up.  He's declared that side of himself
gone.  Dead!"

Jonathan took a deep breath, and looked at his wife.  She was
near tears and he was too.

"He can't get paying work as Superman and he isn't trying to get
any kind of a life, whether it be his old one or a new one.  When
do you think he's going to pay us back?" he asked, sounding
resigned and defeated.

"Sometime soon, Jonathan, he's going to come back here to see us. 
He misses us and it will eventually become too much and he'll be
too lonely.  He'll come here.  And he'll be so lost that he'll do
anything to get that life that he lost back.  Even tell Lois his
secret.  And when the two of them figure out how to get his life
back ­ because I know if they worked on it together they *could*
figure it out ­  he's going to need a place to live.  And he sure
liked that place of his.  Enough that he gave us money to pay for
his rent the night after this all started.  He hadn't wanted to
lose it then.  He had said he wasn't ready.  He made us call the
landlord just to be sure that he knew the rent was coming and not
to do anything to the apartment.  I doubt he wants to lose it now
either.  We'll tell his landlord, again, that we just like that
place and want to keep it for awhile," she said. 

Jonathan nodded blankly.

"Jonathan, all we can do right now is wait for him to come back
here to see us.  And then support him and put things in
perspective even if it means I have to give him the spanking of
his life so he can snap out of this!  In the meantime, we have to
do what we have to do."

Jonathan sighed.  "I know.  I knew... I just... this is hard."

"I know."

This was the hardest obstacle they'd come up to yet, since
creating Superman.  And both Jonathan and Martha were constantly
feeling grateful that they had each other to lighten the load.

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

He was kissing her again.  His fingers were laced with hers, his
intensity matched by hers, with tears running down their cheeks,
their lips memorized each other.  Reaching out.  Holding each
other.  Feeling it all... together.

Sadness. 

Pain. 

Suffering. 

Love. 

Friendship. 

Loss. 

He woke up, sweating, and groaned when he realized it had just
been a dream.  The same dream he'd been having since he'd visited
Metropolis.  Metropolis... where he had been surrounded by memories
of her.

He put his head back on his pillow and closed his eyes.  He was
out of Metropolis now.  On the other side of the world.  In a
hotel that didn't have memories of Lois, where her scent and
presence didn't follow him and haunt him.  *Why* couldn't he
forget her and stop thinking about what he could never have?  Why
couldn't he leave the life he'd left behind... behind?

He felt completely overwhelmed.  Bombarded by emotions.  He
wasn't one to break down or cry, but lately it seemed like all he
could do when his feelings assaulted him so strongly.  Cry for
his life and cry for her.

"Lois, I love you!" his thoughts screamed out.

And then there was trembling and he felt like a lost child. 

"So you love her," he said to himself.  "WHAT GOOD DOES IT DO?! 
YOU ARE DEAD!... And she's lost to you," his thoughts finished.

He still had no idea where to go or what to do.  He was in a
hotel on the opposite side of the world ­ in Auckland, New
Zealand ­ and the only thing he thought he might be able to do
was write under a pen name.  Write a novel or something.

It just wasn't happening though.  His heart wasn't in it.  His
heart... was back in Metropolis.

"Lois!"

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

Lois's head shot up. 

It took her a moment to steady her breathing.  She placed one
hand on her forehead and tried to wake herself up.  She'd drifted
off while reading a book.  She looked at the time.  It was a
Sunday in the mid-afternoon.

And Clark's voice had once again woken her from a sound sleep. 
She could hear him calling to her.  Needing her.  Sounding lost
and sad. 

She blinked a few times, willing the tears sitting in her eyes to
just go away.

She stood up and walked over to his window, missing her old life. 
She missed Clark more than she ever could have thought she'd miss
anyone.  She knew she would miss him for the rest of her life. 

As the weeks went on, she was also starting to miss her job.  She
still believed in why she quit and she had no desire to go back
there, knowing it was that job and how strongly she'd cared for
that job that ultimately had gotten Clark killed.  But she missed
it all the same.  It had kept her busy, for one thing.  And it
was in her very heart and soul to report the news... to make a
difference.  She'd always wanted to do it.  And she'd always been
happy doing it.  Especially with Clark.

When she'd seen how hard writing that story about him... and
without him... was going to be ­ on that night so long ago ­ she
knew she could never do it again.  It could never be the same. 
And she told herself that if he couldn't be by her side doing it
with her, she didn't deserve to do it either.  It was the only
way she knew how to deal with his murder at the time.

But now... she did feel alone a lot of the time.  Sometimes she
felt that Clark was near her somehow... kissing her in dreams and
telling her he loved her... and sometimes she could hear his voice
in her head like he was just a breath away.  But other times, a
void grew inside of her and she felt very alone.  Even in his
warm and comforting apartment.

She looked around at the apartment.

She really had made it hers in the past month.  She'd tried to
leave many times.  But... it was always the same.  She just never
could actually do it.  She had no desire to do it.  She didn't
want to be in her own apartment.  She didn't want to be anywhere
period, except exactly where she was.

She'd finally called Perry and Jimmy and her mother, a few weeks
after that night, and explained that she'd just needed to be
alone and still needed to lay low.  She had talked to Lucy
briefly in that first, awful week, knowing her family was
probably worried.  Everyone had seemed to understand, but they
still encouraged her to come and see them, so they could all be
there for each other.

She'd said she would call them sometime.  She'd promised.

She stared out Clark's picture window sadly ­ at the world
outside that had gone on without her this past month... and without
him as well. 

When she turned and looked at the apartment, she gasped, an image
flickering into her mind, practically stealing her breath away. 
She could almost see a ghost of her best friend, standing there,
in his apartment, smiling... and in that instant, she knew he
wouldn't want her life to end just because his had.  She knew it
as certainly as she knew he had loved her so much that he would
die, just to keep her safe.

She walked slowly into the living room and picked up the phone
and dialed a number she knew well.

A tear slipped down her cheek.  Her breath caught when she heard
the familiar voice.  She hadn't been so happy to hear someone's
voice in a long time.  "Perry?"

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

Clark hadn't seen Lois since that fateful night a month and a
half ago.  The night his life had changed forever.

On that night she'd looked lost and wretched.

Seeing her now, she looked... about the same.

Still beautiful, he noticed, of course.  Her silky black hair was
just the smallest bit longer than it had been then.  It still
looked so soft and he could almost feel his fingers going through
it as they kissed.  The same mind-blowing kiss that he dreamt of
almost every night.  Her eyes still shone, brown and bright, full
of endless possibilities.

She looked pale, though.  He frowned, realizing she'd worn the
same hopeless, lost expression on her face that night.  Like her
world had crashed down on her and she'd been helpless to do
anything about it.  She looked nothing like the woman he'd met
over a year ago when he interviewed at the Planet.  That woman
had controlled her own world and had built such a strong
foundation for herself that it would never crash down on her.

And then he'd entered her life.  He'd made her let him in and
trust her.  They'd become best friends. 

He sighed.  He did this to her.  That tore him up more than
anything.

"Lois?" he said, walking over to her.

She turned quickly, her breath catching, and he once again
chastised himself for sneaking up on her.  He'd made her think he
was back... that Clark was back.  For an infinitesimal moment, she
had hope in her eyes again.  But as soon as her eyes rested on
the superhero in the suit, that look went away.  As if it had
never been there to begin with.

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

It was Superman.  Of course it was Superman.  Who else would it
be, calling her name?  Who else could it have been?

But for one wonderful breath, someone else had called her name. 
He'd come back to her and her world had once again had color. 
The colors were bright and beautiful.  But once she saw the red
and the blue and the yellow, everything went once again to the
gray that had become her existence.

She bowed her head and regained her composure.  She looked back
up.

"Hi, Superman," she said.

She realized she hadn't seen him since that night.  She couldn't
even really recall what had happened the last time she'd seen
him.  It was all a blur and she preferred not to remember anyway.

"How are you?" he asked, carefully.

"I've been better," she said, her tone sharp as a knife, her
emotions coming through, even though she told herself to keep
them intact.  She knew, the moment she'd spoken, why she hadn't
wanted to see anyone for so long.

Talking hurt.  Thinking about anything hurt.

Alone she had the power to control her emotions, at least most of
the time.

Maybe it had been a mistake to agree to meet up with Perry today. 
And of course, going to see him in the middle of the city meant
she'd probably see Superman too.  She hadn't thought of that. 
She might not have ventured out of her safe place had she thought
of it.

She felt sad, seeing him just now.  He still looked handsome, of
course.  Although he did seem a little wan and haggard.  He
probably felt guilty over Clark's death, too, she mused.  They
had, after all, been good friends.  If she felt guilt, then he
most certainly shouldered some of that as well. 

The reason, however, she felt sad seeing him, was because she
could look at him now ­ now that everything was all messed up ­
and see that he wasn't real.  He was a superhero.  In red and
yellow and blue.  An 'S' on his chest.  Standing for truth,
justice and the American way.  Here to make a difference.  And he
certainly had!  And she loved him.  She had always loved him. 
But she now knew that he was not very real.  She didn't know him
well enough for him to be real or three-dimensional.  Her love
was real because he was her friend... but not her best friend.  She
didn't know him that well.  Not as well as...

It didn't matter, though.  That was what saddened her the most. 
The realization.  She had ignored Clark for so long because of
him.  And how blind she'd been!  She knew now.  She knew now how
blind she'd been.  She had kept Clark at arms' length because she
had thought herself in love with someone whose name she didn't
even know. 

He was handsome and dazzling and when he was in action, saving
the day, you could almost forget everything else.  Including that
nagging voice in the back of your mind that told you over and
over to just *look* at that partner, that best friend, of yours
and see.  See what was really there.  What it meant.  Really see
him.

She knew now.  She knew all too well now.

And it made her sick.

"Lois, are you okay?"

She looked up at him.

"I'm sorry.  I just... I was thinking about... Clark," she said, her
voice dropping to a barely audible pitch at the name.  She hadn't
said the name in so long.  In her mind, she said it constantly. 
But out loud, she never dared.  She bit her bottom lip and begged
the tears to just go away.  She couldn't cry in front of
Superman.  Not again.

"I see," he said, sounding distracted.

Had he, she wondered, been upset she was still thinking about
Clark?  It seemed that way.  But didn't he know Clark had been
her very best friend?  The only person she had ever and could
ever work with?  Hadn't he known the depth of their relationship? 
Did he expect her to look at him and be swept away and dazzled
like she'd been before?  Didn't he realize that everything had
changed one fateful night long ago?  Changed forever...

"I think about him all the time," she said, assuring him of her
thoughts, in case he was being as callous or self-centered as she
was accusing him of being in her mind.  "God, everything is such
a mess," she said, harshly wiping at a tear that had dared to
fall, despite her best efforts to keep it in the wells in her
eyes.  "And I know it'll never be good again.  Any good that was
in this world... is gone," she said, her voice sounding cold, even
to her own ears.

She immediately started to realize that she should not have
chosen this day to come out of hiding and face the world.  She
clearly was not ready.

"Lois, that's not true.  There's still good in the world.  Just...
look at you.  You're forever good," he said, kind of wistfully. 
He looked at her again, a determined expression on his handsome
face.  "He didn't take it with him," he said, like he was
reasoning with a child.

He still looked upset.  Distracted. 

She laughed a humorless laugh.  "Look around, Superman.  He took
it with him.  There's no good in the world.  There is certainly
no good in my world.  If I ever wanted to see it, all I had to do
was look right next to me.  There it was.  There he was.  And
now... he's gone.  Just... like... that.  In one lousy second," she
added, her voice growing angrier.

"Lois, have you thought about... talking to someone about this?" he
asked.

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" she asked, coolly. 

He lowered his eyes and sighed.  For a moment, she even felt bad. 
He was just trying to help.  Trying to help... so she could go back
to the way she was.

Healthy Lois. 

Healthy Lois fawned all over him.  Healthy Lois never thought of
another man over him. 

He clearly needed *that* woman back.

She shook her head.  "No!" she said to herself.  Superman was not
like that.  He was just concerned.  He was her friend.

Everything was such a mess, she didn't know what to think.

"Look, I'm sorry, Superman.  I'm not myself.  And I don't think I
should talk to you anymore right now.  I'm taking my anger out on
you and that's not right.  I shouldn't.  I'm just... I'm upset. 
I'm angry.  Please, just... go away."

It wasn't his fault that she had ignored Clark for so long
because of her infatuation with him.  It wasn't his fault that
Clark had died without ever knowing she'd loved him.  Been in
love with him.  It wasn't Superman's fault.  She knew that. 
Clark had been the most amazing person to ever come into her
life.  She'd known it, but hadn't acknowledged it to herself, let
alone to him.  She hadn't told him.  And he'd died.  She
shouldn't take *that* out on Superman.

She was breathing heavily, her thoughts overwhelming her, her
regrets almost breaking her, her face contorted with the pain she
was feeling.  She tried to hide it.  She couldn't hide it.

"What's wrong, Lois... tell me, please," he said.

She didn't know how he couldn't know.  It was only too clear what
was wrong.

"It just hurts sometimes," she said.

"What does?"

"Breathing."

He lifted his head and looked beyond her for a moment, his air of
bold indifference crumbling... and she could actually see his
feelings.  He looked... beyond concerned.  Beyond upset.  Kind of...

... human.

"Lois, I really hate seeing you like this.  You..." he started, but
then stopped.  He took a deep breath.  "You have everything.  You
have Perry and Jimmy and Lucy.  Friends.  Family.  You have a
great job.  A dream job, really.  And you are amazing at it.  You
have *everything*," he repeated.  "Don't get lost in all of this
and forget that.  Please," he said.

She could see in his eyes... his familiar eyes ... that he meant
that.  That he was begging her to get herself out.  To be okay
again.

She smiled in appreciation, a sad, sympathetic smile.  "Thanks,
Superman." 

She turned and continued on her walk to the restaurant to meet
Perry.  His words rang in her ears.  And she heard them.  She
did.  But hearing them only brought one fact to the forefront of
her mind.

She had nothing.

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

He hadn't expected to see her like that.  Like... like nothing
had changed since that night.  Like it might never change.

It was not that he thought she would be running around giddily,
happily getting on with her life.  But he had expected to see her
looking... healed.  Or in the process, anyway.  Moving on.  Getting
there.

But what he had seen was a pale imitation of the vibrant woman
who had stormed into his life ages ago ­  when he'd sat in an
office, a small-town boy in a big city, riding solely on hopes
and dreams.  That woman had glowed, as if from the inside out. 
Her work ignited her.  And that fire was in her heart.  Her soul. 
Her eyes. 

Lois.

She was so alive and vibrant.  Such a presence that one could not
do anything but notice it and fixate on it and want to be near it
just to experience something of its kind.

Today, however...

He shook his head and kicked some hay off of the second story of
the barn.  He sighed.

She'd looked invisible.

Not to him, of course.

Oh, she still had the power to captivate him just by looking at
him.  He, Superman, was rendered speechless, tongue-tied... and
completely vulnerable at the mere sight of her.

No, she hadn't looked invisible to him.  But she'd looked like
she wanted to be invisible to the world.  And the worst part was
- it seemed to be working.  Her energetic aura, her vibrancy, her
light... it all seemed to be missing.

He couldn't take it anymore.  He needed to finally *do* something
about this mess his lie had caused. 

That was how he found himself at the barn outside the house he
grew up in. 

When he'd arrived back in Smallville, it had looked so
comfortingly the same as when he left it... and the same as when he
was a boy.  His farmhouse in Smallville never changed, and that
always made everything seem simpler, somehow.  Especially at a
time like this when everything else he knew had changed and had
become so complicated. 

He wanted to sit in the barn, as he had done as a boy when he
needed to think or when he felt a bit alone.  He needed to
collect his thoughts before he went to them. 

When he walked into the house, many minutes later, they were
sitting in the kitchen.  In a heartbeat, they'd pulled him into a
hug... and he nearly collapsed with the relief one feels when he's
been lost and gone and finally comes home.

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

"I guess I was running."

"We know you were running," Martha said, waving a hand
nonchalantly, as if she had just declared it was raining outside. 
"We're just glad you're home now.  We don't expect or want any
apologies.  Not now."

"Okay.  But I am sorry," Clark said, looking down at his hands,
which rested on the kitchen table by a now-empty glass of
buttermilk.  "It's just... my lie has always been there for the
three of us.  We have it.  We protect it.  Simple.  We know we
have to do that.  It's never harmed anyone before.  Sure,
sometimes we all hate lying.  Me especially, because *I* have to
live that lie.  But what kept it going was that it really was in
everyone's best interest and it *never* hurt anyone.  This was
the first time my lie hurt people.  The people I love.  All of
them.  Everyone in the world that is precious to me was tormented
by what happened.  I never thought that I would hurt you two, or
Perry and Jimmy... or Lois.  Never in a million years.  But you
both were rattled and changed by this.  You were so clearly
upset.  And you two were the lucky ones!  Their eyes.  Her eyes...
the pain I caused," he trailed off.

"Clark, we understand that," Jonathan said.  "But you didn't hurt
anyone.  Everyone just loves you."

"I think we can all agree that if we could find some way to get
you back, life would be a lot better all around," Martha joked.

"I'll figure something out, Mom.  There's something I have to do,
first," he said.

"Does it involve Lois?" Martha asked, coyly, looking at Jonathan. 

"I should have told her that night.  Nothing ventured, nothing
gained.  Isn't that what you've always said?" he asked his
parents.

"Yes," Jonathan said.

"I've put this off for too long.  I think it is high time she
knew the truth."

Martha let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding. 
Finally.  They could start to fix their shattered lives. 

Both of them.

All of them.

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

"This was nice, Perry," Lois said, looking down at her empty
plate.

She hadn't eaten such a meal in a long time.

"You really enjoyed it, honey?  Because you look kind of... pale,"
Perry said, carefully.

"I loved it, I promise.  I've just been holed up somewhere with a
lot of expired food.  It's been making me sick lately, to tell
you the truth.  I needed this.  To get out.  To eat real, *good*
food.  To see you..." she said, lowering her lids and blushing. 
"I'm sorry it took me so long, Perry," she finally said.

"Honey, you think I came here for an apology?  I understand. 
Clark was... your partner.  And your best friend..."

She inhaled slowly and then exhaled equally slowly.  A deep and
long, controlled breath.  To hear Clark talked about in the past
tense ­ it took all of her effort not to break down right there. 
She fought the feeling for the thousandth time since she'd met up
with Perry, and finally looked up at him.

"You sure you don't want to come back, Lois?  I understand that
you couldn't be there after... well, after everything.  I
understand you needed to sort it all out.  But it's been over a
month since it happened.  And of course your job is still waiting
for you for whenever you want to come back," he said.

"I miss it.  I miss being there and working.  Digging and
searching.  Writing.  Seeing our... uh, my... byline," she said, her
voice catching at her slip.  "I do miss it, Perry."

"I know it'll be hard now.  But I do think it would ­ "

"I can't ­ " she said, her eyes conveying her pain at the very
idea of working without him.  "Yet," she corrected, more softly,
realizing how she had sounded.  "I just... can't be there and see
someone else at his desk and ­ "

" ­ so we'll change the layout of the desks.  You'll never know
which one was his ­ "

" ­ and work without him.  Investigate without him.  Write
without him.  I can't be without him... not there," she said, her
voice an emotional whisper.

"Then where?" Perry asked after a long moment.

"I don't know," she cried.  "There are lots of other papers," she
said quietly, not looking at him anymore.  Tears filled her eyes
as everything came crashing to the surface.  The thought of
working anywhere but the Planet made her feel physically sick. 
But the thought of working there without Clark made her feel
worse.

"Lois..."

She stood up and ran into the restaurant.  Past all the waiters
and the confused glances from happy customers.  Into the
bathroom.

Her emotions had surfaced... and had made her sick.  Actually,
physically sick.

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

Perry stood outside the restroom, waiting for Lois.  He had known
she was going to be sick.  She'd looked almost green all
throughout the meal. 

He was happy to see her, but worried all the same.

She didn't look right.

And he knew it was more than her nerves that had made her sick
just now.

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

Clark landed on his balcony and entered his apartment.  Quickly
and quietly.  Through the back.  In hiding.  Something he'd
become quite accustomed to in his life... especially in the past
month and a half.

It looked different than he remembered it from a month ago, when
he'd slept there.

He looked around, sunlight cascading over his place, highlighting
all the things he had been missing.

He supposed when he'd been there that night, he hadn't noticed
much.  It was nighttime.  It was dark.  He hadn't turned a light
on.  He had been completely drained.  And he'd been there just to
be there.  Not to look around or to notice anything.

And in the morning he'd left quickly.

He took a step in.  One red boot.  The next.

He furrowed his eyebrows and looked around at the kitchen and the
living room.  He knew one thing for sure. 

This was not the way he'd left his apartment the night he'd been
killed.

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

"Perry, I'm sorry I worried you.  I already said that.  But
honest, it was just my emotions combined with bad expiration
dates from stale and old food.  I've been feeling pretty queasy
all week.  I need to go grocery shopping," Lois explained,
walking with Perry, who had insisted she do so because he said
she looked like she really needed some fresh air.

"Lois, you could have malnutrition.  Or at the very least, a
stomach bug.  The stomach flu.  Something," he said, his hands in
his pockets, looking at her sideways.  Studying her without being
obvious. 

A good reporter at heart. 

Undercover and concerned.  Acting casual.

"Perry, I really don't think so.  I think..." she trailed off.  "I
don't know what I think," she said, finding her thoughts moving
at a dizzying pace that even she couldn't get into her own head
and make sense out of things.

"Your color looks a little better right now, but you still look a
little green around the gills, honey."

"I still feel a little nauseous, Perry, but it's not unusual.  I
told you, I've been feeling like this all week.  And this was the
only time I got sick.  I think I was just a little overwhelmed. 
You know I don't like to even think about working anywhere else,
don't you?"

"I know, honey.  I don't like to think about it either.  But I
also don't think your talent should be wasted or that you should
spend the rest of your life holed up somewhere grieving.  It's a
waste.  I want you writing.  Working.  When you're ready, that
is.  And wherever it is that you need to be, I'll support it.  As
long as you stay..."

"... stay..." Lois said, urging him to continue.

"... in touch," he finished, emotionally.

"Of course!  I really am sorry I disappeared like that."

"We were worried.  We missed you.  We wanted to help you.  Lois,
I think of you as mine.  Like a daughter, I mean," he said,
looking at the pavement, stopping.

"Oh, Perry," Lois said, tears falling for the first time in over
a month for a reason besides the loss she felt so deeply. 
"You're like a father to me, too.  And you'll always be one of my
best friends.  I will keep in good touch no matter where I go,"
she promised.  "I don't think that'll be anytime soon, though, so
don't worry."

Lois looked away from Perry when she realized where they were. 

Metropolis Hospital.

She looked back at Perry, wondering if he had intended them to go
there.  One look into his eyes and she knew.  He did.

"Perry, I am not going to the hospital," she said, almost
laughing.  She dried her cheeks with her sleeves.  "I'm okay,"
she said. 

He did not look convinced. 

"I promise!"

"Lois, honey, please."

She looked at him, prepared to protest again.  But when she saw
the concern in his eyes and thought about how she had worried him
for so many weeks and had not been a good friend to him in that
time, she sighed and gave in.

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

Lois.  He could sense her there.  Smell her distinct fragrance. 
See her fingerprints all over the place.

Without a doubt he could tell she had been there.

He looked around and saw how messy the place was.  It didn't seem
as if she'd stopped by for a minute or two.  It looked like she'd
*been* there.  Like she... well, almost like she lived there.

She had clearly made herself pretty comfortable.  Had she, he
wondered, stayed there overnight a few times?  Gone there to be
close to him in her own way?

He sat down on the couch and put a hand through his hair,
sighing.  No wonder she wasn't moving on or getting better.  She
kept going there.  Trapping herself in him.  In memories of him
and of that time in her life in which they knew each other and
were best friends.

She couldn't begin to get over it if she was trapped like that.

He thought, for a moment, that maybe she had gone there at first,
but hadn't been back in awhile.  But he immediately shook his
head.

He could tell... could *sense*... that she'd been there recently. 
This morning, even. 

And he'd seen her earlier.  That look on her face.

It all made sense now.

She was trapped.  It was written all over her face.  She was
wrapping herself tightly in memories to the point where she was
draining any life that was left in her out. 

She needed to know the truth.  He was only too upset to realize
things had come this far already without her knowing. 

"Why didn't I tell you?" he wondered as he headed into the
bedroom to lie down for a moment.  To wait for her to return.

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

"Tell me what?" Lois asked.

"What?" Perry asked, as if breaking himself out of a trance he'd
been in.

Lois looked around the waiting room.  She saw a man standing
nearby, talking to someone.

"Nothing.  I think I overheard someone else talking.  I thought
they were talking to me.  Momentary confusion.  I'm here.  I'm
fine," she said nervously to Perry, who looked at her like she
had ten heads.

That voice, though... it shook Lois to the core.  She hadn't
overheard anyone; that much she knew.  And she'd known, the
moment she had instinctively answered Perry, that it had not been
Perry's voice.

It had been Clark's.

She knew it.

His voice was in her head.

Ever since his death, his voice had been in her head constantly. 
She could remember exactly what it sounded like and thought of it
often, never wanting to forget.

But sometimes, it felt closer to her than those other times. 
Sometimes it felt like he was whispering in her ear in a quiet,
quiet room.  And sometimes the message didn't make any sense,
which made her think it was more than her subconscious at work.

She didn't know what was going on.  It rattled her completely. 
And it soothed her at the same time.

"Lois Lane?" a woman's voice called.

"Okay, Perry.  A full exam, as promised, and then you'll believe
me that I am okay?"

"I'll believe you then," he promised, as she walked away.

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

Lois.  She was everywhere.  He could sense her and feel her and
smell her everywhere.  She had been sleeping in his bed.  He knew
that.

The moment he had lain down, he had realized it. 

She had been sleeping there a lot.

He turned and saw the pillow next to the one he was lying on.  A
small dent in the pillow.  The sheets flipped from when she had
gotten out of bed.

Lying there, he felt sort of strange.  Like he could feel
something pricking at the corners of his subconscious. 

Something like déjà vu... only something more than that.

He looked at the ceiling, feeling tired.

But the moment he decided to rest and he closed his eyes, they
shot wide open again.

And he remembered what it was he'd been forgetting.

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

"So doctor, can you please explain to Perry White that I don't
have the stomach flu or a stomach bug or malnutrition?" Lois
said, sitting up, since the exam was over.

She had used the opportunity to have a complete exam, since she
had been due for one soon anyway.  And the doctor had declared a
moment ago that she did *not* have any of those things Perry had
been worried about.

"I'll definitely tell him that," Dr. Morgan said, putting a
strand of her chin-length gray hair behind her ear, smiling. 
"Just as soon as I tell you what you do have."

Lois felt nervous for a moment.  If the doctor was going to tell
her she had something horrible, something fatal, like cancer or
something, she didn't know what she'd do!  She would WISH she had
the stomach bug, for sure.  As soon as her worries surfaced,
though, they vanished a little.  The doctor was smiling, after
all.  And doctors do not tend to smile before breaking something
like that to someone.  Unless they were trying to lessen the blow
or something... make you think it's nothing to worry about...

And the nerves were back, full force.

"What is it?" Lois asked, using every fiber in her body to
restrain herself from grabbing the woman's neck.

Dr. Morgan's smile grew wider.  "Why, you're pregnant," she said.

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

Oh god.  Oh god.  Oh god.  Oh god...

Clark was pacing around his living room.  Only one thing was
clear to him, and because of that one thing, he could only say,
over and over, one thing.

"Oh god."

They had made love.

He was sure of it.

That night.  The night he had gone to sleep at his apartment.

She'd been there!

Every night after that night he had thought about it.  But he had
thought it a dream.

Hell, he had been dreaming even as it happened!  Or he'd thought
he'd been dreaming...

He hadn't slept at all, pretty much, the week before, and had
been beyond exhausted when he'd climbed into that bed.

How hadn't he noticed her when he climbed into the bed?!

He started to tremble as it all came back.

In the recurring 'dream' he had every night after that night, he
had been lying there, darkness all around.  He had reached
instinctively for her, knowing, somehow, even in his sleepy
state, she would be there, and she had come to him and rested in
his arms.  And then she'd whimpered and said his name. 

And they'd kissed...

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

Lois closed her mouth, once she realized she'd been openly gaping
at the woman, and took a deep breath, pulling herself together
long enough to get one thing straight.

"Where did you get your medical license?  Ronald McDonald
University?  Listen lady... I cannot possibly be pregnant.  I
haven't had sex in... a *long* time," she said, her cheeks burning.

"Who does this woman think she *is*?" Lois thought angrily,
seething at all of this, finding this woman's stupidity a
complete inconvenience for her.  She had better things she could
be doing.

"I promise you.  I am right.  I mean, look at the facts.  You
haven't been eating any differently than you normally do you
said.  You said maybe you had even been eating less than normal. 
But you've gained weight."

"Or *you* have a faulty scale.  I said that before and I'll say
it again!"

"And you have been nauseous and today you got sick.  You can
expect more of that, by the way, for the next couple of months."

Lois tried to keep herself in check.  But then she burst. 
"You're nuts!"  She felt like she had just stepped through the
looking-glass.

"I have been at this a long time.  Long enough to have possibly
informed your mother that she was pregnant with you.  And I have
never... been... wrong," she said, proudly.

"Well, doc, you're wrong today," Lois said.  When the doctor
didn't look convinced, Lois sat forward.  "I honestly have not
had sex in almost two years," she said, in a hushed voice,
blushing all over because of the nature of the conversation.

"Well let me get my pen and paper," Dr. Morgan said, dryly.

Lois raised her eyebrows and looked at the woman expectantly.

"To start writing the Third Testament," the doctor explained,
like she was serious.

Lois didn't smile and tears filled her eyes.  The doctor took
notice and walked over.

"Okay, how about I do the exam once more?"

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

Clark flew to Lois's apartment and looked in her window for any
signs of her.  He knocked incessantly for a few minutes, but
ultimately decided she was not there.

From the looks of it, she hadn't been there in awhile.

"Dammit!" he said, flying away from her window.

He needed to find her.  He needed to talk to her.  He had left
everything unsaid for far too long.  She needed to know
everything.  Absolutely everything.

And soon...

He reluctantly flew away from her apartment and headed to the
place where he figured she *must* be. 

The Daily Planet.

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

"So there's nothing wrong with her?  It really was just a little
nausea?" Perry asked the doctor.

Lois stared at the clock on the wall, growing impatient as the
two of them talked.

"There is *nothing* wrong with her.  I promise you that," the
doctor said.

Dr. Morgan had promised Lois she would not say anything of what
she *had* discovered to Perry.  After being reassured a few times
about doctor/patient confidentiality by the doctor, Lois had
allowed the woman to come out and at least dispel Perry's fears
that Lois was in danger of having an exploding appendix on the
way or something.

"Well, okay then," Perry said, smiling.

He turned to Lois.

"Uh, Perry?  I have to go.  There's something I have to do," Lois
said quickly.

"What's wrong?" Perry asked.

"Oh, you know me.  Trapped in all that grief and stuff.  Well,
see you!" she said, kissing his cheek abruptly.  "Bye!"

It was only when she was out in the street that she allowed
herself to think about everything.

She turned into a side-street and leaned against the building,
breathing heavily.  She was sure that if the building were not
there to support her, she would have just fallen to the ground.

Two exams had confirmed one thing which she knew to be
impossible.

She crouched down and tried to control her breathing, while she
reasoned with herself.

"It's just a nightmare.  All of this is some horrible nightmare. 
That he died.  That you're... that you're... oh god, I can't even say
it.  I just need to wake up.  Wake up... wake up...it's all some
horrible nightmare."

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

He hadn't been in the newsroom in a really long time.  The moment
he walked in, his emotions started surfacing, and he was almost
tempted to turn and leave.  He missed it so much!

But he snapped himself out of it, remembering what was more
important just now.  And that was finding Lois and taking her
somewhere where they could talk and he could tell her everything. 
About himself.  And... about them.

A quick scan of the newsroom revealed what he'd feared.  She was
nowhere in sight.  In fact, he couldn't even spot her desk. 

They must have moved the desks around ­ or she had wanted a new
desk ­ because the desk Lois used to occupy had a middle-aged man
sitting there now, typing quickly.  Unaware of the presence of
the superhero amongst the goings on around him.

"Superman, hi!"

He turned to see Jimmy, walking over to him, looking curious, but
sort of excited to see him.  Seeing him now was much less painful
than the last time he had seen him.  At the police station.

"Hi, Jimmy.  How are you?"

"Okay, I guess.  So..."

"I'm looking for Lois, actually," he said, reading Jimmy's
inquiring expression.

"Didn't you know?" Jimmy started.

Clark suddenly felt very nervous.  Had something happened to her? 
His heart started beating faster and faster.  "Know what?"

"She doesn't work here anymore."

His expression fell.  He hadn't expected that.  He was relieved
that nothing had happened to her.  But riding alongside that
relief was complete confusion.  *Lois* no longer worked for the
Daily Planet?  *Lois Lane*?

And why hadn't he known?  Or noticed...

"What?" he finally managed.  "She doesn't work here anymore? 
Why... when..."

He wasn't making sense, but Jimmy stepped in to clear it all up.

"She quit the night CK was murdered," he said quietly, looking
down.

He felt as if the air was leaving the room.  And he felt
horrible.  Guilty.  He'd been running away so thoroughly and so
quickly, that he'd been completely blind to everything else. 
He'd been stupid.  And selfish.

He should have known.  He should have done something long ago.

Lois shouldn't have quit the job she had loved so much.  And he
should have told her, when she had been falling apart before his
eyes, the truth.  It would have saved them both so much
heartbreak.  It would have kept her working.  And it would have
prevented her from looking... he shuddered, remembering... the way
she had looked earlier today. 

He should *not* have let her world fall apart.  He should have
been there!  Not in Thailand and New Zealand and everywhere else! 
He should have been *with* her.  There for her.  He should have
been her best friend.

"Superman, are you okay?" Jimmy asked, sort of timidly.

"I just... I didn't know she had quit.  I wish I had been more
aware of what was going on here.  She's my friend.  And... I feel
horribly that I couldn't have been more supportive of her during
that time," he said quietly, after having fumbled for something
to say.  But meaning every word.

"We weren't really there for her, either.  Well, not that we
could have been.  That night, she disappeared, and we didn't hear
from her for awhile."

"She disappeared?" Clark asked, his feelings of guilt and shame
intensifying.

"Yeah.  All we wanted ­ the chief and I, I mean ­ was for the
three of us to be able to help each other.  To feel it together
and console each other.  But she slipped out of here that night,
after telling Perry she was done, and we didn't see her again. 
She wasn't at her place.  We didn't know where she'd gone.  She
called a few weeks later, so we knew she was okay.  But before
that, it was insane.  We were really worried."

"I'll bet you were," he said, trying to control his emotions in
front of Jimmy.

"But she called Perry the other day and now they're out having
lunch.  So that's a good thing, anyway," he said.

"Yes, it is," Clark agreed, trying to seem positive. 

He looked up and saw the expression on Jimmy's face.  He looked
like he was trying to be strong.  For everyone.  For Lois.  For
Perry.  For Superman.  But he looked like a kid that desperately
wanted to just openly feel whatever it was he was feeling.  Not
wanting to hide it anymore.

And Clark understood that feeling all too well.

"Jimmy," he said.  "I wasn't a very good friend to you, either. 
Or to P ­ ... uh, Mr. White.  I really am sorry.  I know this has
been hard for you.  I wish I had been there more for all of you."

Jimmy looked up at him, in awe.

"Superman, you don't have to apologize ­ "

"Yes, I do," he said, not breaking eye-contact with the young
man.  A young man who had always been like a kid brother to him. 
"I consider you a friend.  I'm going to try to make everything
right again, Jimmy."

"What?  How?"

"I can't say.  But, I *am* going to try."

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

Lois was surprised not to see an eviction notice on her door. 
But then again, she mused, her landlord had never paid much
attention to anything.  She knew Lois always got the money to her
sooner or later and in one way or another.

The moment her door was closed behind her, she looked around the
apartment.  It felt cold, somehow.  Probably, she realized,
because she had been at Clark's place for so long.  And his place
was anything but cold.  It was cozy and warm and... and she
couldn't think about that right now.  And she couldn't go back
there.

She had to figure out what was going on.

She *needed* to know what was going on.  Or she'd go mad, she was
sure.

Her apartment was the place to be for that, she realized.  She
couldn't get distracted there.  It seemed so clean, almost
sterile.  It was so much more impersonal than the place she had
just been living.  This was a place where she could sit down and
think about everything and figure out what on earth was happening
to her.

She took a deep breath.

She was pregnant.

Pregnant!

How had she not noticed?

She had only realized in the doctor's office that she had been
late.  How had she not noticed that over a month had gone by? 

Or that she'd gained a little weight?

Well, she had been wearing Clark's sweats mostly, so she couldn't
have known that.  She wasn't far enough along that it would have
been obvious.

Assuming this was true and not some strange nightmare, that is.

She was reeling.

She was pregnant...

*Pregnant!*

She might have assumed she'd been abducted by aliens or been
kidnapped and knocked out and then impregnated... or something
crazy... if she had been working regularly all these weeks.  But
she had to rule all those things out. 

She had spent her entire pregnancy ­ one month and one week, the
doctor said ­ at Clark's apartment, holed up like a hermit on
Prozac.  No aliens or criminals were responsible for this.  Well...
it seemed highly unlikely, anyway.  "Although nothing is
impossible," she said to herself, softly.

She shuddered at the thought that some person could have come
into the apartment, while she was out cold and done something
like that to her.  While she was sleeping, practically!

That thought immediately spurred another one.

Her dream.

The only time she had done anything even remotely resembling
making love to someone had been in a dream she could barely
remember at first.  It had been in her mind.

Every day pieces had come to her.  In dreams.

In dreams, she would remember the dream from that night... the
night her nightmares had stopped.

She sat down on the couch, her thoughts moving in overdrive.

Usually pieces of the dream would come to her ­ creep up on her ­
without her having invited them.  But sitting down just now,
thinking about the dream on purpose, she realized... it was all
very clear in her mind.

She had dreamed about kissing Clark.

He was holding her.

She told him ­ *finally* ­ that she loved him.  And he whispered
it back.

Her dreams now ­ or rather recollections from the dream from that
night ­ were in flashes, mostly.  And in darkness.  Just...
feelings. 

She could remember how she felt inside at every breath... every
movement... every touch.  How she felt in her heart and her soul...
and in her body.

She remembered so clearly...

... She was touching his chest, which was healthy and whole.  No
bullet wounds.  Smooth.  Soft.  Hard.  It felt so nice...

... "I love you, Clark," her voice had said, sounding dreamy and
tired, but meaning it oh-so-much...

... His fingers in her hair... her fingers in his hair.  On his back...

... The kisses growing hungrier...

She could remember what it felt like to touch him.  What his skin
felt like beneath her fingers.  What her skin felt like beneath
his fingers.  Like it was on fire...

... Exploring each other more and more and more and more...

... Bodies moving as one.  Together.  And then...

Her eyes opened wide.

She had made love with Clark, in a *dream*... around the same time
the doctor had mentioned.

"It was just a dream," she said quietly.

A dream that she had remembered ­ or re-dreamed ­ many times
since that night.  It was so vivid.  This dream had not gone
away, as so many dreams do.  It had dug itself deeper and deeper
in her.  Ingrained itself.  Burned itself into her memory.

She had thought that was because it was Clark in her dream, and
she hadn't wanted to forget it.  She had made things right with
him, in the dream, and told him how she felt about him.  Shown
him.  She figured she had forced herself to remember the dream
because she needed to remember it.  Because it was special. 
Because it was Clark.

But something about this didn't make any sense.

Had it not been a dream?

No.  She immediately dismissed the idea that a ghost of Clark had
come and made love to her and it had resulted in pregnancy.

After meeting Superman, she believed in the unbelievable.  But
this was ridiculous!  And she refused to entertain the thought at
all.

A ghost getting her pregnant!

She shook her head.

But she had woken up naked that morning, the t-shirt she had worn
to bed on the floor beside her.  She hadn't considered it strange
at the time ­ she had merely thought she'd removed it in the
night... possibly during the dream, she added, her cheeks burning
for the thousandth time in the past hour.

It had just been a dream.  It hadn't been real.

"Clark is dead!" she said loudly.  Angrily.  Trying to make sense
of her dizzying thoughts.

She touched her stomach as a tear slipped down her cheek.  What
was going on?  If she *was* pregnant and this wasn't a nightmare,
then she was... scared.  Something happened and she didn't know
what it was. 

"What's happening to me?" she cried, standing up.

She walked toward her window.  She hadn't been there in so long
that the window immediately made her think of Superman.  That was
where he entered when he visited her.  Or when he had visited
her, before all this.  When she had thought herself foolishly in
love with him.  Losing all chances of telling another man how she
really felt.

Looking at that window ­ at that particular moment, while
thinking about that dream ­ so many tiny pieces and questions in
her mind ­ became clear. 

She looked up ­ her eyes still wet with tears ­ just as the truth
came crashing down.

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

He had finally found her. 

He followed her from a distance, flying overhead, to see where it
was she was going.  He was relieved when he realized her
destination.

His place.

He landed on the balcony and was about to enter, but stopped. 
Without thinking twice about it, he reached a hand up and messed
up his hair.

It felt good for his hair to fall loosely where it was going to
fall.  Free.  A curl grazed his forehead and he smiled.

He had really missed being Clark.  He'd missed being himself.  He
hadn't realized until just now how much he depended on being
Clark.  Superman saved the day and saw horrible things sometimes
because of it.  Returning to *his* life, after being that savior,
was his sanity.  Clark saved Superman.  In many ways.  Without
that life to return to, everything was unbearable.  And no one he
loved could be there to lighten that load.

He put a hand through his hair ­ his free-falling hair ­ and he
smiled.  Because, even wearing the Superman suit just now, he
felt like himself.  Mostly, anyway.  More like himself than he
had in a really long, painful time.

He went to walk in and stopped himself again. 

She was in the kitchen.  She filled a pot with water and turned
the stove on.  She placed the pot on the stove and added some
salt.  She then walked to his cabinet and pulled out some pasta.

She was cooking!

And... she looked like she even knew what she was doing.

He smiled, feeling something swell inside of him.  Something pull
at his heartstrings.

He loved her so much.  And if they could figure a way out of this
mess together, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her,
proving that love to her.  He just hoped that when he told her
what he was going to tell her, she would feel that way, too.

He hoped.

And he feared.

After another moment watching her, he walked in, quietly.

"Lois?" he said softly, not wanting to scare her.

But she jumped anyway.

"I know that voice," she said, softly, before turning around and
looking at him.

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

She looked at him.  Really looked at him.  Took him in.

She'd known the truth before.  But her proof was standing just a
few feet away right now.

Part of her wanted to rush at him instantly and wrap her arms
around him - he was alive!  But that part of her wrestled with
the other part of her that wanted to rush at him and slap him
across the face for what he'd done.

He was in the suit.  He was Superman.  Although...

She turned around and turned the stove off, slowly.  She took a
deep breath and closed her eyes, steadying herself before facing
him again.

She took a step forward, closer to him.

He stood there, not saying a word.  He looked like a deer caught
in the headlights.  A look she knew well.  She'd seen it a lot
with him... with Clark. 

His gaze stayed on her.  Intently.  He was watching her.  Trying
to see what she was thinking.  What she knew.  In short, he had
never looked more petrified.

She looked up at his hair and then back into his eyes,
unbelieving of how simple his disguise had been.  In awe of the
tiny details that separated the two men ­ in awe of her own
inability to have figured it out in the year plus that she'd
known them.  Known him.

"You wanted me to figure it out just now, didn't you," she
accused, her arms dropping to her sides.

 He nodded blankly.  Confusedly.

She walked over to his coffee table and picked something up that
she'd brought over from her own apartment. 

His glasses. 

One glass cracked.

Just the way he'd left them.

She handed them to him.  "Here.  I believe these belong to you,"
she said, her voice shaking, and her hands shaking, despite her
concentration on staying calm.  But the glasses... when she had
seen them as she was leaving to come here...

They reminded her of that night.  Of the raw emotions she had
experienced that night.  The pain.  The brutality she had
witnessed and what she had thought it had meant for her.  And for
him.  The pain that these glasses ­ the only part of him that had
been left behind for her ­ evoked. 

A pain which he had witnessed.

She thought it only right to give them back to him, so that he
could remember too.  And hopefully feel horrible about not having
told her the truth ­ the simple truth ­ the night she'd nearly
died herself from grief.

He took them and stared at them for a moment.  In a flash they
were in the trashcan and he stood before her again.  He looked at
her.  "I have other pairs," he said lamely.

She stared at him, an unreadable expression on her face,
reminding herself to stay calm.  To be strong right now.  She
just stared into his eyes, unblinkingly.  Her resolve strong. 
Her emotions suppressed to her liking.

Finally, he released a long breath, breaking his gaze and looking
down.  "I'm so sorry, Lois.  I should have told you a long time
ago," he said, and then finally looked at her again.

She nodded a little and crossed her arms, still trying to keep
her emotions in check ­ for now.  "Um... why didn't you?" she
asked, trying to sound casual.

"I don't know, Lois.  I always knew I wanted to tell you.  But
when this happened, there didn't seem to be a point ­ "

"­ except that you witnessed me fall apart... break down.  You saw
me going nuts.  I was a mess.  I was beside myself," she stopped
and collected herself.  "Why didn't you tell me that night?"

"I know now that I should have.  I just... I should have.  And
there is no way around that.  I mean, I thought it was pointless
because I *was* dead.  To the world, that life really was gone. 
Only Superman was left.  I didn't think telling you I was alive
only to go away forever was the best thing for you.  And I never
thought you'd quit your job or that you'd disappear from
everyone.  Or that you'd live here, trapped in your grief. 
Unable to move on.  I thought ­ "

" ­ that I just needed time and I'd get over it, right?" she
asked, in a tone so sugary sweet it was chilling, even to her own
ears.

He sighed and looked down.

"That's weak and you know it," she said.

He looked at her again.  "I know."

"You saw me that night.  You knew how I felt.  I felt... well, the
same way you might have felt if the tables had been turned," she
said.

"If the tables had been turned," he repeated, looking horrified
at the concept of that happening.  But then ­ she could see ­ he
understood *exactly* why he should have told her... and from her
own point of view.

"I know," he said softly.  "I've made such a mess of everything. 
And... the only way I can make you understand why I've been so
horrible is because of that.  I did see you that night, Lois.  I
saw you and it broke my heart.  I have never felt so awful about
this secret in my entire life.  I would *never* hurt you.  Not on
purpose.  Never.  You have to know that.  And then this happens
and... and I've never seen you hurting so badly.  I couldn't bear
to see you that way."

"Oh, well, if you couldn't *bear* it," she said, her tone biting
and sarcastic.

"I know it was selfish.  I felt horrible, Lois.  To see you like
you were that night, knowing *I* and I alone was responsible for
it... no one has ever hurt you that badly.  And then I do.  Your
best friend!  I took one long look into your eyes that night and
thought that the closest I ever deserved to be to you again was
the other side of the world.  Which is where I've been spending
much of my time," he added, looking down