Guilty Until Proven Innocent
By: ML Thompson <thomplaw@tbaytel.net>
Rated: PG-13 
Submitted: January 2006

* * * * * * * * *

This is a fanfic based on the television show, Lois and Clark: 
The New Adventures of Superman. No copyright infringement is 
intended. I'm borrowing these characters for a little fun and not 
for any profit. For a complete disclaimer, go to: 
http://www.thompsonlawoffice.ca/Disclaimer.htm . 

IMPORTANT (MUST READ TO UNDERSTAND THIS STORY): Before you read 
this story, it is important to understand one thing. In The 
People v. Lois Lane, Elroy Sykes was killed, and during the same 
episode, Lois Lane stood trial for his murder. In real life, much 
more time would have passed. So in my story, it is assumed that 
Elroy Sykes was shot and killed sometime during season three. 
Lois was arrested and released. She continued to work at the 
Daily Planet until she stood trial during The People v. Lois Lane 
in season four. This must be clearly understood or this story 
will get confusing. One more thing, I change the season for this 
story to early fall.

A GAME ('NAME THAT EPISODE'): When I was writing this story, it 
suddenly occurred to me that I might very well end up referring 
to something from every episode of Lois and Clark from the Pilot 
to Dead Lois Walking. Did I do it? I think I did. So... while 
you're reading, see if you can find something - a quote, a 
reference, a minor character, a plot, etc. - in this story for 
each episode of Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman 
from the Pilot to Dead Lois Walking. I've listed the episodes at 
the end of this story to assist you if you want to play this 
game. If you can't find something from a particular episode, 
email me at thomplaw@tbaytel.net

My thanks to Gerry and Carol for their Beta reading work. Not 
only did they help me with writing, grammar and plot holes, but 
on this story in particular, they both gave me some good ideas to 
help with my A-Plot when I got bogged down. Thanks so much, guys. 
Also, I'd like to thank everyone on the fanfic message boards for 
answering my many questions. Finally, thank you, Rachel, for 
editing this story for the archives.

* * * * * * * * *
Guilty Until Proven Innocent
By: ML Thompson
January 2006
PG-13
* * * * * * * * *

"Will the defendant please rise?"

Lois trembled as she forced herself to her feet.

"Lois Lane, the people of Metropolis have found you... guilty of 
murder in the first degree."

The entire room became a whirl of colors as she fought to remain 
standing. Through the fog in which she was engulfed, Lois could 
hear startled gasps of disbelief. Then the noise of the courtroom 
was lost in the pounding behind her own eyes.

"Bailiff, take the defendant into custody. This court is 
adjourned."

She was barely aware of hands grasping her from behind, placing 
handcuffs on and forcing her from the room. It couldn't be. This 
was a dream - a nightmare. Any moment she was going to wake up. 
The judge hadn't really pronounced her guilty. And yet 
everyone... even Perry... even Perry had turned on her in the 
end.

She glanced over her shoulder as she was escorted none-too-gently 
through the doors at the side of the room, looking back into the 
courtroom for a friendly face but found none. No one was there 
for her. When it really mattered... Not even her mother and 
father had bothered to come.

Doors slammed closed behind her as the light began to fade. It 
was over. Everything was over before it really had a chance to 
begin.

* * * * * * * * *

Perry stared absently at the television screen, lost in thought 
as he watched District Attorney Clemmons give a press conference 
on the screen in front of him. 

"...the tragic fact that Ms. Lane was one of our leading citizens 
is only further proof that in Metropolis, no one is above the 
law. I believe the sentence of death is wholly fitting. The crime 
itself, caught on video tape, the motive, established by the 
shocking testimony of Perry White, Editor of the..."

"Turn that noise off!" Perry shot back, sending one staffer 
scrambling to turn the television off while the rest headed back 
to their assigned desks. 

Still, Perry stood, staring blankly at the dark television 
screen. He hadn't testified. He really hadn't. And he'd called in 
every favor he could, trying to persuade someone, anyone to get 
involved. He'd gone all the way up to the governor of New Troy. 
But no one was willing to help. No one. 'It would be political 
suicide' Perry had been informed more than once.

Making his way back into his office, he sank into the chair 
behind his desk, lost in a feeling of hopelessness. Lois Lane... 
his Lois Lane... the woman who was like a daughter to him, whom 
he had known since she was a journalism student hustling her 
first summer job to the remarkable reporter he knew today, had 
been sentenced to death. And he, it seemed, was powerless to stop 
it.

No. He was not going to think like that. He would find someone 
who would listen. He would make someone understand and intervene.

* * * * * * * * *

A shiver of fear rippled through Lois' body as a loud clang 
echoed through the enclosed place announcing the closing of the 
doors. Trapped. The short amount of time she'd spent in the jail 
before her trial felt like a picnic compared to this place - The 
Metropolis Women's Prison. Only the hardest criminals were 
trapped inside these walls. And the clanging of the doors told 
her in a way that even her conviction had not, that life as she 
knew it had effectively come to an end. Inside these walls was 
where she would spend whatever remained of her life. 

No hero would come riding in on his white horse to sweep her into 
his arms and ride her off into the sunset. No such creature even 
existed - except, perhaps, in the twisted musings of fairytale 
authors.

No. She was trapped in a nightmare from which there was no hope 
of waking. The walls seemed to close around her. She'd never 
believed herself claustrophobic until this moment. Now the shrill 
noise in her head, the lack of oxygen in the room, the press of 
human flesh around her as she was crowded together with a dozen 
other women was overwhelming. She closed her eyes momentarily, 
trying to gain some semblance of control. She accidentally 
brushed against another woman and was shoved away as a spat curse 
was hurled in her direction. She quickly opened her eyes, 
glancing over at the woman she had touched, swallowing hard when 
she spotted a woman who was a good four inches taller and 
significantly more muscled glaring at her.

Fear. Fear of the unknown, certainly. Fear that every woman 
around her was a potential threat. If they all turned on her at 
once, what hope would she have? She wasn't supposed to be here. 
People like her did not end up in places like this. It was 
unimaginable. It was unthinkable. It was happening.

The stench of all the unwashed bodies which had passed through 
this place seemed to rise up around her, permeating every pore of 
her body, leaving her feeling as if she'd never be clean again.

"Okay! Strip!"

Lois looked in shock at the matron who had just entered the room. 
She thought she'd already experienced every humiliating procedure 
of being checked into jail. First, they locked you behind bars, 
effectively limiting your life to four square walls. Then they 
took away your humanity, treating you as little better than a 
piece of meat. But stripping in a crowd of women... This was new. 
Surely she couldn't mean it!

* * * * * * * * *

Lois was limping slightly as she entered her cell with four other 
women. She kept her eyes directed towards the floor, not wanting 
to meet anyone's eyes while still trying to recover from the 
check-in procedure. Cavity search. She'd heard the words before. 
She'd even thought she understood what they meant. But nothing 
could have prepared her from having cold hands on her, searching 
out the most private places of her body for contraband. She had 
simply had no idea how much the procedure would hurt - both 
physically and mentally. It was the final step in dehumanizing 
her, and she felt completely broken.

For years, criminals had tried to break her, without success. But 
in one day, the state had done what no criminal had ever been 
able to do. She had heard stories about prison changing a person, 
but until now hadn't really understood what that meant. This 
place was already changing her, making her feel less human and 
certainly less in control.

Another door clanged shut behind her and the guard walked away, 
leaving Lois standing where she was, working up the nerve to look 
at her new home.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Lois Lane."

Lois' head shot up in shock. Not only had she been recognized, 
but the voice was familiar. Still, it took her a moment to put a 
name to the face. Or... Well, not exactly a name. She'd never 
heard the woman's name. But she did know where she knew her from. 
Lenny Stokes. She was one of the women Lois had dubbed the Amazon 
women. Officially, bouncers from Lenny Stoke's club. 
Unofficially... Lenny's Stoke's hit-men - or women.

"Okay, look," said Lois, desperately searching for a way to calm 
down the approaching woman. "We all have to live here. So what do 
you say we let bygones be bygones?"

"You're the reason I'm here. When the police took down Lenny 
Stokes, they arrested me, too."

"Well, now, you must admit that helping Lenny blackmail the city 
of Metropolis by destroying buildings using sound might have had 
something to do with why you were arrested." Lois began backing 
up until she was against the bars of the cell. "Not that I have 
anything against it, mind you. I've made some pretty stupid 
choices when it comes to men, too," Lois said, trying to back out 
of her previous statement when she saw the look in the eyes of 
the woman before her. "You know, it occurs to me that we've never 
been properly introduced. I'm Lois Lane and you are..."

"The last thing you're ever going to see."

"Sort of long. Could I just call you 'last thing?'"

The other woman struck out at Lois who ducked at the last moment, 
skirting under the woman's arm to put her behind her attacker. 
The woman's hand slammed into the bars with a force that made 
Lois cringe.

"What do you say we make a fresh start here?" Lois asked in 
desperation as the woman turned towards her, the look of fury on 
her face even more intense now. In the corner of her eye, Lois 
was aware of the other two women passively watching them as if 
enjoying a mildly entertaining sporting event. But she didn't 
have time to worry about them at the moment. "I really don't want 
to hurt you."

"Hurt me?"

"Well..." Lois gestured to the woman's bloody hand.

Three quick steps was all that was required for Lois' attacker to 
cross the room. She swung, once again. Lois ducked and struck out 
at the same time, using her best karate chop to hit the woman in 
the stomach. Lois flinched from the pain in her hand, losing her 
balance slightly from surprise at the woman's lack of reaction. 
That one second's hesitation allowed the woman's hand to plow 
into the side of Lois' head. A piercing pain shot through Lois.

She raised her hand, just in time to prevent a second blow from 
landing. Still, the force of the deflected punch was enough to 
knock Lois off her feet. She scrambled backwards, away from her 
attacker, hands and feet on the floor beneath her. Her hands 
being occupied was her fatal error as the woman's foot came up, 
plowing into her nose. And suddenly, almost mercifully, 
everything went black.

* * * * * * * * *

"Who did this to you?"

Lois regained consciousness slowly. Opening her mostly good eye, 
she tried to focus on the people standing beside her bed. Her bed 
and yet... she was not in her cell. Unlike the dull gray of the 
room she'd been in, the walls of this room were white.

"Where..." Her voice cracked, and she smacked her lips together 
in an attempt to create moisture. "Water?" she asked.

"Tell us who did this to you."

The voice of the woman in a guard's uniform was unsympathetic. 
Lois looked away, focusing on the far wall. Surely while she was 
lying there, every muscle in her body screaming out in pain, they 
could show a little compassion - recognize that she was, at the 
very least, human. Why should she answer their questions if they 
were determined to treat her as if she didn't matter anyway? 
Besides, she'd heard that fingering another inmate was the surest 
way to the grave. If she at least believed she could trust these 
people... But they saw her as no better than the other 'animals' 
inhabiting this place.

"No one," she finally said, looking back at the woman questioning 
her, defiance in her expression. "No one did this to me."

"Really." The resulting word showed a complete lack of belief. 
"Then how did this happen?"

Lois kept her eyes on the woman. "I fell off my cot," she said, 
daring the woman to challenge her.

"Hmph." The woman almost sounded as if she had expected the 
response.

Lois closed her eyes, taking a breath of relief when the woman 
and the two others with her turned and left. Lois just wanted to 
sleep, to stay in this bed. But... what were the chances that she 
wouldn't be returned to her cell? She felt a stab of fear. Even 
if that Amazon woman didn't attack her immediately, what happened 
when Lois had to sleep? No. No, she wouldn't think about that. 
She'd find a way. She just... She groaned. She just needed a 
little sleep. When she got a little stronger, she was certain 
she'd be able to think of something.

"How you feeling?"

Lois opened her eyes again, surprised by the gentle voice and 
hands as they helped her into a sitting position and put a glass 
of water into her trembling hands. Lois took a sip, flinching 
slightly as she swallowed. 

"In addition to a broken nose, you've got a couple of cracked 
ribs," said the new woman.

"What's... What's your name?" Lois asked. It was the first time 
she'd asked for a person's name since she'd been brought to this 
place. It was also the first time she'd wanted to know a person's 
name. But then, this was the first person who had treated her 
like a human. She gave the young woman a wobbly smile.

"Sandy Steward."

Lois gasped slightly when she pulled in a breath.

"It will hurt for a while. But there's no permanent damage." 

She released Lois, allowing her to lie down again.

"Great," muttered Lois. "But for now it hurts to breathe."

"It will take some time," Sandy responded, moving away from the 
bed to check on another patient.

Lois watched her go, but her mind was elsewhere. Time. It would 
take time. And then what? Going back to a cell with a woman who 
quite clearly wanted her dead. Lois closed her eyes. Later. She'd 
worry about that later.

* * * * * * * * *

Lois forced one foot in front of the other, ignoring everything 
around her except for the place where her next step was about to 
land. She was dreading going back to her cell. But after a short 
time in the infirmary, she'd been informed that the bed was 
needed. And since she was... How did they put it? Ambulatory? Why 
did that word make it sound as if she should be carried instead 
of walking? Anyway, since she was considered ambulatory, she was 
being moved back to her cell.

She wished she could have had a little bit more time. Time to 
heal. Time to figure out how she was going to deal with Ms. 
Amazon. It crossed her mind to wonder if she'd done the right 
thing - not telling the authorities that she'd been beaten up. 
She glanced briefly at her escort. Maybe she should tell her. 

No. No. That was probably not a good idea. Did she really want 
the reputation of being a snitch in this place? Or what about 
solitary confinement? She wasn't entirely sure what that entailed 
- and wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know. It sounded safe 
enough. But the idea of spending the next few years without any 
human contact except for her guards... No. She'd rather avoid 
that - except, perhaps, as a last resort.

She came to a stop when her escort did, still not looking up.

"Well? Are you expecting an engraved invitation, princess?"

Lois looked around before glancing back at the guard in 
confusion. "But... I thought I was being taken to my cell?"

"This is your cell."

Lois' eyebrows rose.

"Someone must have decided that the princess needed her own 
cell."

Lois let out a breath of absolute relief. She didn't give a damn 
what her escort thought or what she was called... not as long as 
she could sleep at night without the fear of being stabbed in the 
back.

"Well, do I have to stand here all day, holding the door open?"

Lois quickly stepped into the cell, flinching slightly, but 
almost in relief, when the door clanged closed behind her. 
Standing in the entranceway, she checked out her new 
surroundings. The concrete room was no more than five feet by 
nine feet. It contained a single cot, a toilet - her very own 
toilet - and a small alcove which might service as a desk.

"Hey, you."

Lois spun around to see a small mirror being held just outside 
the cell and in it was reflected an African American woman who 
appeared, at least from the small reflection, to be quite a bit 
older than Lois.

"What's your name, child?"

"Lois."

"Well, Lois, it seems you and I are neighbors. I'm Wilma."

* * * * * * * * *

Lois curled up on her cot as tears began to form in the corners 
of her eyes. Never had she been as terrified. Maybe her immediate 
concern of being killed in her sleep had dissipated. But that 
didn't take away the overwhelming terror of what awaited her in 
the future. The state wanted to kill her. How had she got into 
this situation? 

No. No. She was not going to think about that. She wasn't. After 
all, what good would it do to go through all of it again? It had 
been almost a year now since the death of Elroy Sykes. She'd gone 
to work and continued to write stories from the time she was 
originally released to the day of her trial. But whenever she 
wasn't working, the questions were always the same. They said 
time healed all wounds. But this one seemed to get deeper every 
time she went through the events of that horrible day. So why 
couldn't she stop dwelling on it? Sleep, when it finally came 
some time later, was a welcome escape.

* * * * * * * * *

Lois stepped into the park and looked around.

"Glad you made it."

Lois turned to find Sykes standing behind her holding a pistol.

"Hey, wait a minute, Sykes..." Lois began backing away.

"Relax, Lois," Sykes said, popping the clip out of the gun. "Not 
loaded. See? It's for demonstration purposes only. Here. You take 
it." He held the gun out to her.

"No thanks," Lois said, refusing to take the gun. "I don't do 
guns."

"What? Afraid you'll break a nail? You wanna know how Big Mo got 
offed, or don't you?" He tossed her the gun.

Catching the gun was nothing more than a reflex action. 

"Okay, okay, now imagine I'm Big Mo," Sykes continued. "Six feet, 
five inches of repressed anger and body odor, right? And you're 
the guy whose facial features I'm gonna rearrange for rattin' on 
me - or so I think."

Lois' hands had dropped so that she was no longer pointing the 
gun at Sykes. He reached out, lifting the barrel so that the gun 
was once again pointing in his direction.

"You wanna hold that up a little higher? Thanks. You're a sport."

Lois held the gun as directed, just wishing he'd get on with his 
stupid story - and seriously starting to wonder if this was a 
waste of her time.

"Surprise, surprise, all of a sudden Zabrinski ain't so brave 
anymore. He starts pleading with the guy. 'No, don't shoot. I got 
a wife and kids at home. And then - bam! - that's it. Hasta la 
vista, baby!"

Lois jumped when the gun in her hands jerked back and a loud 
sound echoed in her ears. It took her a moment to realize what 
had happened. She took a stunned step forward, looking down in a 
daze to see...

...her lifeless eyes staring back at her.

Lois jerked awake, covered in sweat and breathing heavy. Every 
night. Every single night. And she still didn't know whether... 
No. No. She was not going to do this. She'd asked herself these 
same questions a hundred times before her trial. And there were 
no answers to be found. She knew that. And she was not going to 
drive herself crazy for whatever time she had remaining to her 
with questions that could never be answered.

* * * * * * * * *
Three Weeks Later
* * * * * * * * *

Clark stood, looking in awe at the globe in front of the Daily 
Planet. He could hardly believe the emotions running through him. 
The energy of the place seemed to draw him in, giving him the 
feeling that finally, after all this time, he was where he 
belonged.

He'd originally planned to come to Metropolis three years ago. 
He'd even managed to set up an interview with Perry White. But 
when his father had suffered a heart attack and undergone a 
triple bypass, his presence had been needed on the farm. He 
didn't regret his decision. Not one bit. Not if the alternative 
was that his parents would lose the farm. Still, he'd put his own 
life, his own dreams on hold to help out.

In fact, until about a week ago, he'd practically given up hope 
of ever working for the Daily Planet - until a notice that the 
Daily Planet was looking to fill a spot on the city beat had been 
posted in several major papers. When he'd first seen it, his 
heart had jumped. Finally, a chance to fulfill his dream. He'd 
cut the article out and stuck it in the pocket of his shirt. But 
by the time he'd reached home, he'd all but dismissed the idea. 
His folks still needed him in Smallville.

Of course, by dismissing the opportunity from his mind, he'd 
managed to seriously underestimate his parents. His mother found 
the article while going through his pockets before doing a wash, 
and she and his father sat him down and, after a long talk, 
convinced him that by hiring a boy to help part-time, they could 
manage without him.

His spirits had soared. He'd called his old college prof, once 
again asking for him to put in a good word with Perry White and 
once again had a chance to be interviewed by the legend himself. 
Of course, being granted an interview and actually being hired 
were two entirely different things. His experience in journalism 
was limited mostly to foreign countries and small papers. And, 
other than his part-time work as editor of the Smallville Post, 
there had been a three year gap since his last job. All of that 
combined to make this a long shot at best. Still, he couldn't 
shake the feeling that he was finally home.

"Hey, you comin' in or not?"

Clark's eyes snapped back to the front of the Daily Planet to see 
someone holding the door open for him.

"Sorry," Clark said sheepishly, making his way inside.

* * * * * * * * *

"Where are those pictures? Jimmy?" Perry bellowed across the 
newsroom. "Damn. Where the Sam Hill is that boy?"

Turning around, he stormed into his office and slammed the door. 
He knew Jimmy... well, and everyone else at the Daily Planet were 
avoiding him today. And he knew he was being too hard on 
everyone. 

The mood in the newsroom had been somber since Lois' conviction. 
And he knew most of that was due to him. But try as he might, he 
couldn't seem to snap out of it. 

There didn't seem to be anything he could do for Lois. He'd gone 
to see her, of course. And she claimed to have forgiven him for 
'his' testimony. She even claimed to believe that he had no 
memory of it and was, in fact, certain that he had not been the 
one giving testimony. But since he was unable to prove it, no one 
who could help Lois wanted to listen. Even her lawyer had told 
him that witness remorse - which is what she had called it - was 
not grounds to set aside a conviction.

Of course, he had no intention of giving up. He would continue to 
cooperate with her lawyers on her appeals and even, if he could 
think of a way to use them, call in every favor he was owed. He 
was not going to give up without a fight - he just had no idea of 
where to direct that fight. And Lois' current attitude - almost 
one of resigned acceptance - wasn't helping. She should be 
throwing all of her energy into appealing this decision. Instead, 
she seemed almost... relieved. He couldn't understand it at all. 
Lois was the most determined fighter he had ever known. Why was 
she now so... passive? He had to admit that he had the distinct 
feeling that there was something she wasn't telling him. But 
every time he raised the issue, she simply changed the subject.

But today he felt almost as bad as he had when he realized that 
his supposed testimony had helped convict Lois. He was betraying 
Lois once more, this time of his own free will. But the suits 
upstairs had insisted that it was time to find her replacement. 
And until he could find a way to right this wrong, this 
miscarriage of justice, he had no choice but to obey. But that 
didn't mean he had to like it. And he didn't. Not one little bit.

He sank down into his chair, picking up the resume for the next 
candidate and looking at it in disgust. Lois had been, by far, 
the greatest journalist he'd ever had working for him. Hell, she 
was probably the greatest journalist he'd ever had the privilege 
of knowing. How was he expected to replace her? Especially by 
someone who's last job, nearly three years ago, had been working 
for the Borneo Gazette - well, unless one considered 'Part-time 
editor of the Smallville Post' a job?

There was a tentative knock on his door.

"Yes!"

The door opened a crack. "There's a Clark Kent here to see you, 
chief."

Perry grunted, not bothering to rise from behind his desk, but 
still gesturing with his hand for Jimmy to let in the latest in a 
string of interviewees. This one seemed the least promising one 
to date. The only reason Perry had agreed to give him an 
interview was at the request of Professor Carlton. He seemed to 
think the young man was exceptional. But now, having looked 
through Kent's resume, Perry knew this was a waste of time.

"Mr. White?"

Perry finally looked up to see the good-looking, dark-haired man 
standing in his doorway. Reluctantly, he pulled himself together, 
rising to his feet and making his way around the desk. It wasn't 
this man's fault that Perry's favorite reporter was facing a 
death sentence. And it wasn't his fault that Perry was being 
forced to find her replacement.

"Mr. Kent, I believe," he said, offering the young man his hand.

Kent took the offered hand and considering how tightly he 
squeezed, Perry was left with no doubt that the man in his office 
was nervous. His grip was just short of being painful.

"It's a real honor to meet you, sir," Kent said. "I did a paper 
on you in college. Your hard hitting coverage of the war in 
Vietnam was exceptional."

Perry actually smiled, probably for the first time since Lois' 
conviction. Whether Kent's comments were true or not, he 
certainly had 'sucking up' down to an art form. He gestured the 
young man to a seat and began asking him all the appropriate 
interview questions. Kent had brought some of his work, which 
Perry looked at with interest. However, it was quickly obvious 
that his initial observations had been correct. Kent was simply 
not qualified for the job.

"I'm sorry, son," Perry said after informing Kent of his 
decision.

Kent gave him a sad smile. "I understand, sir. Well, thanks for 
your time. I suppose I knew it was a long shot."

Perry watched, kind of sad to see him go, as Kent walked to the 
door to his office.

"Oh, right," Kent said, turning back towards the older man. "I 
just wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Lois Lane's 
conviction. I've read her stories for years. Her reputation for 
getting to the bottom of a story is almost legend. I figured I 
could learn a lot by working with her. Her conviction was a great 
loss to all of us." He waited for a couple of seconds before 
giving a small nod. "Nice to meet you, sir." Turning, he headed 
towards the elevators.

Perry knew he was expected to respond. But the lump in his throat 
at the young man's thoughtful, and obviously heart-felt words 
made that impossible. He moved over to the door as he watched 
Kent press the button for the elevator and wait for it to arrive.

"Kent!"

Clark Kent turned back around.

"When can you start?" Perry asked.

Kent's facial expression was comical, as if he could hardly 
believe what he'd just heard. Perry almost burst out laughing. He 
wasn't entirely sure what had just possessed him to do that. But 
for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to regret it either.

* * * * * * * * *

Clark ran a hand through his hair as he leaned back in his chair 
and looked around the nearly deserted newsroom. He had known if 
he got the job at the paper that he would have to pay his dues. 
He simply hadn't realized how frustrating it would be. 

His first assignment had been a dog show. Now that might have 
been interesting except for one devil-dog who had managed to 
destroy Clark's best pair of dress pants. Clark's only 
consolation was that he wasn't vulnerable or the dog would have 
left teeth marks on his lower calf as well.

Then he'd gone on to cover a press conference where the mayor 
droned on about how the new study into crime statistics which 
showed violent crime up from last year didn't really indicate 
that the city was becoming more violent. Clark still wasn't 
entirely sure how that worked. But like a good soldier, he'd 
written the story.

But by far the worst part of all of it was that on both stories, 
he'd been partnered with Ralph... Could the guy be any more 
crude? Every woman was ogled - if she were lucky. The unlucky 
ones were subjected to what the man considered 'wit'. And working 
with him had been... almost humiliating. The man treated Clark 
like his 'protege.' But if there was one thing of which Clark was 
absolutely certain it was that whatever Ralph might have to teach 
him, Clark didn't want to learn.

No. It was time Clark took matters into his own hands. And that 
meant that he had to find a lead of his own and turn it into a 
story which would convince Perry that he had the ability to do 
more than grunt work. That was why he was there after hours, 
slaving over AP stories coming over the teletype machine, 
reviewing every announcement being sent into the Planet. He was 
determined to find something, anything to investigate - even if 
he had to use his own time to do it.

But as the newsroom grew increasingly deserted, Clark found 
himself still without a solid lead.

"Kent!"

Clark looked up at the sound of his boss yelling from the doorway 
to his office. "Yes, sir?" he asked, immediately rising to his 
feet.

"What are you still doing here? You handed your story in hours 
ago."

Clark smiled. "Guess I'm still having problems believing I'm 
working here - can't quite bring myself to leave. It's as if I'm 
afraid of waking up from a really good dream."

Perry studied him for a moment before a smile quirked one corner 
of his mouth. He walked towards Clark. He didn't speak again 
until he was standing next to Clark's desk. "Tell me something, 
son. Have you been kissing the blarney stone?"

Chuckling, Perry made his way back to his office. Clark had just 
turned his attention back to his work when he overheard a woman 
speaking to Jimmy.

"Who's the new tight end?" the woman drawled.

He kept his eyes cast downward. The last thing he needed was the 
distraction of a workplace romance. He just didn't have time for 
it.

"His name's Clark Kent. He's..." Jimmy's voice trailed off.

Clark knew why a moment later when a shadow loomed over his desk. 
She had obviously walked away from Jimmy without waiting for him 
to finish his comment. Realizing he had no choice, he looked up.

"Hello," the woman said, her tone of voice itself being enough to 
convey her interest even if her eyes hadn't been running over his 
body. "Catherine Grant - 'Cat's Corner.'"

"Yes, I've read your column."

"Then my reputation precedes me," Cat purred.

Clark gave her a polite nod and looked back at the papers in 
front of him. 

"I know what it's like to be new in town. I'd be happy to show 
you around."

Clark looked back up, wondering how he was going to get out of 
this. After all, the invitation itself sounded innocent enough. 
But the woman sitting on the corner of his desk was quite 
obviously a predator - sizing up her prey. There was nothing 
innocent about her proposal.

"That's very nice of you, Ms. Grant."

"Cat."

"Cat," he corrected, pretending not to notice the way she could 
interject so much sex into the single word. "Maybe when I get 
settled." Hopefully she'd understand that brush off.

"It's a date," Cat said loudly, getting off the corner of his 
desk and, without giving him a chance to respond, heading away.

Sighing, he watched her go before looking back at the work in 
front of him. Why was there always a woman like her in every 
newsroom? Well, he'd just have to do what he could to avoid her 
for a while. Maybe then she'd get the message.

* * * * * * * * *

Lois' pulse raced as she sat down on her cot, tucked her legs up 
under her and picked up the precious object. Getting one of these 
fully intact was a small miracle in the world in which she now 
existed. Lots of papers were delivered to the prison. But unless 
one was there early, it was almost impossible to get one that 
wasn't already torn apart. And if there was one thing Lois hated, 
it was getting part of a paper.

But today, she'd been lucky. One of the guards had given it to 
her. He was a man somewhere in his mid-thirties by the looks of 
him. His name was Michael... Oh, what was his last name? He had 
the beginnings of a receding hairline and wasn't exactly what she 
would call handsome. On the other hand, he was built like a brick 
wall. Obviously he worked out regularly. He had given her this 
precious object saying that he was aware of what she had done for 
a living and thought she might like it. She had been touched. She 
wasn't sure she'd ever received a more thoughtful gift. She'd hid 
it under the mattress on her cot. Only now had she dared to 
remove it.

The morning edition of the Daily Planet.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it, her eyes focusing 
on the Daily Planet symbol at the top. Tears came unbidden to her 
eyes, but she fought them back. In the short time she'd been 
behind bars, if there was one thing she'd learned it was that 
crying was something she could not afford to do. It was regarded 
as a sign of weakness. And weakness was a sure way to the 
infirmary - especially for her. She'd put a number of these women 
behind bars in the first place. So far, her only serious 
encounter had taken place on her first night. As a result, there 
had been no need to put her in solitary. But there had been a few 
close calls.

Pulling herself together, she took her time reading the front 
page. It was international news. But then, since her 
imprisonment, there hadn't been any really juicy local stories. 
Not that that necessarily meant anything. She was well aware that 
at times news in the city could be slow. And now might just be 
one of those times. Still, part of her liked to think that the 
reason there wasn't more city news was because she wasn't out 
there, pounding the pavement and breaking the stories.

Once she'd read everything on the front page, she carefully 
flipped the paper open as if handling the most delicate of 
manuscripts, expecting it to fall apart at any moment. On page 
three, she found the city section. She read slowly, taking the 
time to picture her colleagues as they dug up information and 
interviewed sources. A story by Myerson about a fire in Suicide 
Slum. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the scene he 
was creating with his words, imagining herself there, fighting 
with other reporters to dig for the story behind the story. But 
this time, there appeared to be no story behind the story. A 
normal household cooking accident in an apartment building. No 
one injured. Emergency response time was good. Everyone safely 
evacuated. The only real damage was to the apartment building 
itself.

Moving down the page, she spotted a second article. A story about 
the increase of violent crime in Metropolis. She snorted. She was 
one of those statistics. After all, she had been convicted of 
first degree murder. She almost skipped reading the article when 
she saw Ralph McDonald's name on the byline. But... Ralph's name 
wasn't the only one on the byline. Clark Kent.

She realized immediately who he must be and had to fight against 
a sudden stab of pain that shot through her heart. Her 
replacement. She searched her mind for a minute, trying to think 
if the name seemed familiar. It didn't.

She'd known Perry would have to replace her, of course. Or would 
have if she'd thought about it. But this... Her mind flashed to 
the newsroom, seeing a slightly overweight man with a bad toupee 
and ill-fitting suit setting a cup of coffee down on her desk. In 
her mind's eye, the coffee sloshed slightly over the edges of the 
cup. But did the man notice? No! Of course not. Instead, he 
pushed her notes off to the side and right into the puddle of 
liquid without as much as a passing thought.

She jerked back to her current surroundings, finding it almost 
more painful to realize that the cold, impersonal jail cell in 
which she found herself now was more comforting than her image of 
the newsroom.

She returned her gaze to the paper, staring at the unfamiliar 
name for so long that the letters began to bleed together. Clark 
Kent. Who was he? She knew most of the journalists in the city. 
She also knew, at least by reputation, most of the top 
journalists at other papers in the country. And Clark Kent was 
not one of them. She felt a moment of anger. How could Perry 
replace her with some hack from nowheresville? At the very least, 
he should have raided another paper, cajoling one of their top 
people into changing alliances.

She briefly skimmed the article, knowing what she would find. 
Suddenly she stopped, going back to the beginning and this time 
reading more thoroughly. It was not what she expected. She had 
expected Ralph and what she had... Well, it wasn't Kerth material 
by any stretch of the imagination. It was shallow and did nothing 
more than give the details of the report and the Mayor's reaction 
to it. It contained no examination of the underlying causes of 
the rise of violent crime in Metropolis and nothing, beyond the 
Mayor's promise that this was being taken seriously, to explain 
what steps were being taken to curb the disturbing trend. But 
what caught her attention was the writing. Ralph had not been the 
one putting pen to paper - so to speak - on this story. Her eyes 
flicked back to the byline. Clark Kent, it seemed, if nothing 
else, was an elegant writer.

Of course, she still hated him. She had to. On principle. Well 
that and for not even bothering to clean up his spilled coffee so 
that her notes didn't get ruined.

"Enjoying the paper?"

Lois looked up to see the guard, Michael... whoever... standing, 
watching her through the bars. "Very much. Thank you. I can't 
tell you how much this..." She gestured at the paper. "...means 
to me."

Her words were completely sincere. But the slight smile he gave 
her in return... No. She was reading too much into it. He'd been 
considerate - nothing more. And if she kept reading things into 
it every time someone was nice to her... No.

He gave her a small nod and moved on down the line. See? Nothing 
more than a friendly act of human compassion. She turned her 
attention back to the paper.

As she continued to read the remainder of the article, she felt 
her pain and anger turn to something else. Depression. Her life 
really was over. Even her desk at the Daily Planet was now 
occupied by someone else. She had really and truly ceased to have 
a life outside these four walls.

It would be years, she knew, until the sentence of death would be 
carried out. Appeals to be prepared and argued. The state had to 
be sure that every 't' had been crossed and every 'i' had been 
dotted before sticking a needle into her arm to end her life. 
But... At this point, it hardly mattered. Her life was already 
over. It had ended the moment that man, Clark Kent, first sat 
down behind her desk.

* * * * * * * * *

"Damn!" Perry exclaimed, slamming down the phone in disgust.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

Perry looked up to see Kent standing in the doorway. It was the 
next evening and Kent was once again in the newsroom well after 
most of the staff had emptied out. If nothing else, Kent was 
obviously a hard worker. Either that or he simply didn't have a 
life beyond the walls of the Daily Planet. Either way though, 
Perry couldn't say he minded the boy's intrusion tonight. "Ahh... 
It's nothing. I've just been summoned to another one of those 
dang-fooled budget meeting with the boys upstairs tonight. 
Wanting to challenge our expense accounts again, no doubt. Or 
something equally as infuriating. At least you'd think they'd 
provide advance notice of evening meetings instead of springing 
them on us at the last minute. It's almost as if they expect me 
not to have a life outside this place."

"You had some big plans for the evening I take it."

"Sort of. And..." Perry waved his hand at the phone. "I can't 
even get word through that I can't make it tonight. You'd 
think..." His voice trailed off as he looked contemplatively at 
Clark. "Son, would you consider doing me a huge favor?"

* * * * * * * * *

Lois had found herself glancing at the clock almost every five 
minutes today. Even though she knew he would not be there until 
the evening, she couldn't stop from looking. As she folded 
laundry, she watched the clock. As she ate her meals, she watched 
the clock. Perry had taken to visiting her every Tuesday and 
Thursday evening. And it was Thursday.

Perry was the only link she had to the outside world these days. 
He was, after all, the only one who visited her any more. Before 
the trial, others had come, colleagues mostly. But her mother had 
come once, with her sister, before declaring that she couldn't 
stand to see Lois like this and wouldn't be back. But... well, 
that was her mother. And she supposed that at least she'd tried. 
Her father hadn't come at all.

So when Lucy had returned to California, Lois had been left 
alone. Lucy had wanted to stay longer, but Lois couldn't bear the 
idea that her sister was putting her life on hold for her. So 
she'd sent her away.

But still, Lois couldn't quite help but resent her mother. If the 
visits were hard on Ellen Lane, it was nowhere near as hard as it 
was on Lois to be abandoned to this hell hole by her entire 
family. After all, Lois was well aware that these visits were 
equally hard on Perry. She knew she should tell him that he 
didn't need to come. But... she hadn't been able, so far, to 
force herself to do it. His visits were the only thing she had to 
look forward to - even if it hurt to see the pain in his eyes at 
every visit.

Besides, today she had a bone to pick with him - a bone named 
Clark Kent. She intended to give him a piece of her mind about 
hiring that hack. At the very least, it would lead to a spirited 
discussion. And if there was one thing Lois missed, it was 
spirited discussions - at least ones where she knew she was still 
going to be alive at the end.

She spotted one of the matrons coming towards her and smiled. It 
was time. Perry must be in the visitors' room, waiting for her. 

"Lane, you've got a visitor," the woman said, confirming her 
hypothesis.

* * * * * * * * *

Lois walked slowly towards the man on the other side of the glass 
barrier separating the prisoners from the general public. When 
she'd entered the room, she immediately scanned it for Perry - 
confused when she didn't spot him. She'd turned towards the guard 
who gestured her towards the good-looking, dark-haired man 
currently standing, his mouth hanging slightly open, on the other 
side of the glass.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she made her way towards 
him. She was certain she didn't know him. So what would he want 
to see her about? Of course, her curiosity at finding a strange 
man there to see her couldn't quite quell her disappointment at 
not seeing Perry. In many ways, it was like expecting an 
important phone call only to discover that the person on the 
other end is calling to offer a long distance deal. On the other 
hand, she couldn't say that the piece of eye candy in front of 
her was a completely unwelcome sight. It was odd the things one 
noticed when locked away from the world in a woman's prison, she 
reflected as she took a seat on her side of the glass.

When he didn't sit immediately, she cocked an eyebrow in 
amusement. She was the one in prison, yet he was the one 
currently looking as if he'd not seen a woman in years. 

He seemed to notice her expression and quickly shook his head, as 
if trying to get his mind back on whatever track had brought him 
there. He sat, picking up the phone beside him. She did the same.

"Yes?" she asked in amusement when he didn't say anything.

"Perry asked me to tell you he couldn't make it tonight," he 
blurted out.

She felt her heart sink. Perry's visits were one of the few 
things she had to look forward to these days. And besides, she 
had to bawl him out for replacing her with...

"What's your name?" she suddenly asked, causing the man on the 
other side of the glass to look directly into her eyes for the 
first time. She felt confused at the unexpected jolt to her 
heart. She really had to have been in this hell-hole too long if 
she was able to be swept away by a pretty face. In a way, her 
immediate physical reaction to him made her dislike this 
messenger boy even more. He reminded her, only too clearly, of 
what she would never have again. 

"Clark Kent," he answered.

"I knew it!"

"Knew what?"

"You're the hack Perry hired to replace me!" She knew she was 
being unfair, but she didn't particularly care. How dare this man 
come here - expecting to take Perry's place? How dare he take her 
place at the Daily Planet? And how dare he rub her nose in the 
knowledge of what she could never have again?

Kent seemed to recoil slightly from the verbal assault. "I'm 
sorry... I didn't..."

"Didn't what? Didn't expect me to know who you are? Figures. 
Perry should have been out raiding the competition to find 
someone to replace me. And instead, he hires..." She gestured 
towards him, letting her eyes wander slowly over his body. "If I 
didn't know Perry, I'd think he hired you for window dressing."

"Now hold on a minute," Kent responded, showing some spirit for 
the first time. "Maybe I'm not the reporter you are, Ms. Lane. 
But I'm not some hack either. I've worked at papers all over the 
world. The Borneo Gazette. The Kazekstan Times. And how dare 
you..."

"Where are you from?" she interrupted.

"Smallville, Kansas."

"Figures."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Perry could have got someone from the Washington Post or the New 
York Times. But who does he get? Some leftover of the Smallville 
Gazette!"

"The Smallville Post."

"I knew it!" 

"And I'll have you know that I wasn't some leftover. I was the 
editor."

"Oh, sorry. That makes all the difference," Lois responded 
sarcastically.

"You sure have a lot of opinions for someone on death row!"

She felt as if she'd been slapped and saw a moment of confused 
regret pass through his eyes. He suddenly stood, still holding 
the phone. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said that. I'll just... 
Anyway, Perry asked me to tell you that he's sorry. He'll be here 
next Tuesday. But there was a meeting he couldn't get out of 
tonight. I'm obviously making you miserable. That wasn't... I'm 
sorry. I'll just..." He gestured behind him. 

"Oh, right. I'm sure you have other places to be. Don't want to 
spend too much time with the convicted murderer - can't be good 
for your wholesome country boy reputation."

"Goodbye, Ms. Lane," he completed quickly before hanging up the 
phone and making a quick dash for the door.

Lois sat there for a long moment, trying to figure out exactly 
what she was feeling. He was gone. As she'd suspected, he was a 
hack from nowheresville. He'd deserved everything she'd dished 
out. So why was it when he'd reminded her of her current 
position, that she had felt as if he'd reached in and torn out 
her heart? She'd almost managed to forget her current situation 
while tearing a strip off of him. So what was it about Mr. Kent 
that left her feeling as if... 

She groaned. She wasn't that shallow - was she? She hadn't 
seriously been swept away by a pretty face - okay, well, a pretty 
face and an obviously impressive body even if he did try to hide 
it under the sloppy suit. She was Lois Lane for crying out loud! 
So why had it hurt so much when he'd made it very clear that he 
saw her as nothing more than a convicted murderer? Had she 
really, seriously wanted him to see her as a wom... as one of the 
best journalist in the world? She glanced down at the dull gray 
prison uniform and gently touched the remnants of her black eye - 
not that there was much chance of him seeing more than a murder 
convict when he'd looked at her in this outfit.

She also couldn't quite understand why she'd been so... 
condescending towards him. It wasn't his fault that she was in 
prison facing a death sentence. But something about him... 
something she couldn't quite name just seemed to bring it out in 
her.

"Lane, let's get a move on. Other people are waiting."

Lois rose to her feet and with one final glance at the door 
through which Clark Kent had disappeared from her life, headed 
back to her lonely jail cell.

* * * * * * * * *

She was the most infuriating woman Clark had ever known! He'd 
been doing Perry a favor. And yet, almost from the moment he sat 
down, she'd been on the attack. A hack! How dare she? She knew 
nothing about him. And okay, so maybe he was from Smallville, 
Kansas. But that was no reason to treat him the way she had. In 
fact, he was proud to be from Smallville.

So what right did she have to talk to him that way? Okay, so 
maybe he'd been a big fan of hers since she'd brought Lex Luthor 
down - choosing truth over a man she was supposed to love. He'd 
imagined her to be a woman of strength who had sacrificed her own 
heart for the safety of strangers.

How could he have been so wrong? Not that he knew why he should 
be so surprised. After all, she'd been convicted of murder. Maybe 
Luthor had simply done something to infuriate her. Maybe he'd 
cheated on her. That was probably the only reason she'd brought 
him down. The disappointment he felt when that thought sunk in 
was palpable. So what had he expected? An angel?

On the other hand, she certainly looked like an angel. When she'd 
first walked into the room, his heart had flipped over and come 
to a complete stop before it started jack-hammering, pounding 
against the side of his chest. But that was before she'd opened 
her mouth.

What was he thinking? Even after she'd started talking he'd been 
unable to help but notice how incredibly beautiful she was. She 
could even look good with the remnants of a black eye and in 
prison gray.

He groaned. He wasn't that shallow - was he? He hadn't seriously 
been swept away by a pretty face - well, okay a pretty face and a 
great figure. She was a convicted murderer - someone who didn't 
value human life. So what was he thinking? How could he possibly 
be attracted to someone like that?

No. He wasn't shallow. He'd been reading her work for years - and 
had half fallen for her just through her words. She'd been 
responsible for the downfall of Lex Luthor - the third richest 
man in the world. The imprisonment of The Prankster had been her 
doing. Both Bill Church Sr. and Bill Church Jr. - the heads of 
Intergang - were serving long prison sentences because of her. 
The capture of one of Intergang's most dangerous assassins, Diana 
Stride, had been because of her hard work. Exposing Daniel Hansen 
- a state senator who was running for Governor of New Troy - was 
entirely her doing. And then, of course, his favorite - she had 
been responsible for the capture of Dillinger, Bonnie and Clyde 
and Al Capone. So was it any wonder that he'd been knocked off 
his feet when he'd discovered that the woman who had broken such 
incredible stories was also the most beautiful woman he'd ever 
seen?

What was he thinking? She was a murderer! He'd always respected 
human life. She was a woman who had deliberately taken a life - 
with no regard for his family and friends, with no regard for the 
sanctity of human life. Even if she weren't in prison, facing a 
death sentence, they'd never have a future together. So how was 
it he could still find himself drawn to her?

Growling, he picked up his pace, jogging through the darkened 
streets until he spotted a park with a secluded patch of trees. 
Darting into the trees, he took to the sky, determined to out-fly 
the completely inappropriate feelings he was having for this 
woman.

* * * * * * * * *

Lois sank down onto her cot, contemplating the odd thoughts that 
seemed to run through a person's mind when her life was 
effectively over. That was one of the ironies of being on death 
row - she was alive and yet she wasn't. And so, although her 
heart continued to beat, she suddenly found herself looking at 
life through the eyes of the dead - contemplating things from a 
completely different perspective.

And the things one missed... A hot bath, taken in the privacy of 
her own apartment was probably first on the list. But a close 
second was embodied in the man who had come to see her tonight. 
More than anything else, that was what she resented most about 
Mr. Kent. For reasons she refused to analyze too deeply, he 
represented strong hands running over her body, a body which 
became harder as hers melted, the feel of whiskers brushing 
against her face as they kissed. She swallowed hard, suddenly 
fighting back tears. Never again would she know what it was to 
get lost in a man's arms for a moment of blind passion.

Not that she'd been with a man for quite a while. Nor had it been 
much of a priority in recent years. Nor even that her previous 
experiences in that department had been completely satisfying. 
But looking at it through the eyes of one who was already dead... 
She pulled in an involuntary ragged breath.

She had felt an odd sense of abandonment when Kent had walked out 
on her. And she didn't even know him. But there had been 
something about having him there. Something she couldn't quite 
put her finger on. Suddenly, she snorted. Unlike when Perry would 
come to visit her, there had been no pain in Kent's eyes when 
he'd been talking to her. It had been a welcome change. Maybe if 
he came back... What was she thinking? He wouldn't be back. Not 
after the way she'd treated him. 

But that was a good thing, wasn't it? After all, she certainly 
didn't need the constant reminder of what she could never have. 

But then, wasn't that only fitting? After what she had... No! No. 
She wasn't going to continue torturing herself with this. There 
were no answers - no quick fix that would solve everything. So 
why was it she kept trying to rewrite the past? It was over. She 
was convicted. And that was the end of it. She had to let it go 
and accept her fate.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Lois looked up at the guard, Michael... Oh why couldn't she ever 
remember his last name?

"Did you enjoy the paper?"

"Yes. And thanks, by the way," said Lois, getting up from the cot 
to join him at the bars.

"You know I could arrange for you to get a fresh copy every day."

Lois' heart skipped a beat before caution suddenly kicked in. A 
one time act of charity was one thing. But a regular act of 
kindness... "In exchange for...?"

The smile that curved at his lips left a queasy feeling in Lois' 
stomach.

"I'm sure we can work something out." His hand came up to her 
face.

Without thinking about the consequences, Lois instantly stepped 
back. The look that replaced his smile caused Lois' spider-sense 
to kick in. She was in danger and she'd tipped her hand. Without 
further response, he turned and walked away. Lois let out a 
breath of relief, walking back to the cot to sink down onto the 
side.

"Lois."

The woman in the cell next to her, using a stage whisper to say 
her name caused Lois to scoot down to the end of her bed. She 
couldn't see the woman, but if they were both sitting near the 
bars, they could hear each other well enough. Wilma. Lois had 
come to know the woman a little bit over the past few weeks. In 
fact, she was the only other prisoner Lois really did know. She 
was older than Lois and her life had been very different. 

Wilma had spent most of her life behind bars. Growing up in a 
poor home in Suicide Slum, she'd taken to the streets in her 
early teens after her step-father had decided to pay her a little 
midnight visit. She'd quickly fallen in with the wrong type of 
people and had picked up quite a crack habit - back when it was 
actually called 'free-basing'. She hardly remembered the robbery 
that had resulted in two deaths which was the event that had 
brought Wilma to this prison as Lois' neighbor. Wilma, it had 
been proven, was not the shooter. But with her attendance at the 
robbery, she'd been found as guilty as if she were the one firing 
the gun - and sentenced to share the same fate.

And in spite of all that, Lois actually liked the older woman. In 
prison, Wilma had managed to kick her drug habit and was 
currently working on getting her high school diploma - although, 
since she was also on death row, Lois wasn't entirely sure of the 
reasons behind such a goal. But Wilma knew the workings of the 
prison - and she shared them with Lois. So when Wilma whispered 
her name, Lois was quick to respond.

"What is it, Wilma?"

"Who was that guy I saw you's talking to in the visitor's room 
earlier?"

Lois hadn't noticed Wilma there. "No one. An errand boy my boss 
sent to tell me he couldn't make it tonight."

"Mmm... mmm... mmm... I can think of some 'errands' I'd like him 
to take care of for me. Yep. I'd give him a workout he wouldn't 
soon forget."

"Wilma!"

"Oh come on. You can't tell me he didn't get you's blood pumping 
just a little hotter than normal."

"It's not like that," Lois said defensively. "He's... nobody."

"Yeah, and you's just a convict."

Lois' breath caught in her throat.

"Besides, what's the harm in a little fantasizing? I say if your 
boss does come by again, you tell him to send the errand boy back 
to take care of a little business."

"I'll tell you what. How about I send him your way?"

"Oh, girl! You do that, and I'll love you forever. Wilma knows 
what to do with a fine specimen like that even if you's don't."

Lois chuckled as she moved away from the bars. Still, she 
couldn't quite shake the unexpected feeling that she didn't want 
Wilma anywhere near Clark Kent. As she puzzled over that, she 
quickly changed and crawled beneath the covers on her cot, turned 
on her side and pulled the pillow up so that she could wrap her 
arms around it, her thoughts suddenly consumed with Clark Kent. 
'What's the harm in a little fantasizing?'

She closed her eyes, allowing the image of Clark Kent's hands on 
her body and his lips plundering hers to fill her thoughts. Her 
breathing deepened as her hands drifted down her body. Nothing 
would ever come of this, after all. In all likelihood, she'd 
never even see Kent again. Tears came unexpectedly to her closed 
eyes as she quietly sought a brief escape from the walls of the 
prison in the illusion of Mr. Kent.

* * * * * * * * *

"Yes!" Perry looked down at the paper clutched in his hand. It 
was the first real lead for a story he'd seen in almost a month. 
It screamed 'weird' and weird sold papers. Now he just needed... 
His thought instantly trailed off. The person he needed was no 
longer working for the paper.

He walked over to the door and looked out into the newsroom, some 
of the previous excitement having died with this unexpected 
dilemma. For just a moment, in the flush of what his gut was 
telling him was a big story, he'd forgotten. But now... To whom 
did he assign this story?

Myerson! No. He was off to that conference tomorrow. Eduardo 
Friaz? No. He was tied up at the moment. He caught sight of 
Ralph. No. Absolutely not. If anyone could make a mess of this 
story, it was Ralph. He crinkled his eyebrows in thought when his 
eyes caught sight of...

"Kent!" Perry yelled across the newsroom sending his newest 
reporter scrambling to his office.

Once the story was assigned, Perry sank back behind his desk. 
Lois. He'd been pounding the pavement, burning up the phone 
lines, putting in time, trying to find someone who would listen. 
And so far, he'd found no one. He was entirely unsure where to go 
from here.

* * * * * * * *

Clark looked at the rundown apartment building in one of the not 
so good neighborhoods in Metropolis and, once more, checked the 
address Perry had given him. This was the place. Not that he 
really needed to double check. After all, the two police cars and 
the coroner van sitting out front were a pretty big hint.

He made his way to apartment 101 and stood outside the open door, 
watching and listening as the coroner did his work on the man 
lying dead on the floor. A plain clothes officer was standing 
with his back to Clark.

"Excuse me," Clark said. "I'm from the Daily Planet and I was 
wondering..." His voice trailed off when the officer turned 
around. "Inspector Henderson?" asked Clark.

Henderson's face broke into a smile. "Sean's friend. Clark Kent? 
Right?"

"Yes, sir. I didn't realize you worked for the MPD."

"Transferred in about four years ago now. Boy, time passes fast. 
So you're with the Daily Planet now?"

Clark nodded.

"I heard they hired someone to replace Lane. Never guessed it 
would be a kid from Smallville. So what can I do for you?"

"Well..." Clark gestured to the room.

"Name's Theodore Cooke," Henderson said, checking his book while 
walking further into the room with Clark beside him. "Early this 
morning one of his neighbors heard him scream bloody murder - and 
so he called us. The guy was dead when we got here."

"Anyone seen entering or leaving the room?"

Henderson shook his head. "According to the coroner, Cooke was 
electrocuted."

"So what are you saying? This was a normal household accident?"

"Not exactly..." He pointed towards the man's body. "Notice 
anything unusual?"

Clark examined the man. He was dressed casually, nothing unusual 
there. But... "The phone."

"Very good. Yes. It seems he received a powerful jolt of 
electricity over the phone line."

"Does this sort of thing happen often?"

"I've never heard of such a thing before. We don't know is if 
someone purposely sent a jolt of electricity over the line - if 
such a thing is even possible. Or if this was some sort of freak 
accident."

"What's your guess?"

Henderson shrugged.

"Any ideas who or what might be behind it?"

"Your guess is as good as mine at this point."

Clark glanced around the room in frustration. There had to be 
something... some hint that would tell them more about what had 
happened. His eyes focused on the phone, still grasped in the 
dead man's hand.

"Do we know who he was talking to?" asked Clark.

"We're working on that at the moment."

"Could you let me know what you find out?"

"Sure." Henderson turned and looked at him quizzically for a 
moment. "So you're Lane's replacement, huh?"

Clark felt his heart take an unexpected jump at the mention of 
her name. "I guess so."

"Funny."

"What do you mean?" Clark asked, not sure if he should be 
offended or not.

"Well, you and Lane are just so different. What? Is the Planet 
trying to take the 'soft and gentle' approach now?" Without 
waiting for an answer, Henderson headed outside. 

Clark hesitated for a moment, lost in thought, before impulsively 
running after Henderson. "Inspector?" Clark said, grabbing 
Henderson's arm. "What can you tell me about Lois Lane?" He 
wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him to ask Henderson 
that. He'd decided only last night to put all thoughts of that 
irritating woman out of his mind.

Henderson's expression got unexpectedly soft. "She was the most 
uncompromising person I've ever known. Always where she shouldn't 
be. Always out there - over the edge."

"So what are you saying? That she'd skirt the edges of the law to 
get the story?"

"Hell no. She'd go all the way over the edge."

"Then why do you sound... I don't know. ...almost impressed?"

"Three reasons. First, she never got caught. That takes brains. 
Second, her heart was always in the right place. She cared about 
the people of this city more than she cared about the awards they 
kept handing out to her. Oh, she'd never admit it, of course. 
She'd maintain that she was just in it for the story. But..." 
Henderson shook his head.

"That's two reasons."

"What?"

"Well, you said there were three reasons you were impressed."

"Oh right. Well, let's see now. Brains, heart and... Well, in 
case you didn't know, she's a knock out. Brains, heart and 
beauty. If I were a few years younger, and a few vows freer, I'd 
have done everything possible to get that woman to notice me. 
Never had any doubt what Lex Luthor saw in her."

"Well, if she's the paragon of virtue you seem to think she 
was..."

"I don't think I called her a paragon of virtue."

"...how did she end up convicted of first degree murder?"

Henderson paused. "Honestly... I don't know." 

* * * * * * * * *

"Hey, Lane."

Lois looked around at the sound of a none-too-friendly voice 
calling her name and rolled her eyes when she spotted the owner.

"What do you want, Carlin?" she asked. Arianna Carlin was Lex 
Luthor's first wife. Although long divorced before Lois had ever 
become involved with Lex, Arianna Carlin seemed to regard Lois as 
some sort of home wrecker. Lois, of course, had managed to 
complicate things further by being the one responsible for 
Carlin's arrest when she tried to wreak revenge against the 
people she deemed responsible for Lex's demise - Lois, Inspector 
Henderson and Perry White.

However, out of all the women she'd put in prison over the years, 
Lois feared Carlin less than most. She could talk a good game. 
But when it came right down to it, she was all... okay, well, 
mostly talk.

"I'm going to make you pay for what you did."

"Take a number," Lois muttered before taking a step when the 
guard with her gave a tug on her arm, forcing her to continue on 
her way to the laundry to put in her shift of folding sheets.

She had just folded her first sheet when she caught an image 
moving in the corner of her eye. Carlin's warning still echoing 
in her head, she quickly glanced in the appropriate direction. 
She almost dropped the sheet when she recognized the man standing 
in the doorway.

"Max?" she asked in confusion.

"Hi, Lois," the man responded, making his way into the room.

Even though Lois knew she was alone, she still glanced around - 
in part to see if anyone else was there and in part because she 
wanted to be sure she wasn't dreaming.

It had been almost a year now since she'd last seen the doctor. 
And although for a time they had been... involved, the memory 
wasn't altogether pleasant. 

Dr. Maxwell Deter was a psychiatrist. Lois had lost her memory 
when kidnapped by Lex Luthor in some twisted attempt to get her 
to love him again. After she'd been rescued, Deter had become her 
doctor. As she'd begun to recover, she'd grasped onto Deter, 
falling hard for him the way she had since learned many patients 
did for their doctors. But unlike what was expected, Lois' 
therapy sessions with Max had quickly turned sexual. It wasn't 
until she'd begun to get her memory back and realized that he was 
manipulating her into giving up her job at the Daily Planet to 
follow him to France - something she'd never have even considered 
if she'd had her memory - that she'd ended the relationship - 
with a right hook to the chin.

She had briefly considered having him brought up on professional 
misconduct charges. But then she'd decided against it. He'd come 
to her, telling her how sorry he was for everything and 
persuading her that nothing like that had ever happened before. 
He'd seemed truly heartbroken. She'd felt bad for him - and not 
all together convinced that she was completely guilt free in 
their affair. So although she hadn't been willing to see him 
again, she hadn't had the heart to report him either.

And now here he was, bigger than life, standing in the prison 
laundry room. "What are you doing here, Max?"

"I work here."

"What?"

"Yeah. I've been doing more and more work in both the men and 
women's prison since... well, since we broke up. I guess I felt 
bad enough about my conduct with... you, that I felt a need to 
give something back."

"Don't they pay you?"

"Of course. But not nearly as much as I was getting in private 
practice. I'm sorry I haven't come by to see you sooner. But... 
well, I guess I was just a little concerned that you'd be 
embarrassed to see me under these circumstances."

"Hmm," Lois said, returning to folding her sheets.

He came over, placing a hand on her arm to stop her. "I know how 
hard this has to be for you," he said softly. "I know how much 
you've always valued human life. If someone provoked you so badly 
that you killed them, it has to be eating you up inside."

She crinkled her eyebrows, feeling that same piercing pain in her 
chest she always got when she thought about Sykes.

"I just wanted you to know that I'm here. And if you ever need to 
talk..."

"I don't," she quickly interrupted.

"That's fine." Deter removed his hand from her arm. "But some day 
you might and I just wanted to let you know that when that day 
comes, all you have to do is contact me. I still care for you, 
Lois." He turned, walking towards the door.

Lois watched him go, confused by the encounter. Part of her 
really wanted to take him up on his offer. After all, he was 
right about one thing. The death of Sykes was eating her alive. 
The problem was that in spite of his soothing words, she didn't 
trust him. And so it was with the feeling that she was very much 
alone that she watched him go.

* * * * * * * * *

Clark glanced up at the clock. It was almost midnight. His story 
about Theodore Cooke had been finished hours ago. He still didn't 
know what had happened. But he'd managed to write up his 
preliminary story about the man's unusual death. He had insisted, 
however, that they avoid using the word 'accident' or 'murder' 
when referring to Cooke's death. Until they knew more, there was 
simply no way to know which it was. And Clark had every intention 
of getting to the bottom of that particular mystery. He just 
wished he had a better idea of where to start.

Henderson had managed to trace the call to a public phone booth 
near the ferry landing. But since no prints were found, and no 
body was located near the phone booth, it didn't appear that 
anyone else had been killed by the electrical charge that had 
gone through the phone line. So at the moment, Clark was at a 
dead end.

"You here again?" Perry made his way over to Clark's desk.

"Umm... Yes, sir," Clark responded, quickly closing the 
manuscript he was reading.

He wasn't quick enough for Perry, who flipped open the manuscript 
and came around to Clark's side of the desk to see what he was 
reading. His eyebrows rose as he looked back at Clark.

"I ran into an uncle of an old college friend of mine today. 
Inspector Henderson."

"You know Henderson?"

Clark nodded. "Anyway, he said some things that got me 
wondering..." He gestured to the manuscript.

Perry nodded solemnly. "Find anything interesting?" he asked, 
pointing to Lois Lane's trial transcripts.

"Lois Lane claimed that she didn't fire the gun. But the tape 
showed that she did."

Perry nodded.

"Well, I don't quite understand. Her testimony was given 'after' 
the tape was shown. If she was lying, shouldn't she have tried to 
come up with something more believable? She could have claimed... 
I don't know. Self-defense or something."

"So what are you saying?"

"I don't know," Clark responded, closing the manuscript once 
again. "Mr. White, I just... Well, you testified against her. So 
I take it you think she's guilty. I'm just wondering..." His 
voice trailed off, unsure of what to ask.

"Kent, there is one thing you have to understand. In no way and 
at no time did I ever testify against Lois Lane!" Perry stormed 
back into his office.

Clark sat in stunned silence for a long moment before turning off 
his computer and rising from his desk. He'd made a mistake. A big 
one. But... what had his mistake been? He'd simply said what 
seemed obvious from the transcripts. So why had Perry become so 
angry?

So many things didn't make sense to him. The contradiction 
between what the conviction said about her and what Henderson had 
said. Perry White had testified at her trial - telling the jury 
about her explosive temper. And yet he denied giving such 
testimony. Did that mean the transcripts were wrong? But if Perry 
had testified against Lois, why was it that Perry still visited 
her? And why would she still see him? None of this made any sense 
to Clark.

He growled in frustration as the elevator doors closed. He knew 
what he was doing, of course. He didn't want her to be guilty and 
so was finding holes in the case where there were none. Lois had 
probably simply told that story to the police upon her initial 
arrest - before she knew about the existence of the tape - and 
thereafter had been unable to change her story.

Besides, why should he care? That woman was completely 
infuriating. Giving his head a brief nod, he determined to leave 
all things Lois Lane behind him. What did she matter to him 
anyway?

* * * * * * * * * 

Lois looked outside her cell. No one was there. Sitting down on 
her cot, she withdrew the crumbled pieces of paper from under her 
shirt. The Daily Planet. She'd managed to pilfer it from the very 
limited supply of papers provided to the jail. But she'd brought 
it back here with her because she wanted time to devour it in 
peace.

It was crumpled, and she had to take a moment to straighten it 
out. Still, it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. The 
irony of that thought was not lost on Lois. When she'd been 
working at the Daily Planet, there had been copies of the paper 
everywhere. She had even, on occasion, pilfered a few extra 
copies at the end of the day to pack up items or for other 
purposes that had nothing to do with reading. What she wouldn't 
give to have those copies now.

Focusing on the front page, below the fold, she looked at the 
article that had caught her eye when she'd first seen the paper. 
'Local Man Killed In Freak Electrical Incident. By: Clark Kent.' 
She'd been thinking about the headline for the past hour. 

Normally, she wouldn't have even caught the careful wording of 
the headline - she'd have already been engrossed in reading the 
story. But since she hadn't had a chance to read the story until 
now, she'd done nothing but think about the headline - in 
particular, the use of the word 'incident.' A more natural way of 
writing the headline would be 'Local Man Killed In Freak 
Electrical Accident.' So why had Kent chosen the word 'incident' 
- assuming he had, of course, any say in the wording of the 
headline? Was there a hidden implication there that the 
'incident' was not an 'accident'?

She turned her attention to the article. Theodore Cooke, 49, was 
an engineer who had worked for the past twenty-seven years for 
the Metropolis Transportation Department. He'd been married for 
twenty-three years and had two teenage children. Shortly before 
his death, he'd separated from his wife and moved from the 
suburbs to a rundown bachelor apartment in downtown Metropolis. 

Apparently he'd been killed by some sort of electrical charge 
that had come through the phone line. Kent had interviewed a 
representative from the phone company who had sought to assure 
the public that a protective device inside all phones prevents an 
electrical charge from being transmitted through the phone line. 
They also sought to assure the public that they were in no 
danger. How they could make such assurances in the light of 
Cooke's death, Lois wasn't sure. However, she could understand 
the reason they might attempt to reassure the public. After all, 
in this day and age, the entire city could be brought to a halt 
if people were afraid to use their phones. 

However, like the title, nowhere in the story was the word 
'accident' used. Lois wondered if that meant Kent had a hunch 
foul play was involved. Still, there was no indication in the 
article itself that this was anything but a horrible accident.

* * * * * * * * *

Clark paced nervously as he waited for his turn. He still wasn't 
entirely certain why he was there. No. That wasn't true. He was 
there to apologize. He had tried to put Lois Lane behind him. But 
until he made things right with her by apologizing for implying 
that she was nothing more than a convicted murderer, he wouldn't 
be able to do that.

"Clark Kent!"

Clark turned towards the man speaking his name. 

"You're next."

* * * * * * * * *

Lois' eyebrows crinkled in confusion when she saw who was waiting 
for her in the visitor's room. She'd thought never to see him 
again. Of course, when she'd been told she had a visitor, she'd 
been apprehensive. Although it was exciting to have a visitor, 
since it was a Saturday evening, she'd known it wouldn't be 
Perry. But never in her wildest dreams had she imagined it would 
be him!

She sat down cautiously, picking up the phone as she watched him 
closely through the glass. "So... Mr. Kent. Back for more abuse?" 
She wasn't entirely sure why she'd felt the need to say that. 
What was it about Kent that seemed to bring out these comments?

"I just came to apologize."

"Apologize?" She was confused.

"I said some things... Well, one thing really... that I feel I 
need to apologize for. I said something about you having a lot of 
opinions for someone on death row. I shouldn't have said that. 
And I'm sorry. It's been bothering me and I just wanted to get 
that off my chest."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I knew it. Kent, if you plan on 
being a reporter at any time in the near future, you're going to 
have to grow a thicker skin." God, what was wrong with her? Why 
was she treating him like this? And why couldn't she seem to stop 
herself from being a bitch whenever she talked to him?

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"If you let something like that bother you, go back to 
Smallville. You weren't cut out for city life - let alone being a 
reporter for a big city paper."

"I don't think a person has to be rude to get the story."

"And that's why you'll never get the story. Take, for example, 
that piece of fluff that appeared in today's paper. I mean, 
where's the story? Some guy dies in a freak electrical incident. 
I know you don't think it was an accident. And yet all you tell 
us is that the telephone company doesn't want us to worry and a 
whole bunch of sappy stuff about the guy's family." Why couldn't 
she just shut up about this? He hadn't done that bad a job.

"Oh, and I suppose you could have done a better job."

"Damn straight. Who were the guy's enemies? Was there anything 
unusual about his finances? Why didn't you ask Jimmy to get those 
for you? Why were he and his wife separated? Could she have 
murdered him? Or maybe she hired someone? If so, who would have 
the technical knowledge to kill someone in such a unique way? 
Maybe he had enemies at work. Maybe he stepped on someone's toes. 
Do some digging!"

"You're one to talk. When was your last story?"

Lois felt unexpectedly abandoned when he left. She wasn't 
entirely sure why she'd been so condescending to him. He was 
obviously a decent reporter. He just needed a little experience 
and guidance and he might even become a great reporter. But there 
was something about him - something that just brought out the 
worst in her. Well, next time he came... What was she thinking? 
There was no way he'd be back again. She'd definitely seen the 
last of Clark Kent. She wasn't entirely sure why that thought was 
so disappointing.
 
* * * * * * * * *

He couldn't believe it. He'd done it again. He'd gone there to 
apologize and instead, he'd insinuated, once again, that her 
opinion didn't matter - given her conviction. What was wrong with 
him?

She just made him so damn angry.

That was no excuse, of course. He should have held his tongue, 
even thanked her for her ideas. After all, she had given him a 
number of angles to pursue in the investigation. And since for 
the past day he hadn't managed to get anywhere, he couldn't say 
that he didn't appreciate her input.

It was just that superior tone - starting with her comments about 
him growing a thicker skin. Instead, she could have apologized 
for some of her comments. But apparently, she didn't think her 
comments needed an apology. In fact, in her opinion, the fact 
that he'd come to offer her one proved her comments on Thursday - 
that he was a hack who was in way over his head working as a 
reporter in the big city.

Well, that was it. He was done with Lois Lane. Besides, in spite 
of his unexpected pull to this woman, she wasn't his type. A 
person who didn't respect human life was not someone he wanted as 
a partner. He snorted at the unamusing thought that she would 
laugh in his face were she to ever know that he was having these 
feelings for her. No. Someone that cold, that callous was not 
someone he would even want a relationship with - if such a thing 
were even possible.

On the other hand, what must it be like for her - in prison, 
seeing life pass her by, knowing that it was just a matter of 
time before the state would stick a needle in her arm? Maybe he 
should try to keep that in mind when he spoke to her in the 
fut... What was he thinking? She'd made it abundantly clear that 
she had no interest in seeing him ever again. And if that was the 
case, then he was only too happy to oblige her.

His jogging came to a halt when his ears picked up the sound of 
tires squealing on concrete, metal crunching metal and screaming 
children. Looking through the building beside him to the street 
on the other side, he instantly saw the source of the noise. 
Three cars, going on four, were involved in a traffic accident. 
And from where Clark stood, it looked bad. Without thinking 
through the possible consequences, he took off towards the 
accident sight.

* * * * * * * * *

Lois was making her way through the common area when something on 
the television caught her attention. How long had it been since 
she'd seen the news? She made her way over to the only chair in 
the area that she felt safe sitting in - mainly because it was 
against the wall. She had just taken a seat when a story came on 
about a terrible traffic accident. Five people had died.

But that didn't seem to be the focus of the story. The network 
helicopter had caught a single man who was pulling people from 
burning cars without, it appeared, any concern for his own 
safety. 

Lois gasped, involuntarily rising to her feet and making her way 
closer to the television when the camera focused in on the man's 
soot covered face as he leaned over a young woman, performing CPR 
until rescue workers could arrive.

"Hey, ain't that your man?"

Lois turned to see Wilma standing beside her. 

"Umm..." Lois turned back to look at the man on the screen once 
again. If that wasn't Clark Kent, then he had a double. "I think 
so."

"Hey, Lane!"

Lois turned towards the sound of a woman's voice. Completely 
distracted by what she'd been watching on television, she hadn't 
seen the woman approach. Suddenly, she seemed surrounded. She 
looked for Wilma but couldn't see her anywhere. Women were 
suddenly pushing against her from every side. As she was turning, 
trying to figure out the source of the greatest threat, she moved 
back, trying to get a solid wall behind her. Faces blended 
together, not allowing her to recognize any of them. She never 
even saw the homemade prison knife, known as a shiv, before it 
was buried in her side. 

Pain. Confusion. Hands pushing at her. Bodies crowding in around 
her. She grasped at her side. She wasn't even sure of what had 
happened until she looked down and saw blood on her hand. 

Suddenly, whistles sounded, screaming in Lois' ears. And then... 
she was alone, standing in the middle of the room. 

She tottered on her feet for a moment before collapsing to her 
knees, holding her side. Death was upon her. And... it was almost 
a relief. She would, finally, be free from the terror that 
surrounded her every waking minute, the nightmares and the guilt. 
It was finally over.

* * * * * * * * *

"I got out of there before anyone found out who I was."

"But we saw you on television, honey," Martha responded over the 
phone. "Other people might have recognized you, too."

"But the cameras didn't catch me doing anything super. I was just 
one of a number of people trying to help out at a bad accident. 
And those people who might have noticed something... unusual... 
well, they were kinda out of it. I doubt anyone would believe 
them."

"Metropolis isn't the country, son," Jonathan added. "You can't 
just do things and expect no one to notice. Maybe moving to the 
big city wasn't such a good idea."

"No, Dad. I need to stay here."

"Why?"

Clark wasn't sure what to say. He supposed he could say that he 
had always wanted to work at the Daily Planet. And that would be 
true enough. But... he couldn't quite bring himself to lie to his 
parents. Work was not the draw of this place. The reason he 
wanted to stay in Metropolis was... No. It was crazy. She was the 
most infuriating woman he'd ever met. She was a murderer. And yet 
when asked why he couldn't leave Metropolis, her face was the 
immediate thing to spring to mind.

"I just feel... as if this is where I'm supposed to be."

"Okay, well, just be careful. If some nut with a camera catches 
you pulling one of your stunts..."

His father didn't complete his statement. It wasn't necessary. 
Clark knew exactly what his father was afraid would happen.

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll be careful."

* * * * * * * * *

He knelt in front of her on the bed, his hand coming up to tuck 
her hair behind her ear. She smiled at the tender look in his 
eyes before allowing her eyes and hands to drift over his 
pectoral muscles. The thin material of his crisp, white, dress 
shirt did nothing to keep her from feeling the strong muscles 
underneath.

Her hands left his chest to push the edges of his suit jacket off 
his shoulders. He allowed it to fall unheeded to the bed. Moving 
slightly closer, she ran her hands down his colorful tie before 
coming up to work on the knot.

"Lois."

She closed her eyes briefly, her hands stilling on his tie, 
allowing the sexy, husky tone in his voice to penetrate, sending 
a shiver involuntarily through her body. Never before would she 
have believed that she could feel so aroused just by the sound of 
a man's voice.

Sliding the tie from around his neck, she dropped it on the bed 
before turning her attention to the buttons on his shirt - only 
to find herself prevented from completing her task when his hands 
came up to cup her cheeks.

She looked into his eyes and found herself unable to move as he 
swayed slowly closer. His eyes drifted to her mouth and she found 
herself sucking in her bottom lip. She couldn't seem to stop from 
shaking. Her eyes drifted closed as she waited for his lips to 
find hers.

"I suppose you fell off your cot again."

"Huh?"

"Did you fall off your cot again? Or are you going to tell us 
what really happened this time?"

Lois forced open her eyes to see the same guard who had 
questioned her after her last beating standing over her cot in 
the infirmary. She took a breath and felt tears spring to her 
eyes when pain shot through her side.

"You're becoming a real problem, Lane."

Lois closed her eyes and attempted to go back to the unidentified 
man of her dream. It had been so warm and pleasant in her dream. 
It was the first pleasant dream she'd had since that fateful day 
when Sykes had died. This dream-man had been... Her eyes suddenly 
snapped open. Oh god. No. Kent. It couldn't be. She wasn't 
dreaming about him. She wasn't! He was just some amalgamation of 
all the good-looking men she'd known. Not that Kent was good-
looking. She didn't even notice things like that. It must be this 
place - well, that and Wilma's comments after she'd first met 
Kent. She was just lonely and more than a little scared.

"Fine!" the woman said. "If you want to let them kill you, who am 
I to care."

Lois cringed when the woman walked away. Was she doing the right 
thing in not telling the authorities what had happened? Not that 
she really knew what had happened. Maybe she'd talk to Wilma 
about it when she got out of the infirmary.

* * * * * * * * *

"Jimmy, is there some way I can get a look at Theodore Cooke's 
finances?"

Jimmy smiled. "Leave it to me," he said, turning away from Clark.

"Jimmy!"

Jimmy turned back towards Clark.

"Just tell me if it's legal."

Jimmy's smile widened. "You don't want to know."

Clark nodded and let out a breath. He couldn't say he was 
completely comfortable with the idea of Jimmy getting those 
records illegally. But Lois must have known how Jimmy would get 
the file when she told him to ask Jimmy. He groaned, dropping his 
head into his hands. Now he was taking advice on legal propriety 
from a woman who had been convicted of murder. Still, he didn't 
call Jimmy back.

Instead, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and picked 
up the phone.

* * * * * * * * *

Clark looked around the slightly run down offices. The city of 
Metropolis couldn't go wrong by giving this place a fresh coat of 
paint.

"Mr. Kent?" a man asked, approaching Clark.

"Yes, sir. I take it you're the man I spoke to on the phone. 
Richard McMillan. I'm glad you could meet with me."

"No problem. Cooke was one of our most reliable employees. It was 
a terrible shock to all of us. So what can I do for you?"

"Well, I'd like to talk to you and to the other men he worked 
with - see if I can make sense of all this."

"I got the impression it was some sort of freak accident."

"Oh, I'm sure it was. But since he was an engineer... Well, with 
the telephone company saying that there is no need to worry..."

"You're wondering if someone here can give you more information 
about how something like this could happen. Well, I can't speak 
for anyone else, but I don't know how it could have happened. But 
then I don't know much about phones. I'm sorry. But I'm at a 
loss. Maybe someone else here could help you - but I really 
can't."

"Well, I also want to find out a bit more about the man himself."

"Uh... Well..." McMillan directed Clark further into the building 
and then didn't speak again until they were walking together down 
a long, bleak hall. "I didn't know him well on a personal level. 
You know how it is. As his boss, I didn't want to let the 
relationship become too personal. But..." He stopped by a door. 
"Toby Heisler and he were friends. Went out for beer after 
work... that sort of thing." He knocked on the door before 
opening it.

"The reporter I told you about is here," McMillan said to the man 
seated behind a desk.

"Oh yes," Heisler said, rising from behind his desk and coming 
over to offer Clark his hand. "Toby Heisler."

"Clark Kent."

"Well, then. I'll just leave you in Toby's very capable hands," 
McMillan said before, without waiting for a response, turning to 
leave the room.

"So, Mr. Kent, how can I help you?"

* * * * * * * * *

"So what did you do to upset Remi?" asked Wilma through the walls 
between their cells after Lois was escorted back to her cell.

"Remi?"

"It's all over the prison. Didn't you see her?"

Remi? Who was Remi? Did she even know a Remi? She could think of 
a lot of people in this place who wanted to see her dead, but 
what had she ever done to make someone named Remi feel that way?

"I don't know what I could have done," Lois responded honestly. 
"I don't remember any Remi. Given the number of people here who 
already want me dead, I've been trying not to offend anyone 
else."

"Oh, child. Remi is the one person you's don't want to piss off. 
She used to work for some military type group."

"She was a terrorist?" Lois asked as pieces began to fall into 
place. The Daily Planet. Two years ago. The terrorists who dug up 
a safe in Perry's office that had Dragonetti's money in it. Pino 
'Pretty Face' Dragonetti. One of Metropolis' most dangerous 
gangsters during prohibition. The terrorists who were trying to 
rob his safe had been caught when Lois had managed to break away 
from the woman who was about to kill them and call the police. 
Remi. She remembered now.

It had been that night - and in particular the comments Remi's 
partner had made about it being better to have the police on his 
tail than Lex - that had first made her suspicious of Lex Luthor.

And Remi was inside this very prison. Oh god. "Wilma, should I be 
telling the authorities about Remi's threat?"

"Oh, don't do that, child. That's a sure way to the grave."

Lois closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall of her 
cell. If she reported the threat, she was dead. And if she didn't 
report it... well, it was entirely possible the result would be 
the same. But then, did it really matter? After what she had 
done... She gave her head a sharp shake. The issue was how to 
deal with Remi - nothing else.

* * * * * * * * *

"Thanks, Jimmy," Clark said as he took the sheaf of paper from 
the younger man.

"Hey, that's what I'm here for, C.K."

Clark smiled at Jimmy while rolling the nickname around in his 
mind. 

"If you need anything else, just yell." Jimmy turned to walk 
away.

"Jimmy." He waited until Jimmy was looking at him before 
continuing. "There is something else." He hesitated, not entirely 
sure he should ask.

"What is it?"

"Well... What did you think of Lois Lane's conviction?"

Jimmy's eyebrows went up. "That it stank. Lois couldn't have 
killed that guy the way the prosecution claimed."

"But even Perry White said she had a hair-trigger temper."

"She did. Don't get me wrong. I remember once when someone left 
the cream out on the counter instead of putting it back in the 
fridge, and she went ballistic. But Lois would never kill someone 
in cold blood. If she did kill him, and I'm not saying she did, 
it was in self defense or something. Why do you want to know?"

"Just curious," said Clark. When Jimmy continued to stare at him, 
he spoke again. "Thanks, Jimmy."

"Sure thing," Jimmy said before turning and heading away.

* * * * * * * * *

Lois was more than a little surprised when she looked around the 
room. It was obvious that she was in a visitor's room, but this 
one was much less formal than the one she had used previously. 
Tables of various sizes were scattered everywhere and people were 
talking around them in a much more casual manner.

But why was she there? It was Monday night. Perry didn't usually 
visit until Tuesday. She flinched slightly at the pain in her 
side as the matron took her arm and directed her towards one of 
the smaller tables.

"Sit here," the woman said without ceremony.

Lois took a seat, lost in thought. There was only one 
possibility. Kent. But... no. That wasn't possible either. Kent 
wouldn't be back. Maybe her sister. But her sister was living in 
California. Not that Lucy couldn't have flown in. And, of course, 
she would never know if she had. Maybe that was why she was being 
brought to this casual setting. Maybe it was reserved for family 
members. That must be it.

So she was shocked when Clark Kent entered the room and was 
directed to her table, carrying a sheaf of documents and a small 
paper bag.

* * * * * * * * *

Clark couldn't help but feel some small sense of satisfaction 
when he saw the shocked expression on Lois' face. Apparently, she 
didn't know everything.

Of course, that brought up the question of why he was here - 
again. It had nothing to do with any unrealistic attraction he 
might have for the woman. After all, he wasn't attracted to her - 
except perhaps on some very superficial level. But he'd never 
been one to allow his hormones to control his actions. No, he was 
here because he needed her help. Nothing more. And if, as she 
seemed to think, she was a great reporter, surely she wouldn't 
say no. She was just another source.

"Well, Mr. Kent. You really are a sadist, aren't you? Back for 
more abuse?" The words seemed to roll off her tongue easily.

His hackles immediately rose - until he saw an almost smile cross 
her lips and a slight twinkle light up her eyes. She was happy to 
see him. He felt his heart soar. He wasn't entirely sure why she 
felt this overwhelming need to insult him, but her eyes didn't 
match the continuing disdain of her words. He was certain now 
that he'd been right. Her attitude, although he didn't understand 
it fully, was some sort of defense mechanism - and suddenly he 
didn't find it the least bit insulting.

"I just want to find out if you're as good as you seem to think 
you are," he said, keeping his tone as dry as hers. Sitting down, 
he handed her the papers.

She glanced at the papers before glancing back at him in 
confusion. "What are these?"

"The information I collected on Theodore Cooke."

A look of hopeful disbelief flashed in her eyes as she looked 
back at the papers and he could almost swear she was drooling. 
Her hand touched the top of the pile with what was almost a 
reverence before she seemed to realize what she was doing.

"So why would I help you?" She drew her hand back.

Clark shrugged. "Got something better to do?"

"And how did you..." She gestured around her. "...arrange this 
anyway? I wouldn't have thought they'd let you bring me these." 
She pointed to the papers.

"Well, it was a pretty thorough search." 

By the way she flinched, he was fairly certain she knew what he 
was talking about. No doubt she'd been through worse.

"But as for why you should help me..." He put his hand on the 
paper bag he'd set on the table and pushed it across to her.

* * * * * * * * *

Lois studied the bag warily. It was a plain brown paper bag with 
a suspicious grease spot on the bottom. And the smells that were 
emanating from it... She quickly grabbed the bag and opened it 
up, withdrawing a large chocolate chip cookie.

"Homemade," said Clark as if tempting her with the cookie would 
make her agree to help him.

Not that there was any doubt that she would - even without the 
bribe. Just the thought of digging her teeth into a story, any 
story, was enough to make her feel more alive at this moment than 
she had since coming to this place. Still, she wasn't about to 
refuse the cookie if he was foolish enough to give it to her. She 
raised her hand to take a bite of the cookie.

"Hey, wait!" said Clark, reaching out to prevent her hand from 
reaching her mouth.

"No touching!" the guard at the side of the room said.

Clark quickly let his hand drop back to the table. Still, she 
didn't move her hand closer to her mouth.

"What?" she asked.

"So... do we have a deal or not?"

Lois narrowed her eyes and studied him. "Do you really think I 
can be bribed with some..." She looked at the cookie and felt 
moisture gather in her mouth. It looked incredible. It smelled 
incredible. And it was soft, she could tell that much by the way 
her fingers were leaving indentations. The chocolate pieces were 
large, taunting her as chocolate always did. She licked her lips.

"You were saying?" asked Clark, obviously amused.

She looked back at him. "I have one condition."

"What?"

"Next time you come, you bring me a copy of the Daily Planet."

"Don't you get it in here?"

Lois shrugged. "It's just hard to get a copy that hasn't been 
completely torn apart. Often you read one part of a story only to 
realize that when it instructs you to turn to page C-24 to read 
the rest, that the page you need is missing."

Clark's eyes seemed to soften into something that was almost 
like...

"Don't give me that look!"

"What look?"

"Like you're pitying me." She shoved the cookie back in the bag 
and rose suddenly to her feet, gasping when the pain from her 
side hit her.

"Are you okay?" asked Clark, rising to his feet as well and 
reaching out as if he would steady her.

"No touching."

He snapped his hand back. "Look," he said slowly, as if he had 
suddenly realized how close she was to simply walking out on him 
- story or not, "I'm not pitying you. I just..."

"You just...?" She eyed him warily.

"I just... wish things weren't so difficult for you."

She sank slowly back into her seat as did he. "Well, I guess I 
can't have my replacement being an embarrassment. After all, what 
would it say about me if Perry hired some hack..."

"...from nowheresville..." Clark added seriously.

"...from nowheresville," Lois continued, "to replace me?" She 
couldn't quite prevent the slight smile that quirked at the 
corners of her mouth as she finished. When he looked as amused by 
their banter as she felt, she quickly cleared her expression. "Of 
course, I'll take the cookies too." She reached into the bag with 
a vengeance and withdrew a cookie. "And the Daily Planet," she 
added as an afterthought. Then her mouth was too full to continue 
talking. 

"Mmm..." she moaned, closing her eyes and allowing the freshly 
baked cookie to be experienced by every taste bud in her mouth.

* * * * * * * * *

Clark had to force himself to close his mouth as he watched her 
savor the cookie. He wasn't entirely sure he had ever seen 
anything as erotic in his entire life. He forced his mind onto 
other topics.

"Well, are you going to look at those papers or not?" he 
demanded.

She opened her eyes, her expression telling him that she thought 
he was a spoil-sport.

She chewed the piece of cookie and swallowed. Clark found his 
eyes drawn, as if by a magnet, to her throat and had to force his 
gaze back to her eyes. By the amusement he could see in her eyes, 
he suspected she was well aware of the effect she seemed to be 
having on him.

"You in a rush?" she asked, her gaze drifting to his left hand.

He looked down at his hand when it suddenly occurred to him what 
she was asking. His heart did a small flip. "I'm not married, if 
that's what you're asking?"

"I'm not. Why would I care if you're married? It's not as if I'm 
exactly dating these days." Her tone of voice was so casual that 
he found himself wondering if he had misunderstood. "So..." She 
set down the cookie, abruptly changing the subject. "...what do 
you have for me to look at?" She began flipping through the 
papers.

"These are Theodore Cooke's financial documents," Clark said, 
glancing at the guard. "Jimmy got them for me."

Lois followed his look and then returned her gaze to him. A small 
smile quirked at one corner of her mouth. "I knew you were too 
soft for this job. It bothers you that... Jimmy got them." She 
didn't dare say more than that knowing where they were.

"Are we back to that?" asked Clark tiredly.

"Are you saying it doesn't matter to you where Jimmy got this 
information?" she challenged.

He shifted uncomfortably.

"A boy scout. That's what you are. I knew it as soon as I saw you 
on television performing CPR on that woman." She saw Clark flinch 
from her words. "You're going to have to lose that soft streak to 
make it in this business."

"I don't think one has to lose compassion to 'make it,' as you 
say."

"Maybe not. But it doesn't hurt."

Clark shook his head. "You're not as tough as you pretend to be, 
Ms. Lane. You think I can't see right through you. But I can."

"Then you need to get a new prescription. Your glasses are 
faulty."

"Can we get back to the papers?" Clark asked in exasperation.

Still, Lois couldn't quite keep the grin off her face as she 
turned her attention back to the papers in front of her. She had 
to admit, she was enjoying this. "Sure thing, boy-scout." 

In her peripheral vision, she could tell he was rolling his eyes.

"Have you gone through them?"

Clark nodded. "Until about a year ago, the only deposits were 
from his pay. Then two thousand dollars extra was deposited every 
month."

"From whom?"

Clark shook his head. "I had Jimmy check it out. The deposits 
were made in cash. When I talked to his wife, she told me that 
their eldest son has some sort of life threatening liver ailment. 
He's apparently on a transplant list. But the medication he needs 
hasn't been approved for payment by Cooke's insurance through the 
city. It costs..."

"...two thousand dollars a month?"

"Two thousand dollars a month," Clark confirmed.

"So he found a way to raise the extra money. Did she have any 
idea how?"

"I didn't tell her about the deposits. But when I mentioned that 
that must have been expensive, she told me that her husband 
handled all the finances."

"So he never told her where the money was coming from - either 
that, or she's not going to tell you."

"Anyway, she said that one night he came home and, out of the 
blue, announced that he was moving out."

"Were they having problems in their marriage?"

"She told me that the illness of a child takes its toll on a 
marriage. But that, no, she hadn't realized how unhappy he was 
until he moved out. But I've got to tell you, she seemed 
devastated by her husband's death. I don't think she was 
involved. Oh, and I talked to Henderson. The phone company told 
me that it isn't possible for someone to send an electrical 
charge over the phone lines because of a protective device inside 
the phone. So I passed the information on to Henderson. He had it 
checked out and got back to me. Apparently, the device was 
removed in Cooke's phone. So we know for certain now that it 
wasn't just an accident."

"Did they do DNA tests, look for hairs, that type of thing?"

Clark nodded. 

"And?"

"Nothing. Whoever did this must have had some knowledge of 
forensic science."

"Try every criminal in the city," muttered Lois. "What about his 
co-workers? Did you talk to any of them?"

Clark nodded. "I spoke to a..." Clark removed his notebook to 
look up the name. "Toby Heisler. He and Cooke seemed to be good 
friends as well as coworkers. He said that Cooke was 
understandably upset by his child's medical problems. But that he 
thought he was coping with it. He was surprised, though, when 
Cooke left his wife. Heisler had thought Cooke's marriage was 
solid."

"Maybe he moved out when he realized that... whatever he was 
involved in was getting too dangerous and didn't want his family 
caught in the crossfire. That would mean the key is figuring out 
where the money came from."

"In other words, 'follow the money'," Clark replied 
sarcastically.

"I heard that Deep Throat never actually said that. It was just 
added to the book for dramatic purposes. So what are the 
possibilities? Some sort of illegal business."

"Or maybe just working under the table - to avoid paying taxes on 
what was obviously some desperately needed money."

"Or maybe he was threatening someone or blackmailing someone."

"Or maybe he found a rich benefactor who just wanted to help 
out."

"Do you have to find the most respectable explanation every 
time?"

"Do you always have to think the worst?"

"The number of times I'm right is probably greater than yours."

"You have got to be the most cynical person I have ever known."

"Yeah. But at least I don't go through life being constantly 
disappointed." Smiling, Lois picked up her cookie and took 
another bite.

Clark shook his head in disbelief as he watched her. "Of course, 
the money might have nothing to do with his death."

"True. But I think it's our best lead at the moment."

"Our?"

"Of course. You'll mess it up if I let you do it on your own, 
boy-scout." She licked the lingering chocolate off her fingers.

He watched her for a moment in utter fascination. "So how do we 
go about tracking the money?"

Lois narrowed her eyes as she thought about that. "Find out who 
his friends are, what clubs or bars he frequents, what sports 
events or activities he takes part in. Track down every job he's 
worked on in the past year - focus particularly on the time when 
the money started pouring in. Someone, somewhere knows where that 
money was coming from. All we have to do is find him or her."

* * * * * * * * *

Clark stepped out of the cab and looked around the docks where 
the ferry to St. Martin's Island left the mainland. It had come 
as a bit of a surprise to learn that Cooke had been in charge of 
some major work for the city at the ferry landing about a year 
before - about the same time the first two thousand dollar 
payment had been deposited into Cooke's bank account. After all, 
the phone call to Theodore Cooke just before he died had come 
from a phone on this dock.

He spotted a phone booth and made his way there. Henderson had 
told him that the phone had been searched for prints, but none 
had been found. Tilting his head to the side, Clark considered 
this information. Then he lowered his glasses and, using his 
enhanced visual abilities, looked closely at the phone. It was 
covered with prints which meant... either Henderson had lied to 
him, which Clark found hard to believe, or whoever had placed the 
phone call to Theodore Cooke had deliberately removed his or her 
prints after making the call. 

After examining the phone, Clark nosed around, just taking in the 
feeling of the place, trying to figure out what had happened to 
Theodore Cooke about a year ago. Suddenly, he was struck by the 
realization that walking out there, something he took for 
granted, was something completely out of Lois' reach. If the 
death sentence she'd been given were carried out, it was 
something she'd never do again. He pulled in a jagged breath as 
that thought sunk in. Never would he have the chance to be by her 
side, doing something as simple as walking on a beach or watching 
the seagulls chasing each other through the air.

He quickly rebuked himself. Elroy Sykes probably had family. And 
Lois had taken his life. Just because he was having very 
inappropriate feelings for a woman who had no respect for human 
life didn't mean that she should be forgiven for taking the life 
of another human being.

He walked between the cars waiting for the ferry to arrive, going 
over to the railing so that he could watch as the ferry 
approached the dock. There was something so peaceful, so tranquil 
about the entire scene. One's troubles seemed to fade away under 
the bright blue skies, the smell of water in the air, the cool 
breeze teasing his hair. Clark closed his eyes, forcing his 
feelings of self-pity to the back of his mind. He took a deep 
breath and let it out again.

Boom!

And in an instant, the tranquility was gone. Clark's eyes snapped 
open. People were shouting, pointing. He looked in the same 
direction as everyone else and saw the ferry, dark black smoke 
rising out a gaping hole in her side. Water rushed in through the 
open hole, bringing the boat to a halt. So close to the shore and 
yet so far. All those people.

Clark looked around in desperation. He had to help them. But 
everywhere he looked, people were staring, watching the boat. He 
spotted a black wool cap lying on a bench nearby. The owner 
seemed to have abandoned it to get a better look at the disaster.

Clark hesitated for only a moment before snatching up the cap and 
rushing for the privacy between two buildings. Tearing off his 
jacket and tie, he tossed them to the side and pulled the cap 
over his hair. Pulling the cap down as far as possible, he 
discovered that it covered his face to his nose. He quickly 
burned two eye holes into the material and then, realizing he 
didn't have time to worry about the consequences, took to the 
air, diving into the water. Swimming under water, he came up 
inside the damaged vessel.

Unless one counted the occasional shower of sparks, the only 
light was coming through the hole in the side of the boat. Yet in 
the darkness the sounds of the terrified people could not be 
missed.

The mass of people trying to get topside was out of control, 
jamming together into the small stairways. Clark glanced around 
before an idea came to him. Quickly dispensing with his wool cap 
and placing it in a safe place so that, if necessary, he could 
retrieve it later, he moved quickly.

"This way!" Clark yelled as if he were just one of the passengers 
- albeit, a passenger with an idea.

People, desperate for any means of escape, didn't even question 
where Clark was taking them. Heading for the hole in the ship, 
Clark began discretely tearing planks from the ship and giving to 
them to people as they entered the water. Once they were safely 
on their boards, he gave them a cautious shove towards the hole. 
As he stood waist deep in the water, he used his feet to create a 
current that would take the people, with very little effort, 
safely through the hole in the side of the boat. 

Once all the people who were on that level were safely through 
the hole, Clark dove beneath the surface. Swimming through the 
hole, he breathed out, giving the survivors that final current to 
get them safely to shore before he himself returned to the ship.

Once back inside, he grabbed his wool cap and put it on for a 
final search of the ship, both above and below the water level.

Clark felt his stomach lurch when he saw the number of people 
already dead below the water level. He tried bringing a few to 
the surface to revive them, but the task soon proved to be a 
fool's errand. He was just about to give up, to check on the 
people on the top deck, when the sound of quiet, labored 
breathing caught his attention. Focusing in on the sound, he 
spotted an older man, unconscious, trapped in the exploded 
fragments of twisted wood and metal. The water was rising quickly 
now. In no more than a minute, he'd be completely submerged below 
the water line.

Clark didn't wait. He slipped the wool cap back on over his face 
and flew to him.

When he got to the man, he paused. The man was bleeding badly. 
Not only that, a metal pole from a former shelf on the side of 
the ship was spearing his leg, pinning him to the side of the 
ship. Clark could get him out, using a little welding and tearing 
some of the planks off from around the hole. But to do so would 
widen the hole and cause the ship to sink faster.

Glancing up, he x-rayed through the decks to see the people on 
the top level. They were managing to get off quickly. And once he 
was done rescuing this man, he was sure he could give them a hand 
as well. Besides, this was the only chance he had to save every 
person still alive on the ferry.

He quickly went to work, using his laser vision to do some 
welding and soon the man was free from his trap. But Clark didn't 
dare remove the pole from the man's leg - for fear that it would 
make the bleeding worse. Clark used his heat vision to cut the 
ends off the pole, quickly bandaged the wound as best he could 
and then turned his attention to getting the man out of the ship. 
Tearing away some boards and metal from the side of the ship, he 
enlarged the hole which was now mostly under water. Then, 
cradling the man in his arms, he flew out the hole, carrying his 
precious cargo.

Finally landing again between the buildings where he had created 
the masked man, he tore off the wool cap and stuck it in his 
pocket before carrying the man as fast as would normally be 
possible to the emergency workers who were already beginning to 
arrive at the docks.

When he had delivered his patient, he made his way back to the 
edge of the dock and watched, realizing quickly that he couldn't 
very well help the others. Emergency crews were providing 
assistance. And even though Clark had to admit they seemed to 
have things under control, he stood, his fingers creating 
indentations in the metal railing on the dock as he waited 
impatiently, concerned that the larger hole was causing the ferry 
to sink even faster. It was tilting dangerously to the side. If 
even one extra person was lost because of his actions, he'd never 
forgive himself. So he stood, frozen to the spot, ready to spring 
into action if necessary. One human life was simply too high a 
price to pay for protecting his secret. 

He finally resumed breathing when the final passenger was safely 
on shore without any assistance from him. He just wished there 
was a way for him to help openly. Maybe he'd discuss the problem 
with his parents tonight. In the meantime, he had a job to do. He 
removed his notepad from his pocket and was about to take his 
first notes when he realized the paper was soaking wet. Okay, 
well, he'd need another notebook, but there was still a story to 
get here.

* * * * * * * * *

Clark felt quite proud of himself when he stepped into the 
newsroom. He'd called Perry to let him know that he happened to 
be at the ferry disaster so that Perry wouldn't send another 
reporter. But then he went to work and he had the beginnings of 
what he believed would be a good story.

Apparently, there had been some sort of explosion below deck. 
Although Clark couldn't be certain, from what he'd seen, he was 
fairly confident that one of the engines had exploded. By using 
his x-ray vision, he took a look at the remnants of the burned 
out engine. Although he wasn't entirely sure, he suspected the 
explosion had started there given the greater damage in the area. 
Of course, most of these observations would require confirmation 
after the disaster was analyzed by experts.

Still, Clark found himself wondering if Cooke's death was somehow 
connected to the ferry explosion. The two thousand dollar a month 
payments had started while Cooke was working on these docks about 
a year before. The phone call which had led to Cooke's death had 
been made from these docks. And then, shortly after Cooke's 
death, there was a terrible accident involving the ferry. It 
seemed like a lot of coincidences unless there was a connection 
between the events. He would get input on that angle when he 
visited Lois after work this evening.

But in the meantime, Clark had managed to get a couple dozen 
interviews - including an interview with the ferry captain and 
the dock-master. It was a good preliminary story. 

He saw a crowd gathered around a television. It was quickly 
obvious that they were watching scenes from the ferry disaster. 
Spotting Perry in the crowd, he made his way over.

"I got the ferry story, sir," Clark informed Perry.

"Come," Perry instructed before leading Clark towards his office. 
Once they were safely inside and the door was closed, Perry spoke 
again. "Whatcha get?"

Clark quickly outlined the story as he saw it. When Perry didn't 
react, he mentally reviewed the story in his mind, wondering what 
he had missed. 

"Come here, son," Perry said mysteriously before leading him back 
out into the newsroom and over to the television.

Clark felt the blood begin to pound in his ears when the 
unfolding story began to penetrate his brain.

"So as you can see, this 'demon,' as he's been nicknamed by the 
press, was actually captured on amateur video tape tearing planks 
off the side of the ship to make it sink faster," the anchorman 
was saying while the video played in the background. "And then... 
and this is the part that would be impossible to believe if not 
for the confirmation of a dozen different witnesses... as you can 
see, the man-shaped creature flew out of the ship. He seems to be 
carrying something - although no one knows what - from the boat. 

"Experts are unanimous in their opinion that the 'man,' if you 
will, is a terrorist. But no one seems to know where he came 
from, who he works for, where he got his extraordinary powers or 
what exactly he is. Is he human? Is he some sort of genetic 
freak, an alien, a human experiment or some demon who has 
appeared in human form? And how many more like him are out there?

"The military, so far, has refused to comment officially, but 
unnamed high-level sources inside the Pentagon inform us that the 
military is on full alert - although others are officially 
questioning what the military can be expected to do against a 
flying demon who has the strength to pull the side off a ship."

No! The anchorman continued on, but Clark was no longer 
listening. It was a mistake. He had been trying to help. How had 
things been so horribly misinterpreted?

* * * * * * * * *

Watching the news was not a big pastime in prison - normally. So 
Lois was more than a little surprised when she entered the common 
room to see everyone gathered around the single television in the 
corner. Mindful of what had happened the last time she'd been in 
this room, she was cautious as she made her way closer. But no 
one took any notice of her, being completely engrossed in what 
was playing on the screen.

At first, she thought the flying man she could see on the screen 
was a joke. She could hardly believe that the newscaster was 
treating it seriously. She wasn't sure how it had been 
accomplished, but there was one thing of which she was absolutely 
certain - men couldn't fly. Neither did she believe in demons. As 
for genetic manipulation or other such options... She couldn't 
buy those explanations either. No. There was only one 
possibility. This was a hoax.

"What are you doing to protect us?" one of Lois' fellow inmates 
demanded of a nearby guard.

"Yeah. What if he comes here?" another added.

"We've got no way to protect ourselves," a third put in.

After that, Lois was unable to hear the individual comments as 
everyone began talking at once, turning quickly on the guards. 
Lois instantly backed away. Whistles began to sound. The prison 
alarm went off. One of the guards was attacked. 

The following minutes were like a nightmare as guards attacked 
inmates, inmates attacked guards and inmates attacked inmates - 
all with the deafening scream of sirens in the background.

* * * * * * * * *

"Jonathan! Get in here right now!"

Jonathan dropped the bucket of milk and ran at full steam towards 
the house. There was fear in his wife's voice and, as a result, 
there was fear in his heart. He was both relieved and surprised 
when he saw Martha standing watching the television.

"What was so urgent you made me drop the milk?" he asked, coming 
up behind her and wrapping his arms around her small form. "A 
television show?" However, he was too relieved that she was okay 
to be truly annoyed.

"Shhh."

Surprised, he turned his attention towards the television.

"The biggest concern at the moment," the general on the screen 
was saying, "is whether or not there are more of them out there. 
We can only assume that these flying men were after something on 
that boat." He pointed to the image of the man flying with his 
back to them, obviously holding something in his arms. "If we 
knew what that was, we might have some idea as to the object of 
this particular attack. Right now military intelligence is trying 
to determine what that might be."

Jonathan gasped, pulling away from his wife as a sharp pain 
suddenly pierced his chest. Grasping at his shirt, he stumbled 
back onto the couch.

"Jonathan!" Martha gasped. "Are you..."

"It's okay, Martha," Jonathan was quick to reassure her. "I'm 
fine. It's just..." He pointed at the television screen. Martha's 
gaze followed his to the television. She sank next to him on the 
couch and they stared in stunned silence as their boy was 
crucified by the press.

"There is hope, though. For years now, the government has been 
funding an agency known as Bureau 39..."

* * * * * * * * *

Clark was trembling as he stepped into his apartment. By the time 
Clark had left the Daily Planet, people had begun to gather on 
city streets, many bearing placards that said everything from 
'Alien Go Home' to 'The End of the World is Here.' There were 
signs, as well, calling on the government to take action against 
this new threat.

He almost dreaded what he would see when he walked over to the 
television and flicked it on.

"...so that's when I first saw The Demon, or whatever he was..." 
The caption under the picture of the man talking identified him 
as Dr. Bernard Klein, Director At Star Labs, passenger on the 
ill-fated ferry. "At first, of course, I thought it was just my 
old eyes playing tricks on me. After all, a man flying under his 
own power contradicts everything we know about principles of 
gravity and flight. But so many other people around me saw it too 
that I finally realized it must be true. Either that or someone 
must have found a way to create mass hallucinations. But even if 
that were true, it wouldn't explain how a hallucination could 
have been caught on videotape.

"The entire episode was terrifying and I wasn't thinking very 
straight. I was trapped in my car in the belly of the ferry, 
where I usually stay during the trip across. I spend the time 
doing paperwork. Anyway, as a result, I nearly didn't get out. By 
the time I did get out of my car, all the life jackets had been 
taken. So it was pretty scary there for a while. Some guy was 
helping us get out through the hole in the side of the ship. I 
still don't really remember the trip to shore.

"So when I saw The Demon, my mind was still a little cloudy. But 
when I did get a chance to think about it, I began to wonder if 
someone invented some sort of android that could fly. Now I know 
that sounds a little far-fetched. But science is advancing at an 
extraordinary pace. I'd personally love to examine such an 
android. You see, in my work..."

"Yes, well, thank you Dr. Klein. We're so glad that you got out 
safely."

"Oh, yes. Well, thanks."

Dr. Klein sounded slightly embarrassed as if being cut off made 
him suddenly realize that he was rambling. 

Clark let out a breath. A noted scientist had been on that ferry 
- a scientist who, unless Clark had mistaken the excitement in 
the man's voice, would be more than thrilled to study him in a 
lab and dissect him like a frog - his father's old warning echoed 
through his head. His casual dismissal of his parents' concerns 
seemed so hollow to him now. Maybe his father had been right. 
Maybe he'd been reckless in coming to the big city. And at the 
moment... he couldn't say that he wanted to do anything more than 
curl up in his bed at the farm and sleep until this nightmare was 
over.
 
Why did people do that? Why did they create catchwords and 
phrases that were meant to produce certain feelings in the person 
hearing them?  Ground Zero. Weapons of Mass Destruction. The Evil 
Empire. The Demon.

How could one hear that name and not believe he was evil? It 
assumed facts not in evidence - or well, he guessed from the 
public's point of view, it was based on facts. After all, the 
video had caught him 'tearing the side off the ship to make it 
sink faster.'

So now what did he do? Did he stand up and say, 'Hey, it's okay. 
It was only me - Clark Kent?' Would that do any good? And what 
would happen to his parents? They might not be able to hurt him, 
but his parents? Would they be lynched for harboring The Demon? 
How could he have put them in this position?

He had just sat down on the couch, burying his head in his hands, 
when the phone rang. He knew who it was even before he answered.

"Hi, Mom and Dad," he said the instant he picked it up.

* * * * * * * * *

Perry paced in the waiting room at Metropolis Women's Prison. 
What was taking so long? No one had come to get visitors since he 
had first arrived. And the room was starting to fill up fast. In 
the distance, he could hear the sound of sirens. Unable to stand 
not knowing for a minute more, he walked over to the counter.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked the guard behind the counter.

"Yes. I'm wondering if you can tell me what's going on?"

"Sorry, sir. You're just going to have to take a seat with 
everyone else. I'll let you know when you can see..." He looked 
down at the list. "...Lois Lane."

"I'm the editor of the Daily Planet. And unless I get some 
answers right now, this place will be crawling with reporters 
before you can sing the first verse of Jailhouse Rock."

The young man looked panicked for a moment, as if trying to 
figure out how to cause the least amount of damage. He'd been 
told to keep things under control in the visitor's area. And if 
this place were crawling with reporters, his superiors would not 
be happy. On the other hand, this man was the editor of the Daily 
Planet... "Just a moment, sir," the guard responded before rising 
from behind the counter and heading towards a door.

He was just about to step through, probably in an effort to find 
someone else to make the decision for him, when Perry started 
singing.

"The warden threw a party in the county jail. The prison band was 
there and they began to wail."

The guard stopped and looked back in disbelief. 

"The joint was jumpin' and the band began to sing. You should've 
heard those knocked out jailbirds sing. Let's rock. Everybody, 
let's rock. Everybody in the whole cell block was dancin' to the 
Jailhouse..."

"Okay, okay," the guard said, rushing back over to where Perry 
was standing. "I was told to keep things calm out here. Just 
don't call your reporters. I'm sure the prison will make a 
statement once this is over."

"What's over?" 

"There's been an... incident. I don't know the details. But the 
guards are trying to get things calmed down. Until that happens, 
no visitors are allowed inside."

* * * * * * * * *

"But that's just it. People are panicking.