Away From the Sun By: Sara Kraft Rated: PG-13 Submitted: May 2006 Author's Note: I'll do my best to keep this shorter than the story itself, but I will warn you it's going to be long. I guess I'll start with the basics... This is the sequel to Wherever You Will Go. It's not strictly necessary to read that first, as this takes place back in the alternate universe, but it'll make a bit more sense and, in my opinion, increase the emotional impact. For those of you who've already read WYWG, thanks for coming back. You're probably dying to know what happens next... but my muse hopped universes for a bit, so you'll have to wait for the third story. Sorry. But I *do* promise it will be written! Eventually. ;) Any and all recognizable lines and characters from the show are not mine, but the rest is. The title was taken from a song of the same name by 3 Doors Down -- a song I listened to hundreds of times during the time I was writing this. Now, here is where this is going to get lengthy. I have numerous people to thank. So many, in fact, that I'm really hoping I don't leave anyone out. If you're not one of them, this might bore you... so skip on ahead if you like. Rachel aka Psychofurball - My on the fly beta reader extraordinaire! You never once complained when I came online and said, "Rach!! I wrote a paragraph! Wanna see??" You don't know how much that helped to hear the encouragement that I was still going in the right direction. Not to mention, you and Mel seem to get along great. The spring is for you. The noodles, too. ;) Erica Dias - Thank you for always nagging and showing me that at least someone was dying for the sequel. David (who would prefer to be referred to as "The Luckiest Reader Alive") - Well, well... I don't know how many parts you and Sam managed to pry out of me before they were even beta-read, but thanks for the instant feedback and the occasional challenge of what I'd written. As I got further and further into the story, you became just that much more valuable, especially when you'd stay up all hours with me (though I suppose it was midday for you ) writing and plotting. I'm finding it hard to regret converting you into a Let's Torture Clark fiend. Thanks for all the "I *love* thats" and the "That's... that's the kinda pain I'm after! Yay, Sara!!!" You know you're stuck with me now, right? Sorcha "ILikeToSeeMyselfStarringAsTheBadBadGirl" Sara - My partner in crim... in... Well, never mind that part. Thank you so much for your encouragement and comments even though you never officially agreed to beta. Your comments were always helpful as well as hilarious! I'm not sure how you managed to turn your cameo into a full-fledged secondary character, but I'm so glad you did. Sorry about Philomena's dressing room; I swear you'll get the larger one next time. ;) Diane - My ever faithful beta reader! Always there with the right amount of "Awwwwwww!!! Can I *please* hug Clark??" and "Um... you sure about that? I don't think that works." Thanks for pushing me to "show" more. Paul - Even when you weren't feeling so well yourself, and are a self-admitted not-too-huge fan of angst, you still agreed to help me out. And even when you had to bow out, you still managed to help out with the stickiest of plot points and research. Thank you!! Julie - Thanks for letting me attack and bombard you with plot snags and "Does this sound okay?" pastes. Not to mention the "should there be a comma in this sentence?!" moments. What a trooper considering you hadn't even read the first one yet! You were really a lifesaver! The necklace is for you. ;) Wendy - Thanks for the continual encouragement and the writing tips! I decided to plunder and adulterate after all , so thank you so much for the bit of introspection and inspiration. I think I even managed to master use of the semi-colons! Kaethel - Thanks for reassuring me that I'm not horrible at writing the smoochies. And thanks for always being there to cheer when I changed my nick to SaraWriting in IRC. Your little point of view tip actually did me a world of good and proved to get me un-stuck more than once. So, thank you!!! CC - My idol!!! I was flummoxed the day I half-joked that I ought to just bribe you into beta reading for me instead of giving you spoilers. I never dreamed you'd say, "Sure, I'd love to!" Thanks for the five minutes of shock that induced, and thanks for the endless entertainment and *invaluable* help!!!! Even though real life wouldn't let you finish, you were a *huge* help. And thank you, thank you, thank you for the line of brilliance that inspired some great stuff at the end! Sas - My super-beta-plot-unsticker! I know you've been busy throughout the time I've been writing this, but you've proved to be a huge asset when I've been truly stuck on my least favorite part of writing - the dreaded a-plot. I may not have used any of your evil ideas... yet ;) ... but I appreciate them all the same. TJ Gruffs - We kind of lost touch a bit, but thank you for all your encouragement. :) A special thanks to Rachel and David, who demanded... *ahem*... sorry, encouraged that I trust the characters when they wanted to go in a direction I hadn't planned on. You were right, and it only proved to make the story more... more. Thank you guys. And another special thanks to Em aka eminMN on the MBs for letting me use and rework a comment she made in her wonderful feedback! And, of course, thank you to all of those who stuck with me through the arduous posting process on the boards. Your feedback was inspiring, touching, and just... brilliantly wonderful!! Last, but not least, I'd like to thank Jeanne Pare for being a wonderful GE. Couldn't have been easy to get through this monster with so many pages. ;) *Whew* I think I'm done now. http://www.lcficmbs.com/cgi-bin/boards/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_to A trailer for this story can be found pic;f=13;t=000320 "[Paradigm shifts] take place unevenly, and, therefore, different utopias in any time and place may reflect different stages in the paradigm shift, including reactions against it." ~Claeys and Sargent - The Utopia Reader~ Away From the Sun by Sara Kraft ~~~Part 1~~~ Clark Kent closed the door to his apartment with a heavy sigh. The weight of the old suitcase Jonathan had given him on his arm - filled with a handful of extra suits from Martha - did nothing to lighten his mood. It only reminded him that he was probably never going to see any of them again. Not Martha. Not Jonathan. And certainly not Lois. He looked around his apartment, shrouded in darkness. Just like his heart. He didn't turn the lights on. The dimly lit room suited his mood, and besides, he didn't want anyone to know he was home. Not the reporters who had all but given up on him. Not the public. No one. He was back. He wished he could say it was good to be home. As he made his way to his bedroom, he couldn't help but notice everything that was eerily the same as Clark's apartment. So many similarities, but the absence of Lois's presence was keenly felt. He tossed the suitcase onto his bed and opened it slowly. The bright red and blue material staring him in the face was in direct contrast to his mood. It almost seemed to be mocking him, reminding him that he was supposed to be a strong, confident superhero. Superman. He felt anything but. He reached underneath the suit and felt the cool glass of the item he'd carefully stowed away and pulled it out. Lois's picture. He knew he shouldn't have taken it. It wasn't his. *She* wasn't his. But he hadn't wanted to leave *everything* behind. It was too final, and he'd wanted to have something to remember her by. Not that he'd forget her. He wouldn't. Ever. Clark sat down on the floor and rested against the bed, propping his arms up on his knees, the picture in front of him. He was foolish for taking it. He was only torturing himself with the image, but it was all he had. Lois stared back at him - smiling, happy, vibrant, and reminding him of everything he'd never have. Damn H.G. Wells. Clark thought he understood the man's obsession with Utopia, but to Clark, the idea was idealistic, *unrealistic*. Yes, maybe everything worked out wonderfully for the *other* Lois and Clark, but what about him? Didn't *his* future matter? Why was Wells so obsessed with *them*? Why didn't Wells strive to ensure Utopia here? Clark knew there wasn't one. That was why. Lois had told him that her Utopia was founded by Lois and Clark's descendants, and there *was* no Lois here. He didn't have a future. He'd never have children. He'd never have a legacy. He stared back at Lois in the picture and wondered. Had his Lois had the same life, the same joy in her eyes? Maybe. But it would be a long time - if ever - before he'd have the motivation to try looking again. It was a lost cause. She'd died in the Congo. Somehow, he knew it was true. Lois Lane was supposed to be cosmically bound with Clark Kent. In any universe. Right? If his Lois was still alive, he should *feel* it. He'd know. No, his Lois was dead and gone. He wondered what might have happened if he'd known her, or at least known *of* her before she'd died. Would he have been able to save her? He was better off not knowing. It was useless to play the "what if" game. What if he'd been fast enough, strong enough, could he have saved his parents? He didn't know the answer to that one, and his parents were still dead. Lois was still dead. And there wasn't a damned thing he could do about either of those facts. Clark reached up to set the picture frame on his nightstand. Face down. He wished he'd never known about Lois or the other universe. Maybe he'd be happy. Or at least not the miserable, useless wreck he was now. Ignorance was bliss, but thanks to H.G. Wells, he no longer had that. He'd never have that. He'd never have a lot of things. He might have been able to tolerate living if he hadn't known. Damn H.G. Wells. Who did he think he was? Who did Wells think *Clark* was? Just some throwaway stand-in to use whenever he pleased? A borrowed action figure to use when he couldn't find his own? He wasn't a toy, dammit! He was a person. Someone with real emotions. Feelings. Feelings that could be hurt. Badly. Irreparably. Didn't Wells understand that? Hadn't Wells stopped to think how any of this would affect *him*? To hell with Wells. And to hell with this life he was stuck in now. A barren, useless existence. Clark stood hastily and jerked the covers back on his bed. The anger drained from him quickly as he crawled into bed, and it was replaced with a more familiar emotion. Despair. He pulled the covers around him tightly as he curled into the fetal position. He couldn't kill himself, but he could go to sleep and pray futilely that he wouldn't wake up. *** Clark awoke the next morning with the sun screaming in his face. He pulled the blanket over his head to avoid the blaring light. The intense emotions of last night had settled deep within, and now he only felt numb. But the feeling was comforting in a way. Familiar. His body and limbs felt leaden, like the effort to move them would be too much. So he didn't. He probably should get up and face the world - literally. He was sure they were anxiously awaiting Superman's return, but he didn't feel so super. Not even close. He hadn't said how long he'd be gone anyway - he hadn't known - so Metropolis, the world, could live without him for a while longer. Maybe forever. Maybe he could find a remote little island and just live there by himself. The world had gotten along just fine before he'd shown up - well, mostly - and they could handle things on their own. He dreaded returning to his normal life. Normal. Hah! Clark Kent was normal. The *other* Clark Kent. In this world, he was as far from normal as he could get. He was an oddity. His ordinary life was irrevocably gone. Clark Kent was a farce, nothing more than a character that the famed Superman played. People *did* regard him as an ordinary man when he played that part, but that was just an act, too. They all *knew* he was different, that he was a freak of nature, an alien. Some people even looked at him with disgust. Those stares weren't the ones that bothered him, though. It was the ones that held more than a hint of ridicule. As if they were thinking, "Who are you kidding, trying to pretend to be something that you're not? Pretending to be normal?" And really, who *was* he kidding? He was nothing more than a novelty, a side show act. That was who Clark Kent had become. He'd lost his identity. He'd lost who he was. Superman was a chore, and Clark Kent was a joke. He bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling. He stared at the ceiling for a minute, asking it to care, wanting *someone* to care. Clark Kent hadn't always been a joke. Sure, he hadn't been the happiest of people when he'd been just Clark, but at least he'd been content. Or close to it. Since he'd become Superman, since people had found out about him, Clark Kent had vanished, almost without a trace. The only one to have noticed was him. He was the only one who missed Clark Kent. That was why he'd done it. That was why he'd agreed to go with Wells to the other universe. Well, most of the reason. He thought he'd be happier if he got to be just Clark again. He thought maybe he'd be able to find himself, find a tiny bit of solace that might help him survive. But he hadn't. H.G. Wells had shown him exactly what kind of life he *could* have had, had his Lois lived. Well... mostly. He'd still be known as just Superman to the world, but it might have been nice to have someone to endure it with. All the same, it was beyond cruel. He should be furious with the time traveler, but he wasn't. He didn't have the energy to be anything other than miserable. Even that was draining, so he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. *** Clark had slept the whole day, though he'd managed to get out of bed. At least. He felt lazy, but he didn't really care. He didn't care about anything anymore. The dull numbness still enveloped him. It was a comforting feeling. The one thing he was familiar with. Coming home had at least been reassuring in that way. He'd immediately slipped back into the darkness. The grief for everything he'd lost was the only thing he knew now. Even the joy he used to get from flying was gone. He'd realized that on his flight over here. To Smallville. It was almost surprising that the weight of his despair didn't drag him down to the earth like gravity pulling on a drowning man. He hung in the sky above what used to be his parents' farm. His childhood home. Now, it was nothing more than a few derelict buildings and a long dead crop field. The scene below him fit his mood quite aptly. He sighed heavily and floated down to the ground near the dilapidated porch. He still owned the property, the farm, the house. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn't want anyone else to have it. It was all he had left of his parents. That and his memories, precious few that they were, and his memories were all here. At the same time, he hadn't the heart to visit it often enough to keep it up. He ran his hand over the old, splintered wood. He and his dad used to come out here and talk - when it was important or just guy stuff. They'd usually come out at night, and Clark remembered the peaceful sounds of the Kansas countryside - the crickets chirping, the animals settling in the barn, and the sound of the corn stalks rustling in the breeze. He'd always marveled at those sounds when he was younger, especially when he'd discovered that he could hear them far more keenly than his father could. The stars, too, he'd been able to see those better as well. That had been one of his favorite things about his burgeoning powers when he'd been younger. He loved looking up at the massive expanse of sky on a clear night, when it seemed there were so many stars you'd die before you could count them all. There were fourteen thousand, three hundred and sixty-four. At least that was the number he'd gotten earlier this year when he'd tried. Eight months ago, shortly after Lois had left, he'd come out here. The moon had been in its last stages then, and the sky had been clear. It'd seemed there were more stars than he'd ever seen before. He'd been depressed then like he was now, only tonight he felt far worse than he ever had. The sky had lost its wonder a long time ago. He used to stare up with the wide eyes of a child - often with his dad by his side - and just be in awe at the beauty of it all, how bright the stars twinkled down at him. Later, after his parents had died, he'd often escape whichever foster home he was in and lie down in an open field to look at the sky, wondering if perhaps his parents were up there looking down on him. He'd used to hope so, but now, he didn't want them to. He didn't want them to see him like this. Broken down and beaten by life. Back when he'd found the globe, he had come out here and laid in the front yard for hours, wondering where he'd come from. How he fit in. If he'd *ever* fit in. Now, looking up at the immense expanse of sky, he felt inexorably small. Insignificant. He'd give anything to be normal. *Be* human. Like his mom and dad. Live... work... meet someone... have a family. But he knew it wasn't possible. Ironically, he'd always wondered if he could have kids. Were Kryptonians and humans compatible? Now he knew the answer, but the knowledge was far from comforting. The opposite, really. He deeply regretted his trip to the other universe now. He should have known better. He should have known that seeing her again would be painful. That coming back to a world without her would be far worse. He should have known that it would only depress him more. Though... he hadn't known she'd be pregnant. He hadn't known he'd learn *exactly* how much he could never have. And pretending to be her fiancée... he hadn't known how hard that would be. How much he'd long for her... for someone like her... to complete him. He hadn't realized just how much the whole experience would damage him. Broken. It wasn't just his heart that was broken. His soul ached. He hadn't realized how painfully evident the void in his heart would be once he came back. Once he came home to face his world alone. Again. Always alone. Forever alone. He couldn't stay here anymore. He was thinking too much. Thinking was not good. Clark shot into the sky and sped home, not slowing down until he was inside and closing the window behind him. The lethargy hit him then, as if he'd flown too fast, and it had needed a moment to catch up with him. He managed to make it to his bed and under the covers before the tears hit him, too. *** When Clark woke up again, he faintly remembered the few dozen times he'd woken only to go right back to sleep. This time wasn't any different, except for the fact that he had to go to the bathroom. He laid in bed a while longer, *trying* to go back to sleep, but the feeling soon became uncomfortable. Irritated, Clark threw back the covers and made his way to the bathroom. He hadn't planned on looking at his reflection on his way back out, but it'd snuck up on him. The man glancing out of the corner of his eye at him had startled him. Clark didn't recognize him. His eyes were drawn and weary. A full assault of hair covered his face. This man was a stranger. Those eyes haunted him. Stared at him. Like they were judging him, reproaching him for what he'd become. Worthless. Empty. Hopeless. Clark brushed his hand against the rough hair covering his face, and suddenly he was disgusted with himself. He shaved quickly and stared at the man again. He looked less untoward, but the eyes were still haunted. Nothing, he knew, would make that disappear. Clark sighed heavily and returned to his bedroom. The rumpled sheets and disarray of the bed, the entire room agitated him. He turned from the mess and headed for the living room, towards the couch. The couch was as good a place as any to sleep. And here, he wouldn't have to look at the clutter that only served to remind him how indifferent he'd become. To everything. If only his Lois had lived. Then maybe his life wouldn't be so hopeless. ~~~Part 2~~~ She was dying. She. Was. Going. To die. She cowered, her knees hugged tightly to her chest. The tree bark at her back bit at her, but she pressed closer against it still. Safer. It was safer to guard your back. Huge roots jutted out from the tree. Gnarled. Frightening. Larger on her right than on her left. But it was shelter. Precious little shelter. She heard the trumpeting of an elephant somewhere close by. A sound that used to delight her when her father would take her to the zoo as a child. It was eerie now. The sound echoed off the trees. Elephants. She'd seen a few, but... elephants. In a forest. Nothing was right here. Nothing. Her eyelids were heavy. So heavy. Can't sleep. She couldn't sleep. The gorilla barked again. Or maybe there was more than one. Three short grunts. Like he was looking for something. For her. A twisted version of Marco Polo, hide and seek, and she prayed feverishly that she'd picked a good hiding spot. Her stomach roared. She jerked, then stilled, begging not to have been heard, that her stomach hadn't mocked a return call to the gorilla. Don't find me. Don't find me. Oh, God. She was going to die. All alone. Out here. Jungle. Rainforest. Whatever the hell this was. A shiver ran down her spine and she shuddered. Can't sleep. Can't sleep at night. Too dangerous. Only during the day. Can't sleep. Her eyelids drooped, and she snapped them back open. She froze. Wait... What? Light... Window... She was looking out a window. A... an... airplane window. Right. Breathe. Okay. Safe. Going home. Safe. She shivered. Cold. She was so cold. She looked up, and the stream of cold air from the air valve hit her eyes. She reached up to turn it off. Better. Inhale. Exhale. She looked to her right, away from the window. The man next to her was sleeping. Fine. She was fine. Going home. She was going home. She let out a long breath. She was okay. She was in an airplane, not the jungle. Headed towards home. More slow breaths. Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal. Her name was Lois Lane. She was in a Metropolis-bound plane. She was safe. After three long years, she was safe. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief and rested her head against the scratchy airline pillow. She swallowed, wishing she could feel more relieved, but the only thing she could feel was the tight ball of anxiety in her stomach. She inhaled again. Deeply. The air of freedom. Even in the enclosed steel of the airplane, the air tasted of freedom. A quiet thud called her attention to the small leg space in front of her. The paper had fallen off her lap. Lois reached down to pick it up and stared at the loud banner of comfort across the top that read "The Daily Planet". She remembered almost squealing with delight when she'd found the week-old edition in the small reception area of the International Committee of the Red Cross Delegation. She'd squirreled it away in her ratty backpack when the workers hadn't been watching. The paper had been her comfort blanket in the three long weeks it'd taken the ICRC to finally get her back to Metropolis. The Daily Planet. Or, in one word - home. She was going home... Where no one knew she was alive and the only family she had was buried in the Metropolis Cemetery. The dread clenched at her gut once again, but she did her best to quell it. Perry. He was like family. Perry White, no longer the editor, but instead, mayor of Metropolis. She hadn't ever imagined that Perry had had any political aspirations... But it was comforting to know that he was still in Metropolis, at least. Her passport - all she had left to prove she was Lois Lane - listed Metropolis as her home, but she couldn't be sure of that anymore. Her parents and Lucy had been dead for ten years. Nothing was there for her anymore, save for Perry. And he thought she was dead. She shook her head, trying to clear the maudlin thoughts, the lingering anxiety, and focused on the front page article that had taken her completely by surprise. "Superman Takes a Break." She'd read the article over at least a hundred times, searching for something that seemed to be eluding her grasp. The first time she'd read the story, it'd seemed more fit for the National Whisper. A man who flies? Super strength? An alien here on planet Earth, just so kind enough to call himself a superhero? Right. Why was it front page news that he was taking a vacation? The accompanying picture had changed her mind regarding the seemingly ludicrous nature of the article. Mayor White shaking hands with the "illustrious hero", who was scheduled to take a short leave of absence from his duties. She *supposed* that made sense; everyone needed a vacation... To her, the whole idea of a superhero was absurd, but she knew Perry wouldn't have stood for that, not if it had been a lie. She stared at Superman's picture in her lap for the thousandth time. There was something about his eyes... They were haunted, somehow. Just like every other time she'd stared at his face, a pang of sympathy hit her. He looked so... tortured, not by any outward appearances - and certainly not in that garish costume - but there was something in his eyes that said his life was more painful than what he presented to the public. Lois knew that only too well. The first mirror she'd looked into in years at the Red Cross had shown her those same eyes. She'd spent a lifetime with those eyes, trying to hide all her pain and hurt inside. Maybe that was why, against her better judgment, she empathized with the man in the ostentatious costume. The latter paragraphs in the article told of his powers and his true identity. He went by the name of Clark Kent, and he actually worked as a reporter for the Planet. That had shocked her a bit. If he was so extraordinary, what was he doing as a reporter, collecting his paycheck at the end of the week like all the other poor schmucks? Why the pretense? Why not rule the world? Why not throw President Heston out of the White House? His reasons for attempted normalcy eluded her, but she did know one thing for sure. He was the only one who could help her. She read the date of the article again - August 17, 1996. It was early September now. Surely he'd be back by now from his little vacation. Or he would be soon. Clark Kent was the only one with the powers and the resources she would need to finally put an end to this nightmare. If he'd help her. From what she'd read, he seemed to think helping people was his job. She only hoped he'd even speak to someone like her. *** After eight long months of tediously boring watch duty, she'd seen her. She should have been excited about it, but she wasn't. Elle Daly sure didn't envy her associate at the Daily Planet; by the looks of her, Lois Lane wouldn't be going into the newsroom anytime soon. Elle pulled out her cell phone and pressed the speed dial for her boss. She was supposed to report any sightings or possible sightings immediately, then tail her and not let her out of her sight. The call was answered on the first ring. "Have you seen her?" She wasn't sure what possessed her to do so, but she answered, "No." "Then why are you wasting my time?" Elle didn't flinch at the irate reply. She was done caring. "I think I should abandon post, sir. If this operation had any less momentum, it'd be going backwards. It's been almost a year now. Don't you think she'd have shown up by now? And how many people can survive the Congolese jungle with just the shirt on their back?" "You will not abandon post." "But..." "Do you hear me, Daly? You're to stay where you are. The Lane woman knows too much, and that makes her a liability. A big one. Stay put!" The line went dead. Elle frowned at the phone in her hand, and then shoved it back into her jeans pocket. She wasn't sure why she'd just done that; she may well have put her job, possibly her life, in jeopardy. She'd let Lane walk away. The woman didn't look dangerous, but it was always the placid cow who ended up grinding your toes into nothingness. Sure, Elle knew that Lois Lane had been one of the top reporters in the country, but the woman she'd seen walk out of the airport fifteen minutes ago looked nothing but pathetic. Beaten. Worn. With a face as long as a wet week. And certainly not like a liability to their operation. Well, one thing was for sure, unlike the imposter they'd discovered last year, this had to be the real Lois Lane. As the associate in charge of watching the Planet back then, she had kept careful watch over that one, but she'd overheard the fraudulent Lois's story of a faulty memory and a coma. There'd been nothing to watch for, especially since she hadn't blurted out everything she'd witnessed in the Congo the second she'd gotten there. Then, only two days later, she'd vanished. It'd been peculiar, but nothing had come of the situation. But this Lois, the one she'd just seen, had the markings of someone who'd been through a lot. Too much. Elle sighed, dropping back into her seat in the airport lobby and cursing her sudden attack of sympathy. Maybe it was because it'd been such a long, hard trial for Ms. Lane. Just over three years now. She looked downright disheartened. Elle tried to shake the pity from her thoughts. She was getting soft, and she really couldn't afford to do that. *** Lois lay on a lumpy mattress. She'd gotten a room for the night with the meager funds she had, and now she lay fingering the neckline of her shirt where her gold necklace normally rested. It was gone now. All the years in the Congo - clinging to its presence for comfort, for the only reminder of home she had - she'd held fast to it. Her grandmother had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday. A family heirloom. It hadn't meant that much to her before. She'd hardly ever seen Grandma Lane, but back then when her family had been in such tatters, she'd liked the idea that *something* could last. She'd pawned it an hour ago. Stupid Lane pride... and weariness from traveling... The idea of staying in a homeless shelter, even after all the years on the run, was still unsettling to her. Though, she *would* have... if she hadn't been so tired, mentally and physically, from the trip. She hadn't had the energy to walk all over to find the nearest shelter, and when she'd seen the tacky neon lights of the pawn shop sign, she'd gone in on impulse. She'd gotten just enough money for a few nights at a cheap motel of some sort and a little food as well. Her appetite, though, had disappeared along with her exhilaration of being home. Her apartment was gone. All her belongings. Her bank accounts. Her job. Everything she'd worked so hard for. Gone. Everything she owned now was tucked away inside her ragged blue backpack. She had nothing. Well... she had a roof over her head. That had to count for something. Even when she'd finally made it to the International Red Cross Delegation in Brazzaville, she'd had to stay in a large tent adjacent to the main building with at least a dozen other people. Maybe that was what made her so disconcerted with spending the night in a homeless shelter. She was home now - even if the current definition of home hung by a precarious thread. This was her first official night back in the States. In Metropolis. She was officially free now. And she'd be damned if she felt uncomfortable her first night back. She shifted away from the small spring that was poking at her, and looked around the room, really seeing it for the first time. It was small, only a little bigger than the one she'd been kept in for so long. She stared at the walls for good long moments... they weren't moving, weren't closing in. She just had to breathe and she'd be fine. If only she could open the window or something... but it was painted shut, locking her... Stop it, Lane! Deep breaths. The small kitchenette to the right of the door exuded the feeling of freedom. That was good, though ironic considering she didn't remember how to cook - or know how to cook in the first place. The pay phone on the wall was a bit odd, but its presence would remind her that she wasn't in the Congo anymore. Not on the run anymore. Safe. Home. Impulsively, she scrambled out of the bed and picked up the phone, bringing the receiver to her ear. The dial tone rang hollow in her ears. Who would she call? There *was* no one. She didn't have a clue what Perry's number was now. And there was no one else. She replaced the receiver dejectedly and returned to the flimsy comfort of the motel bed. Civilization. At least it was something. She stared up at the ceiling, drab as the rest of the room in its shade of sullied concrete. She'd have preferred white. Or any color, really. Anything to erase the memories of the cold, dark jungle and the room... Even silence eluded her. The buzzing of the lone light bulb above her head as it flickered on and off reminded her of the countless insects that had pervaded the wilderness. She turned on her side to avoid its incessant blinking. That was when it hit her, full force. Everything. All the years of running, hiding... getting caught. Fearing for her life. It almost seemed like a horrible nightmare - one which gripped her in its horrors long after she'd woken up. She wished she was in her room, her bed... all the familiar surroundings that were so comforting after a bad dream. The things that told you were home and safe. That it *had* just been a terrible dream. Instead, the bleak gray walls surrounded her, trapped her, offering no comfort at all. She sobbed into her pillow, at once feeling a wash of relief and gratitude for her freedom and a shadow of terror engulf her as she looked towards her future. Her life in Metropolis was dead. Gone. No one knew she was here. No one knew she was alive. She'd spent years establishing her career, making a name for herself. And now the only piece of paper that bore her name was a death certificate, and even that was covered in dust. She thought she'd be fine once she got back, but she wasn't. She had nothing. No job, no money, no place to live, and nobody to care that Lois Lane was back from the dead. Perry. Perry would care. But how on Earth did a nobody dressed like a transient get in to see the mayor? ~~~Part 3~~~ "But you don't understand. It's imperative that I see Mayor White. Tell him it's Lois Lane. You'll see. And you'll be sorry for how you've treated me. Mark my words, you -" The snippety woman sighed over-loudly and continued looking down her nose at Lois. The woman was peering over a pair of those stupid reading glasses that Lois was sure she wore simply to make her *appear* intelligent. It wasn't working. Her faux sympathetic tone made Lois's skin crawl. "Miss Lane, the Mayor is an extremely busy man and he doesn't have time to talk to people who haven't made an appointment." The woman gave her another derisive look before she continued, "If he spoke to everybody who came storming in here, demanding to be seen, he'd have no time to run the city. Besides, if you cared to read the paper, you'd know that Mayor White is out of town. If you'd like, I can find you the address of a nice homeless shelter." Lois deflated. All the optimism and determination she'd had moments ago was gone, but she wouldn't let that nasty woman have the last word. "No," she replied acerbically. "I'll be fine, though I'll be sure to let the Mayor know what fine, caring staff he has when I manage to flag him down *on my own*. Thank you for your time." She turned to leave and could practically feel the derisive smile aimed at her back. She wished she felt half as assertive as she'd sounded. She left, even more hopeless than she'd been the night before. Lois pushed through the doors of the building and took off down the street. Fast. Not sure where she was going, just away. The harsh glare of the sun hit her eyes and they teared a bit. Only from the over-bright sun, not because she was crying. She wasn't. Perry was just out of town. He'd be back soon. And so what if she looked like a homeless woman? If that snotty woman had spent years in the Congo living in the jungle, she'd look a little less than pretty too. Lois looked down at her clothes. They weren't that bad, were they? They were. They weren't even her clothes, just some second hand jeans and a shirt that they'd had in the clothing bin at the ICRC. They were a little baggy and worse for wear, but clean. Homeless people didn't have clean clothes. She had a place to stay. She wasn't homeless. She had a home. Metropolis was her home... At least it had been. It certainly didn't feel like home anymore. Lois stopped short. The gates of the Metropolis Cemetery stared her in the face. She hadn't been here in over five years. Mom, Dad, Lucy... they were all in there. After the car accident, she'd used to visit them regularly, telling them about everything in her life... When she'd gotten the job at the Planet. When she'd had her heart broken by Claude. When she'd won her first Kerth. Her second Kerth. She'd shared everything with them, not just because they were her family, but because she hadn't had anyone else to tell. Perry had truly become like a father to her, taking her under his wing as his protégé. And after her family had died, he'd reassured her that she still had someone who cared about her. But it hadn't always been enough. Someone had painted the wrought iron since she'd been here last. The grass looked greener, trimmed. She glanced around for a moment at the bustling city, studying what used be her home. Everything was a little cleaner. Less graffiti, less litter. She hadn't been able to see it last night, but Metropolis had undergone a transformation while she'd been gone. It looked... safer. It *felt* safer. Had it been Perry's influence? Superman's? Whatever the reason was, Metropolis had changed for the better. In direct contrast to what had happened to her. The thought saddened her, made her feel even more alienated from the place she'd lived in, grown up in. Now, more than ever, she longed for the comfort of family. She crossed the threshold into the cemetery towards the only family she had left. Two rows in and four over. She looked for the three headstones that marked the home of her loved ones. Daddy. Mother. Lucy... And then she gasped in horror. There was a fourth headstone. Lois Lane. 1967-1993. The anguish knifed through her stomach and robbed her of her breath. She was dead. Well and truly dead. They'd buried her. Forever etched in stone was the proof that Lois Lane no longer existed. She felt hollow. Numb. And weak. She needed to sit. Awkwardly, she sank to the ground and brought her knees up to her chest. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the polished granite. Dead. Dead people didn't have homes. No friends. No job. No family. No life. Now that she was finally back, what on Earth was she going to do? *** Lois awoke to the flickering of the light bulb above her head. It was oddly comforting now, after the blaring reality of the sun and the overwhelming truths it had brought with it. She wasn't sure how she'd gotten back to the motel. Everything from after she'd seen her own headstone was a blur. Being back in the solitude of her small, rented room now after wandering outside... it killed her that it was comfortable. Four walls keeping her enclosed. Familiar. Safer, somehow. They'd done that to her, made her... Her stomach growled, interrupting her thoughts and reminding her that it had been more than a full day since she'd eaten anything. She took the money out of her pocket to count it, though she knew very well how much money she had left. Not enough. She'd been counting on Perry to be here. Not that she wanted charity of any kind, but she was sure she had travel insurance of some kind with the Planet, not to mention her salary. They ought to owe her *something*. But she couldn't just go waltzing into the Planet now, could she? They'd be looking for her. Not actively after all this time, but the Planet was the first place they'd think of to plant someone to keep an eye out for her. Going to City Hall had been risky enough, foolish, even. Impulsively stupid. She had to be more careful from now on. Which would make coming back from the dead all that more difficult. She wasn't looking forward to all the tedium she suspected would be involved in coming back from the dead. She didn't have the energy for it. For a moment, she entertained the idea of staying dead. Or at least keeping Lois Lane dead. She could move somewhere else, start a new life with a new name. There really wasn't anything here for her anyway. Maybe it would be better that way? No. As much as it appeared to be easier, she really couldn't be anyone but Lois Lane. She was going to have to fight her way back into her old life. It was hers, after all, and she hadn't come this far only to give up now. She'd made it through being held prisoner and the wilds of the Congo. Surviving this would be a piece of cake, right? But she still dreaded it. Once she was back from the dead, she'd most likely have to prove herself all over again as an investigative journalist. And that was something she wasn't sure she could do. Three years was a long time to spend away from civilization. Countless things must have changed by now. Heck, Perry was Mayor! Just think what else must have changed. She'd read the same issue of the Planet numerous times. Clark Kent. He seemed to be the new top reporter around. People were probably falling all over him, wanting him to interview them, tell their story. And investigating probably wasn't too hard for someone with superpowers, whatever they were. Even still, aside from the lack of effort it took to *get* stories, the few she read by him showed his skill as a writer. Yet another reason why she needed his help. She wouldn't be able to finish trailing the gun-running back to its source, not with her rusty skills and now non-existent contacts. Plus, the whole flying thing would come in handy. He'd be able to fly over the area where she'd been held, look around for more clues. But it was a little more than that, wasn't it? How was she supposed to research or investigate when they were out there? Watching for her? Waiting for her to trip up and do something foolish like what she'd done today? What if they'd seen her already? Now more than ever she needed Clark Kent's abilities, super and otherwise. But how was she going to get someone like him to help her? She was a nobody, not even technically alive. *Why* would someone of his celebrity and prestige talk to her, let alone help her? But she *had* to try. He was really her only hope. She'd simply write him a letter and drop it off in his mailbox and wait for him to return from his vacation and respond. Simple. Somehow, she thought it would be anything but. But if Clark "Superman" Kent was her only chance at righting the wrongs that had been done to her, bringing the gunrunners to justice, then she had to try. Lois pulled her battered notepad out of her knapsack. She leafed through it, looking for an empty page and swallowed hard when she reached the spot where more than a few pages were missing... She couldn't think about that now. She needed to focus on one thing at a time. Besides, those pages were imprinted in her memory; she'd made sure of it. Returning her mind to the task at hand, she managed to find an empty page. Digging for a pen took a second longer, and then she was writing. She had just finished signing her name and reading fretfully over it for errors or idiocy when her stomach growled again. She frowned. It'd been over three years since she'd bought food in Metropolis, perhaps even longer since she'd gone grocery shopping. She'd usually grabbed some fast food on her way home from work or ordered take out. She couldn't afford to do that now, not if she wasn't sure how long she'd need to stay in the motel. Lois eyed the kitchenette warily. Something from the supermarket would certainly be cheaper. If she bought something simple, surely she could cook it. Lois shoved her money back in her pocket and then grabbed the hotel key on her way out the door. After she'd picked up some instant noodles at the store, she wandered around the streets for a while, reminiscing. Metropolis had felt so alive, so exciting. A potential story around every corner. Now... Well, now it felt different. She wasn't the same person she'd been three years ago. She wasn't Lois Lane. But, dammit, she *was*. She *had* to be. She had to do something. Something to make her feel like her old self again. Going back to the motel and attempting to cook wasn't going to cut it. She needed something to investigate. Clark Kent's address! She needed it to send... no... drop off the letter. Lois frowned. Why hadn't she thought of that before? The whole time she'd been writing the letter, it'd never occurred to her that she'd obviously need to know where he lived. Though... she supposed that she could just send it to the Planet. He worked there. He'd receive it for sure. But... she could just imagine how much mail he got at work. Loads of it. And there would be her letter, sitting at the bottom of his inbox for who knew how long. No, she needed his home address. She needed to drop it off personally so that she knew he'd see it. She felt... dumb. Mad Dog Lane would have thought of all of this before. Heck, Mad Dog Lane would have found his apartment first, gone straight there and knocked on the door. She'd written a letter instead. Letters were cowardly. Lois shook her head. No time for waffling. Regardless of how she asked for his help, she needed his address. Mad Dog Lane was on the case, if a little worse for wear. *** "Sir, the subject has arrived in Metropolis. She came in demanding to see the Mayor, just as you thought she would, sir." "I trust you followed her?" "Of course, sir. She's staying at the Apollo Motel. Shall I make the acquisition?" "No, not just yet, let her get comfortable. Watch her. We'll see what she does. Her family's dead and the only person she knows is Mayor White. It won't be a necessity until he's back in town. Let her think she's safe for now." "Affirmative, sir." "Good work, Johnson." ~~~Part 4~~~ Clark woke to darkness. The VCR clock told him it was well after two in the morning. He'd slept all day, but he couldn't bring himself to care. What did it matter? He was that much closer to the day he'd die. Whenever that was. Too far away. Too many miserable days to spend alone. Too much to handle. He didn't want to handle it anymore. He remembered, dejectedly, his desperate attempt to end it all. He'd gotten all the way to the sun. Or at least close enough so that even *he* had felt the heat. He'd stared at it for minutes. Long minutes. Daring himself to just do it. But in the end, he'd chickened out, run out of air in his lungs, and had shot back to Earth like a coward, gasping for breath when he'd hit the stratosphere. He'd been foolish. Stupid to think that he could actually hurl himself into the sun. But there hadn't been another way. Nothing else could hurt him. In fact, he wasn't even sure the sun would have killed him. Lack of air might have... but that hadn't worked out either. Then he remembered... the agonizing, debilitating pain that fateful day when Tempus had introduced him to... Kryptonite. Clark sat up abruptly. Kryptonite. He sat motionless like he had been for days, but this time his heart was racing. Kryptonite. A glowing, painful, green chunk of home. Ironic that a little piece of home could be his undoing, that a tiny meteorite was a force more powerful than the Man of Steel. The invulnerable man who'd been shattered beyond repair. The man who was an alien in every sense of the word. He didn't belong. Not as Clark. And not as Superman. Though he hadn't been Clark in a long time. The world only knew Superman now. Strange, how world-wide acceptance had made him feel more alienated. There was no Clark anymore... He'd been dead for a year now. Only Superman. Kryptonite. If he... Superman didn't think anymore; he stood and spun into the Suit, reveling in the detachment he felt. Clark was dead. Only Superman was left. He opened the window and shot into the sky. Clark flew aimlessly around the city, trying to think where the Kryptonite may have gone. Perhaps in the police department. Surely they would have picked it up after the press conference and locked it in the evidence room. Looking back, he should have followed up on that. Disposed of it so that criminals wouldn't think to steal it and use it against him. But the thought hadn't occurred to him, and he was quite glad of it now. The Kryptonite was there. It had to be. Clark changed his course and flew in the direction of the downtown precinct. Number fourteen. The one at which he knew all the foreign and dangerous substances were kept. He landed on the ledge of Metropolis Tower. One of the tallest buildings in the city. High enough up so that no one could see him. Clark stared down at the building across the street. The downtown station. He sat completely still for a few long minutes before he got the courage to scan the building. There it was. Tucked away in a far corner of the evidence lock up, there was a small lead box. That had to be it. Odd how they'd inadvertently protected him from it. Or had Wells told them? It didn't really matter. It was still there, just waiting for him. Kryptonite. The last time... he'd been passive. Too passive. Like swallowing a bottle of pills, hoping it'd be enough. Kryptonite. Kryptonite was active. There was pain. There was certainty. He didn't move. He wanted to do it. He wanted to die. He *couldn't* keep living like this. It wasn't even living. Just existing. There wasn't any point to it. The world didn't need him. He was useless. He didn't have anyone. No friends. No family. No Lois. No one would miss him. Well, the citizens of Metropolis might miss their "superhero", but they wouldn't miss him. Maybe, foolishly, he could ask to be buried beside Lois. Not that her body was there, but maybe in death, he'd at least find a small comfort in knowing he could be near her in some way. He eyed the lead box again. It was slightly blurry this time. Clark swiped at the tears angrily. There was no reason to cry. Not anymore. Not after he... There would be no more tears. Just nothing. He wouldn't have to deal with anything anymore. Sweet oblivion. Clark sank down to the ledge and started sobbing, shaking. The tight pain in his chest was awful. He didn't want to die. But he desperately didn't want to live. There was nothing in between. Nothing he could do. And nothing would make the pain go away. He pulled his cape tight around him and wept. *** Lois stood nervously outside Clark "Superman" Kent's apartment. Earlier, she'd been surprised - and just a little pleased with herself for thinking to ask - that people seemed to know where Superman lived. Or at least in the general direction. Collecting clues from several different people, she'd been able to narrow it down, and now she was standing outside his door. The peephole stared back at her like an all-knowing eye. A critical eye. She frowned. The peephole kept staring, and she got the odd sensation that someone was watching her. But that was ridiculous. *If* Clark Kent was home, he'd be sleeping at this ungodly hour. He *wasn't* home, that much she was sure of. The papers at the supermarket held no mention of Superman and every person she'd talked to had been sure to let her know - sometimes with a patronizing or ridiculing stare - that the resident superhero was still out of town. So why was she nervous? She was just leaving the note under his door. That was it. Just a simple note saying, "Hi, I'm Lois Lane. You don't know me but I'd like your help." Or something to that effect. A stupid plea from a nobody, has-been reporter. Something he probably wouldn't even pay attention to. He must receive a thousand requests like this a day; he'd just laugh at hers and then throw it out. She wouldn't even have to be witness to his ridicule. She'd never hear from him and that would be that. This Kent guy was a superhero, a celebrity, for crying out loud. Why would he even give her the time of day? She stared at the door again. Come on, Lane, he's not even home. Just slip it under the door and get it over with. What was stopping her? She knew what it was. It was the feeling she'd gotten when she'd looked at his picture, read what little there was about his life in that article, and read the articles he'd written. There was just something about him that spoke to her... something that told her there was more to his life than what was visible to the naked eye. Something she felt keenly. Hurt. It hit close to home for reasons she couldn't even fathom. But maybe she was just tired. Having nonsensical feelings because she'd been without human contact for so long, and she was desperate to feel any sort of connection. She thought back to the picture... It wasn't pity exactly - that wasn't the feeling - but she'd gotten this silly idea, a tingling, that somehow he was someone important to her. That maybe she was reading him far more accurately than anyone else had. Kindred spirits. Which was nonsense. Ridiculous. As human as he appeared, Clark Kent was still an alien with powers beyond that of any mortal man. How could she relate to someone like that? And how could he relate to her for that matter? She was just lonely. There was no one in her life. Everyone thought she was dead. She was alone and probably would be alone for the rest of her life. She was just deluding herself. She needed someone to save her and Clark Kent was Superman, hero to the world. She remembered when she was a teenager, looking at pictures of the latest movie heartthrob and feeling certain that they were meant to be together. An immature, unrealistic crush. That was what this weird feeling about Clark was. She felt stupid for even succumbing to the idea, but she had. Maybe it was because of just how alone she felt, how long she'd been away. His picture had been the first she'd seen at the beginning of her journey back to the "real" world. A hero. A handsome hero at that. She'd just conjured up the image of being saved by him, and had gotten the childish notion that he might just care about her, too. Foolish as that may have been, that was what was making her hesitate outside his door. What if he *did* just ignore her letter? Or worse yet, what if he didn't, and just regarded her as another citizen in need? Another victim in his long line of people to save? Someone he'd help and then wash his hands of? What if all he felt for her was pity? What if after it was all said and done, she never saw him again? She wasn't sure she could handle that, regardless of the fantasies milling about in her head. And then there was that foolish Lane pride. She'd survived three long years in the Congo. Made her way to the top of a male-dominated profession. Bounced back with determination after her family had died. All of this by herself. She'd never needed anyone before, really *needed* them, but now she *did* need Clark Kent. She eyed his door cautiously once more. A rather small apartment on Clinton Street. Not a great neighborhood, but not the worst. Back when she'd last been in Metropolis, this had been one of the worst areas of town, rampant with crime. It had since cleaned up a little, but it certainly was not a neighborhood in which one would expect to find an individual of Superman's celebrity. Suddenly, she wondered, why *did* Superman live here of all places? Surely he could afford better. Lois got a small tingling sensation at the back of her neck. Curiosity. The thing that had killed the cat and the occasional intrepid reporter. Something she hadn't felt in a long time. Lois glanced up and down the corridor and then at her watch. Three a.m. No one was around. *He* wasn't around. What would be the harm in taking a little peek? She felt an inexplicable need to know a little more about Clark Kent. She wished she'd had the idea to do some research, find out a little more about him before she'd even written the letter. The article had told her precious little about the man in the cape. Was it really so wise to offer up her vulnerability on a silver platter to someone she knew virtually nothing about? She was used to having the upper hand. She really had lost her edge. Researching first would have been more intelligent. Not that he was here, or that she *really* needed more background before she asked for his help. She simply felt she *had* to know more. Just in case she never did get to talk to him. She checked the hallway hastily one more time and tried the doorknob. Locked. Well, what were you expecting, Lane? She sighed and stuffed the letter in the front pouch of her bag and dug out the pocket knife that had proved quite a useful tool in the jungle, and then dug a little further. She knew she had a bobby pin in there somewhere - no clue as to *why* she had a bobby pin, but she *knew* she had one. Ah hah! There it was. Now, she hoped she wasn't too out of practice. Armed with her makeshift lock-picking kit, Lois made quick work of getting the lock undone, and hurried inside. Closing and locking the door behind her, she sighed with relief and rested for a moment against the solid wood. The adrenaline high felt good. It reminded her of the past; back when she was Lois Lane, star reporter at the Daily Planet. Back when she *was* somebody. She shook herself mentally, stopping that train of thought in its tracks. She didn't have time to waste on silly memories, she was here to snoo - investigate. She was here to investigate. Lois let her bag slide off her shoulder to the floor and surveyed the apartment curiously. Who exactly was Clark Kent? The apartment was nothing like she had expected. Well, she wasn't sure *what* she had expected, but it wasn't the sight before her. Sparse furniture. Simple decorations. The place had a sort of homey feel, but at the same time it felt empty. Lois wandered over to the mantle and sized up the solidified memories that decorated it. An old football in a trophy-type stand. She ran her hand over the engraved plaque at the base of it, gaining a layer of dust on her fingers in the process. Smallville High 1984 Champions. She brushed her hand off on her pants. He'd played. That was somewhat odd. From what she'd read about him, he had superior speed and strength. Wasn't that a bit unfair? He didn't seem like the type that would cheat, especially considering his current occupation. Then again, she didn't *really* know him, and her judgment of men wasn't the best... so anything was possible. She moved on to the next item. An old photograph - a middle-aged couple. His parents? Maybe. The picture was older and the frame a bit weathered and covered in dust like the rest of the mantle. The picture she'd seen of Clark Kent didn't show any of the same characteristics. The older couple didn't look like him in any sense. Though... Superman *was* an alien. Maybe these weren't his parents at all. Maybe he didn't even have parents. The picture on the other side of the football gave her pause. Clark and a woman. A blonde. Pretty, if you liked that type. Not drop-dead gorgeous by any means, but... She was wearing a ring. An engagement ring. Clark Kent was engaged. Or really, he could be married by now. Maybe he was on his honeymoon. Though... she supposed the paper would have said something about that... Or even something about his fiancée. Lois looked around the apartment again. There wasn't anything here that suggested a woman lived here. Not that that meant anything necessarily. Maybe Clark spent most of his time at her place. That was probably true, if the layer of dust covering the mantle and its inhabitants was any indication. He was engaged. Taken. Of course he was taken. Who wouldn't want an attractive - extremely attractive - man who could fly? Every woman on the planet no doubt had some fantasy or another about him. And this woman in the photograph... she'd won the prize. Lois tried to tell herself that it didn't bother her. By all rights, it shouldn't. And it didn't. Nope. She couldn't care less. And by no means did the dull ache in her chest mean that she felt she'd missed out on the best thing that might have ever happened to her. That was just heartburn. Lois let out a sigh and headed towards the bedroom, well more of just the same room, really, though there was a half wall that separated it somewhat. The bed was messy, like someone had slept in it recently. Or like the man hadn't cared to make his bed before he'd left on vacation. Another picture frame on the nightstand caught her eye. This one clearly had no dust on it, but it was laying face down. Curious now to see who it could be, she reached for it and grabbed it carefully. She turned the frame over and looked at the picture within. OH. MY. GOD. She gasped and nearly dropped the frame. It was *her*! But no picture she ever remembered taking. She started to wrack her memory for that moment, when she heard a noise behind her. She froze. The sound was kind of a strangled gasp, like someone had tried to say something, but the words hadn't come out. Lois forced herself to turn around slowly. It was him. Superman. ~~~Part 5~~~ Clark stared at the woman in his bedroom. It was a dream. It had to be a dream. She wasn't real. He tried to say her name, but it came out more of a mangled gasp than anything resembling the English language. She turned around then, and he could hear her heart racing, the sound filling his senses. It wasn't a dream. She wasn't a ghost. Ghosts didn't have heartbeats. But the other Lois Lane did... Could it be her? No, the other Lois wouldn't be staring at him, terrified, her heart racing wildly. "Hi." Her voice was trembling slightly, and she looked as if she'd thought she'd seen a ghost herself. Clark couldn't say anything. He just stared. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. Lois was dead. He'd just spent an hour trying to convince himself that he *could* survive without her. There was no way for her to be standing in his bedroom, looking like... Well, like a living, breathing Lois Lane. For a long set of moments, the air seemed to be charged. He stood there, frozen as she stared at him, his heart scattering about in his chest like an insect caught in a jar. He tried desperately to read her emotions, searching the deep brown color of her eyes and trying not to get lost. He thought he saw a flash of something there... longing? No. That had to be his imagination. Wishful thinking. Far too many dreams. Her eyes only held fright and more than a touch of wariness. That was when it hit him. The picture she was holding. He glanced at the frame and back up at her eyes. The spell they both seemed to be under broke and he let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Hi," he finally replied, his voice shaky at best. Awkward was an understatement at this point. All the relief he'd felt from seeing her - realizing that she *was* alive and well and standing in his bedroom - left him then, and was replaced with a sudden sense of dread. "You must be Lois Lane," he tried cautiously, his voice a little stronger, but still far from normal. Surely she heard his heart pounding. There was a long moment of silence before she spoke. "How... where... where did you get this?" She offered up the framed picture to him. "It's a long story, Lo - Ms. Lane. Maybe if you sit down, I can try to explain." "Wait a minute." The fear he'd seen in her disappeared and was replaced with indignation. "Just who the heck are you, Clark "Superman" Kent? And what game are you trying to play here? How do you know my name? I'll have you know, everyone thinks I'm dead, so how do you even know I'm alive? Where did you get this picture? And... *why* are you looking at me like that?!" Don't smile, Clark. Smiling would not be good right now. As her last words processed through his mind, he realized that he *was* smiling. He couldn't help it. She was alive. She was fiery and determined. She was *babbling* in his bedroom. She was glaring at him; actually, giving him the look of death was more accurate. Clark quickly wiped the smile off his face. "I'm sorry. Why don't I make some coffee? We can sit down and I'll explain everything to you." She seemed to visibly relax some, though he could tell she was still on edge. He couldn't blame her, considering the circumstances. He was still on edge himself, teetering precariously on the edge of a cliff was more like it. Why was she here in the first place? He discounted unbelievable luck on his part; that just didn't happen. Clark had half a mind to ask, but he wasn't going to. He didn't want to take the chance of scaring her off, not when she was finally here. "Here." He gestured in the direction of the living room. "Go ahead and have a seat, and I'll get coffee started." He looked down at himself, suddenly self-conscious in the suit. "And I'll change into something more comfo... something else." Lois just nodded mutely and made her way to the couch. She took a seat on the far side, the picture frame still gripped firmly in her hands. "I... uh... I'll just go start the coffee," he stammered. Great first impression, Clark, he told himself on his way to the kitchen. She was watching him; he could feel her eyes on his back. He must look a sight, measuring coffee grounds wearing loud blue spandex and a flashy red cape. Ostentatious. He finished quickly and hit the button to start the coffee brewing. He chanced a quick look at Lois - who was suddenly fascinated with the upholstery on the sofa - as he made his way to his bedroom. For the first time since he'd moved here, he wished there was a door to his room to give him a better sense of privacy. As soon as he was within the semi-privacy of his room, his mind began to spin, as if reality had waited until that moment to hit. Lois was alive. *His* Lois. Lois was here. Alive. And sitting in his living room, negating the sole reason he'd been depressed, suicidal. Shouldn't he be happier? Shouldn't the feeling of gloom have simply disappeared the moment he'd seen her? It *should* have. But it hadn't. He still felt as though his future was anything but bright and hopeful. Maybe it was because Lois had looked at him with only trepidation bordering on fear. She hadn't fallen into his arms and declared her undying love for him. He... He *hadn't* fallen in love with her at first sight. There'd been no fluttering of butterflies, no magic, no fireworks... just the cold, blunt shock of seeing her there in his room. Alive. A little excitement if he admitted it to himself, yes, but nothing like it was supposed to be. The undeniable and shocking reality of it all was too much to handle. This was all wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. But then again... Lois Lane wasn't supposed to be alive. Clark took a shuddering breath and turned to his closet, ignoring the confused and defeated man who was hovering on the periphery of his vision in the full-length mirror. Was it possible to be depressed and deliriously happy at the same time? He didn't know whether to sit down and cry with relief or run and hide. Unfortunately, neither of those was an option right now. His frequent dreams *might* have prepared him for this completely unheard-of meeting, but when it came right down to it, he had absolutely no idea how to deal with the situation as it stood now. He'd have to tell her about the other Lois. But how did you tell someone you had a picture of them because the dead writer H.G. Wells took you to a parallel universe to pretend to be an exact replica of yourself, and while there, you developed feelings for your counterpart's fiancée, who just happens to look exactly like the person you're trying to tell? At least, how could he tell her without having her think that he was an insane psychopath? Clark closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefingers. He thought he had a headache. He shook his head. Focus, Clark! Okay, something to wear. He stared at his closet and his mind drew a blank. *What* did he change into? He eyed a suit for a split second, then shook his head. No, that was stupid. He wanted to impress her, but now was *not* the time for that. Jeans and a t-shirt. Sure, it was plain and sort of Kansas farm boyish, but it was better than the supersuit. He changed clothes and then took a deep breath, trying not to think about the fact that this conversation would most likely determine whether or not this Lois would even talk to him again. Clark entered the living room slowly. She looked up when he neared and stared at him, her mouth hanging open. She shut it quickly, though, and her face went back to the cautious look he'd seen earlier. He was suddenly very self-conscious. Maybe he shouldn't have changed. For a moment there, he'd thought she might have been looking at him like other women often did when he was in the Suit. But he'd imagined it. He had to get a grip on his emotions, try and separate his dreams from this all too real nightmare of a reality. "So..." Clark started as he sat down in the armchair, which was hopefully situated near enough, but not too close to make Lois nervous. She just stared at him. "I guess you already know my name is Clark Kent, also known as Superman." His voice came out defeated. He realized something else then... even if everything somehow worked out the way it was *supposed* to, he'd never be "just Clark" with her. He'd never have that. She only nodded in response, clearly waiting for him to continue. He sighed heavily and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. The babbling Lois of minutes ago had disappeared, leaving a mute Lois in her place. She wasn't saying anything. In fact, if it weren't for the sound of her racing heart, he might have thought she was an apparition after all. No, she wasn't going to participate in the conversation just yet, so it was up to him. Hopefully, he wouldn't appear a complete lunatic in her eyes. "Look, Ms. Lane, this story is rather far-fetched and fantastical. I know you probably won't believe me, but it's the truth, and it would probably help if you just let me tell you the entire thing first. Then, if you have any questions, or if you just want to run screaming, you can do that afterwards. Okay?" She nodded. "Okay, but one thing... Ms. Lane sounds too much like... well, I'd just rather you call me Lois." Foolishly, his heart jumped a little at that. He used the small morsel of delight to bolster his confidence and tried to convince himself that maybe this wouldn't be so bad. "Lois... I guess I should start at the beginning and tell you why I became Superman." Clark sighed again. He hadn't had to think about those two days for a long time, and he wasn't sure what her reaction would be. Would she feel like he'd felt when the other Lois had pulled him into the conference room and laid his life out on the table? No, she didn't have a secret to protect, just the innocence of thinking she was alone in the universe... and that there was only *one* universe. He saw Lois raise an eyebrow at him, silent askance for him to go on. "Just over a year ago, I met this woman named Lois Lane." Clark held up a hand to halt her question, but it didn't stop her from narrowing her eyes skeptically at him. "Obviously, she wasn't you. She wasn't an imposter either. She was..." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "This is where it gets more than a little hard to believe. You see, this Lois Lane was from a parallel universe..." He watched her face. Yeah, she thought he was a lunatic. Certifiable. Clark rushed on, knowing if he didn't finish, he'd never be able to, "She's from a universe that's somewhat like ours, but different too. In her world, the Clark Kent is an alien like me, but he came up with the idea of Superman - to use his powers for good. Lois was sent here by a deplorable man who wanted to take over the world." Looneytunes. That was what he read from the expression on her face. He was, in one word, looneytunes. He plowed on. "She told me all about her world and encouraged me to become Superman. She ended up going home to her universe a few days later." He paused, and just watched Lois. He so badly wanted her to believe him. If she didn't, he wasn't sure how he'd deal with it. "Right. So... How did she get here and back?" Damn. It would be too much to hope that he could leave that part out. "hgwells," he mumbled. "Excuse me?" "H.G. Wells," he said, a bit louder this time. The look of pure cynicism on her face was disheartening. "Yeah, the dead science fiction writer, H.G. Wells. Turns out there was a slightly larger emphasis on 'science' than 'fiction' in his writing." "Okay... *If* this is all true, how does it explain you having my picture? Did this other Lois just happen to bring one with her and accidentally leave it here?" He winced at her sarcasm, though there had been a note of... something in her voice that said she might believe what she'd suggested, given everything else he'd told her. He wondered if she'd buy it. He really didn't want to have to tell her *everything*. That would certainly send her running for the proverbial hills. But on the other hand, did he really want to lie to her, even if only by omission and a little misdirection? *Could* he lie to her? ~~~Part 6~~~~ As she sat and waited for his answer, Lois didn't know what to think or what to believe. When she'd seen the picture, she'd been shocked, scared. Just who was this Clark Kent anyway? And *how* did he have a picture of her that she couldn't, for the life of her, remember having been taken? Before she'd been able to contemplate that further, he'd shown up, startling her. She was an intruder in his house, and she'd been sure she was on her way to jail. But at the same time, she'd been struck by the sight of him. The man she'd foolishly fantasized having a future with. And he'd just stood there, looking for all the world like he'd seen a ghost - which, considering her current status, wasn't too far from the truth. Then he'd said her name. He'd known her name. Which, given the picture she'd been holding - the one she was still holding - shouldn't have been that much of a shock. But the way he'd been looking at her, the gaze she'd caught a glimpse of a few times since, there was something about that she couldn't quite discern. She'd been scared, and the first thing that had come out of her mouth had been a shaky question about the picture, which he'd avoided answering. The question to which she was still awaiting the answer. Though, how could she be sure she could believe what he was telling her? Not just this answer, but all of it. H.G. Wells? Parallel universes? An exact double of herself? And of him? She studied him carefully. He was avoiding eye contact for the most part, as if he didn't want to tell her. Sure, she'd been a little harsh, having resorted to sarcasm, but what else was she supposed to think? "Lois... " His eyes finally met hers. "This other Lois... changed my life... " She waited for him to go on. For some reason, this was difficult for him to say. "I just... I guess I needed something to remember her by." The silence hung in the air uncomfortably when he finished. A pang of jealousy hit her. An irrational one. She stared down at the picture in her hands. She wasn't sure what to believe. It *did* explain why she didn't remember having the picture taken, and as she looked closely at this other Lois, she could see subtle differences. Nothing big, but she could tell that the eyes of the woman staring back at her told a different story from the life Lois herself had lived. Happier. Or maybe she was just imagining things. She *wanted* to believe Clark. For reasons she couldn't understand. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, like there was something special about her. Or maybe it was the emotion in his voice as he'd told her, the slight desperation, longing, for her to believe him. The idea of parallel universes was hard to fathom, but then again, so was the fact that a man could fly. "Lois?" She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. What she found there startled her. He was pleading with her, begging her to trust him. Why was it so important to him? Something - she wasn't sure what it was - told her to trust him. "I believe you," she blurted on impulse. She wasn't sure why, but she *did* believe him. Maybe it was that instinct of hers, fighting its way back slowly... Or maybe... maybe it was because she needed him not to be crazy. She needed his help. He sighed and she watched the tension drain from his body. "Thank you, Lois." Silence stretched between them again, but this time it wasn't nearly as awkward. Lois set the picture down on the coffee table. That was a mistake. She had the sudden urge to fidget now. Not that she was nervous. She wasn't. "So..." She almost jumped at the sound of his deep voice breaking the silence. "I was really surprised to find you here..." Shoot. She'd just remembered that she was in his apartment because she had *broken* in. Maybe, with any luck, that wasn't what he'd meant. She watched him carefully, hoping she wasn't giving away anything herself, as she tried to read his mind. The look on his face... maybe he wasn't worried about how she got in. Maybe it was something else... No, that look faded quickly. She swallowed. He was going to ask. Whatever had been on his mind a second ago wasn't anymore. "Did I leave the door unlocked or something? I can't remember because I actually used the window for the first time in a while..." He trailed off, seemingly embarrassed. Why was he embarrassed? He flew. There was nothing wrong with using the window as an exit if you flew. She wondered for a moment whether she should lie and say yes, but he'd been nothing but honest with her. "Um... no. I kind of... let myself in." His brow furrowed. "Oh?" "I picked your lock," she admitted sheepishly and braced herself for his anger. But he only smiled, and suddenly she was self-conscious. "What?" "Nothing. It's just... funny, is all." "Funny? I broke into your apartment, Clark! Aren't you mad?" He shook his head, the smile still on his face. "No..." "And furthermore, shouldn't you really have better security? I mean, don't people just break in and snoop to find out more about you. You *are* Superman." "Yeah, I know. But we've kind of come to an understanding. They've calmed down a bit, the reporters and the gossip mongers. They respect my space and privacy, and I give them some of the exclusives on my rescues." He gave a somewhat defeated sigh. "And, well, I guess they've learned that there just isn't any more that they're going to learn. At least not from digging through my apartment." That made sense, she supposed. Just because *she* didn't know anything about the man, didn't mean that everyone else was just as clueless. He'd been around for the better part of a year, after all. She nodded. "Right. Makes sense." "I... I am a little curious... as to why *you* broke in, though..." Oh. Right. The reason she'd come in the first place. The letter. The favor she had to ask of him. Unfortunately, it didn't explain why she'd been *inside* his apartment and snooping around. "I... uh... I didn't think you were home. The paper said you'd gone on some sort of vacation and I was just going to leave a note for you because I wanted to ask..." She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. "I wanted to ask a favor of you." "Oh? What's that?" Relieved that he'd momentarily overlooked her not telling him the actual reason she'd broken in, she looked up at him. The look on his face surprised her. He was leaning forward in his seat, a look of genuine concern, like he *wanted* to help. Actually, like all she had to do was say jump and he'd ask how high. Or maybe she was imagining it. "Well..." She hesitated. "Really, Lois, it's okay. I don't mind. I'd love to help you." There it was again. That look. But this time it faded quickly. "It's my job to help people." Right. She was just another citizen in need, and he was the resident superhero. "But you're on vacation, I'd really hate to be an inconvenience." Why was she waffling? She really did need his help, and here he was offering it to her. She regarded him shyly. He had a strange look on his face, almost... sad... but not. Wistful, maybe? "Well... my vacation actually might be over now..." He stared out the window for a moment before he turned back to her. "Regardless, I'd like to help you. What's the problem, Lois?" She ignored the little shiver she'd gotten when he'd said her name, and tucked her hair behind her ear. Just ask him, Lois, he *wants* to help. "I... well... you seem to know who I am. Do you know where I've been?" A shadow seemed to pass over him. He looked so... anguished. "No. I don't... or didn't. Still don't..." He ran his hands through his hair and started again. "Last I heard, you'd gone to the Congo to investigate illegal gunrunning." "Right." She eyed him carefully. She was confused by his reaction, but at the same time, she felt an enormous sense of sadness, almost like she could feel what he was feeling... But that was nonsense. She couldn't experience his emotions any more than he could hers. Besides, why would it matter to him what had happened to her? Why did he look so torn apart? Because he was Superman? Did he torture himself with the knowledge that he couldn't save everyone? That anyone who suffered should blame him for not having been there? From the look on his face right now, though, she could tell he was trying to mask his emotions. It seemed he *did* believe that. That thought saddened her. It was almost unbelievable that someone so super, with his powers and abilities, would be miserable at all. But it made sense. She could only imagine the horrors that he'd witnessed, all the people he hadn't saved. And how that must eat away at him day after day. She suddenly had the urge to give him a hug, but she refrained, her mind flashing to the picture sitting on his mantle. He had a fiancée, and that bothered her more than she wanted to admit to herself. Put the fantasy away, Lane. Focus. Right. Where was she? Congo. Gunrunning. She looked over at Clark, hoping he hadn't been irritated by her silence, but was surprised to find him lost in thought. Or, more likely, bad memories. Or maybe she was just projecting her thoughts on to him. She didn't want to think about the Congo again. It was too soon. But she'd brought it up, and he needed to know. "So..." She'd startled him, though he'd tried to hide it. "Right," he said, bringing his eyes back to hers. "The Congo." She tried not to see the grief in his stare. He didn't really care that much. He couldn't know what she'd been through. Even if he did, there was no guarantee that he'd care. Pity. He'd probably pity her. She didn't want that. Selfishly, foolishly, she wanted him to understand. She wanted him to care that she'd gone through hell and back. That it hadn't been her fault. He was still staring at her, waiting for her to go on. She swallowed. "I... Back in 93, I got a gre -" Great. It was far from great. She knew that now. "I got a lead that there was an elaborate gunrunning operation under wraps in the Congo. They said the mastermind behind it all was most likely running things from the States, but all the action was in the Congo. That was where the story was. The clues that would lead me back to the person running it all." The person she'd been so close to finding the day they'd captured her. She closed her eyes and tried not to cry. There was no reason to cry. It was over with. Mostly. Not really. She knew they'd still be after her. She opened her eyes again and took a deep breath. Clark was still staring, but instead of grief, she saw... compassion. Why did his eyes have to be so caring? "So, I'm guessing you didn't find him?" "Huh?" "The mastermind." Oh. Right. "No. I thought I'd been close, actually, I must have been close because they caught me." She prayed that super hearing wasn't one of his special abilities. She didn't want him to hear her heart running in erratic circles, her breath growing ragged. It was too soon. Too soon to relive all this. "You... they held you captive for three years?!" He looked horrified. Incredulous. And why not? The oh so great Lois Lane, beaten at her own game and made victim for three years and counting. He was... shocked and edgy. He was uncomfortable, she could tell. It hadn't been her fault! She was *still* Lois Lane. And she'd escaped! She'd made it. It'd taken her over a year to get back after that, but she'd made it. He stood abruptly. "Coffee should be ready by now," he announced. He barely waited for her nod before he escaped to the kitchen. *** Clark's hands shook as he pulled two coffee mugs from the cabinet. She'd been alive. All this time. It hadn't really hit him until now. Three years! Three years she'd been a prisoner in a war-torn country. He didn't even want to imagine the horrors inflicted on her. The mugs rattled as he set them down on the counter. He couldn't stop shaking. A whole year he'd let her suffer. Why hadn't he looked harder? Why hadn't he torn apart the damned jungle looking for her? Why hadn't he found her? Years. He'd wasted years of his life without her. And the last year... after the other Lois had left... The past few days... or had it been a week? He'd nearly killed himself, dammit, and she'd been alive all this time. And now she was sitting in his living room, probably offended at how rude he'd just been. He hadn't been able to help it. Everything had assaulted him at once. He'd needed to get away. Be alone. Distance. He'd needed distance from her. The last thing he'd ever imagined needing from Lois Lane - not that he'd ever thought he'd meet her, let alone have her sitting on his couch. Nor had he imagined he would be sorely tempted to ask her to leave. This was too much to handle. He needed space. Time to think. He couldn't think with her around. He closed his eyes and leant his head back, forcing the tears to stay put. He took in a deep, ragged breath, trying to calm himself, and her heartbeat filled his ears. It startled him at first, but it was strangely calming after a moment. Except... it was getting steadily louder. He tensed. She was behind him. "Clark?" He pasted a smile on his face and turned around. "Coffee's ready." "Clark..." she started nervously. A knapsack he hadn't noticed before was slung over her shoulder. She wanted to leave. His heart sank. Even though he'd just wished she wasn't there, he was suddenly desperate for her to stay. "Yes, Lois?" He heard her heart skip a beat. Jumpy. She was jumpy. On edge. Because of him, how he'd just treated her. "I... I should probably just go. I've taken up too much of your time and I should just really... " "No!" he blurted. He rushed on, trying not to notice her startled look, "You don't have to go. Really, Lois. I don't mind at all. I really do want to help you... If you'll let me." "Oh." The sound was more of a shape on her lips than anything audible. This was wrong. All wrong. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be happy, dammit. Lois was supposed to be hesitant, yet intrigued. She didn't want to be here. He was warring with his emotions, wanting her to go, but stay at the same time. This was supposed to be a dream come true. It was a nightmare. One of those bad dreams in which something awful was happening to someone you loved you and you just couldn't move fast enough. Everything was in slow motion and you wished and tried with all your might, but no matter what you did, you still couldn't make it in time. Never in time. He'd had that nightmare countless times. Lois. *His* Lois. Dying. A bullet. A cliff. A knife. A wild animal. He'd never been able to make it. And she'd always died. Now she was here... but he still couldn't move. It was like his heart was stuck in slow motion; and no matter how desperately he wished for it, there was no way it'd ever make it to the right place. She fidgeted and shifted her weight to her other foot, catching his attention. A deep pull in his gut made a decision for him. He didn't want her to go. What if this *was* only a dream - even if it was a nightmare - and he never saw her again? Or worse yet, what if it *wasn't* a dream and he let her walk out of his life forever? He wasn't sure anymore what was supposed to happen, but he knew one thing for certain. He didn't want her to go. "Lois?" She looked at him, the uncertainty evident in her eyes. "Please stay. I know it's probably more than a little... daunting, what with everything I've told you, but I really would like to help you and..." "And?" I can't stand the thought of you not being in my life. I can't stand the thought that I should have saved you years ago, and I'd give anything to be able to save you now. He tried to swallow the emotion, the uncertainty that was biting at his voice. "And I'd really like to get to know you." She didn't say anything for a long moment, and he was worried that he might have said too much, but finally she spoke. "Okay." He felt some of the tension ease out of his muscles, but the rest remained. He couldn't think of anything to say. And now the awkwardness stretched between them. Clark glanced nervously over to the clock on the wall. Four a.m. He hadn't realized how late it was. Though, to tell the truth, he wasn't even sure what day it was, he'd spent so long in his misery. He looked back at Lois. Misery that had all been for nothing. Or so it seemed. She was here. She was alive. And she was yawning. He glanced at the clock again. "It's late, Lois. Actually... it's early. Maybe I should take you home and we can discuss everything later." She smiled weakly at him. "Yeah, I guess I am a little tired." "I don't have a car, but I could walk you home... or fly you, really, that would probably be better..." "No. No, that's okay. I'll be fine. I'll just... come by tomorrow?" He watched her glance around uneasily. She didn't want him to see where she was staying. It was probably better that way. Walking... or flying... with her would have been awkward and he wasn't sure he could handle it. But that didn't mean he wouldn't follow her home from the skies. He'd be damned if he let anything happen to her now that she was finally here. Even if his heart was conflicted. He nodded. "Anytime you like, Lois. I'll be here. You... You do have a place to stay, right? I mean, I just want to make sure I'm not sending yo-" "Yeah." She cut him off and nodded. "I have a place to stay. I'll be fine, thanks." He nodded. He was unusually relieved by that. Having her stay here, in his apartment where the sound of her heartbeat would reassure him that she was real, would have been comforting. But all the same, it would have been more than awkward. They couldn't even hold a conversation, let alone share an apartment. It was better this way. It was on the tip of his tongue to offer again to take her home, but he didn't. "I'll see you tomorrow." "Right." She smiled that weak smile again and they both stood there awkwardly for a moment before she finally moved towards the door. It seemed she was moving in slow motion as she reached for and turned the doorknob. Then all of a sudden, the world sped up again and she was gone, her timid "Goodnight, Clark" echoing in his ears. She was gone. He was rooted to the spot for what seemed like an eternity, certain that if he moved, he'd wake up and find that she'd never really been here. But when he searched through the walls to find her, she was right outside, descending the steps of his apartment building. Still intent on his resolve to see her home safely, he spun back into the Suit and took off through the window. He stayed in the clouds high above her and matched her pace as she wandered down the street. His heart sank when he saw her final destination. The Apollo Motel. Clark hovered high above the derelict motel. He really should go home. She was safely in her room now and there was no longer an excuse for him to be there. The neighborhood wasn't terribly safe, sure, but it was close enough to his place that he'd hear her if she needed him. No reason for him to stay. No reason for him to watch her as she kicked off her shoes and threw down her backpack. No reason for him to watch her crawl into bed and pull the covers around her tightly as she curled up. No reason for him to listen as she started to cry. Worst of all, there was no reason for him to go down and hold her until all her pain went away. The sound of her sobs killed him, more so than the other Lois's tears had ever hurt. They reminded him of his tears. His pain. His anguish. And suddenly, he couldn't take it. He couldn't listen and be reminded of everything he'd been trying not to think about ever since he'd flown into his bedroom and found her there. He shot into the stratosphere and headed east towards the sun, stopping only when he could no longer hear her crying. Though the sound wouldn't leave his head. It was etched there, carved into his memory. And there was nothing he could do to erase it. ~~~Part 7~~~ Lois hugged the pillow tightly as she sobbed. She could only see half of the motel room from her curled up position, but it still depressed her. Everything was blurry through her tears. Muted. The kitchenette that had earlier filled her with a sense of comfort was only discouraging now. The grungy table sat empty and alone, save for one small wooden chair, and the refrigerator, nauseatingly green, wouldn't stop rattling. Lois turned over hastily, facing the wall and the opaque window, covered in dirt and grime that robbed her of any connection to the outside world. The light bulb flickered and cast alternating shadows on the walls, an all too frightening reminder of firelight throwing ominous shapes against thick trees. The rusty water stains on the wall made it feel like the darkness outside was creeping slowly in. She couldn't stay here anymore. Not after tonight. It wasn't her. This wasn't Lois Lane. Lois Lane didn't stay in cheap motels; she stayed at the Lexor. Lois Lane didn't have to worry about how she was going to afford her next meal. Lois Lane didn't need to ask for help, for anything. Lois Lane didn't ever feel lonely or helpless. And most certainly, Lois Lane didn't cry. All the tears shed in the last few nights, the last few *years*, those were someone else's tears. Someone she'd thought she'd left behind in the Congo, but Lois had been followed. She shuddered at the analogy. The weak and tired woman hadn't been the only one to chase her back from the Congo. She was sure of it. It was only a matter of time before they found her. Stupid. Why had she come back to Metropolis? They weren't dumb. They'd have planted someone here to keep an eye out for her. But she'd *needed* to come here. Metropolis was the only place she could reestablish her identity, come back from the dead. Not to mention the hope... however foolish it may be... that she could rebuild her life, too. Yes. Metropolis was the only place she could have come to. This was her home. They'd taken three years of her life, everything from her. She sure as hell wasn't going to let them take anything else. Metropolis was *her* home, dammit, and she was staying. The Planet was here. Perry was here. Her family - though dead and buried - was here. Superman was here. She needed his help to get to the bottom of all this. She just wished she didn't have to spend another night in this wretched room. But what choice did she have? Perry was out of town for at least another week. Not that she was dependent on him for money, nor did she need him to vouch for her authenticity when going about proving herself alive again... at least on paper. Oh, who was she kidding? She longed for someone to validate her existence. Someone to say, "Oh, thank God you're alive, Lois!" She sniffled. Maybe it was selfish of her to want that. She'd been dead and gone for three years. Would anyone now even recognize her name? Clark. Clark had. But only because of some God-awful twist of fate that had brought a different Lois Lane to his door. One who obviously meant a great deal to him, otherwise he wouldn't have been so stunned instead of angry to find a strange woman in his apartment. Maybe those flashes of longing she'd seen in his eyes had been meant for her, the other Lois. Surely it would be confusing to have an exact double of someone dear to you mere feet away, and surely trying to remain stoic about it would be even worse of a trial. He obviously admired the other Lois. Lois was certain that her counterpart held a special place in Clark's heart. A counterpart she clearly didn't match up to. Any illusion of similarity had been shattered when she'd revealed how weak and foolish she'd been. Which didn't make any sense, anyway. Why would that upset him unless... Unless he loved the other Lois. Maybe that was why he'd been so upset. At first in his bedroom, then later after she'd said... too much. He'd realized it wasn't *her* standing in his bedroom. He'd been distant. Distracted. Thinking of the other Lois? Then later, he'd been horrified. Had he been comparing her to her counterpart? Finding her wanting? That didn't make sense either. She wasn't some replacement Lois, nor was it true that just because she was Lois Lane she was meant to be with him. *That* was a ridiculous notion. But whatever the reasons for his stunned reaction, he'd changed his mind. Or had done a pretty good job at hiding his dismay and shock. He'd made a heartfelt plea for her to stay, actually convinced her that he *did* care. About *her*. Oh, she hoped it was true. She hoped he really did feel *something* for her, even if it was just concern for her well being. Lois Lane hated to admit it, but she needed help. Clark's help. And she was starting to realize she'd need his help for more than just putting an end to the mess in the Congo. She needed money. Or a place to stay. Or both. But she loathed the thought that he might consider her a charity case. She really needed to get a start on putting her life back together, and soon. She hated feeling so helpless and alone. Though... she guessed she wasn't alone anymore, not in the grander sense. There was another universe. Another Lois Lane. Actually, there could be hundreds of Lois Lanes. Lois Lane was a dime a dozen. The thought only made her feel more isolated. She'd known coming home wasn't going to be easy, but she would never have imagined she'd be faced with anything she'd been hit with in the last few hours. Parallel universes. H.G. Wells. Counterparts. An evil man trying to take over the world. And then there was the niggling feeling somewhere inside that she just might be in love with Clark Kent. *** For the first time in days, Clark couldn't sleep. He walked over to the window and stared out. The window he'd flown through just hours ago, only to have his life turned upside down once again by Lois Lane. The sky was clear tonight, with lots of stars in evidence. Thousands of little orbs twinkling merrily at him, oblivious to how he was feeling. The stars took on a different meaning tonight than they had just the night before. Instead of making him feel so isolated, they were... more hopeful? No, not really. But they didn't make him feel suffocatingly lonely anymore. That was something, wasn't it? Hundreds, maybe thousands of other planets out there, so the astronomers said. Why had he had to end up on this one, where Lois Lane belonged? Why couldn't he have been sent to... oh, that one over there, the fifth star on the right above the Carver building? A planet uninhabited by Lois Lanes. Now that would be a comfortable place to be. But boring. And utterly, completely empty. What was it that poet had said? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? But that wasn't the problem. He realized now that as much as it had felt like it, he hadn't really been in love with the first Lois. Lust. Attraction. Some kind of inexplicable echo of a connection between them. But he hadn't been in love with her. And now that *his* Lois was here... he wasn't in love with her either. Clark flung the window shut, only holding back enough so it wouldn't shatter. What was wrong with him?! This wasn't how it was supposed to be! Hours ago, he'd finally gathered himself together and dragged himself home. A pathetic excuse for a person, let alone a superhero. After an hour of crying and convincing himself that if he did have to live, the least he could to was make a decent attempt at it. He hadn't been sure if he would have the energy for it, but he'd decided he was too much of a coward to... do it. So he'd flown home, intent on doing... *something*. Anything besides being worthless. Then he'd flown into his bedroom and saw her there. It'd been like a cold bucket of water being thrown in his face, shocking him and robbing him of the air in his lungs. Everything had halted. The world had stopped turning. There she'd stood, the sole cause of all his misery and anguish. Or so he'd thought. Because, if she'd been the reason behind it all, shouldn't he be thrilled? Elated? Shouldn't all of his grief and despair have just vanished? By all rights, it should have. But it hadn't. And now he was feeling something he'd never imagined possible. He resented Lois Lane. Both of them. The Lois of the other universe had shown him what it could be like. Shown him that true love - a love so deep one could drown if he or she weren't careful - did exist. For some. She'd shown him just how perfect, how meant to be, Lois Lane and Clark Kent were for each other. But not every Lois Lane and Clark Kent. He resented his Lois. He flinched. She wasn't *his*. He resented the Lois of this universe. Why was she here if she wasn't his to love? Wasn't this Lois and Clark thing supposed to be love at first sight? He wasn't supposed to have a feeling of dread or fear in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't supposed to feel hopeless still. Though... that wasn't entirely true. There had been moments tonight when he'd felt almost giddy. Or delirious. He wasn't sure which. He didn't know what happy meant anymore, but his heart *had* beat a little faster when she'd said his name. The thud of the door closing as it marked her departure had stung. And when she'd cried... It'd hurt, and he'd felt an ache far more intense than he had when he'd been in the other universe with the other Lois. That had to mean something, right? Or was it only because she was a Lois and he was a Clark? He'd felt the connection with the other Lois, but he hadn't been in love with her. If only there was someway he coul - <> Clark froze. No. Nononono. A piercing shriek. No! A sob. Oh, God, not now. Please not now. He wasn't ready. He couldn't - A muffled whimper, <> Clark shot out the window and towards the place where he'd heard the cries - the desperate pleas that had since gone silent, but for a faint sobbing. Oh, God, don't let him be too late. He spotted a man in a dark alley just blocks from the Apollo Motel. Oh, God. Oh, God. The man was hastily unfastening his pants and the brunette below him was whimpering from underneath the hand that covered her mouth. Clark dove and tore the man away from her, tossing him against the brick wall. He stared at the woman lying prone on the ground, her skirt bunched up around her waist. It wasn't Lois. Thank God it wasn't Lois. He was grounded to the spot, frozen with fear. He watched the woman pull her skirt down, still sobbing softly as she did. She was shivering. Clark shook himself and reached for his cape to offer it to her. He wasn't wearing it. He'd forgotten to change. The woman stood stiffly and brought her gaze to his. "Th-thank you, sir." He watched her glance nervously in the direction of her attacker. "Is he... is he unconscious?" His limbs were leaden and he turned uneasily towards the man as if this were a horrible nightmare and he could only move in slow motion. The would-be rapist was out cold. "Superman?" His head snapped back to where the woman was standing; she was staring at him questioningly. She had her arms wrapped around herself tightly, but she seemed to be more curious than shaken at the moment. He watched her take in his appearance - jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers - and stare at him a bit incredulously. "Superman, is that you?" He nodded. Or at least he thought he had, but she didn't give any indication that he'd even moved. "Y-yeah." He cleared his throat. "Yes." The barest of smiles touched her lips and she spoke softly, "Thank you for saving me. A-and... Welcome back, Superman. We've missed you." *** He'd managed to escort the young woman home without any questions regarding his appearance or *re*appearance. Maybe the gravity of what had almost happened to her had finally sunk in. Or maybe she'd been taken aback by his unexpected return and shaky attempt at heroism. Still on auto-pilot, he'd gone back to the alley to collect the rapist and drop him off at the police station with only a hurried explanation to the officers on duty, and the contact number for the victim. He hadn't been able to stay. He hadn't been sure how to respond to their questions or hearty "Welcome backs." They'd tried not to stare at his outward appearance or his insecure demeanor, but he could tell they'd been regarding him carefully, not sure what to make of their newly returned "super" hero. It hadn't been the stares or the unarticulated questions that had fueled his hasty departure. It'd been the door. The door to the evidence room. As he flew home slowly, trying not to tremble, he couldn't erase the image of the thick steel door from his mind. It'd stared at him. Taunted him. Callously reminded him that he was a coward. A failure. He hadn't been able to go through with... killing himself, but he sure as hell wasn't succeeding at living either. Clark neared his window and tensed. It was broken. He was just about to scan his apartment for an intruder when it hit him. He hadn't bothered to open the window before he'd shot out. He bit his lower lip and floated inside, stepping on the few shards of glass that had managed to find their way inside from the outward shattering of the window. Clark sank to the couch in defeat. He was officially back now. He had to be. No getting around it. The morning papers were sure to have the story. He wondered how long it would be before the reporters swarmed back, demanding everything. Where'd he been? Why had he left? Why hadn't he been in the Suit when he'd rescued the woman? He didn't want to answer those questions. He *couldn't* answer those questions. He didn't want to be back. Not yet. He was scared. He wasn't ready. He couldn't be Superman. Not now. Not when he was feeling so... not super. He hadn't even been able to do it right! He'd barreled out of his window - breaking it in the process - in his *jeans* and t-shirt! And the rescue itself? He'd been a certifiable wreck. Trembling. Petrified. Idiotic. He'd handled it all wrong, and made a fool of himself in the process. How was he supposed to face the world? There was no turning back now; he had to be back. He had to be Superman again. The hero he'd never really been confident being. What business did he have helping the world in the state he was in? And what business did he have helping Lois? She clearly wanted help from Superman, not Clark. Not that she'd treated him like that, but she was a journalist already, far more qualified and accomplished than he. She didn't need him for his investigative skills; she needed his powers, his resources. Which didn't bother him, but for the fact he was useless as a superhero. The woman he'd saved... she might think differently, but she was just one person. He was responsible for the whole of Metropolis, not to mention the world, and he was no longer sure it was something he could handle. The good and well-being of the world was centered squarely on his shoulders. And it was suffocating him. ~~~Part 8~~~ Lois had woken up early that morning, surprised that she'd been able to sleep at all. Things still didn't look as clear. It was all a confusing mess. But she felt a bit calmer. Or maybe she was just numb. Too many emotions to deal with, so she just wasn't dealing at all. She still needed Clark's help, though, and she had said she'd be over. She had the funny feeling that if she didn't go over, he'd come looking for her. So that was why she was currently walking - probably a bit too slow - over to his apartment. She turned the corner onto Clinton Street and halted. Reporters. A whole slew of them. Vans, cameras, and hundreds of reporters - all gathered outside 344 Clinton Street. Oh, lord! What had happened? There hadn't been any reporters last night. Right. He was back. Of course the mass media would be all over that. Superman was big news. But... He'd said she could come over. Anytime. He'd been so sincere. Why would he have chosen to announce his return today? He should have known that she wouldn't want to walk through a throng of news hungry heathens, unless... he hadn't really meant it. No. He'd meant it, she was sure of it. So he'd obviously just not thought about her when he'd done it. That was okay. Really. She shouldn't expect to be on his mind his every waking moment. He had a life, other things he needed to get done, including announcing his return. But why today? Why the day he'd said she could come over? Lois eyed the vultures warily. They were hungry, anxious. Her brow furrowed. That didn't seem right. If Clark had announced his return, wouldn't he have held a press conference for that? And then afterwards, surely, the reporters would camp outside his apartment looking for follow-up stories, but... She edged closer to the herd and her breath caught in her throat. One of the reporters bellowed, startling her. "Open up, Kent! We know you're back!" "Yeah, you owe us the story!" She gasped. He *hadn't* announced it. Now, more than ever, she wanted to know what had happened. What had he done between the time she'd left and now to alert them to his presence? And... Why wasn't he answering them? A sudden pang of concern for him shot through her. She knew as well as anyone that the media were relentless, callous, unforgiving. Something must have happened that he didn't want them to know about. Something he wasn't willing to talk to them about. But what? Surely he must be used to this kind of attention; he'd been Superman for... How long had the article said? Over a year now? The real question now was - how was she going to get in there? She really didn't want to draw attention to herself, not like this. As much as she'd been dying to be alive again, this was not how she wanted to make her comeback. Besides, she couldn't afford to have her picture in the paper - not when it'd be associated with Superman. All around the world. Everyone would read it. Everyone including the people she was hiding from. So barreling through was not an option. Other options? She had none. Not a single one. His apartment was covered at every angle. She didn't have his phone number, and it was certainly no guarantee that he'd answer. He no doubt had his phone unplugged by this point. Think, Lane! She was good on her feet, thinking on her toes. She was good under pressure, thrived on it. Or... at least she had been. But she was stuck now. Between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Lois turned and headed back to the Apollo. Stupid. She was stupid to have even entertained that small notion of hope she'd had that Clark would be able to help her. He clearly wasn't an option anymore, not unless she could figure out a way to get to him without being spotted by the media hounds. Maybe it'd been a mistake to come back to Metropolis. Maybe she just should have picked up and started a new life somewhere else. Somewhere where no one had ever heard of the late great Lois Lane. Just forget about the gunrunners. Let them do as they will and hope they never found her. But no, Mad Dog Lane was still hiding somewhere within, and she was screaming at the injustice of it all. Demanding that the wrongs be put right and the criminals in jail where they belonged. She had to do it. *Would* do it. She just needed to find Clark Kent first. Lois dug her room key out of her pocket as she approached her room. She paused and stared at the splintered wood to the left of the lock. Someone had broken in. She un-shouldered her backpack and quickly dug out the old pocket knife that had served her well in the Congo, opening up the blade as soon as she had it in her hands. Lois slung the bag back over her shoulder and pocketed the key, leaving her one hand free to wield the knife and the other to open the door. She tensed as she slowly turned the knob and pushed the door inward, expecting an attack, but nothing prepared her for what she actually found. Sitting in the corner against the far wall was... Clark Kent. "Clark! You scared the hel-" She stopped mid-rant when she saw the look on his face. Agonized. Helpless. The look pierced right through to her heart. She slammed the door shut behind her and rushed over to his side. "What's wrong?" He buried his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. "I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here. I... just didn't..." "Know where else to go. It's okay." She shrugged out of her backpack and tossed it to the side. Sinking to the floor next to him, she put a hand on his arm, drawing his attention. "Tell me what happened, Clark." *** He almost rejoiced in the tingle that coursed through him when she'd touched him. Almost. He shouldn't have come here. It was unfair to her. Just because she was the rightful Lois of this universe didn't mean that he could use her, take advantage of her compassion. He shouldn't need it anyway. He shouldn't have flinched awake this morning when the reporters had started pounding on his door. He shouldn't have cowered in his bedroom, fearful of the people that were only doing their jobs. The same job he'd used to thrive on. Before the other Lois Lane had come and everything had gone to hell. Now, his... the Lois of his universe was here, sitting next to him on the floor of a cheap motel room, looking at him with such concern. Like she actually cared. About him. He met her eyes, patient and caring. He wanted to tell her. *Longed* to tell her. Everything. But he didn't even know what to say. There was so much... too much. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out but a strangled whimper. And the next thing he knew, he was in her arms. He wasn't even sure when he'd started crying, but she was there, comforting him. Hours later... or maybe it'd been minutes - he wasn't sure - he straightened, and swiped at his eyes. "Some Superman, huh?" "Hey." Her voice was soft. Soothing. "Don't, Clark. Your feelings are just as valid as anyone's - Superman or no - maybe even more so. It's okay to cry. Now, do you want to talk about what happened after I left last night?" That did it; that broke the dam, and it all poured out. The call for help. The way he'd been so inept. Forgotten to change. The police. The reporters. The long year he'd spent floundering in his misery and trying to be the superhero he was sure he'd never be. Though... he didn't tell her why. He couldn't bring himself to tell her *she* was the reason he'd been so depressed. He couldn't tell her about the endless and hopeless year he'd spent searching for her. He didn't tell her about the Kryptonite either. He wouldn't. No one else would ever know about that - his failure at life. His failure at death. His failure at everything. She didn't press for more, though, and he was grateful for that. He couldn't give her more. Especially when it might drive her away from him. "So why were you so... depressed for so long?" Fate just didn't like him. Clark swiped at his eyes and sniffled, hating that he'd cried, been so weak in front of her. He cleared his throat. "I... it's... none of your business," he stammered with no real conviction behind his words. It *was* her business... in a way. She straightened and her hand dropped from where it'd been resting on his arm this whole time, the distance she'd created between them cut harshly at him. "Oh. Okay. I understand." She clearly didn't. And why would she? He'd been the one to come to her, seeking... comfort? He'd been the one to cry on her shoulder. He'd just told her some of his most private thoughts and emotions. Why shouldn't he tell her more? "I'm sorry, Lois. It's... not that I don't trust you... it's that... well, I don't think I'm ready to share. Someday. Just... not now. I hope you can understand." He was relieved when she relaxed visibly and nodded. "It's okay, Clark. I understand." She smiled reassuringly at him. He attempted one in return... at least half of his mouth had made the upward journey. "Lois?" "Yeah, Clark?" "Do you think... would it be okay if I stayed here? I'll sleep on the floor, obviously. I just don't want to go back to my apartment. I'm not ready to talk to the media." Her warm smile faltered and she looked away from him, focusing on her ratty old backpack. Mistake. "I'm sorry, Lois. I shouldn't have asked. Never mind. Don't worry about it." Her head snapped back quickly. "No, Clark. That's not it. It's just..." She ducked her head. Her voice was low and he had to strain a bit to hear it. "I don't have any money left. I actually need to check out soon..." "Oh, God, Lois! Of course, why didn't I think of that? I'm sorry. I didn't even think about when you'd gotten back, why you were staying here. I'm such an idiot!" "No, Clark. It's okay, really. I just... well, all my money, everything is gone. I've been dead. It'll take a while, but I'll get everything sorted out." He could tell by the slight tremor in her voice... she was putting on a false bravado for him. "Lois, I have money. I'll give you some. And..." And what? She could stay at his place? No. Not with all the news-hungry reporters there. Not to mention *he* didn't even want to be there. "Oh, Clark, I couldn't. I..." She ducked her head shamefully. "I'll pay you back. Every cent. I just... need to figure out how to get myself considered alive again. I was hoping, thinking that Perry would be able to help me, tell me what I need to do. But he's out of town. And I had to pawn my favorite necklace - the one my grandmother gave me - to even have the money to stay here. And -" "Hey." Clark stroked her cheek with the back of his hand and waited until she looked at him. "Don't worry, Lois, I'll help you. Everything will be okay, I promise." He wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, but somehow... of its own volition, his body swayed closer to hers and before he knew it, his lips were against hers. Soft and pliant. Welcoming. He threaded his fingers through her hair and moaned softly when her lips parted, allowing him to explore her further. It seemed like hours... touching, tasting, gasping for breath. He finally pulled away, keeping his hand on her cheek. He watched Lois flush breathlessly under his gaze, and he *knew* at that moment... she was *his* Lois Lane. No doubts. At least... no doubt about the fact that she was the rightful Lois of this universe. And something about that kiss... something that he couldn't quite grasp a hold of. Something that was just out of his reach. Clark let his hand fall to his lap and just stared at Lois. He couldn't do anything else. The heat in her cheeks. The slightly dazed and dreamy look in her eyes. The cadence of her breathing. It scared him. That feeling that maybe, just maybe, there could be a happily ever after here. Scared. Him. To. Death. And then there was the feeling somewhere deep in his gut that something was wrong. He shouldn't have kissed her. Not that it hadn't been breathtaking, maybe even a tiny bit magical... but he shouldn't have done it. "I'm sorry, Lois, I... that was a mistake." ~~~Part 9~~ She blinked, and ducked her head. "Yeah, no... You're right... but it's okay, really. We're both pretty emotional. It's not a big deal. Forget it happened. Won't happen again." She brushed it off with a wave of her hand, but inside she was crushed. He'd thought she was *her*. The other Lois. She swallowed her emotions, everything. She would have to think about all this when he wasn't here. She couldn't allow him to see that it had affected her. Not with the kiss and not with his quick retreat. And if she was smart, she wouldn't *let* any of it affect her. She *hadn't* felt that surge of... something. Electricity? It didn't matter. She hadn't felt it. And it certainly hadn't stung when he'd so hastily apologized for... probably the best kiss she'd ever experienced. Nope. Lois Lane was tough as nails. Nothing bothered her. "So..." She cleared her throat. *Damn* her voice for sounding wobbly. She caught his gaze. No, his stare. His *blank* stare. He'd felt nothing after... It didn't matter. "So, I guess we ought to make a plan... or something." Good, Lane. Or something. *That's* real confident. He frowned a bit. "A plan? For what?" Lois blinked. Good question. "A... plan to bring me back from the dead. Though... I suppose you don't need to be concerned with that. It's my problem, really. What we do need is a place to stay since I'm out of money and the vultures are swarming around your place." The frown increased in intensity. It was the reporters. Not her. Had to be. He hadn't changed his mind. He *couldn't* have changed his mind. "Oh... right. We need money..." She felt a little jolt at his "we". But that was stupid. It didn't mean anything. Just a pronoun, necessary to complete the sentence. In fact, he'd probably said it to spare her feelings so she wouldn't feel needy. Pitied. "... Didn't grab my wallet before I left. I suppose..." She looked up to find him playing with a loose thread on the knee of his jeans. "I could shoot over and get it. In and out. They wouldn't even have a chance to snap any pictures before I was gone again." She nodded, wondering suddenly if she had any stray threads on her jeans, too. Anything to avoid eye contact. No need to be sad, Lane. It's good if he pities you. You need it. You need him... His help, you need his help. "It's okay, Lois. I really don't mind. Besides, I ought to pay if I'm staying here anyway." He grinned a little at her. He had a point. Maybe it wasn't so much pity after all. She smiled, a bit uncomfortably, but she smiled. "Just give me a few minutes... It won't take me long to get my wallet, but I want to stop off in New York to use the ATM." She gave him a curious look. Why... "So the reporters don't have a chance to catch up to me. I may be able to move fast, but the machine can't." She nodded. "Right. Of course." "Okay. So..." He stood, and held out his hand to help her up. She accepted it and rose to stand in front of him, proud of herself for not feeling anything at his touch. His hand was just warm from body heat. No, warm from friendship. She could at least hope for that. "I'll be back in a few. Did you... need anything? Food? Supplies?" "Um... yeah, food would be good." She smiled wryly, thinking back to the blasted noodles. "I had an... interesting encounter with my last attempt at feeding myself. Instant noodles my a..." Her stomach growled and she grinned, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, I'm a bit hungry." He chuckled lightly and gave her an endearing grin. She followed his eyes as they surveyed the small kitchenette. "Okay, I'll go ahead and stop at the store then, too, get some groceries, and I'll make us some lunch." She kept her jaw from dropping. Superman cooked? A sudden image sprang to mind of the red and blue, spandex-clad hero in front of a pot of sauce and thinking, hmmm, needs more basil. She bit back a grin. "You cook?" He blushed. "Yeah. A bit... When I was younger, my mom taught me how..." He trailed off, frowning. Lost in the memory? Thinking he should stay with his parents instead. Because he apparently had a mom, surely a dad would be there to complete the package. Loving parents, she was sure. And the politeness she'd witnessed a few times, the manners, seemed to indicate he'd grown up somewhere other than the big city. Where were they from? Were they superpowered, too? Did they... "Anyway, I'll be back in a few." Lois nodded mutely, still a bit lost in her thoughts, and watched the door close after him when he left. Superpowered... Maybe that was why the kiss had been so intense. She sighed, noting that her heart rate had almost made it back to normal. Wow. She tried to keep herself from thinking that the kiss had been passionate, but it wasn't any use. Like it or not, she'd felt something with that kiss. Maybe it'd just been the suddenness of his lips against hers. Or the way he'd cradled her cheek in his hand, run his fingers through her hair. Or the tingling sensation as his tongue had touched hers. Or... She sighed again, a bit breathless. She'd never before felt like that when she'd been kissed. Never had her whole body just come alive, every nerve ending on alert. But she was making too much of this. It'd only been a kiss. Kisses didn't determine fate or destiny. They weren't indicators of something meant to be. A kiss was just a kiss. Especially when it hadn't been meant for her. That was why he'd backed off so quickly. He'd realized that he hadn't been kissing the right Lois. Well, not to worry. She wouldn't let it happen again. From now on, it was just Clark and Lois, two people helping each other out and fighting the bad guys. *** "Has there been a development?" "Yes and no, sir." "Don't waste my time being nebulous, Johnson, get to the point." "Sorry, sir. Lane attempted to acquire Clark Kent's help today, but I think the reporters scared her off. Funny coincidence that they're both back in town within a few days of each other, eh?" "Not really. Kent thinks she's dead, and I'm sure he's lost interest, especially after that imposter last year." There was a short pause, then, "You say she didn't actually make contact with Kent?" "That's right, sir, she turned tail when she caught sight of the swarm of reporters. I don't think we'll need to worry about him. Seems she's a little on guard, trying to stay out of sight. So... not a big development, sir, but I thought you should be advised." "Keep me posted." The line went dead. Johnson frowned. Would it kill him to at least sign off? He yawned, wondering how bad it was that he'd fallen asleep on his watch. He shrugged. It wasn't like she'd have gone anywhere in the middle of the night. And she had