No, In Any Language
A Love Story
By Elisabeth <all4_mr_d8a@yahoo.com>
Rated: PG-13
Submitted: June, 2007
____________

A tip of the hat to all the readers on the message boards who
left feedback.  Without your encouragement and correction, this
story would not have been so well written.  A kiss on the cheek
to James, who regularly provided me the time and the materials
to write and post this story.  Special thanks to DJ for
beta-reading, without whom this story would be nothing but
commas. (I only include all those commas, because IRL I talk
like William Shatner, and I include a comma, where I would
naturally, pause, for the sake, of drama.) I know she has a lot
of plates to spin, yet she still manages to spin my work to
sound half-way decent.

I have a few rules when I write fanfic.
1. Place canon in a large bowl.
2. Mix well.

Also, I tend to set all my elseworlds in current time. I figure,
since I'm messing with everything else, why not? I can never
remember when cell-phones and digital cameras and the internet
and all of that came along, so I just throw them all in.
__________

Imagine a world where Clark was content with who he was...never
searching the world for a place to fit in, but instead working
for The Daily Planet from his college internship on.

Imagine a world where Lois was too impatient to wait for what
the world had to offer her, but instead traveled the globe to
see what she could grasp by the horns.

Such a topsy-turvy world may look a little bit like this...

No, In Any Language
A Love Story
By Elisabeth

Her hands were sweaty.  It wasn't a good sign.  She had done
this so many times in her life, and over a dozen of her attempts
were successful.  Still, this was bigger and better than any
previous attempt on her behalf.  Hence, the sweaty hands.

He was spending an awfully long time reviewing the fine points
of her résumé.  An editor was trained to read carefully, so she
had spent hours honing the document over the years.  Still, he
appeared to be doing more than just a careful examination.

Finally, he spoke, "I don't get many résumés for an internship."
 His voice held the soft drawl of a man raised much farther in
the South.  "Most men just bring a transcript."

He finally glanced at her, the question clear in his upraised
eyebrows.

"I'm not most men," Lois declared, meeting his gaze firmly as
she always did in interviews.  "And this isn't most papers," she
blustered on.  "The Daily Planet deserves a little bit more from
its people, like the experience I offer."

"So what kind of grades do you get, Miss Lane?"

Oh, there it was.  He thought she hadn't brought a transcript
because her grades were too bad to mention.  Hardly!

"I start freshman orientation at Southeast New Troy State a week
from Wednesday, sir," she stated candidly, noting the surprise
that came across his features.  "I'll be honest with you, Mr.
White.  I started out too ambitious for college.  I found that
in most third world countries they care more about results than
education, so I've learned how to produce results."

No one was better at playing up their good points than Lois
Lane.  Ambition, results: it was all sounding good. 

He grunted his acceptance and went back to studying her résumé.


She steeled herself against the silence.  An editor in Colombia
had once told her he turned her down for a job once because she
babbled.  Hah!  The Colombians talked faster and moved slower
than anyone else in the world.  But then again, she had gotten
her revenge, making his competitor the top paper in the city in
the few months she had worked there.  Still, she had learned
from the mistake.  Some men were just looking for an excuse not
to hire a capable woman.  She never gave them an inch.

"It does look like you specialize in hot spots..." Mr. White
mumbled without taking his eyes off the paper.  "Georgia, the
Sudan, hmm..." he continued to glance over the highlights,
"...worked for the French in Iraq."

"The French didn't want to go, but I did."  She tried to lighten
it up, hoping it would cure the flop-sweat before she had to
shake hands.  "Heck, I would have been in Berlin when the wall
fell, but my elementary school wouldn't give me the time off."

He nodded without so much as a grin and set her résumé down on
his desk.

"I'd love to give you an internship, Miss Lane, but all those
positions were filled months ago."  He shrugged, "I'm surprised
Personnel made an appointment for you."

She smirked.  "I can be persuasive."

She could see the moment he came to a decision.  It was written
all over his face.  He was going to give her the heave-ho, with
a slick promise to keep her resume on-file should some
impossible chance ever arrive.

"I could offer you a starting position in research.  It wouldn't
be Iraq, but I might be able to slip you the occasional
obituary."

Yes!  It wasn't much, but all she needed was a foot in the door.
 The truth was that there weren't any scholarships available to
those pushing thirty.  And with The Daily Planet on her résumé,
she would have a real shot at the brass ring when she
graduated.

"You make it sound so appealing," she returned, trying not to
sound too eager.

There was an annoying knock at the door.  Mr. White held up a
finger to stave off the rude intruder.  All she needed was just
one more minute to get him to sign off on the deal.

"Well, research at the best newspaper in the world is better
than work study with the campus custodians," she allowed.  She
stuck out her hopefully dry hand for a firm handshake for a good
close.  "Mr. White, you've got yourself a deal."

"All right then.  Drop your class schedule off before you go
with Glen-...he supervises research.  He'll contact you with a
work schedule."

She turned on her heel, determined to maintain her
self-assurance all the way past the glass front of his office. 
She would celebrate in private once the elevator doors closed.

She spared half a glance for the usurper who tried to push her
out of her full interview.  While he was admittedly mildly
attractive, he certainly looked stupid with his mouth hanging
open like that.  Men!

~*~

"Hello?"  The whir of the dishwasher told Clark that his mom was
in the kitchen.

"Kents."  Dad had probably picked up the extension in the barn.

"Mom?  Dad?  You'll never guess what just happened.  I met the
girl I'm going to marry."

"Clark?"
"What's she like?"
"How'd you meet her?"
"What's her name?"

"I don't know," he admitted.  "I didn't think to ask her when I
saw her.  But I'll find out...  Look, I better go.  I just kind
of snuck off with my cell phone, because I wanted you guys to be
the first to know.  But I better get back.  Love you.  See you
in a few days."

He hit end before they asked anymore embarrassing questions to
which he had no answer.  It had probably been a mistake to call
them prematurely.  Still, it felt good to say it out loud.

~*~

Lois sighed.  Her room was a dive.  The whole building was a
dive, although someone had obviously made a feeble attempt to
make it look presentable over the summer.  Still, it wasn't her
first dive, and hopefully it would be her last.

At least, her eclectic furniture collection made it look like
her own dive.  Even if some average Jane left the unclaimed
portions of the room looking pedestrian, hum-drum or hick.

Still, she wished there was something she could do about the
smell, the one with the sweatshop, gym locker, stale food kind
of an aura.  There wasn't enough baking soda in the world to win
that kind of a fight.  And those silly sprays would just make it
seem like roses in an outhouse.  Still, she would hardly indulge
on an air-purifier, and she would definitely not take it lying
down, so she made a mental note to buy the biggest dang box of
baking soda she could find.

With no work and no school, this would probably be her last
chance to relax for the next few months.  A dive like this could
offer no bubble bath; still she could enjoy her last splurge
without it.  She pulled on a schlumpy robe and a ratty pair of
slippers and sprawled across her bed to enjoy the latest romance
novel to top the French charts.

~*~

The bus was late.  Lois raged against the forces that be which
conspired to make her late on her first day of work.  In a time
of computers and automated stoplights and traffic reports and
atomic clocks, there was no excuse for being late.  None!  And
still her watch showed that the bus was a full three minutes
late and counting.

Unless--she shuddered against the thought--what if it had
instead come early?  What if she had missed the bus on this, her
first day of work?  It was totally not fair!  She had allowed
plenty of time to walk to the bus stop, had researched the lines
meticulously so she would know which transfer to take, had added
several minutes for walking and traffic--and the incompetent,
overpaid, government screw-up who drove the bus negated it all
by showing up late, or early, to make her a generous
three-and-a-half minutes late to her first day of work. 
Probably more if she missed her connecting bus and had to wait
the twenty freaking minutes it would take for the next bus to
meander along.

She heard before she saw the bus approaching.  She glanced at
her watch.  It wheezed up four minutes late.  Perfect! 
Presuming the connecting bus was on time, give or take four
minutes, she would still be prompt on this, her first day at
work as a grunt on the greatest newspaper in the galaxy.

~*~

Clark had been antsy all day.  He had no idea who the beautiful
brunette had been, or what she had been doing in Perry's office.
 There was no guarantee she would walk back into his life ever. 
Yet, he couldn't help himself; he had kept his eyes open all
morning long, waiting for her lovely return.

There was something about the way she shook hands that had
convinced him that she would return to finish her business with
Perry.

It was probably all wishful thinking on his part.  Still, he
found himself quietly alert all morning.

He could always ask Perry who she was...  But Perry didn't get
to be editor by treeing coons, and Clark didn't relish
explaining his interest in the young lady.  Not that he would
need to explain.  Perry had a way of reading people; he would
know before Clark opened his mouth.

The clock edged its way toward eight o'clock when the first wave
of people hit the newsrooms.  He had watched elevator after
elevator, waiting for her arrival; supposing the girl of his
dreams would indeed arrive today.

And then, it happened.

It was a music video kind of a moment.  The elevator opened and
she emerged.  Soft focus.  Slow motion.  Spotlight on her.  The
music swelled.  His heart raced.  Her hair bounced as she
scanned the room to the right and to the left.

He found himself standing to his feet, gaping mutely as she
whisked by his desk.

~*~

The ‘Ken doll' had his mouth open again.  Men!  He probably
wasn't good with words.  What did he ever do at a newspaper?

~*~

It was a struggle to get any work done with every fiber of his
being tuned to the beauty on the other side of the building.  He
had gone through the motions, setting up a few interviews for
later in the day and even outlining a basic structure of what
was to go in his article, but his heart wasn't truly in it.

>From her movements and activities, he gathered that she was
probably joining the research department.  But he couldn't quite
be sure, since the people hired in that department were usually
just on the cusp of adulthood.  Perhaps she looked several years
older than her true age, or perhaps she was changing careers.

He would have to arrange a meeting if he wanted to find out all
the answers.

But such things would have to wait until after "The Morning
Brainstorm" meeting.  He trudged over to the conference room,
making particular note that the focus of his attraction wasn't
heading his way.  That meant that she either wasn't part of the
reporting staff or she was uninformed.

~*~

She was intent, focused on her task not because it interested
her but because success here would quickly lead her towards her
real goals.  It was the audible grumbling of her stomach that
caused her to glance at the clock--quarter to one--a tad late
for the traditional lunch break.

After a few wrong turns she hit upon the location vaguely
pointed out earlier as the cafeteria.  The room was mostly empty
so she grabbed the first available seat and emptied the contents
of her brown bag lunch.

She barely had time to chew her first bite when ‘The Face'
approached.  Ignoring all the empty chairs in the room, he chose
the one directly across from her.  She hoped he would keep his
mouth closed this time, as she had no desire to see his food.

"Hi."

She grunted in a hello-type manner and returned to her giant
pickle.

"I don't think I've noticed you around before.  Are you new
here?"

It was a line, and a bad one.  A man didn't stand slack-jawed
and just forget about it.  She would bet and win that he had
filed her away in the mental file folder which men keep of
interesting women they want to fantasize about later, but never
truly intend to get to know.  The fact that he was greeting her
now meant that he wanted to do more than fantasize, and she
would be darned if she was going to participate.

"Maybe you're just not very observant," she taunted him.  It
wasn't very kind, but it would be crueler to lead him on. 
Besides, she didn't really care if she was kind to him or not. 
It was the handsome ones that tended to get in her way.

He looked a bit taken aback.  Good.

He paused for a moment before opening the takeout box from the
bakery/sandwich shop she had noticed across the street.  It was
rather curious that he hadn't eaten in *their* dining room, or
even in their quaint outdoor café, if he hadn't intended to eat
at his desk.

After a minute he thrust his hand across the table, reaching for
a handshake.  "I'm sorry, I forgot my manners.  I'm Clark Kent. 
I work as a reporter here.  It's nice to meet you."

She thought about sticking her half-eaten pickle into his
outstretched hand, just to get his goat, but she was really
hungry and wasn't sure if she wanted to forfeit the pickle. 
Besides, she hadn't seen him wash his hands before he sat down,
and there was no telling where he'd been.

She shrugged.  "Kent.  Reporter.  Got it.  Was there anything
else you wanted?"

He grinned.  "No, just enjoying my meal."

She let the conversation die after that, focusing her attention
on her bologna sandwich.  She chewed in a hurry and left without
a goodbye.

~*~

Clark thoughtfully set down his telescope in its usual place on
the pantry shelf just outside the warm Kansas' kitchen, and then
turned to welcome his parents.  His mother's hug was especially
warm.

"Clark, come on in.  Perfect timing!  Dessert'll be ready in
about five minutes.  Why don't you head down to the den and call
your dad?"

A few minutes later, they dished up the cake.

"So, doing anything interesting lately?" his father inquired
with a faux politeness that was belied by his huge grin.

"Well," Clark began as his mother interrupted.

"We've been dying to hear back from you.  What's she like?"

"Lois is beautiful... focused... striking... determined... and
fascinating, and we've had lunch together for the last two days,
but I'm still just beginning to get to know her," Clark gushed. 
He didn't mention the fact that he had only learned her name
around the water cooler or that she hadn't, as of yet, even
given him the time of day.

He tried to ignore his mother's wide grin as he changed the
subject. 

"Besides, I came here to visit you.  How are things?"

~*~

The world was a wonderful place.  At "The Morning Brainstorm",
Perry had assigned Clark a human interest piece designed to
match up with the start of the school-year at the three local
colleges: a story about the changing face of non-traditional
students.  And he had been told to interview the new love of his
life.  Life was good!

~*~

Oh, good heavens!  It wasn't bad enough that ‘The Charmer' had
invaded her lunch every day last week, now he was heading over
to lay siege to her workspace.  It was practically intolerable.


"Did you get lost?" she greeted him, icily.  "Your desk is
normally over there."

"Good morning," he tossed back, in an annoyingly pleasant tone. 
"Actually, I needed your help."

"Oh, so you did need me to tell you where to go."

"In fact, Perry sent me to you.  He wants to do this piece on
non-traditional students.  It's the cover story for the 'On the
Town' section.  School starts on Thursday at South East and
Jefferson U and on Friday at Met, so I'd expect it to run around
those days.  Anyway, he promised that you'd make an interesting
addition to the story, so when would be a good time for an
interview?"

Lois was uncharacteristically caught off-guard.  If Perry was
behind this, she was in...all the way.  But if ‘Mr. People
Person' was schmoozing his way into a little one-on-one time,
she was not in the least bit interested.

"Why don't you have Perry's people call my people," she finally
decided.

"Excuse me?" he seemed confused.

"I realize you're probably used to writing with a fourth-grade
vocabulary, so I'll limit myself to the smaller words." 

Her tone was patronizing, "My work is assigned by Glen.  Your
work is assigned by Perry.  I can't just drop everything on your
say-so, so if you want me to free up some time you'll need to
have Perry make arrangements with Glen.  Capisce?"

It was kind of amusing to see him stand and blink that way.  His
slow male brain was obviously still processing what she'd said. 
Blink.  Blink.  Input.  Input. 

"All right, I didn't think that office politics would get in the
way of a little interview. But if you prefer, I'll go through
channels."

She hoped he wouldn't be back before it was time to ruin her
lunch.  Chew on that!

~*~

It was all arranged.  Perry was a little put out that she wasn't
a team player, but Clark had been quick to point out that it was
probably necessary to go through channels at her last workplace
and she was probably just trying to keep her backside covered. 
Anyway, Perry had told Glen to clear up some of Lois's time, and
then left it to Clark and Glen to make arrangements, since Lois
clearly didn't want to be involved in the process. 

When Glen pointed out that Lois really was overbooked, since she
was obviously one of the best researchers they had, even if she
had only been here a few days, Clark suggested that he could do
a lunch interview if it would suit The Planet's interests
better.

And so it fell to Glen to invite the charming Miss Lane to
lunch.

It was a wonderful life.

~*~

"Where would you like to go for lunch?" he asked amiably as they
walked into the elevator.

"I would love to head to a deserted island to eat my bologna
sandwich in peace."

He ignored her sniping, as he had earlier that day.  "There's
'The Sandwichery' across the street, Mexican one block that way,
an Italian place down thataway (although I don't recommend it,
if you're in a hurry).  Oh, and they serve Thai food a couple
blocks over there."

She stopped and looked at him strangely.  "Is it any good?"

"I can't say that I've ever been there.  Why?  You want to go?"

"Thai, it is," she decided with an odd challenge in her tone of
voice.

The scents coming from the kitchen were both unusual and
appealing; the décor was exotic and the wait staff polite.  Most
of all, in his opinion, the company was exquisite.

"So, tell me about yourself," he invited, pulling out a recorder
as soon as their order had been taken.

"Five three and a half.  This is my real hair color.  One
hundred and none-of-your-business pounds."

Clark chuckled as if she had told a delightful joke.  "That
wasn't what I meant."

"Okay, no police record.  No traffic tickets.  Acquitted of
every charge ever brought against me."

"How about, ‘Where are you going to school, Miss Lane?'"

She paused, maybe to decide whether or not to tell him the
truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  "I'm a
freshman at South East.  Journalism major, as if that wasn't
obvious."

"What made you decide to go back after all these years?"

"You mean, what made me decide to go?"

He blinked again, that slow male brain needing a little more RAM
to keep up with her.

"Isn't that what I said?"

"No," she corrected, "you said, ‘go back.'  I said, ‘go.'  There
is no ‘going back' if I never went in the first place."

"Oh, so that's why you're in research," he concluded.  "You're
interested in becoming a reporter, but you don't have the
credentials, yet, for a full reporting position."

"I'm not interested in *becoming* a reporter," she corrected
‘Monsieur Pedantic', once again, not even trying to keep the
flames out of her voice.  "I *am* a reporter.  I've reported on
some of the hottest stories of the last decade.  I was imbedded
in Iraq while you were sipping tea with the Ladies Auxiliary and
jotting down notes about their Colonial quilt sale.  I've seen
every African takeover in the last decade while you were keeping
your desk dusted.  I *am* the *best* reporter that you will ever
lay eyes on, thank you very much.  Any more questions?"

"I don't get it.  Why would the best reporter I've ever laid
eyes on be working an opening position in research?"  He didn't
seem to be challenging her, only struggling to understand.

Her eyes fell for a moment.  The silence joined them at the
table for a minute or two, and when she caught his gaze again,
her features had mellowed. 

Her softer voice matched her quieted mood.  "Because I'm tired
of running around the world proving myself over and over again. 
I wanted to come back to America.  And reporters in America need
Bachelor's degrees.  So I'm doing what I need to do to get where
I want to go."

Clark looked downright twitterpated.  "Perry is right.  You are
a fascinating woman."

The arrival of their food interrupted her acerbic reply. 

She paused, waiting for his response to the fiery food.  Since
he hadn't been used to Thai cuisine she had made a few
suggestions.  She had made sure that ‘Mr. Ham-and-Cheese-on-Rye'
had ordered one of the spiciest dishes on the menu.  He took a
bite.  She counted three for the full flavor to permeate his
senses.  She had expected him to change colors, at the very
least, but she was hoping for a good show of spitting and
puffing.

Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow.

"Interesting," was his mild-mannered reply.  "It has more flavor
than I expected, not just spice."  His smile reached to his
eyes.  "I like it.  Thanks for bringing me here, Lois."

She groaned inside.  He made it sound like it was her idea.

The rest of the interview was a rather straightforward question
and answer.  He was charmed, she was coolly compliant.  She
tried not to reveal too much, but she had to admit that he had a
warm interviewing style that did seem to allow him to know more
of her life's story than she had planned to reveal.

It was a little later than she had planned as they headed back
to work, although she was unconcerned since she was obviously
out on Planet business.  She walked slower than usual, weighed
down with an overly satiated feeling and thoughts which wandered
accordingly.

His voice interrupted her thoughts, "So what are your plans
while you're here?"

"I'm sorry; did I miss this part of the interview?"

His smile matched an irritating twinkling in his eye, as he
suggested, "Classes start in a few days.  Tonight would be a
good night if you would like me to show you some of the sights
around town."

"Does that line usually work for you?" she inquired, in the same
tone of voice she used when she nailed a corrupt government
worker to the wall.

"Excuse me?"  He stopped walking. 

She pivoted to face him, one hand on her hip.  "Do the girls
usually fawn at your feet when you say that?  Do they throw you
their bras and room keys?"

His tone was a little too patronizing for her preference, "I
didn't invite the girls.  I invited you: the fascinating and
delightful Lois Lane.  And I didn't ask for your bra or your
room key, I asked for your company.  I can show you the best
libraries in Metropolis, if that's what you'd like.  But if you
will honor me with your presence, I would love to spend a little
time with you and show you around--make you feel at home."

She barely paused before blowing him off, in a big-sister kind
of way.  "Look, I've heard lines from men all around the world. 
Yours isn't bad, but it's nothing to write home about, you
understand.  I've turned down men from every habited continent
on Earth in at least a dozen languages, so save yourself a
little time, huh?  I'm just not interested."

He resumed walking, rather briskly.  She joined him in his walk.


"Got it.  Seen all the scumbags in all the third-world
countries, and sworn off men, both foreign and domestic.  I can
understand that.  You've met more than your fair share of jerks
and decided you really don't want to have your heart broken at
every port.  Makes sense, really...  Well, it used to make sense
when you were traveling all the time.  What did you say, it was?
 Seventeen countries in twelve years?  You traveled much too
frequently to make any real friends, let alone establish a
meaningful relationship.  So the no-dating policy was probably
pretty good protection.  I knew you were a smart one, Lois."

He stopped walking abruptly, and she stumbled a little as she
transitioned. 

"But it really doesn't work as well here, does it?  You plan on
spending four years at this college.  You'll probably stay in
Metropolis longer if you go as far at The Planet as I expect. 
That's plenty of time to establish some friendships, don't you
think?  And while I'm not suggesting that the two of us put down
roots together and live happily ever after, I don't think a
little tour or a little dinner will do either of us any harm."

He opened the door for her and then followed her into The
Planet's lobby.

"You think that I..." she sputtered before letting out an angry
gush of air.  "I'm not taking the regular try-it-out,
see-if-you-like-it coarse-load.  I'm taking eighteen hours this
semester.  With one hour of study for every hour in class,
that's thirty-six hours a week.  The recommended hour and a half
of study for every hour in class makes forty-five hours a week. 
I'm working thirty-six hours a week at The Daily Planet, the
minimum required for benefits.  That's seventy-two to eighty-one
hours a week.  Add in my commute time, time for meals and
bathing and maybe even four to six hours a night of sleep, and I
totally don't have time for friendships and tours and dinner and
all that ‘When Harry Met Sally' stuff you have planned for us. 
And whether or not you approve, it works for me.  Understand?"

"Got it.  You need a little time to work your way into
friendship.  Understood."

She frowned at him in a way that made most men shrink away.  He
matched her gaze with a pleasant smile, reaching past her to
summon the elevator.

"And as for tonight," she continued.  "As they say in Spanish,
‘No.'  It's almost the same in French, although they clip it a
bit more and speak through their nose, ‘Non.'  You understand
that?"

"Perfectly clear, mademoiselle."

~*~

The night air was clean and crisp as Clark meandered down
sidewalk after sidewalk, thinking deep thoughts and planning
meaningful plans.

He hadn't really expected her to drop everything and go out for
a night on the town.  Still, it felt good to lay all his cards
on the table.  He was too old to play games.  Whether she liked
him or not, he didn't plan on pretenses.

But it didn't give him many easy options on where to go from
here.

A woman up ahead muttered under her breath as she dug around in
the dirt, her body casting shadows in the already dim light.

"Stupid!  Stupid," she mumbled.  "You don't have time for any of
this, and now look what you've done."

"Is there a problem?" Clark asked as he drew near enough to be
heard.

She eyed him, carefully assessing whatever character was
revealed in his body language and mode of dress.  She must have
decided to trust him, because she finally confessed, "Just
dropped my keys.  There's no way I'm going to find them before
the morning, is there?"

"Probably not," Clark admitted, "but it doesn't hurt to try."

His eyes easily located the offending key ring.

"Is this what you're looking for?" he asked.

"Lord, have mercy!" she clapped her hands together.  "How did
you find them?"

"Just luck, I guess."

It was his usual answer.

He smiled as he resumed walking. He tried to do that kind of
thing at least a few times every day.  On a good day he could
work in a dozen or more.  While sometimes it was something
little, like saving a person time, money or dignity, if he was
lucky he might even get to save a life.

It was those little acts of kindness that gave him hope in the
world--and maybe even a purpose for living.  His mom was always
talking about the little gifts that God gave everyone, gifts
that were expected to be shared to build up the community. 
Well, Clark had more than his fair share of gifts from God, and
his little acts of kindness were his way of giving that back.

Perhaps that's just what Lois needed, as well.  She would never
accept a gift of kindness from Clark directly, but maybe a few
indirect gifts would give her a different perspective on mankind
in general. 

He resolved to look for more opportunities to give a little bit
of kindness to Lois, whether directly or indirectly.  To do
that, he would have to become a student of what it was that Lois
enjoyed.

~*~

Lunch came and went with no sign of Lois.  Clark's frustration
was compounded by the fact that his work hadn't allowed him even
a few minutes of water-cooler time the previous day.  Clark had
turned out to be an irritatingly bad student of his favorite
student.

Once again his fingers sought out the smooth satin of the
cream-colored envelope that had graced the edge of his desktop
all day.  It was nothing much, really--just a small token of
thoughtfulness.  Still, it was a beginning.  He wondered which
would be best--should he leave it on Lois's desk when he went
home for the evening, or would it be better to hang onto it so
he could give it to her personally tomorrow?

He forced his mind back onto his writing assignment.  He had a
deadline to meet and fretting over the decision wasn't helping. 
He took the myriad of papers he had assembled and arranged them
in a better order, eventually turning the mess into an outline. 
He made note of which quotes would fit best in the article and
finally fleshed it out into a concise feature story.

He was giving it a last read-through when she arrived.  He
wasn't sure how he knew, but sight only confirmed what his heart
already attested to--somehow he could sense a moment before the
elevator opened that Lois Lane had appeared.

~*~

It was disconcerting that every time she disembarked from the
elevator he was watching.  As far as she could tell, he didn't
look up every time the bell dinged, and yet she had never come
through those doors even one time that she didn't feel ‘Romeo's'
eyes upon hers.  He seemed awfully sweet to be a stalker, and
yet it was odd that even when her work schedule changed he knew
just when to start looking for her. 

He smiled and waved.  The temptation to stick her tongue out in
response was enticing, yet she squelched the childish response
in favor of simply raising an eyebrow.

Turning on her heel, she pushed ‘Mr. Charm' to the back of her
mind.  She needed to make a good impression in order to achieve
her goals at The Daily Planet and flirting with the hired help
would surely hinder them.  She stowed her purse and lunchbox and
set off in search of Glen and her daily assignments.

She was deep in thought when an ivory envelope graced her desk a
half an hour later.

"What's this?" she asked automatically before she glanced up to
see his crinkling brown eyes tilted up in a smile.

"Nothing, really."  His words were shy and modest, but his mere
presence was forward enough.

"Oh."  She set the envelope aside, hoping he wouldn't guess at
the extreme curiosity she was squelching inside.  "Well, then...
 I really do have a lot to get done."

"All right," he agreed quickly before adding, "I'll be heading
out in a few minutes.  Can I get you anything before I go?"  At
the shake of her head, he pressed, "Soda or anything?"

"Nah, I prefer my caffeine hot," Lois indicated the mug of
lukewarm drudge to the side of her computer.

"Okay, then," Clark hesitated. 

Lois wondered what he was waiting for.  She hoped he was at
least a little disappointed that she hadn't dropped everything
to rip open the envelope he had brought her.  It was probably
all another come-on, one she would be more than happy to deny. 
The attractive ones always seemed to expect women to throw
themselves at them.

"I'll see you later," he finally decided.  He gathered a few
belongings together and headed down the stairs.

Lois counted to fifty after the door closed and then added ten
more for good measure.  The envelope had the soft feel of linen
to it, like the finer papers usually did.  "Lois Lane" was
written across the front in a clear, masculine script.  It
smelled faintly of his cologne, almost as if he had kept it
stuck in a shirt pocket long enough to pick up traces of his
essence.  The card inside showed an old-fashioned globe with a
ship sailing across the ocean.  The words "Thinking of You" were
emblazed across the bottom in a sepia font.  The simple message
inside read:

I'll be thinking of you and rooting for you as you begin your
first classes tomorrow.
Your friend,
Clark

Lois turned it over, as if by looking at it differently she
would better be able to see Clark's angle.  The heart-throbs
always had an angle.  Heck, even the ugly ones had an angle. 
She had probably foiled it when she hadn't opened his package
immediately.  She supposed she would just have to wait for the
other shoe to drop.

~*~

A mild headache knocked for attention at the back of Lois's
skull, the kind that made her suspect that someone had
substituted decaf for her regular poison of choice.  It was
compounded by the idiocy of her day's work.  She was compiling
Metropolis weather data, probably for some moron with a theory
to prove; although the theory du jour, El Niño or La Niña or
global warming or some earth-hugging fluff, hadn't been revealed
to her.  That was the most annoying part of her new position. 
She was out of the loop on every dadblasted thing she worked
on.

She reached in her purse for a chocolate bar and was chagrined
to find there wasn't one.  Even more maddening was the knowledge
that she had looked and come up empty at least three times today
alone.  It killed her that she was in The States again and
geographically she was finally able to indulge in the real deal
Double Fudge Crunch bars that could only be found in civilized
countries but, with every penny going toward her education, she
couldn't allow herself a vice.

It made her madder still to feel that slight bit of worry over
today's first class.  She was an ace at what she did.  The best
of the best.  The cream of the crop.  The top banana.  Lois Lane
didn't get nervous about anything, least of all a little biology
class.  And yet there was this insane undercurrent of concern.

For just a moment, she thought about that card that Kent had
sent.  A thought breezed over her that she could tell Kent about
her worries and, in that moment of weakness, it seemed like her
friend might understand.  But in the light of day, the mist
cleared and she realized how insane that was.  It was like a
stupid Hallmark card commercial!  Men don't send touchy-feely
cards to start relationships; men do what it takes to bed a
woman and move on to the next.  It wasn't like Kent was even a
friend.  He was an annoying tagalong colleague.  Besides, Lois
Lane didn't have issues, she had headaches.

She didn't need a heart-to-heart.  She didn't need a best
friend.  She needed a *HEADLINE* with her byline attached.

And for four long years (three--if she was able to work out the
necessary schedule of summer school), she was unlikely to have
even a nibble of a story.  She refused to work for the school
paper any sooner than her major required.  She could imagine the
assignment she was most likely to receive, "Miss Clavel
nominated for Top Honors for Appendicitis research."

Maybe none of that mattered.  Maybe she just needed to get her
orientation. 

It was silly.  She had been in the city for well over a week,
and she hadn't even begun to work out a network of snitches and
informants.  Maybe she should stop sulking and use her time for
better purposes, seizing the upper hand.

With hardly more than a backwards glance, Lois shoved aside her
weather data and flipped open the phone book to the blue pages. 
It took a bit of rifling through the disorganized resources that
the researchers shared, but she finally unearthed a Metropolis
city map, only two years out-of-date.  She started marking
addresses on the map:  city hall, the county seat, state
representatives' offices, the local offices for the United
States congressmen.  In a moment of brilliance, she marked out
the closest offices of the FBI, the CIA, Homeland Security, and
the NIA. 

She assessed her results.  The closest offices were only five
blocks away, an easy walk even for her short lunch break.

But she still needed business cards.  She found a good basic
card template on her computer's word processor and added a GIF
for The Daily Planet's logo from the company website to the top
corner.  It would have looked snazzier for her to include a nice
title, but she couldn't afford honesty, as of yet.  She debated
whether to use the Planet's switchboard for a phone number or
her room's line at the dorm and decided upon both...-her
roommate seemed flaky enough that she might let Lois manage the
outgoing message on the answering machine.  She printed out a
test copy and approved the results.  She had to dig through a
few years' worth of clutter before she found an appropriate
paper but eventually found a heavy-enough stock for her tastes. 
She ran three pages worth (twenty-four cards in total) through
the copier and cut them precisely.

The clock only read 12:30, a time too perfect for her to go out.
 It wouldn't do to catch others at their lunch breaks.  She dug
out the brown bag she had picked up for lunch.  It was the same
meal she had every day, but she couldn't afford to complain. 
She was able to charge twenty-one meals a week to her student
loan, and she would be darned if she were going to pay for a
meal and not pick it up.  So she went through the steps the
interns and student teachers normally went through to get their
meals, filling out her work schedule one week in advance and
picking up the generic brown bag lunch at the preceding meal. 
She already had the contents memorized: one cardboard bologna
sandwich on white bread, one red apple (heavy on the wax), seven
carrot sticks and a pint of two percent milk in one of those
cardboard containers the elementary schools use. 

No dessert.  No taste.  It was going to be a long
four--hopefully three--years.

~*~

Clark was a little bit concerned.  As usual, he was keeping an
eye out for when Lois ate.  He could tell, even from this
distance, that she was in a huff over something or other.  Then,
she started to eat lunch at her desk. 

He hoped she wasn't upset with him.  Criminy!  It was only a
little card!  It wasn't a diamond ring or anything.  Still, it
was obvious that she didn't want to share her lunch today.

She hadn't seemed all that upset when he had watched her open
the envelope yesterday from his vantage point behind the
staircase door.  Confused maybe, but upset?--no.

Clark worried his fingers through his hair.  He kept an eye on
her from a distance and wondered what his next move should be.

~*~

These things never went totally according to plan but, all in
all, it went as smooth as could be expected.

Lois did as she always did; she waltzed into City Hall and made
her rounds among the support staff.  She introduced herself,
passing out cards as she went.

"Good afternoon.  I'm Lois Lane with The Daily Planet.  I'm kind
of new in town, so I thought I'd better meet some of the movers
and shakers."

As always, she reassured everybody that she didn't need an
appointment.  She wasn't here to meet the mayor but the people
who did the real work.

She was greeted politely, but warily.  It was actually kind of
pleasant to be greeted with icy smiles instead of an open
display of weaponry.

As soon as she left, Lois jotted down the names of everyone she
had met.  Back at The Planet, she would look up public records
to make note of job titles; although, it would take awhile to
determine what each person actually did.  She noted the date, as
well.  She would visit again every six weeks or so until the
smiles were genuine and the trust was established.

For the first time all day, Lois smiled.  It felt good to be
thinking like a reporter, again.

~*~

It seemed almost natural as Clark sidled up to her desk a half
an hour after she had arrived, Friday afternoon.  It also seemed
natural for her to ignore his presence.  It was nice to have a
routine like theirs.

"How were classes?"

She didn't bother to look up as she mumbled, "Last night was the
most amazing three hours of my life.  I only wish it could have
lasted forever.  When we hit the two hour mark and my brain shut
down, it was like nirvana."

Clark chuckled.  She was opening up to him, kinda' sorta'.  It
was great progress.  "And this morning?"  He pressed his luck.

It paid off when Lois looked up.  "A similar experience from a
different faith background.  Not nirvana, but paperwork heaven. 
You understand the difference, don't you?"

"I remember.  ‘This is your syllabus for the course'.  Followed
by a full discourse on every jot and tittle contained in the
syllabus, along with a stern ‘talking to' about actually doing
the work and a warning.  ‘You won't get away with plagiarism, so
don't even try.'"

"That in a nutshell."  Lois's smile lit up her face.

"I'm heading out of here pretty soon.  You need anything before
I go?  Cup of coffee?  Maybe a little something with chocolate
in it to help you make it through the night?"

"Are you trying to tempt me?  First I'll say yes to chocolate
and then roses, and the next thing you know, you have me wrapped
around your little finger?"

"I'm just being nice," he reprimanded her.

She snorted.  "Nice with an angle isn't the same thing as just
being nice."

"So what do you say, Lois?  Can I get you anything before I
go?"

"As they say in Dutch, ‘nr.'  That means ‘no', by the way.  No
to the chocolate and no to you."

"We'll see," he predicted, noting the teasing undercurrent in
her tone.  "I can be *very* patient and chocolate can be *very*
tempting."

"Hah!"  She snorted again, a full grin making her a sight to
behold.  "The day I can't handle a man like you is the day I
hang up my hat and retire.  And I assure you, I'm not the
retiring kind.  So bring it on, Kent."

"Have a nice weekend," he tossed over his shoulder as he left
the bull pen with a spring in his step that hadn't been there an
hour before.

~*~

Clark stowed his telescope and his backpack in the rear of his
black Jeep Cherokee.  He had bought it used three years ago and
had added only around 6,000 miles in the time he had owned the
vehicle.  A man of Clark's talents didn't really need a car,
except as a cover story.  So every Friday night he drove about
ten miles out.  Purportedly, he went hiking and stargazing in
the wetlands; but, in reality, he parked in a commuter lot that
backed up to a densely wooded state park and, under cover of
darkness, flew back to Kansas.

He had an experimental aircraft stowed in an outbuilding at the
farm that he hauled out to complete the show.  He bought it for
a little bit of nothing the first year he went fulltime at The
Planet.  The engine was beyond repair, but it suited Clark's
needs.

This time of year the sun set way too late for him to catch
dinner, but Mom always saved him a piece of pie.

Dad and he took turns being quiet tonight while Mom chattered on
about the stuff of life in Smallville.  She had volunteered to
judge an art competition for the scholarship Elmyna Simmons
sponsored in her late husband's memory, but Elmyna's son, Pete,
wanted to find someone with better credentials.

"I have enough credentials to tell you what I like and what I
don't like.  If talent takes an expert to recognize, it's
probably not much to write home about," Mom concluded before
switching gears to tell Clark about the new hair stylist Dad
visited after Cassie Sherman retired.

"Your dad didn't much care for her styling techniques, did you,
Jonathan?  But I think it looks cute, in a George Clooney kind
of way.  What do you think, Clark?"

Clark mumbled some kind of an answer, but his mind was half a
continent away wondering how his favorite brunette was spending
her downtime.

~*~

Lois yawned, yet again.  Today was supposed to be her first big
day to buckle down and study, yet she was finding it difficult
to keep her mind on the books.

She had started off on the wrong foot.  She had overslept.  The
alarm was set for five thirty but her eyes hadn't blinked open
until quarter to nine.  She didn't ever remember turning the
alarm off.  By the time she had showered, dressed, thrown a
little make-up on and hiked halfway across campus to the
cafeteria, it had been closer to her normal lunchtime than
breakfast.

She had planned on hitting the books for seven or eight hours
today, about two hours on each of her subjects, with a little
time set aside for straightening her room and laundering her
clothes.

But two hours into the studying process she still hadn't
accomplished anything and her stomach was growling too much to
ignore the midday meal.  Even worse, she was tired.  While it
was true that Friday was her late night at work--it was around
one this morning that she had finally plopped into bed and then
was frustrated that sleep hadn't immediately welcomed her--that
was no excuse to fall into bad habits she could ill afford.  She
was no slacker; she was 28, for heaven's sake.

She just needed a change of pace.  It was time for some lunch. 
After carefully gathering her books and papers, she crept
through the stacks and down the library stairs.

Five minutes later, she dumped all extraneous supplies on her
desk at the dorm.  The ear-splitting snores informed her that
the errant roommate had finally returned--smelling of booze,
wearing last night's clothing and sprawled across the wrong bed.
 Lois wrinkled her nose in disgust, hoping that a little extra
soap and fabric softener would get the odor out of her bedding.

She opened a window and then reviewed her supplies: the new
sketchbook she had purchased along with two sharp art pencils
and the largest art gum eraser available, her student I.D. and
the cafeteria credit account.  She had no idea how to study for
Drawing I.  Yesterday, Prof. Buscht had only reviewed the
syllabus and lectured on the creative process.  Aside from a
sentence on plagiarism, Lois didn't even jot down any notes. 
Still, Lois was shooting for a 4.0, so she was determined to
study as best as she could.

She had never tried drawing before but the class had fit both
her fine art requirement and the Monday, Wednesday, Friday
twelve PM - one PM time slot she wanted to fill.  Besides, how
hard could drawing be?  They taught it in kindergarten.

~*~

Lois raised an eyebrow as she reviewed her moth.  She wanted to
pick a subject that would sit still long enough to be drawn. 
The moth had obliged, but an hour and a half later, her drawing
still didn't look very moth-like.  She couldn't identify what
was wrong with it; it just didn't look right.

Perhaps she just needed to play.  Artsy-fartsy types never took
life this seriously, right?  She flipped to a new page and began
a quick sketch.  Just a fun, five minute exercise to say she had
tried. 

An oval turned into an eye with a little crease above and a
little shading below.  She added a little extra shading to the
iris; she was in the mood for a little darkness and depth in her
drawing.  A few scribbled lines added an eyebrow which she
teased into shape with quick, clear strokes.  She moved up to
the hairline, drawing dark hair that waved up and back.  She
added an ear and then filled the hair in around.  Thinking
glasses might be a fun challenge, she sketched in some frames.

Lois was just slipping the ear piece onto her drawing when it
occurred to her how much her artwork resembled Clark.  True, it
was an amateur's hasty attempt and it was only the left side of
the face, but the jaw line looked as strong as Clark's.  The
eyes were dark and mysterious like Clark's.  The glasses were
somewhat like Clark's, albeit popular frames.  The hair was also
styled like Clark's, the way it was windblown on their walk back
from the Thai restaurant last week.  And...

...And it was time to close the sketchbook for awhile and go
study biology before her own biology reminded her of things her
heart didn't want to hear.

~*~

"So I thought maybe it might be nice if I gave her a few little
gifts every now and then, you know like..." Clark drifted off,
at a loss for words.  He was slumped over an empty coffee mug at
the table, the remnants of lunch still not cleaned up as he
lingered with Mom.

"Like a care pack?" his mother inquired.

"Exactly!"  Clark snapped his fingers.  "Like a care pack.  She
is a college student, so it's entirely appropriate to send her a
care pack.  I can send it to her at school, so it looks very
‘care-packy'.  I wonder if I should sign my name..."  Clark
picked up his empty mug and headed over to refill it.

"Why ever wouldn't you sign your name?"  Martha's voice rose in
confusion.

"Oh, we're still working on this trust thing..." Clark explained
as he headed back to the table, "...what with me being a man and
all that."  He placed his cup on the tabletop and laced his
fingers over the chair back.

"Lois likes women?"  Now, Martha was truly confused.

"Oh, no.  It's nothing like that," Clark reassured her.  "I'm
sure she would have mentioned *that* to me.  No, it's more like
‘you men are all alike.'  Yeah, and ‘every man has his angle.' 
That's more like it.  We're still friends and everything.  We're
just working on the trust thing so we can go beyond friendship. 
But I'm patient and she's still there, so it's working."

"And you think that by sending her anonymous gifts to her
college address, she'll see that not all men have an angle. 
Hmm?"

Clark missed the sarcasm in his mother's voice.  "Precisely!  So
will you help me?  I've never really done this before, you know?
 I've had dates--you know that--but none of them were like Lois.
 They were all nice girls who were happy to go out once or
twice, just for a diversion."

"But Lois isn't nice?"  Martha was egging him on now, but Clark
didn't appear to notice.  He was up and walking again, but
Martha doubted he realized he had begun to slowly pace.

"She is so much more than just nice.  She has way too much
energy to be nice.  Lois is...  She's... phenomenal!  And dating
her would be so different than anything I've ever done before."

"Because you're dating her against her will."

"Not, yet.  But, I will."

"Clark," Martha pointed out, "you have an angle."

"Yes, but it's not the angle that she thinks I have.  This would
be good for Lois, too.  She's so driven.  She never takes any
time to relax and enjoy herself.  She reads, but she doesn't
really hang out around the water cooler and shoot the breeze. 
It's all about school and work, with her.  It works for her
because she's brilliant and charming and sharp, but imagine what
she would be like if she took the time to laugh every once in a
while."

"And you could give her all that."  Martha truly was concerned. 
Clark wasn't usually so pushy, particularly when it came to
women.

"If she wanted it, and I think she will, then, yeah.  Maybe." 
He quit pacing long enough to catch his mother's eye.  "So will
you help me?"

Martha sighed.  He looked so sincere in his pleading that it was
difficult to deny him.  "What do you want?"

"What goes into a care pack?"

"Well, each one is a little different.  Usually, you send food,
and sometimes other things that might interest the person.  I
guess you send something that's difficult to find on a college
campus."

"I'm not even sure what food I should send.  I'm pretty sure she
doesn't like chocolate.  I know she doesn't drink soda and she
can get all the coffee she wants at The Planet."

"Cookies ship pretty well," Martha pointed out.

"I suppose..."

"Or I could bake up some apple tortes," she suggested.  "The
early apples are in, and they are sure sweet this year."

"That's a great idea, Mom.  But that won't fill up a nice shirt
box, will it?  What else should I send?"

"What else does she like?"

Clark sunk back into his chair.  He took a long drink of coffee
as he thought.

"She likes to read.  She's carries a book with her every day to
work, although I've never seen her read it.  Probably that's
just because we eat lunch together, and I'm much more fun to
talk to.  But anyway, she was reading this book, and it looked
like it was in French.  Maybe I could fly to Canada on the way
home and pick up something for her to read.  I'll look for
bilingual signs and hope I luck out enough to find an
English-speaker who sells French books."

"I don't know, Clark.  That sounds kind of dangerous," Martha
worried.  She drained the last tepid drops from her own coffee
mug, and then began gathering plates together.

He was confused.  "What's dangerous, Mom?"

"The flying," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Mom, I fly here every week.  What's dangerous about that?"

"But you take security precautions when you fly here," she
insisted.  She picked up the stack of dishes and placed them in
the sink.  "You have a cover story in place, and you fly pretty
late in the evening when you'll blend in better.  Besides, this
is a small town.  If you flew to Quebec, you would have to go
earlier, you wouldn't have a cover story, and more people would
be likely to see you."

"And since nobody knows me, I wouldn't need a cover story to
explain how I got there.  With all those people, the folks there
are used to not really noticing everything.  Who really looks
up, anyway?  Mom, it'll be fine."

"I know you use your powers every day to help here and there,
but what you're talking about is different.  You've always been
careful and surreptitious before.  You work subtly and
personally.  You don't just boldly go flying from city to
city."

He took a long moment to consider before he answered.  "I
promise I'll be as surreptitious as I can, but this is something
I need to do.  I'll be careful.  It'll be all right.  You'll
see."

~*~

With all her studying done, Lois decided to head to bed early. 
True, she hadn't made a dent in her laundry pile and the sheets
still smelled like sweat, perfume and beer, but she had been
tired all day. 

The only problem was that Saturday night in a co-ed dorm is not
a quiet place.  Somewhere in the midst of the mist of dreamland,
Lois heard it all.  There was a gal somewhere in the dorm,
although Lois couldn't figure out if it was the floor below or
the floor above, that was either being highly entertained in a
rather loud fashion or was being attacked.  It sounded more like
a cheap, adult movie than reality, but the floor actually shook
every once in awhile to prove it was live action.  Between the
loud music, the even louder shrieks and all the accompanying
thumps and bumps, it was all quite disturbing. 

And, in the fog that was her dreams, it reminded Lois of a night
two wars past when the gunshots were still but the noise of the
war continued. 

Whatever was going on, Lois was in no position to help.

Coming fully awake, she realized that she had to get out of
there.  She pulled on a pair of pants from the top of the
laundry pile and a t-shirt from her drawer.  Grabbing a jacket
to ward off the autumn chill, she pocketed her keys, snatched up
her bag and headed out.

She walked, not truly caring where she went.  At the entrance to
the campus, she was faced with a choice: a left turn would carry
her toward the relative quiet of suburbia with small patches of
country tucked here and there; a right turn would bring her
toward Metropolis, The Daily Planet and all that the city had to
offer. 

She might be a little on edge but she was still Lois Lane.  She
turned right.

~*~

As Lois walked she began to notice the neighborhood flow from
spacious houses, complete with large yards, to narrower homes
with smaller spaces.  After awhile the homes were built one
practically atop another.  Block after block she walked, noting
the changes from the well-kept neighborhoods to those with fewer
lights and more bars on the windows and back again.  Here and
there Lois would see the rise of one gang's tags, only to see
another gang take over a block or two away.

Lois saw the faces, as well: this one scared; that one
determined; another gang-hardened.  The drifters sprawled in
alleyways.  Every so often Lois would spy a girl with a woman's
body and empty eyes parading herself, looking for the nearest
buyer.

Finally, Lois stopped walking.  She found a spot on a low-lying,
stone retaining-wall and sat down to get her bearings.  In the
distance, she watched a master of the night hard at work.  It
would be hard to say what it was about him that caught her eye. 
Perhaps it was his lack of gang colors and paraphernalia.  Maybe
it was that he didn't have his lieutenants doing his work for
him.  Or maybe it was the fact that she never saw a bit of
merchandise change hands from seller to buyer, although Lois was
convinced that something illegal was taking place.  Whatever it
was, she was certain that this man was the one.

She approached openly and cordially, as she had hundreds of
times before.  She was always careful to keep both hands where
they could be easily seen, but she tried not to look as awkward
or as frightened as she felt.

"I've heard you're the best there is on this side of town."

The man was thorough in his assessment of her.  He was slow to
answer.  "And you heard this from..."

"That doesn't matter.  What does matter is that my gut tells me
it's true."  She finished her approach, giving the man a hair's
breath more distance than normal, out of respect for his
position.  "So is it true?  That you know everything there is to
know on this side of town?  The who's?  The what's?  And, most
importantly, the why's?"

Once again, silence prevailed as he measured her with his eyes.

"It depends on who I'm talking to," he finally decided.

"If you'll allow me..."  She reached in her handbag for a
business card.  "I'm Lois Lane, newly with The Daily Planet. 
You can check me out, if you like.  You'll find that I only tell
the stories that need telling in a way that respects those that
need to tell it.  I know the rules of the street, and I can play
by those rules, you understand."

He nodded before slipping her card into his pocket.  This one
would take a quite a bit more careful handling before he trusted
her.  She had no doubt that she would be checked out very
thoroughly before he passed any information her way, least of
which was his name.

But taking a chance like this was what separated her from the
office boys writing up doggy shows and human interest garbage.

She turned and sauntered away.  Leaving was always the hardest
part, since it left her back exposed to danger. 

But, of course, he knew that.  And she would have to trust him
before he ever trusted her.

On her way back to the dorm, Lois smiled.  She wasn't going to
be stuck in research for long.

~*~

Both his mom and dad were worried as Clark returned on Sunday
night, much earlier than he normally did.  But it couldn't be
helped.  If he was going to get what he wanted, he was going to
have to take risks.  He was going to have to do whatever it took
to get Lois to trust him.

Even so, as Clark headed north toward Canada, he found himself
smiling.  He wasn't going to be alone for long.

~*~

Lois was in a good mood as she walked into The Daily Planet
Monday evening.  She was doing well in her classes.  She had a
fine groundwork laid for her network of snitches and informants.
 Heck, she had even been able to get a good hour of studying in
on the bus ride back to work.  Life was hers for the taking. 
She put on her loveliest smile as the elevators opened, knowing
in her heart that ‘Muscles' would be watching.

As the elevator dinged, he lifted his head to watch her grand
entrance.  Her visage was as charming as ever.

She was a breath of fresh air after a trying day.  The stories
had seemed to go nowhere--not just for Clark, either, but all
across the newsroom stories dried up or hit dead ends.  And the
grumps all around him were sagging his spirits. 

The only thing that afforded him any hope that the day would
improve was when he had snuck off during his lunch break to
deliver her package.

~*~

She took her place among the researchers in the back of the bull
pen.  It wasn't long before she hit her groove, taking what the
day shift had started and running with it.

A niggle in the back of her mind told her that in only a few
minutes her white knight across the room would come a courting. 
It would be best if he found her totally involved in her work,
so she plunged deep.

"CK!"  A voice from across the room caught her attention.

"Hey, Jimmy," came that silky voice she could recognize without
looking.  "It's good to have you back.  Hi, Ralph."

"Clark, did you miss me?"  Lois couldn't help but swing around
as she heard a woman's voice that was sultry and pouty all at
once.  The woman was ten years her senior and dressed in Cher's
casual wear.  And she had her hands all over Clark.

"It's never the same without you, Cat," Clark affirmed. 

He dropped his arms from the bimbo's embrace long enough to give
the young guy a one-armed hug with a fake punch to the
shoulder--a move that most men saw as highly friendly toward
their buddies, but really only made them look as affectionate as
a bunch of Marines.

"So how was it?" Clark inquired.

"Boring."  "Humiliating."  "Infantile."  The answers came all at
once before ‘Mrs. Robinson' complained, "They want me to dress
conservatively.  Can you imagine?  How am I ever going to get my
job done while looking like everyone else."  Her tone of voice
made it quite clear what she thought of everyone else.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm checking in with HR, and
I'm outta' here," Ralph declared as he summoned the elevator.

"See you."  Clark waved.

The remaining three headed toward the coffee machine to finish
their chat.

"So where is ‘Miss Goody-Two-Shoes'?" the woman inquired in a
voice of ice.

"Over there," Clark indicated.  Lois ducked her head as she
realized that all eyes were looking her way.  She tried
feverishly to regain her stride, but her train of thought had
been completely derailed.

"Over where?"  ‘The Fashion Diva' strained her neck to take a
look as Clark continued his explanation.

"She quit the morning after you three were suspended.  That's
Lois Lane, taking her place."

"She's a little long in the tooth for research, don't you think?
 And nothing to write home about."  Lois gritted her teeth and
tried to ignore the old biddy.  She believed in standing up for
herself, but she couldn't justify her own eavesdropping.

"Lois is okay."  Clark's support was underwhelming.

"You wouldn't *believe* what we went through this weekend." 
That old lady had her hand draped across Clark's chest again. 
"Our flight was scheduled for Saturday morning, but it was
*cancelled*.  They bumped us to a Saturday evening flight.  We
sat on the tarmac for *four hours* before they finally admitted
the plane was *too broken* to fly us home.  *Can you imagine
what would have happened if they had taken off*?  By this time,
the airlines were trying to find seats for *two airplanes* full
of people.  They told us we couldn't get a flight out until
today at ten, but I was able to use my *womanly charms* to get
us a red-eye for three o'clock this morning.  So we flew into
St. Louis at seven a.m., with a connecting flight that was
supposed to leave at nine, but--get this--the *President* flew
into St. Louis unexpectedly at nine-thirty this morning to deal
with the strike there and the airspace had to be clear.  So,
every flight was delayed until after eleven.  We didn't arrive
until after *two-thirty*.  *'m* *exhausted*."

At some point, Lois quit listening to the diatribe and just
started listening to the drama that retired Rockette oozed as
she told it.  She pawed on Clark with every point of emphasis. 
It was sickening to behold.

"So how was your weekend, CK?" Jimmy enquired, but then
continued before Clark could answer.  "I bet I know what you
were doing."

"It was a pretty good weekend.  It was cloudy, at first, but
when everything cleared up...  Beautiful!  You ought to go with
me sometime."

Lois wondered what they were talking about.  She hated being out
of the loop all of the time.

"I don't think I could last all weekend long, like you do,"
Jimmy confessed.

Whatever it was, it required a lot of endurance.  Maybe some
bravado, if she read Jimmy's tone of voice correctly.

"Come on," Clark beckoned.  "I'll walk you down to HR.  Let's
get this whole thing over with." 

They walked together to the elevator and Jimmy pressed the
button to summon it.

"It's good to have you both back."

They entered the elevator and left Lois in relative silence, the
day shift having cleared out while the three of them had been
talking around the coffeepot. 

That's when Lois realized that Clark had left without saying
good-bye.  She knew that someday Clark would replace her on his
women-to-do list, but she hadn't expected it to come this early.
 And she hadn't expected her replacement to be a show horse was
ready to be put out to pasture.

It was probably good that it had happened sooner rather than
later.  This way, she hadn't had the chance to get emotionally
attached.  Still, she wasn't in as good of a mood as before. 

It was nothing, really.  Her routine was just a little off.

~*~

During Tuesday's lunch, Lois pretended she didn't hear Clark's
approach.  She submerged herself in her biology textbook as if
an introduction to the scientific method was the most
fascinating thing she had ever seen.  It was a rather sophomoric
trick but, since Lois was still just a freshman, she didn't
care.

"What are you studying?" Clark inquired, obviously unfamiliar
with the cold shoulder.

"School stuff," she muttered without looking up.

"Hmmm, biology," he noted.  Apparently the man knew how to read.
 "That was never my favorite course.  Physics was more to my
liking--oh, and astronomy, of course."

"Fascinating," she droned.

"So what other courses are you taking?"

Lois chose to take a large bite out of her day-old sandwich
rather than answering.  She chewed meticulously, mesmerized by
her text.

"I've seen you with sociology before."

"Huh."

"And art appreciation, I think."

"Drawing I.  Did you really want to talk to me about my class
schedule?  I can send you my mid-term grades when they come out,
if you really care."

"That's nice of you."  Clark grinned.  He made everything come
out all wrong.  She was put out and he was making it sound like
a virtue.

She tore into another bite of her sandwich.  Pit bull meets
flank.

"Clark, is this really what you wanted to do with your life?"
she challenged him.

"Yes, of course.  This is The Daily Planet.  What more could I
ask for?"

"Kent, you cover stories like, ‘Girl Scout Jamboree Big
Success.'  When was the last time you had a front page story?"

"My interview with you was a front page piece."

"Front page of ‘On the Town'," she pointed out.  "That's not the
same as a true front page story.  I've read your work.  You're
really talented.  You could be so much more."

"I like what I do, Lois.  Why does all the news have to be so
bad?  Why can't we report on all the good things that happen?"

"Because, in this business, it's either catastrophe or atrophy. 
Mayhem and murder sell papers...  Besides there's no feeling
like the pursuit of a great story.  I don't know if you know the
feeling...-I mean, how could you really...-of being the only
reporter out there when the guns are firing and the bad guys are
going after the good guys.  A well-written story can change not
only public opinion; it can change the world."

Lois stared him down as she proclaimed her indictment.  "And
you're missing all that, Kent."

"But, Lois, it's not my job to change the world.  I do what I
can when I can.  I try to use my talents to do small acts of
kindness everyday.  That's a great feeling."

"Maybe we're just two different people going two different
places.  You don't understand my world, and I don't understand
yours.  Maybe we'll never get past that."

Lois picked up her trash and headed back to the bull pen.  This
little lunchtime rendezvous was over.

~*~

Lois was making great progress.  There was something about anger
that motivated her in a way that nothing else did.  She had just
worked up a good pique, when she felt a warm breath on the back
of her neck.

She suppressed her Tai-Kwon-Do instinct, instead spitting out,
"What?"

"H...hi," a male voice stuttered over her shoulder.  ‘Skippy'
seemed to regain his emotional balance and tried again, "Hi.  I
hear you're new around here."

"You're not quite sure?" she taunted.  She was in no mood for
small talk; she never indulged in water cooler chit-chat before
the job was done.  "Maybe I've been here the whole time, and you
just misplaced me." 

'Junior' shifted on his feet, chewing on his lip, as if trying
to figure out what to say next.  He tried again.

"So you're in research, aren't you?  I'm in research, too. 
Well, sort of.  I'm more like the Chief's go-to guy, if you know
what I mean."

Lois didn't know, but she didn't care and wasn't about to ask. 
The answer came shortly enough, anyway.

"Olsen?"  Perry's voice thundered across the cacophony of the
newsroom.  "Olsen!  Have you finished fixing my singing fish?"

"Not yet, Chief," ‘Mr. Go-To Guy' hollered back.  "I haven't
even had the chance to pick it up."

"Well, get it out of my office; will ya'?"  Perry accentuated
his fit by hoisting the offending fish out the door.  It flipped
across some poor reporter's desk and landed atop the lady's
purse.

"I'll get right on that," he muttered in the direction of
Perry's slamming door.  He shrugged and then focused a bright
grin in Lois's direction.  "So, the name's Jimmy.  And since
we're going to be working so closely together and seeing how
you're new in town, I could show you around.  I'll show you the
sights, and then maybe we'll catch some dinner."

Lois let out an exasperated sound that started in the back of
her throat and matched the fire in her eyes.

"What is it with this place?" she erupted, not caring that more
than a few heads turned her way.  "That's the same pickup that
Kent used.  What?  Are you all a part of the line-of-the-month
club?  This isn't a part of some competition, is it?  To see how
many women you can bed?  Because I've had it with guys like..."

Jimmy waved his hands defensively in front of himself and backed
up a step, whether to get her to shut up or because he was
concerned with what the irate woman would do next, she wasn't
sure.

"Whoa!  Whoa!  Wait a second," he interrupted. 

She quieted down, but her steady glare told him that her tantrum
wasn't over. 

"I didn't mean anything by it.  I'm just being a little
friendly.  That's all.  No harassment intended."

He laughed nervously.  She glowered in response.  He nodded his
head and smiled artificially. 

"Okay...  Well, I guess we'll talk later.  Mm hmm.  Bye."

Lois defiantly stared at the retreating figure and then lifted
her steaming gaze to the crowd of busybodies.

"And I suppose you all have work to do, too," she projected.

Heads spun back to desktops.  Papers flew.  Aside from the
clackety-clack of keyboards, you could have heard a pin drop.

Lois turned back to her work, but it took her a moment to find
her place again.  She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but in the
quiet moment she heard Jimmy's voice across the room.

"So did she say you asked her out, CK?  My man!"

It was impossible to hear the response, as the normal workroom
clatter closed in before she heard the silky-smooth reply.

~*~

It was sociology that purportedly held Lois's attention on the
bus ride home, but it was difficult to focus her attention
through the ire she had built up throughout the day. 

She let out a deep sigh as she disembarked at a fast clip.  This
wasn't like her at all.  It was the first time in years that
Lois lacked direction.  Oh, she had her studies, and was
dedicated to getting good grades, but without a good lead it
felt like the real part of her was drying up.

And now she had become some kind of a target for the
lonely-hearts club.  Frustrating!

It was always a race on Tuesdays and Thursdays to get home from
work, eat dinner and make it to class on-time.  Lois wasn't sure
exactly why she strayed from the path long enough to get her
mail but, then again, she wasn't really making good choices
these days.  So while she was walking through the Student
Center, she stopped off at her mail box.  The slip she found
inside summoned her to the mail room to pick up a package.  With
a glance at her watch, she made a fast decision.  She wasn't
expecting anything but, since she was here, she went to the mail
room to fix the mistake.

The blond at the mail room wasn't nearly as inefficient as she
looked.  Still, she managed to cut Lois's schedule to within a
razor's edge of being on-time.  She thrust a clipboard and a box
toward Lois, indicating the dotted line Lois was supposed to
sign.  Lois checked the label carefully before committing to a
signature, but her name was clearly written across the label.

She glanced at the return address, but there was none.  The lack
of a post script indicated that the package had been mailed
on-campus. 

That explained a lot.  It must have been sent from the
bookstore.  Her sociology teacher had the nerve to charge $15
for class notes, which of course were a required purchase, but
he hadn't bothered to print enough for his class.  She juggled
purse, box and books into somewhat of a stack and raced off to
biology.

It wasn't until after class ended that she gave the box a second
thought.  She plopped on her bed and ripped open the plain brown
postal paper.  She tore open the flimsy white box and reached in
to grab the notes.  But instead of feeling the cool, smoothness
of paper, she felt something squish between her fingers.  In her
surprise, she jumped, sending a shower of baked goods across her
bedspread.

She stared at the mess for a few minutes, trying to make sense
of it all.  This time, she carefully slid her finger under the
fold and broke the tape.  In addition to the mess she had
already discovered, there was a bottle of hot sauce and a
saucier-looking novel.

There was no note of explanation.  It made no sense.  Her family
and she had lost track of each other a few countries and a few
birthdays ago.  Since it wasn't a big loss, she hadn't bothered
to notify them that she had demoted herself and was living only
a few miles from home.  And even if she could scrounge up some
semblance of a friendship from her last port of call, it
wouldn't explain the on-campus point of origin.  It made no
sense.

Lois picked up the book as she mused and noticed the final
oddity: the book was French.

Who knew that Lois was fluent in French?  She had no college
buddies who she might have mentioned it to. So whoever sent her
the package had been close enough to her to notice the French
romance novel she had thumbed through before classes began.

The package had been sent by a stalker.

Lois wondered what the etiquette was.  Does one eat food sent by
a stalker?  It smelled wonderful, but how was she to judge the
mental capacities of a thug?  If it was drugged or poisoned...

Before Lois could finish her thought, her roommate bounded in,
smelling of cheap perfume and unwashed armpits. 

"Care package!" she cried.  She grabbed a bite of apple
thingamabob and devoured it, only asking, "Do you mind?" as an
afterthought.

Lois supposed that if her roommate wasn't ill tomorrow, then
Lois would eat as well...-if there was any left.

~*~

"Hi, Lois," Jimmy greeted her as she settled in at work the next
afternoon.  Then he clarified, "Not that I mean anything by
that.  Just saying, ‘hello.'" 

It was like that for the next few weeks. Jimmy was one of the
few at work who were cordial, although he still tended to be
overly careful about it.

She really had no friends at school.  Conversations floated
around her, but she felt no compunction to join in.

The air turned cool.  The leaves changed colors and crunched
underfoot.  Mid-term exams came and went.  Papers were handed
in.  Care packages arrived every other Monday or Tuesday, filled
with baked goods and personal items.  Life developed a natural
rhythm.

And then there was Clark.

Clark held a strange rhythm of his own.  He was the only one who
seemed at ease around her.  He never failed to stop in,
frequently asking directly for help in research rather than
going through channels.  While she wasn't fully advised of any
juicy stories, at least he made her feel an integral part of a
team.

And he wasn't shy about casually inviting her out on a
semi-regular basis.  She actually had surfed the internet to
come up with a half dozen new languages to turn him down in. 
Despite telling ‘Leisure-Suit Larry' that she had turned down
men in over a dozen languages, she really was only fluent in
English, French and Spanish.  She had worked through an
interpreter in Iraq and had left Georgia because she couldn't
handle the Cyrillic alphabet.  Lois Lane was never one to turn
down a challenge, though, so she had found a webpage that not
only taught her the word ‘no' in half a dozen languages she
wanted, it sounded it out for her.

Clark was persistent enough that she had the opportunity to try
out every one.  She had to give him an A for Effort. 

But one Thursday, he caught her in a bit of a mood.

"Feel like stopping on the way out for a bite to eat?"

"I'm cutting a heart out tonight."

"Excuse me?"  His eyebrows shot up in a way that left a single
curl on his forehead.

"I'm dissecting tonight in biology lab.  Better eat light."

"Okay," he agreed.  "Let's stop at a diner, then, for some
soup."

She watched him for a heartbeat before suggesting, on a whim,
"What if I skipped class tonight and we go out and get a couple
of tattoos?"

She finally had him.  He hesitated.

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on.  You'd look great with a tattoo on that bicep.  We
could get matching tattoos.  Maybe in red...  Or blue," she
suggested.  "Get something that reminds you of home.  How would
‘Mom' look right there?"

"But, Lois.  I..."

"Okay, then get a bimbo that dances when you flex."

"I'm a little too conservative for that."

"But that's just it.  You're not just conservative.  You're all
talk.  You constantly invite.  But I notice you never follow
through.  You make yourself out to be some kind of Don Juan, but
you're really just Cyrano de Bergerac."

"I think you got that backwards.  Wasn't Cyrano de Bergerac the
man that had all the right things to say?"

"You're missing the point.  The point is you never date anyone,
Kent."

"I don't want to date just anyone, Lois.  I want to date you."

"Yeah, right.  Whatever.  I'm going to go cut up a frog."

~*~

There was something special about Lois's evening shifts.  On
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Lois started work just as
everyone else was leaving.  It gave her the opportunity to touch
base with those who were just finishing their day's work.  Then,
in the solitude of the night, Lois would take the ball and run
with it.

For all the noise and energy of the day-shift, it was equally
still at night.  Aside from janitors and security personnel, and
of course the few who stuck around to put the paper to bed, she
pretty much had the floor to herself.  And with no morons to get
in her way, no one chitchatting about this-and-that, and no
management to slow her down, she accomplished quite a bit in her
seven hours at work.

Fridays she worked just an hour longer to fill out her schedule.
 The last bit tended to drag as her eyes began to droop.  But
sometimes a girl had to do what needed to be done.

But this Friday turned out to be less than Lois expected it to
be.  She had just finished a less-than-satisfactory brown bag
lunch, when *he* walked over to her desk.

"Hi, Lois," Clark greeted her, as if his presence at the office
at quarter to seven on a Friday night was normal. 

"You've got to stop doing this to yourself, Kent," she
reprimanded him.  "I know you've made no bones about how you
feel about me, but coming in late at night, just to hang out
with me and schmooze a bit...  It's a little pathetic, don't you
think?"

"Actually, Jimmy asked me to come in and give him a hand.  Every
once in a blue moon, Perry gets the urge to clean out the
office, and he always manages to rake Jimmy in, as well. 
Apparently, last time it wasn't so pleasant, so Jimmy asked me
to come in as a mediator."

"Oh, right."  She shrunk back, feeling kind of humiliated at her
incorrect presumption.  "Knock yourself out."

"What are you working on?" Clark inquired, as he read over her
shoulder.  "Hotel costs in Metropolis?"

"It's nothing really.  I just had a little personal work to do,
but I'll be back to the old grindstone, as they say."  She shut
down her spreadsheet and hastily returned to work.

"Are you planning some kind of a vacation?"

"Not really."  She was in no mood to confide.  "Just making a
few plans for holiday break."  She turned her shoulder to block
his view of her computer screen, hoping he would catch the hint
and leave her alone.

"Not that, Olsen.  It's a piece of history.  That there is an
irreplaceable piece of Americana, so get it out of the trash
can!"

"That there is a tacky piece of really old, really used junk,
Chief.  Face it!"

"I better go," Clark muttered.  He jogged over to the Chief's
office to settle everything down.

And so the evening passed with Elvira, Mistress of the Night,
standing watch over the newsroom.  Between the announcements
Perry made each time he unearthed a great find and Jimmy's
tantrums, Lois could hardly research a thing.  They sifted
through memorabilia from football games and presidential
elections and what-nots from newsworthy events over the years. 
They were the same finds, apparently, that Perry hadn't thrown
away last time or the time before, as Jimmy pointed out in
increasingly louder tones.

And through it all, ‘Romeo' was there to smooth out any
misunderstandings between the clans.  But he never stopped
checking in with her, smiling and waving as he saw fit.  It was
disgusting, really.

And Lois didn't get a thing done.

She was more than a little bit relieved when she saw the men
pack up for the night.  Peace and quiet at last greeted her
workplace.

"Should I be jealous?"

She jumped half a foot as the unexpected voice breathed over her
shoulder.

"What are you doing sneaking up on me in the middle of the night
shift?"  She tried to cover her fluster with bluster.

"Should I be jealous?" Clark repeated, with just a touch of
irritation in his tone.

"Probably," she confirmed.  "Jealous of who?"

"Of whom," he corrected automatically.  "Jealous of whomever it
is you're planning on inviting up for the holidays.  An old
flame, perhaps?"

"Bite your tongue."

"A long-lost relative?"

"Nope."

"A close relative."

"No, they're all very long lost.  I haven't done the holiday
relative thing in a long, long time.  With my relatives, the
holidays were never really worth celebrating.  So, got any other
good guesses?"

"Hmm...  A girl friend that you can't wait to catch up on old
times with," he decided.

"Wrong."

Clark ticked off the possibilities on his fingers, "Not a
friend, male or female.  Not a relative.  Who's left?  An
enemy?"

"Hardly.  You'll never guess."

"Well, I suppose you'll just have to tell me, then."

"It's none of your business," she reminded him.

"True, but I'm still dying to know."

Lois returned to her work.  Clark watched quietly for a long
while, content to watch her click away at the keyboard.

"It's for me, if you must know," Lois finally confessed.

"For you?  I never would have guessed.  What do you need a room
for?  You have a room."

"They close the dorm for four days over Thanksgiving to give the
dorm parents a chance to travel for the holidays."

"Oh, yeah.  I remember.  I did an article a few years back on
families opening up their homes to foreign travelers on
Thanksgiving."

"That sounds like it's right up your alley: the true spirit of
the season; family and food; sharing American values throughout
the world; God and country; blah, blah, blah."

"You got it, only they cut out the blah, blah, blah in
editing."

~*~

Clark took the precariously balanced boxes from his mother's
arm, with a kiss on Martha's cheek for an added bonus.

"Oh, thanks, Clark," she smiled as she greeted him.  "I'm just
taking some canning out to the cellar."

It was a yearly tradition.  Martha would can a little here and a
little there all autumn long, letting the boxes stack up in the
corner of the kitchen until it was nearly impossible to get
three people sitting at the kitchen table.  Then, during a
weekend visit, Clark would help her store it.

He sniffed the air and speculated, "Green beans, corn," he
sniffed again, "wax beans, sour kraut," another sniff, "pickled
okra," and another, "plum jelly, peaches, and peach salsa. 
You've been busy."

She raised her eyebrows in concern.  "You can smell all that? 
Does that mean my seals are bad?"

He chuckled.  "Nah, it means I peeked before I picked these up. 
Why don't you put another box or two on top and save me a
trip?"

"Sure, son," she magnanimously agreed.  "I'll even get the door
for you."

They walked together down the cellar steps and, to maintain
tradition, began unpacking Mason jars onto the cedar shelves.

"So how's Lois?" Martha chitchatted.

"She's fine.  Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about
her."

"Oh?"

"Here.  I need a new box.  Yeah, I was wondering what you would
think about me asking Lois to join us for Thanksgiving dinner."

"Really?"  Martha's face lit up.  "Things between the two of you
are getting that serious that you want to spend holidays
together?"

He rearranged the Mason jars, trying to keep all the vegetables
clustered together.

"Not exactly; although I am looking forward to introducing my
girl to my folks...-not that she calls herself my girl."

"You're babbling, Clark."  Jonathan Kent's baritone voice
preceded him down the stairs.

"I remember how you used to babble when we first met," Martha
gushed.  She waited until her husband set down a few more boxes
before she folded herself into his embrace.  "That's how I knew
you liked me."

"*That* was your first clue?  I thought you figured it out when
I..." he whispered playfully in her ear.

"Dad?  Mom?"  Clark's blush covered not only his cheeks, but
extended to the tips of his ears.  "Please, remember I can hear
every word."

"I guess he and Lois haven't reached the naughty stage in their
relationship, yet."  Martha winked flirtatiously.

"Mo-o-om," Clark complained.

"Clark's planning on inviting her here for Thanksgiving," Martha
filled Jonathon in.

Clark was grateful to get the conversation back on-track. 
"Yeah, Dad.  The dorms close for four days over Thanksgiving, so
Lois was planning on staying in Metropolis at a motel.  But I
thought she might prefer spending that time with a friend.  And
I know she's been saving every last dollar for tuition, so this
might save her some money, too."

"But wouldn't a round-trip ticket to Kansas be more expensive
than four days at an average motel?"

"You're right, Jonathan.  And it would have to be two round-trip
tickets, since Clark would have to fly with her.  Not that I
don't mind you inviting her, but it won't save you any money."

"What if I fixed up that old plane so it will actually fly?"
Clark suggested.

"Can you do that?" Jonathan wondered.

"All I need is for the engine to make noise, Dad.  If I lift up
on the structure, I should be able to make it fly just by
carrying it along with me."

"Yeah, but won't she notice you holding up the roof?" Jonathon
pointed out.

"That's what seatbelts are for, Dad.  I'll just fly against the
seatbelt, and that energy will make the plane fly, too.  Pass me
another box; this one's empty."

"I don't think they *had* seatbelts when that old thing was
built.  Besides, even if it does, I'm not sure those old
seatbelts are up to the job.  Can you actually fly another
person and a plane with you?  Have you ever tried that?" 
Jonathon's voice was rigid with worry.

"And what about the hole in the floor?" Martha worried.  "That
might make Lois a little bit nervous."

"Obviously I would have to paint it and patch it up before I
took her for a flight," Clark decided.

"But you don't have a pilot's license.  The airport will surely
notice that.  And you don't have the time to get a pilot's
license," Jonathan pointed out.

Martha suggested, "Wouldn't it just be easier if Jonathan and I
came to Metropolis?  You can fly us up without all the
subterfuge."

"Mom, I can't ask you to do that.  We always have Thanksgiving
here at the farm.  Besides, Lois didn't sound like she'd ever
had any really good holidays with her family, and I was hoping
to show her what a Midwest Thanksgiving felt like."

"Well, Clark, I think everything changed the moment you called
us and said you had met the woman you wanted to marry."  Martha
smiled as she continued.  "Whether we have it in Metropolis or
Smallville, it's going to be different; but it will still be a
Midwestern Thanksgiving no matter where you hold it."

"Okay, then," Clark conceded.  "Let's plan on Thanksgiving at my
place, just the four of us."

~*~

Tuesdays and Thursdays were Lois's favorite days.  She put in a
full eight hours at the newspaper before she had to run off to
class.  There was a bit of a spring in her step as she entered
the bullpen on Tuesday morning.

She slid into her chair, sorting through the stack of papers she
hadn't put away the night before.  She glanced up as Jimmy
walked by her desk.  "Hi, Jimmy."

"Hiya, Lois," he smiled and waved in response.

"What do you mean by *that*, Olsen?" she barked.  It was fun to
toy with the kid since he was so easily scared.  True to form,
his eyebrows shot up.  She squared her shoulders and willed her
smirk away.

"Just a hello.  Nothing to worry about."

"Good."  She firmly decided with a curt nod.  "Let's keep it
that way."

Out of the corner of her eye she could see ‘The Happy Newsman'
looking at her.  He'd been watching her all day yesterday. 
Actually he was always watching her, but this time was
different.  Kent was definitely up to something.

~*~

"You going to the art exhibit at the Metropolis Museum?" Clark
asked as he slid into the seat across from Lois at lunch.  He
wanted to tempt her, so he had zipped down to the Thai
restaurant she had enjoyed so much.  They didn't normally do
take-out, but Clark could be persuasive when he needed to be.

"Why would I?"

"Well, it's kind of an academic thing, so it might get you extra
credit for that art class you're taking..."

"Who says I need extra credit?" Lois retorted.

"And if we went together, it might be fun."

She appraised him carefully.  Normally, she whipped out those
"no's" with speed and efficiency, but this time she seemed to be
waiting for something.  Maybe she was thinking about saying
yes.

Instead, she simply sighed and turned back to her sandwich.  The
bread looked rather soggy and sad.

He rattled his bag more than was really necessary as he unpacked
the contents.  He could almost see her salivate as the aroma
wafted across the table.

"I'm getting tired of telling you ‘no'," she finally muttered.

"Well, then try saying ‘yes'," he encouraged.

She flashed him a glare that said everything.

"Okay, then let's make an arrangement," he suggested.

She growled and bit into her sandwich.

"We can at least agree that we're friends, right?"

"Define friendship," she challenged him.

"Lo-is, don't do this.  You know what I'm talking about.  I
enjoy being with you, and I'm developing a trust in you.  And
every so often, I get the impression you feel the same way."

She shrugged, but didn't quite meet Clark's eye.  They ate in
silence for several minutes, while she mulled it over.

"You're not *bad* to work with," she obliged.

"Well, thank you very much."

He took a moment to choose his words carefully.  "And as a
friend, if you're really uncomfortable with the idea of dating
me, I will respect that.  If this is what you want and if the
status quo is making you crazy, I promise I won't ask you
out..."

"Thank you."

"...for a little while.  At least, not for a few weeks.  Just to
give you enough time to get your wits about you again."

Lois smirked, but Clark enjoyed it as she caught his eye at
last.

"But you can't hold it against me if I ask to do some *friendly*
things with you.  Like this lunch, for instance.  I went in
hungry and ordered way too much.  Did you want some?"

Lois didn't say anything for a second, although she held a flame
in her gaze as she considered the fiery feast spread in front of
him.  Clark held his breath in anticipation.  She held out
longer than he thought she would, but she finally acquiesced. 
He made great show of looking for plates and utensils, without
mentioning that he had stashed enough for thirty take-out meals
the day before.

It was all that Clark hoped for.  The food was okay, but sharing
it with Lois made it exquisite. 

Yet, he still wanted more.

"Oh, and one other thing..." Clark mentioned with an ease he did
not feel.  "I think you should come to my house."

"You just promised you would quit asking me out," she pointed
out.

"Not for a date," he clarified, "but as one friend doing a favor
for another.  I want you to stay at my apartment for
Thanksgiving break."

"That's a downgrade from your previous invitations?  You don't
want to date, you want to shack up?"  Her voice shot up in both
tone and volume.

He tried to sound steady and reassuring.  "It wouldn't be like
that, Lois.  You can bring a chaperone, if you prefer.  Invite a
friend who needs a place to stay.  Hire a bodyguard.  I don't
care.  I just hate to see you squirrel away every penny for
weeks just to throw it away on some dive that doesn't deserve
it."

" Ahn nee yoe!" Lois shouted, her eyes afire.

"I take it that's a ‘no' in Japanese?"

"Korean.  And I learned the moves at the dojo to back it up."

~*~

Lois was angry, furious, livid...but smart enough to eat every
bite of her tasty lunch.  She was giving him the silent
treatment--now, while still communicating her rage.  She chewed
like a tigress devouring her mate. Oh, yes, she was good and mad
now!

She finished her lunch and fastidiously slammed her paper plate
into the trashcan, storming from the lunchroom.  When Kent fell
in step at her side, she stomped past the elevator and up the
stairs.  Surprise, surprise!  Kent was foolhardy enough to join
her, as if she was simply going for a stroll.  She quickened her
pace, but he matched it with ease. 

She needed to clear him out of her mind and get back to work. 
If only her work for the day held interest, but she was
preparing information on zoning regulations and safety standards
for houses of horror.  She so hoped that some political figure
was trying to skirt those standards, since it would be entirely
worth her time to catch someone like the mayor trying to break
the rules.  But she was afraid it would be some feel-good
article--like Kent wrote--to reassure the public of a safe and
happy Halloween.

She sighed.  This just wasn't her day.

~*~

As he cleared off his desk Wednesday evening and shut down his
computer, Clark glanced Lois's way.  Although she appeared to
have cooled down since yesterday's lunch, it was difficult to
ascertain how cordial she would be.  He was slow and cautious as
he neared her desk for his traditional goodbye.

Then he heard what she had to say.  She grumbled in a voice so
low she had no way of knowing he could hear her, but it was a
nasty enough insult that he was sure it would be effective down
at the wharf.

"Bye Lois," Clark tossed out as he hurried past her.  She was in
no mood for him to offer her anything, and he wasn't fool enough
to try.

~*~

The quiet of the bullpen was a warm welcome as the day shift
cleared out.  But it couldn't quiet the unrest in her soul.  As
she went through the motions of processing her work, her mind
continued to mull over the whole conflict with Kent.  She was
still angry with ‘Mr. Can't-Take-No-For-An-Answer', but she was
also angry with herself. 

It wasn't like her to let something get under her skin like
this--okay, that wasn't quite true, but it wasn't like her to
let a *man* get under her skin.  Normally, she turned down any
invitation painfully and decisively and moved on.  It irked her
to no end that she was still irked over Kent.

It meant that she was losing her edge.  She didn't care and that
made her the best in the world.  But now she cared enough to be
angry, and that meant she cared.

But of course that wasn't really it.  In the past she had always
had a good story to vent her emotions into, and now all she had
was a desk job.  It was like giving a starving child a job in a
donut factory; she was near the news, but she couldn't actually
fill her own vital need to partake in the chaos of the news
business.

She fantasized about asking Glen if she could use a bit of her
time this evening to go meet some local prostitutes since she
didn't have any among the snitches she was courting.  She could
just envision the look on the poor man's face.  The idea was
ridiculous enough to give her the giggles.

She found herself laughing until her bladder ached.  She
stumbled from her desk and down the hallway.  The cleaning lady
gave her a second glance and then mumbled under her breath in
Spanish.  She probably thought she could insult Lois's
intelligence all she wanted and Lois wouldn't understand a word,
but Lois graciously corrected her.  She was not borracho or
drunk, she was agotado or exhausted.

Yes, that was it, Lois concluded.  She was simply too tired to
be thinking straight.  Kent had nothing to do with it.

~*~

Clark was a glutton for punishment.  He was probably certifiably
crazy but, since he was crazy in love, he just couldn't help
himself. 

It hadn't begun that way.  He had gone through his normal
nightly routine: keeping his eyes open for subtle ways to help
as he walked home, stopping at the deli for a fresh salad and
sandwich, and then continuing in his walk--helping wherever he
could.  Normally it gave him a sense of peace and accomplishment
to assist those who needed a hand the most.

Yet, tonight, peace eluded him.

It was Lois. 

He wasn't sure exactly how to make it right with her, yet he
somehow knew that each day in which she was mad at him was going
to be worse than the day before.  Never go to bed angry, his mom
always said.  But how could he make amends?

So with his head hanging just a tad, he found himself returning
to the bullpen as bedtime neared with only a trumped-up excuse
to get him in the door.

It took a few hours but with concentrated effort Lois was
finally able to hit her groove.  She might have a nothing job,
but she was the best of the best at this nothing job.  She hoped
by making other people look good that her own efforts would
eventually be recognized and rewarded.  But then again it was
always possible that those other people would take all the
credit and she would have to do something more drastic to get
attention.

"Hey, Lois," ‘Mr. Let's-Shack-Up-Sometime' casually greeted her
as if he belonged in her life at this time of night.

She let out a strangled groan and walked away.  She had promised
herself she wasn't going to do this.  She was simply going to
leave her private life at the door and lead a dignified,
professional night shift.

But instead Kent showed up in her evening sanctum and followed
her, so she was forced to hide out in the ladies' room.  She
waited with one ear pressed to the door, but she never heard his
footfall retreat.

"Lois?  Are you okay?" he finally asked in an embarrassed
voice.

"Of course I'm okay."

She threw the door open and stormed back toward her desk,
detouring by the coffeepot to fill another Styrofoam cup with
fully caffeinated sludge.

"What do you want?" she asked in an accusatory tone.  "We've
already determined that it's pitiful for you to hang out at my
desk and make moon-eyes at me.  And I know you're not here with
Perry and Jimmy.  So why do you do this to yourself, Kent?"

"I need your help," he began, but she cut him off before he had
the opportunity to embarrass himself further.  That was her job.
 She would cut him off cleanly and decisively and hopefully
painfully enough that he would end this.

"You need more help than I can give you.  This is pathetic."

She wasn't going to give him the opportunity to say what they
both needed, so he interrupted her.  He hoped to find the words
that would get both her attention and her forgiveness.

"I need your help on a story."

Lois stilled, weighing her options.  On the one hand, this held
the opportunity to get her name in front of the right people...
if the story was big enough.  On the other hand, Kent could
always be plotting to have her do all the work so he could sleep
with her and steal the story.

"Keep talking," she instructed.  She would need a lot more
information before she could make a decision.  He pulled up a
chair and straddled it backwards. 

"I've been preparing for an interview I'm doing for the business
section."

"I thought you worked for ‘On the Town'."

"Normally, I do.  But I befriended a man who normally doesn't
give interviews, who works for the board of a large company that
controls the interviews.  I wasn't looking for a story, but he
came to me asking me to help him make a big announcement for his
company.  We set up an interview for a few weeks down the road
when the enterprise would be ready."

She grabbed a notebook as he began to talk details.

"You've only been in town for a little while, so you haven't
heard about Lex-Harbor.  It's a riverfront restoration project
that began thirteen years ago.  There was a street gang that
specialized in arson that burned down much of the West River
area.  The land that was left was underinsured in a high-crime
district, so when the lots were bought up and the restoration
was suggested, it seemed like a good idea... to almost everyone.
 That is until it was held up in court cases for a dozen years. 
There was a fight about zoning when the city sold a small park
to a private venture.  Then the environmentalists sued because a
rare duck lived in the park.  And there was another group that
got into the act because the land was declared ‘blighted', so a
different set of rules was going to be used if any sales tax was
collected.  But there wasn't much the courts could do since the
birds were removed from the endangered list and the laws were
clear on the ‘blighted' issue."

"That's quite the history," she acknowledged.  "So where's the
project now?  Can we shop there yet?"

"Not yet.  The list of opponents goes on.  In the beginning,
there were allegations that the city council was coerced to sign
off on the deal without taking the time to do the proper
studies, but nobody paid attention.  Then there was the fact
that it was entirely a union job, and the unions in question
were infamous for how well organized they were, if you get my
drift."

"Mobsters," Lois concluded.  "But everything's unionized in a
city of this size.  It doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"That's what I thought.  But then I was contacted by someone
with information I couldn't possibly pass up--information about
how the mob might still be involved and might be planning on
using this venture to give a legitimate front to their illegal
activities.  I'm sure it's not a bad money laundering
opportunity either."

She threw her notebook on the table.  "So what do you need me
for?"

Clark felt like crossing his fingers to jinx out the lie.  The
truth was that he didn't need her.  Well, at least he didn't
need her for the story.  But she had always underestimated him,
so she couldn't possibly know how capable he was of doing
investigative journalism.

Of course, he was only here to get his foot back in the door
with her.  But he couldn't exactly admit that he had an angle,
so he was prepared to humiliate himself in front of her.

"I need someone with your edge, Lois.  It's been awhile since
I've done feature stories.  I was hoping you could brainstorm
with me."

Brainstorm.  He wanted to brainstorm.  Well, Lois Lane could
brainstorm, she supposed, but she wanted to know what was in it
for her, first.  She wouldn't mention that she was dying for
just a taste of the old life of mobsters and danger and
investigation and revelations and the stuff of life.  She would
pretend that this was a balanced negotiation and that she could
easily walk away without a second thought.  In essence, she
would negotiate and she would lie.  And she would get what she
wanted.

~*~

Lois went to bed that night with a slight smile on her face.  It
was a piece of cake getting ‘Mr. Smalltime-Reporter' to agree to
putting her name on the story--‘with special assistance from
Lois Lane.'  And she actually enjoyed brainstorming with him. 
They had talked about the story; she had given him a little bit
of insight and he had walked away with some direction on where
to begin an investigation of this magnitude.  And after a little
bit of chitchat, he had promised to keep her apprised on how the
story was progressing.

All in all, it turned into a pretty good day.

It helped that ‘The Libido' hadn't mentioned his idea of
shacking up to save a few bucks over the holidays.  She was
still on edge over that one, even though she had decided to set
her feelings aside for the sake of professionalism. 

She had actually enjoyed being with him this evening, so maybe
when she finally cured him of his hormone-driven ways they could
become something akin to friends.  But of course, there really
was no cure for that kind of thing.  He could be eighty years
old and still chasing around ladies with walkers and curlers in
their hair.

But working together tonight had been a good time.

~*~

The smell of nutmeg and pumpkin filled the house, married to the
sound of the big football game which crept out of the den.  It
was this smell of food and this feeling of comfort that Clark
had always associated with home.  The contentment and security
of the farm, coupled with his ability to relax was something he
looked forward to all week long, every week.  There was a
happily-ever-after here that he hoped to duplicate for his own
home and his own children.  Which, of course, left Clark
wistfully thinking about Lois again.

For his entire adult life he had looked forward to his weekends
at home, lingering as long as he could before bedtime on Sunday.
 He postponed his travels back to Metropolis for the last
minute.  He enjoyed his job at the Daily Planet, but the grind
of the nine to five just couldn't compare to the aura of home in
Smallville.

Yet, for the first time, he found himself a man divided between
two homes.  The home in Kansas was as secure as it had ever
been.  Yet Lois was near the home in New Troy, and the promise
of what the future might hold there was calling him back.

With a thank you for Mom's latest baked-good addition to his
care pack and a promise to return in time for brunch and Sunday
services, Clark found himself returning to Metropolis a day
earlier than he normally would have.

~*~

Lois bundled her coat tighter around her.  She had been walking
for nearly five hours now, checking on her budding group of
informants...building trust and establishing her network.  She
was a long way away from being on the inside, but at least she
had her foot in the door.  However, in the time it had taken
Lois to go into the city and return, the temperature had dropped
noticeably, with gusts of wind that went right through Lois's
fashionable but thin coat.  At least she was near campus now,
with a warm bed only a few minutes away.

The clouds hid the bright moon as Lois wearily hiked past the
last of the sororities and frat houses.  Though the local bars
would be closing soon, the loud music advertised that the beer
was still flowing on this side of town.  The party overflowed
the dive owned by the local Phi Kappa Beta Alpha Epsilon
Gamma... Whatever house.

"Hey, sweetheart..."  The voice didn't slur, but the smell of
sweat and beer slipped the secret of the man's inebriated state.
 "...would you like to come inside?  I would love to show a fine
lady like you a good time."

The choice words Lois responded with would never make it into
print in a newspaper like the Planet, but they told the drunkard
exactly what she thought of his invitation.  His comrades
whooped and hollered in reply, showing they had imbibed to
excess as well.  Muttering under her breath, she hurried past
the disgusting display.

She paused in front of the large windows of the library to
glance behind her.  Sure enough, she noticed that the brute from
the party had decided to follow her down the sidewalk.

That was fine with her; she was prepared for anything he had to
dish out.  She quickened her pace, feeling the burn across the
backs of her already tired calves.  Another cloud flitted past
the moon, further darkening the already shadowed path.  She
headed toward the light of the science building, following the
sidewalk that was the best lit--leading from the educational
college to the school of the arts.  But the light bulbs couldn't
keep the drunken Greek from catching up with her.

At the pressure of his hand on her shoulder, Lois swung into
action.  She hadn't practiced her Taekwon-DO patterns all those
years for nothing.  With the ease of practice, she pivoted,
planting her right foot at the base of his instep and swung with
her left.  He blocked her; but he expected her to strike with
her arm and totally missed her leg as it swung up and hit him in
the cheek.  He grunted as he collapsed in pain.

She ran past him, hoping to find safety near the more frequently
trafficked section of sidewalks ahead which led to the dorms. 
But far from the cacophony of the Saturday night parties, it
became apparent that the footsteps echoing off the buildings
around her weren't just her own.  She pushed to her top speed,
grateful that she was unencumbered by her usual books and purse.
 A slightly uneven section of sidewalk set her off-balance.  She
stumbled, struggling successfully to stay on her feet and
managing to regain her stride.  But the trip had slowed her down
enough for the footsteps to close in on her.

A hand grabbed her shoulder.  She twisted, hoping to break the
grasp, but it soon became clear that the gorilla from Greekland
had brought all of his friends.  They all spoke at once,
taunting and cursing, but Lois had heard it all before.  She
struggled to focus her attention on breaking free; but where one
attacker left off, the next seemed to fill in.

She focused her attention on her surroundings, ignoring the
taunts and curses that seemed to envelope their portion of the
campus.  She bit, she lunged, she kicked and punched.  Each
defense seemed inadequate to the task, but Lois was no quitter. 
She kicked again, but this time a shift in weight pushed her
down to the ground. 

All at once the weight on top of her lifted.  Lois took
advantage of the opportunity with a flurry of punches aimed at
the face of the nearest thug.  She struggled to right herself as
she got her feet beneath her. 

"Lois!  Lois!" the goon called.  "Stop!  It's me. Clark."

Her arms still held in a defensive position, her feet ready to
strike again, Lois regained her composure.

"Clark?"

She looked around to see five, six, seven men passed out around
her.

"It's all right.  I took care of them.  Are you okay?"  His
voice couldn't hide his fear as they both assessed her
condition.

"I'm fine," she lied.  She could see the tatters that remained
of her good jeans and could feel the wind whip through holes in
her coat--one of them must have had a knife.  She could feel the
pain edging past the adrenaline.  Her palms and knee stung from
where the sidewalk had burned them.  A tickle on her cheek may
have been blood.  "I'll be okay."

"You're bleeding," he worried.

"Just a scratch," she reassured both of them. 

She shuddered as she looked at the men on the ground around her.
 The original drunk didn't number among them, so that must have
made eight in all.  She hadn't thought she'd hit him that hard,
so he must have had more than just a few beers.

She ambled back down the sidewalk toward her dorm.  He paused to
gather a few things and then joined her.  She struggled to hide
a limp with the accompanying pain.

"What are you doing here?"  His words sounded more like an
accusation than a question.

"I had some work to do," she told him, knowing full well that
she owed him no explanation.

"Lois, it's two o'clock in the morning!  What kind of work was
so pressing on your day off?"

"And just what are you doing here?"  She swung around to face
him, stabbing her finger into his chest.

"I...  I'm here to...  I came to..."  Clark's anger softened
into confusion.  He opened his mouth to explain again and then
closed it wordlessly.  Finally he reached out, chagrined, to
hand her a brown paper box.

It was battered and dirty, but instantly recognizable.

Lois accepted the package.  She nodded silently as if it all
made sense.  She resumed her walk, only to stop three steps
later and accuse him.

"You're the stalker," she stated.

"I didn't stalk you.  I sent you care packs."  Clark's voice was
annoyed as he corrected her.

"Whatever."

She reached up a hand to wipe away the blood that trickled down
her cheek.  It felt tender, like the bruise was going to be
pretty bad, but the blood truly was from just a scratch. 

"You're bleeding," he repeated, this time taking her hand in his
to examine it more closely.  Through the dirt and cinders, it
was crisscrossed with blood.  She flinched at his touch. 
"You're shaking."

"I'm fine," she retorted, pulling her hand out of his grasp. 
"Let's get out of here."

"Come on.  Let's call the police, and then I'm taking you to the
doctor."

"No police.  No doctors.  I'm fine," she decided.

"But Lois, if we don't call the police these guys will just do
it again."

"Even if we do call the police these guys will do it again.  I'm
not going through the humiliation."

"At least let me take you to the doctor."

"I told you, Kent.  No doctors.  Going to the doctor is like
being raped all over again.  Forget it."

"They didn't...  I mean, you're okay, right?  Never mind, I'm
taking you to the doctor."  His face looked kind of pale. 

Lois sighed and resumed walking.  It was pointless talking to
him when he was like this.  And she just wanted to get back to
her room.  She wanted to take a shower and put on decent
clothing.

Besides, if the man had half a brain he could figure out that
she hadn't been violated in that way tonight just by looking at
where her jeans were and weren't torn up.

"Come on, Lois.  Don't be like this."

"Hah!"  She snorted without pausing in her journey.  In her
peripheral vision she could see him following.

"You never know how these things are going to turn out, Lois. 
Come on."

"You are so naïve, Kent.  In all my years of traveling and war,
I've seen things you can't even imagine.  You don't think this
is my first time getting a bit roughed up."

"Oh, Lois!  Are you okay?"

It was cruel, but she had had it with ‘Mr.
High-and-Mighty-Come-to-the-Rescue'.  He waltzed in, bringing
gifts, and expected to have a say-so in her life.  Well, it
wasn't going to happen.

She quickened her pace, ignoring the pain that shot through her
ankle.

"You mean, after all this time of asking me out, it bothers you
that I've been raped by better men than you before?"

"That's not true!"

Clark seized her shoulder to keep her from walking.  She winced
but said nothing.  He no longer looked ashen.  On the contrary,
his face was turning rather red.

"I would think I would know my own history, Kent."

"That's not what I mean, Lois.  What I mean to say is...  Ever
since I met you, you've been saying things like that.  That
better men than me rape, and all men have an angle.  But I've
never been like that to you..." Clark sighed.  "Never mind, it's
the wrong time."

He walked with her, his head hanging down.  "Let's at least get
your cuts cleaned out."

~*~

Clark had not only walked her back to her dorm, but into her
room, lingering in her doorway like he wasn't sure what to do
next.

"Good night, Kent," she ordered curtly.

"Good night, Lois," he answered.  "Call me if you need anything,
okay?  Do you need my number, or do you have a phone book?"

"Good night."

Clark sighed, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Good night, Lois."  He sounded defeated.  He paused for a
moment, then slowly closed the door.

She crossed over and locked it tightly.  She was glad that her
roommate had left for the weekend.  This was one evening she
needed privacy. 

She crossed over to her drawers and pulled out a pair of
loose-fitting sweats and a t-shirt.  With a groan of agony, she
pulled off her ruined pants and threw them in the trash.  The
jacket would have to go, as well.  But it was too chilly to
throw it out before she bought a replacement.  The blouse was
salvageable, although it would need to be laundered before the
stains set in.

She was stiff, and her ankle was swollen; but otherwise, she
would be okay.  Her cheek would heal in just a few days--no
problem.  And her knees and palms would be okay, too--provided
she cleaned the cinders and road-grime out before the wounds got
infected.  She pulled the sweatpants and t-shirt on and gathered
her bathing supplies.

It was then that she realized that she had never actually heard
Clark leave.  She tentatively called out, "Good night, Clark."

"Good night," he replied. 

"I mean it, Kent.  Get lost!" she ordered. 

What was he expecting to do?  Stand guard all night?

To Lois's relief, there was no sign of him when she opened the
door to walk down to the bathrooms.  She would kill for a
private bathroom with a real tub, the kind with massaging jets
that fluffed up a bubble bath fit for Hollywood.  But she was
stuck with a barely contained shower that was probably painted
black to cover up the mildew stains.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming as the water hit her
body.  Why was it that there was never any water pressure when
she wanted it, but tonight, on the night she couldn't handle it,
there was enough water pressure for the whole Met Net
cheerleading squad?  She finished her shower with as much speed
and efficiency as she could manage.

She had another nasty surprise waiting for her when she returned
to her room.

"Kent, what are you doing here?"

"I brought you some things," he answered, sheepishly.  "Do you
mind if we, um..."  He gestured toward her room.

"Fine.  Whatever.  It beats you spending the night out here."

She unlocked the door and let him in.  He looked around
awkwardly. 

"Nice place you got here.  I like the study area you have set
up.  And is that a Spanish book I see there?  What are you doing
studying Spanish?"

"Kent, did you come here to check out my bedroom or check out my
class schedule?  Because it's almost three thirty in the
morning, and I'd rather just send you my report card."

"Yeah, okay, um...  Where do you want me to put all this?" 

He opened a plain paper sack and started unloading it onto her
desk top.  He set aside some gauze and medical tape, and then
continued to unpack.

"First thing, this is arnica.  It's a homeopathic remedy for
shock and bruising.  You'll want to take five or six of these
little pellets and let them sit under your tongue.  I hope we
haven't waited too long, since you need to take it as soon as
possible to get the full benefit."

He continued to unpack.  "Next, after you've cleaned those
wounds with antibacterial soap and water, you're going to want
to use this salve.  I'm not sure what's in it; it's the kind my
mom always uses.  She's the real herbalist."

The next mess he pulled out looked vile and exotic.  "Then
you're going to want to put on this poultice.  This is
Echinacea, garlic, aloe, plantain and comfrey.  I recommend you
put it on for four hours or so today--leave the paper towel in
place, you don't want a mess.  I'll make another fresh one for
you tomorrow, and then we'll reassess.  Okay?"

She wasn't sure exactly how to respond.

"What is all this stuff?"

"You said you didn't want to go to a doctor.  And you don't want
this to get infected.  That would be nasty.  And remember, I'm
on the same medical plan as you are, and I don't want you to be
raising the costs for everybody."

"You're a strange one, Kent.  But it works for you.  Okay, now
get out of here.  I've got to get some sleep."

He grinned and made his way to the door.

"Oh and, by the way.  I did call the police, but I didn't give
them your name.  They probably already came by to lock them
up."

"Actually, the police probably found nothing.  Guys don't stay
unconscious for hours on end, unless they're really injured. 
And I doubt you have it in you."

~*~

Lois was feeling stiff and sore, but she had to hand it to Kent.
 There was barely any bruising on her cheek, and her hands and
knees didn't look too badly infected.  She was a little
concerned by the amount of filth that she found on the paper
towels this morning when she awoke, but there was nothing she
could do about that.

She skipped the early morning study session, choosing instead to
turn off the alarm and sleep until her body was done.  She
couldn't afford to get sick or her grades would surely suffer. 
Of course she couldn't do this all day, since mid-terms were
coming up at the end of the week.

Her pace was slower than normal as she strolled toward the
cafeteria.  She had selected only a single textbook to bring
along, instead of her normally tall stack.  It would take her a
few days to get the kinks worked out.  She had thought about
doing a few stretches this morning but had wimped out in the
end.

She picked out a light brunch.  Since pain tended to turn her
stomach she wasn't sure she wanted something heavy.  She made
her selections and sat down at the closest table.

It wasn't long before the table filled up.  She continued
eating, lost in her thoughts and studies.  She was used to
letting the dialogue go on around her without getting involved
in the conversational dalliances the young kids tended to
indulge in.  So it was a surprise to her when she heard her name
called.

"Kent, what are you doing here?"

Clark looked surprised at her question.

"I told you I was going to come back to check on you and bring
fresh herbs."

Lois sighed.  If the truth were told, she would rather be
dissecting worms right now.

"I didn't ask you to come here today.  I don't need some kind of
a superhero bodyguard following me around.  I need to study."

He sighed and worried his hands through his dark hair.  "I know.
 I promise I'll give you lots of time to study, but first, I
want to tell you something."

He looked around at the room, appearing rather tense.  "Is there
someplace more private we can talk?"

There was no reason for Lois to say ‘yes' and every reason in
the world for her to say ‘no', but yet she was strangely
curious.  And so she found herself inviting him to join her at
the library.

To say that Clark Kent looked uncomfortable would be the
understatement of the year.  As he shifted and nervously glanced
around the room, he looked downright miserable.  She glanced
around the tiny space.  They had landed in the college's
listening lab which was lined with alcoves covered in overly
large headsets and a wide array of MP3 players, CD players and
tape players.  Heck, it probably had an 8-track player and a
micro-fiche somewhere.  There was a large conference room table
in the middle of the room where they planted themselves.

Lois had never seen ‘Mr. Machismo' looking so ill-at-ease.  That
left only two possibilities for their little
tête-à-têtes--either he wanted details from her personal history
or he planned to apologize.

Well, that was tough.  She had no intension of supplying details
to feed his prurient curiosity.  And she wasn't about to accept
any apologies, either.  That ill-mannered reporter had been
pushy and argumentative.

"Let's get on with this," she demanded as she watched him
fiddling with his glasses and panning the room, once again. 

He swallowed and adjusted his chair.  Finally he straightened
and met her gaze.

"I have certain... um, gifts... that allow me to do certain...
well, things," he stammered.

She wrinkled her brow.  A frown descended upon her face.  "You
brought me in here to brag?  *This* is the all-important thing
that just *had* to interrupt my studies?"

He was back-pedaling now, waving his arms in front of him.  "No,
Lois.  It's nothing like that," he insisted.

But she was quick to interrupt.  "Aw, crap, Kent!  You didn't
come here to ask me out, did you?  Wanted a little privacy to
tell me that you weren't asking me on a pity date, since it's
more about lust than pity?  Well, forget it.  I'm not
interested.  As they say in Portuguese, ‘Não'.

He was red-faced as he retorted, "It's not like that.  Can't you
just give a guy the benefit of the doubt?"

"Whatever."  She wasn't about to back down since he had done
nothing to redeem himself.

"Okay," he paused to compose himself, "as I was saying... 
Maybe, I'll just show you.  Do you mind if I...?"

He gestured toward her notebook.  She rolled her eyes and
flipped to a blank page.  The large bandages across her palms
made mobility difficult; nevertheless, she grabbed her bag and
rifled around for a pencil.

Her frown deepened as Clark ripped a page from her notebook and
wadded it up.  He placed the paper wad on his palm and gently
blew.

The paper danced through the air, carried by the breeze, until
it remained suspended above Lois's purse.  But it did not fall. 
Instead it hovered mid-air, rolling and flipping and softly
bobbing about on air.

There was no hiding the puzzlement on Lois's face.  She had
always hated illusions--it didn't seem right to feed on the
ignorance of the masses.  Still, it was her paper so there was
little opportunity for him to use magician's thread.  Plus, he
was working in the open air with nowhere to hide a mirror or
hidden pocket.

It was perplexing.  Downright queer.

Of course there was also the question of his motive.  Waltzing
in like ‘The Amazing Mr. Stupendous' with his mind-boggling
tricks when he knew she was having a rough weekend seemed tacky,
at best.

"I don't get it."

With a final whisper of breath the paper came to rest in her
purse.

"I have certain gifts that allow me to do peculiar things," he
repeated, as if that would clarify it for her.

She tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, just as he had
requested.  But sometimes it wasn't easy.

"Okay, that was a little bit cool.  You stay up late at nights
practicing that one?  Did you, Kent?"

His eyes fell.

"No.  No practice.  It's more like one of those freak-of-nature
things."

She rolled her eyes.  Kent might be unusual, but it was overly
dramatic to call his ‘gifts' freakish.  Oh, pulease.

"Not that I didn't enjoy the show, but the point of your
performance was..."

He nodded grimly.

"You told me some pretty serious parts of your life story
yesterday.  Things I'm assuming you wouldn't want to be revealed
to the general public.  So I thought you might feel better if
you knew something about me that I wouldn't want anyone to
know."

"And since you live such a coddled and sheltered life, this is
the best you can do.  It's sweet of you, really."

He looked a bit flustered.  "Well, thanks...  I think.  But I
would appreciate it if you wouldn't mention this around the
newsroom, because I wouldn't want anyone to think any
differently about me."

"So I can't just say, ‘Hey, have you noticed that Kent is a
little bit gifted?'"

"Lois, has it ever occurred to you that what I just told you is
a big deal to me?  Maybe just as big to me as your revelation
from last night is to you?"

"Oh, that?  That happened years ago.  I am so over it."

Her co-worker-turned-psychologist had the audacity to raise his
eyebrows at her in disbelief.  She dismissed him with a flick of
the wrist and continued her diatribe.

"I just moved ahead to the next story, the next country, the
next war.  No nightmares.  No scars.  No trauma.  No problems."

"Really."  Sarcasm didn't suit the touchy-feely reporter.

"Really," she confirmed.

She stared at him defiantly--and won.  He dropped his gaze long
before she hit her stride.

"So I, um, I'll let you get back to your... whatever it is you'd
be doing if I wasn't here."

"Great.  Yeah.  I'll get right on that."  Lois turned her
shoulder away from him and flipped open her textbook, making
great show of locating the correct page.  There was nothing she
would enjoy more today than blowing off ‘Wonderboy'.

He stood, as if to go, but didn't actually leave.

"Um... Lois, one more thing," he started.

"What is it now?" she hissed.

He hesitated once again.  When he finally spoke, it came out in
a gush of words.  "I'm a little worried about this no-doctors
idea.  If you're still bleeding, you need to see a doctor. 
Don't shake your head at me.  I know you're still bleeding
because one of my freak-of-nature gifts is that I have an
unusually sensitive sense of smell."

She couldn't help it.  After all the te