(All recognizable characters below belong to Warner Brothers 
and/or DC Comics and the situations they are placed in are 
meant only to compliment the work of the original owners. 
Everything they can't claim prior ownership to, I claim for my 
own.)

This continues the Dawning "saga" mainly because the words 
"let it go" didn't mean anything to me. While I was in the midst 
of writing, the French government announced they would stop 
testing nuclear weapons. I did not, however, cut out what I had 
already written on the not unlikely chance that they'll change 
their minds. Previous "episodes" of this opus can be found at 
ftp.swcp.com pub/users/dstark or be acquired from the author 
in email or attached txt form or in the fanfic archive. --
Debby@swcp.com, March 10, 1996


	Dawning 10, or Daybreak 2, or

	We Really Have a Lot to Talk About

	by Debby Stark


	The fury of the storm had passed, leaving in its wake 
a steady, refreshing shower. The barn was solid, strong, and 
the roof way above the loft showed no signs of leaking.
	What a metaphor, Lois Lane thought, but an 
appropriate one, because she realized that she had just waltzed 
into a refreshing battle of wills with the strongest man on earth. 
As she looked down on Clark Kent, who was regarding her 
with what he must have thought was his most stubborn 
expression, she knew she had already won, the worst of the 
storm was over. He was hers, lock, stock and superpowers and 
all stowed away in her heart. He just didn't know yet that he 
was safely housed there. Or, if he did suspect, it looked like he 
was far from ready to acknowledge that she had won this 
struggle.
	She understood that, and she knew she couldn't wave 
her victory in his face like a... a red cape and expect him to 
capitulate. If she made it worse by prodding him to face reality 
(which a different woman would have done two years 
previously), he might come up with some stinging retort or 
spur-of-the-moment witticism--if he didn't flee again 
altogether. The old Lois would have thought that a further 
indication of her brilliant victory.
	But not me, she thought, not *this* Lois. He had been 
doing his duty all along, goading her to break out of her shell. 
Though there were times his technique hadn't been gentle or 
wise (he was not his mother after all), it wouldn't do to repay 
him by making him feel trapped. To avoid that, he would 
probably retreat strategically to formulate a new plan, not let 
things flow naturally, and who knew how long that creative 
process would take?
	Hey, she thought at him, half-way wishing he were 
psychic, you're not alone any more...
	Come to think of it, neither am I. And I'm going to 
see to it that neither of us hides under shells or retreats or feels 
trapped ever again.
	At the moment, though, only one of them had seen as 
much as she had. She had seen that in his numerous attempts to 
tell her about himself, the most obvious thing he hoped she 
would do was take time to think about it, to think it through. 
She had foreseen this somehow, she realized now, forced 
herself to calm down, be very patient, and take all the time she 
needed to get to really know this guy sulking under her. It had 
been a marvelous thing.
	He had only the smallest clue about that though, and 
what made it harder for him was that he'd had such a short time 
to adjust to the news. Surely he deserved and shouldn't hesitate 
to take a lot more time to get over his own surprise and 
confusion about things not working out quite his way (though 
it wasn't *so* bad, was it?).
	If he decided to take some time, he might very well 
come to the natural understanding of the depths of her feelings 
for him and that she was aware of his feelings for her. It would 
be best, of course, if he didn't think about it too much, just 
letting the realization flow and blossom and bloom wildly, but 
she was wary of asking for too much at the moment.
	In any event, it was important for him to conclude 
that he was full and equal in their improved partnership even if 
she had been the one to boot it up to this new level. It was 
clear that he didn't feel any of that now, despite--no, among 
other things because of his out-of-the-blue proposal. It was 
probably what he had planned to ask her all along, just in not 
this way. It had become obvious to her that he had wanted to 
come clean about everything first, to play fair by telling her his 
secrets, though probably just after softening her up with a 
romantic dinner. If he had factored in the possibility of 
scrambling to regain his feet, it was most likely in the context 
of dealing with an old-fashioned, furios Lois threatening to 
reject him.
	But she was far, far from angry. She knew she could 
have made it easy for him, telling him they were perfectly even, 
that she saw him as her other half almost. He excelled in things 
she had never imagined and more than filled the gaps in her 
dream and real life. If she did this, though, he'd probably 
always have his doubts, particularly if he thought she assumed 
he was too thick to figure it out, to sense it on his own. And he 
wasn't, not really.
	Which didn't mean that she couldn't help him 
understand, she just had to be more subtle than she had to 
admit she'd been in the last five minutes.
	So she sat up straight again to give him some 
breathing room. She calmed the superior smile that had come 
way too easily and tried to make it just a pleased one. He 
looked a bit suspicious of all this, but that was good; he may 
have felt cornered but he wasn't backing off. Martha's comment 
about him escaping to the far side of the moon came to mind. 
It would not do to push this fellow too hard since he wasn't 
able to hide in the suit and behind the self-imposed constraints 
he put on with it.
	"Well," Lois said, "nothing's set in stone yet. Your 
landlord may take an instant disliking to me. People sometimes 
do."
	Given the opening to soften up and lecture her on the 
evils of self-deprecation, instead he said dryly, "Then bribe 
him."
	This man, who had once tossed her in a garbage 
dumpster ("for her own good"), knew her pretty well now. 
That made him both dangerous and desirable since it seemed 
that few people had ever tried to be friends with her and to 
woo her for anything but selfish motives.
	Since he did know her so well (except for the secret 
she had kept), she knew she couldn't retaliate or retreat, and 
that she definitely better not sound like she was trying to kiss 
up to him, though she wasn't exactly sure how to employ sweet 
talk without it being obvious. The truth would have to do for 
now. "I'm already planning to offer to pay for all the repairs for 
a token reduction in the rent. I know I'll probably have to 
absorb it--if I want the apartment after I see it, that is."
	"That will probably work, it worked for me."
	"And if it doesn't or I hate the place, I can keep 
looking."
	"There are a lot of hovels around Metropolis that 
need cleaning up--I mean, since you seem to be in the mood to 
tackle one."
	You're not a hovel, Clark.
	"I do want to create a place of my own." I want to 
create you for my own, and me for you, and us for us... I'm 
sounding like one of my novels, she thought. "If it has to be 
from scratch," and it doesn't, you're already predisposed, "I'm 
up to the challenge. But you'll help me a little, won't you?" She 
smiled hopefully with the question but then she wondered if 
that came off as weak, so she added, "I can already paint walls, 
that's easy. I helped lay bricks once on an undercover 
assignment, and I can move furniture, even heavy pieces, but 
I'm not good at plumbing or electrical wiring."
	"I've done that, I've helped build several houses. I 
better help you, especially if you wind up living right next to 
me. I've promised to help keep the neighborhood respectable."
	And yourself, too, hmm? I won't strain your 
sensibilities, Clark, just stretch to include me again. "I can be 
respectable. After all, I don't plan to put up any," she wrote it 
in the air, "'I'm here now, bad guys, come get me' signs."
	"Good idea. The neighborhood watch committee 
would pay you a visit to discuss that."
	"And they're tough?"
	"They can be."
	"Are you on the committee?"
	"I was last year, but I only went on one case and then 
I just watched."
	She could imagine him offering to provide diplomatic 
thoughts or even news coverage, but not muscles since he 
wasn't by nature aggressive. His size would imply that he was 
though, and he could stand back and *imply* quite effectively, 
supporting the committee members who would do all the 
talking.
	"Maybe they'll let me join some committees once I get 
established."
	"Sure, you can try."
	Lois's conversation monitor said that this one had 
reached an end and if it went further it would fall over the Cliff 
of Boredom into the Valley of Suspicion of Too-Sweet 
Motives. "I feel better about this already, I was a *little* 
concerned about what you would think..."
	She noticed that with this admission his combative 
expression softened to being simply slightly wary. She was 
beginning to sense just how far she could go in that direction 
and that it was time to head for the high ground again. "I want 
to start moving in by next Saturday. If I take the place earlier, 
I'll break out my bedroll and sleep there and it will be like home 
so I won't have to bother you. It will be exciting, like... like 
camping out in the wilderness!"
	He traded a good bit of the wariness for a doubtful 
look. "But you don't like camping out."
	"And how would *you* know?"
	He raised his eyebrows, surprised, and sat up at last, 
as though to give more strength to whatever flimsy argument 
he had. He replied in the same tone she had used: "Because 
*you've* told me."
	"I never said that--When?"
	"Last year on March 14th, when Laurie announced 
she was going to Yellowstone for her vacation. You told me 
you wouldn't get caught dead in the wilderness unless it was 
part of a good story, and even then you'd get Perry to send me 
instead. Then you advised her to take along flares in case she 
got lost and bear repellant because you heard the park is 
crawling with 'those nasty creatures.'"
	"I was just joking. Bears are okay in their place, 
which is on a high mountain away from me, and signal flares 
are really a good idea, *even* in the city. I have some in my 
jeep."
	"Then when Jimmy and Tad decided to drive to 
California for their vacation this year, you cautioned them in 
detail, gave them those clippings about tourists found robbed 
and dumped in Death Valley, and you slipped them a lot of 
money so they could fly all the way."
	"Round trip *first class*--but they gave it all back and 
they drove anyway and brought me that T-shirt with a Gila 
monster on it looking mean because Gila monsters can't 
urinate--which I don't believe for a minute--like I wasn't 
supposed to realize it was a joke at my expense," she snorted. 
"So they didn't listen to me, either, no one does."
	"I do--"
	"I was going to say nobody but you."
	"And then you--"
	"Thank you, Mr. Memory! You've made your point!"
	Why didn't he look the least bit triumphant then? How 
could he do that? *No* killer instinct at *all*? You do need 
me, Clark.
	He said mildly, "Just don't try to tell me you like 
something when I know you really don't."
	"Okay, then I won't tell you I like gorillas."
	"That's fine, I know you have no intention of hunting 
them to extinction."
	"Right. And some of your musical tastes are really 
*way* out."
	"So don't play any of that music while you're at my 
place."
	"I won't. And while I do like staying there, I don't 
want to be a bother unless it's part of a plan, and, believe me, I 
did *not* plan to be evicted."
	"I believe you. You've always seemed to enjoy your 
privacy, but you're no bother since..." he looked at his hands 
and spread them, "I'm here and you're... well, you will be there 
again tomorrow..."
	She simply nodded, not wasting an innocent 
expression even though he looked up again in time to have 
seen one.
	Not getting the facial response he must have expected 
(her giving herself away), he continued, "And it's okay if you 
touch things, I don't really mind. You were careful before, and 
you weren't a bother then either..." He paused again, now 
obviously beginning to wonder if she had known his truths as 
long ago as that.
	It was too early for him to be getting that close. If he 
insisted on worrying about it, then maybe it was a good idea to 
let him think she was playing a game, that she wanted to keep 
him guessing about when had she found out. If that didn't work 
and he still needed distracting, she figured she could always 
dazzle him with sexual innuendo.
	She maneuvered to appear to try to head him off at 
the pass. "You were such a gentleman and I was so manic. I 
think that's when it really struck me that you're my best friend 
and that you've meant a lot to me for so long..." or, she told 
herself, it certainly should have struck me then. Their at-work 
relationship had been good since the end of last year when her 
father had been ill. But on a personal level that relationship had 
been stuck at sibling-like. She could have sworn she had been 
comfortable with that as well as with the occasional sweet kiss 
upon casual date attempts. They hadn't called them dates then, 
either; he had also, as far as she could tell, been a little leery 
about even trying. If while on the job, the stress level was high 
and death seemed near, they had engaged in a bit of ear 
nibbling and too-brief discussions about their personal futures. 
They'd seemed to be so... in sync, from their mild times 
together to ones that required him to rescue them both. Why 
hadn't she seen this guy for what he really was to her before?
	I'm babbling, she thought. But then again, it looks like 
he can tell I've sidetracked myself. Let's use it. "And your bed 
was so comfortable, I sleep like a log in it, and I have every 
night since Wednesday. You know, it's like an anniversary, 
since the last time it was Wednesday, too..."
	"Technically it was--"
	"*Don't* say it."
	Fast on the uptake, he closed his mouth before the 
words "Thursday morning" tumbled out. At least he had the 
common decency to look like he realized he was about to 
sound like Mr. Spock and that neither of them needed that. She 
supposed, though, that just because he had managed to sit up it 
was still too early to expect him to do an about face and feel 
romantic and pretend along with her.
	She eased the conversation elsewhere. "Okay, so 
when you're helping me fix up my new place, you're not to do 
anything out of the ordinary, you understand? Unless I'm about 
to fall off a ladder or electrocute myself or something like 
that."
	"Whatever you say. It'll be your hovel."
	"Exactly. And when it's all done and beautiful, I can 
invite you for dinner and I can bake those cookies, too, for 
dessert. I'm going to make more time for doing that kind of 
thing, I really *don't* have to be in the office until I'm about to 
drop dead."
	As though taking a cue from the idea of dessert, her 
stomach churned almost audibly. It was quite audible to some. 
She noticed that he glanced down in that direction, raised his 
eyebrows, caught himself, looked back at her and just about 
almost smiled. "Speaking of dropping dead," she said casually, 
as though she had planned the whole thing right down to the 
decibel level, "I'm still starving." She folded her legs under 
herself and rolled to her knees.
	"You're thinking of food at a time like this?"
	"I sure am! It's almost dinner time back in Metropolis, 
and I don't consider two bites of sandwich to be enough lunch 
for either of us--and don't say you're not hungry. I refuse to eat 
alone while I'm in a barn."
	He sighed as though he enjoyed sounding 
exasperated. "I am a little. I'll go get it."
	But before he could move, she planted her hands 
firmly on his shoulders. He stopped, though obviously of his 
own volition and not because she was leaning into it.
	"*I* can get it. I saw where you put the bag in the 
storeroom. Besides..." we're this close and you don't look like 
you want to kiss me yet, so why stay? "I want to stretch out, 
and wouldn't you like to relax for a few minutes without me 
hovering over you?"
	He looked almost insulted. "I'm perfectly all right, 
Lois."
	Yeah, she thought, for a fellow who looks like he's 
been run over by a powerful locomotive... "I'm glad to hear 
that." She hovered a touch closer and thought at him: try 
kissing me to prove it... nope. "But I really do want to stretch. 
It'll only take a minute, I'm not going anywhere else..." Not like 
*some* people who disappeared at inopportune moments to 
save train loads of orphans, puppies and Nobel laureates.
	He pursed his lips in that cute I-don't-like-this-but-I-
can't-think-of-a-good-counter-argument way of his and she felt 
him give a bit under the pressure. In acceptance of his decision 
she stopped pushing. She hoped he noticed that she resisted 
patting him on the cheek like she might have if she were a 
thoughtless, domineering person.
	She rose to her feet, grabbed the end of the ladder, 
swung into position and climbed down rapidly but carefully. 
She wondered if he was x-ray watching her every move. If so, 
or if he couldn't help it, that was all right for now. She was 
sure he was being careful about it, and he'd be embarrassed if 
he x-rayed too far, not that she would have minded that either.
	But he'd get over feeling he had to keep an eye on her 
to avoid the next thing she threw at him. She didn't plan to 
throw anything more, though, not until he was rested up, on 
the road to mental stability, and back in Metropolis, assuming 
he didn't return with her on Sunday. She suddenly hoped he 
wouldn't decide to do that; he not only needed time to adjust to 
all these new ideas--she wanted him to miss her.
	She reached the floor of the barn and noticed that the 
horses were watching her. This startled her briefly and she 
stopped to watch them for any signs of dangerous movements. 
They simply stood there and observed her right back, and she 
began to relax, shaking her head at herself for having been 
fearful. They were large and powerful, careless of the storm--
*both* storms--that had swept past overhead. At the same time 
they were calm and somehow encouraging. They got along 
perfectly well with each other, that was so marvelous. She bet 
they knew exactly what was going on, too, with all the humans 
and human-looking people around here. Animals seemed to be 
able to do, according to the glimpses of The Nature Channel 
she'd gotten while channel surfing. In their own lives they didn't 
futz around but got right down to it after some genetically 
engineered courtship ritual, and often it was the female who 
made the major decisions, wasn't it? But a lot of animals mated 
for life, too, didn't they? She wondered if gorillas did.
	On her visit here more than a month earlier, Jonathan 
had helped her mount and ride Robby, and they'd taken a brief 
turn around the paddock. It had been frightening and she had 
gritted her teeth and kept smiling. But in the end the 
nonchalant way the horse had reacted toward her, as though he 
were perfectly willing to let her work out her fears, had been 
comforting and made her want to try it again some time. 
Maybe she could suggest taking another ride while she was 
here. After all, if for any reason Robby got rowdy, while 
Jonathan had relied on a gentle voice to control the animal, 
Clark could also deal with the horse physically. That would be 
something to see: "Clark, bring that horse over here..."
	She paused there by the stall. Neither of the immense 
animals looked the least bit rowdy, and the nanny goat standing 
in the corner eating hay looked brainlessly content. Acting on 
inspiration and since it had felt good the last time, Lois reached 
over the gate, hoping to touch either Robby's or Flora's nose 
and feel warm breath on her hand. I'm not afraid of you two, 
I'm not *all* city girl.
	As Flora took a step forward and was stretching 
toward her, Lois felt something that made a squealing sound 
skitter over her right foot. Considering where she was, and that 
a piece of straw wouldn't have made such an impression 
though her tennis shoe, that straw didn't sound like that 
anyhow, and who knew what weird things were lurking in this 
strange temple dedicated to agrarian practices--she gasped 
involuntarily and jumped back.
	Right into Clark, who kept her from tripping over her 
own feet in her haste to escape.
	"Lois, what's wrong? What is it?"
	God, you're fast. "I don't know..." She pushed her hair 
back reflexively, turned to get out of his arms but then grabbed 
one, his left, realized she was unconsciously using him as a 
shield and that she didn't mean to, but, hell, he was built like a 
tank, he'd practically grown up this barn, and he better know 
what was going on around here.
	She pointed out where she had been standing. "It was 
there, but..." She peered into the darkness "it's gone now, it 
moved fast--and I'll be all right, it was probably nothing. It was 
probably just a mouse or a rat or a snake or something that 
took a short cut over my foot. I realize these things happen on 
farms all the time, every day, probably twice on Saturdays..."
	"No, they don't. And it wouldn't be a snake or a rat..." 
He knelt to get a better look as though he couldn't x-ray the 
whole darn planet to find what had assaulted her. "Roscoe 
takes care of them."
	"Roscoe? That mild-mannered dog?"
	Clark glanced up at her. "He was raised by the same 
people who raised me, what do you expect?"
	I expect you not to be quite so serious giving me a 
statement like that. "Oh, well... I'm glad you don't chase snakes 
and rats."
	His expression, which had after all become ever so 
slightly amused at himself, headed toward somber again. He 
looked back down. "Except of course I do in a manner of 
speaking..."
	She felt like somehow he was drowning, she had 
adroitly thrown a rope to him, he had reached for it--and 
missed. Now she floundered. "As a reporter, certainly, but... 
why does that sound like you didn't expect to do that, to chase 
human snakes and rats, when you decided to go public?"
	"I guess because..." he shrugged, "I didn't." He looked 
up at her again briefly. "I imagined myself saving people from 
accidents and floods and earthquakes, that kind of thing. I'd 
already done a lot of that, discretely, so I knew I'd probably be 
pretty good at it. I just never thought I'd be... swallowing 
bombs or wrestling with robotmen or... or doing even more 
bizarre things as a journalist, like pretending to be a bartender 
or tracking down billionaire criminals."
	She thought she heard him sigh. He wasn't proud of 
that? She would have been, she thought--or rather she was 
proud now: she did all those things, too, the journalist things. 
Since he was a lot like her in tracking down a story (she'd 
practically trained him after all), and since he had to know he 
had helped so many people, maybe that wasn't it. There was 
definitely something deep going on here, something he needed 
to talk about--to her. 
	But this wasn't quite the time for it. "So, does Maggie 
take care of the mice? Where is she then? Why isn't she on the 
job?"
	"She's mostly a house cat. Mom's looking for a good 
barn cat who won't bother the... oh, here's what probably ran 
over your foot..." He reached into darkness at floor level and 
pulled out one of the little chicks.
	"*That's* what scared me half to death?"
	"Looks like."
	"It didn't *sound* like a chicken."
	"Sometimes they don't."
	"They don't? I didn't know that... I'm sorry for the 
false alarm, I'm just not very good at this farm stuff."
	"No one has asked you to be," he said, not looking up 
at her but not needing to as he comforted the little bird. 
"You're good at city stuff."
	True. She decided she wanted a better look at what 
hadn't turned out to be a cobra, and so she knelt there beside 
Clark. The little yellow chick had the beginnings of white 
feathers; its cuteness was wearing off as it was becoming an 
ordinary barnyard animal. But it still was so small and saying 
pio-pio-pio and trembling in his hands... "Oh, it's frightened..."
	"He's cold and lost..." Clark paused, looked at her and 
said in a way that was surely meant to leave no doubt: "And 
that's *not* a metaphor for *me*."
	"Did I say it was?" Though of course it was the 
perfect metaphor and he knew it. What he probably didn't 
know was: "It's a good metaphor for me..." which she 
wondered why she was admitting.
	"No, it's not either. Just because I said it wasn't for 
me, that doesn't mean it's yours by default."
	"I know, but I..." This time she was the one who felt 
the need to look away. "I just happen to be about the coldest 
person I know, and, frankly, I've been lost a few more times 
than I care to remember."
	"And *I* disagree," he said firmly, and when she 
looked again, his eyes drew hers irresistibly. "You're *not* 
cold. You're just about the warmest person I know, and you're 
rarely lost."
	His voice and eyes were those of a sincere best friend, 
just what she needed right now, she realized... It would have 
been nice to hear or see in them the desire to kiss her to 
enforce the opinion but wasn't quite time for that yet, either. 
Ten days earlier he wouldn't have hesitated. Soon, she was 
sure, he'd feel that way again.
	He seemed to catch himself, as though remembering 
that he was supposed to be hurt, and he looked back at the 
bird, paused, and said: "Here, you hold him."
	"Me? Him?"
	"You, and he's a him and he'll be a rooster someday 
unless he catches pneumonia."
	"But you're warm--"
	"You are, too. Stick your hands out here."
	"Clark, I don't really need this experience--"
	"You're *not* going to say you're chicken, are you?"
	How dare--"I'm not afraid of anything, he just doesn't 
need..." Yes, he does, girl--this *could* be some kind of test 
this guy doesn't realize he's giving you. "Oh, all right, I can do 
this." She offered her hands.
	The chick's feet felt like agitated spiders, but Clark 
helped corral the animal in her cupped hands until it calmed, 
only peeped occasionally, and then cuddled into their warm 
embrace. As it could have been preliminary to a make-up kiss, 
she wouldn't have minded this lasting longer. The chick was 
the only thing coming between them. "Does he have a home or 
do I take him back to the city, buy him a black leather jacket 
and find him a job in the newsroom?"
	"Like... crowing when the Chief's in a bad mood?"
	"Exactly, and he'll work for chicken feed, too, less 
than Jimmy."
	Clark smiled a little; Lois felt a surge of victory--but 
told herself not to rejoice yet. He said, "You can put him in the 
coop over there and I'll get our lunch."
	"Okay, coop, over there..."
	He stood up with her and then let her hold the chick 
close all by herself. She felt courageous. He said, "The gate 
should be open." He looked through the dim light in the 
direction he had previously indicated. "It is open and the hen is 
in there and the rest of the chicks. Put him in there, too, and 
close the gate. Check the chicken wire fence while you're at it, 
it could be loose. We don't want the fox getting near there 
again."
	"Fox?" She'd never seen a live fox before except in a 
zoo.
	"A fox is why we don't have a rooster any more. The 
rooster went for a walk and the fox escorted him to dinner. 
The fox's dinner."
	"But what about Roscoe?"
	"The fox was smarter than him."
	"And you?"
	"Me? I wasn't here, I was in... Venezuela."
	"Oh, that oil well fire thing."
	"Yeah. Look, I realize you really want to do this, I'll--
"
	"No, *I* can do it. I'm perfectly capable of it."
	"Okay."
	"Does he have a name?"
	"The chick? No, I don't think so."
	"He needs a name." She looked down at it. She bet it 
had absolutely no idea what was going on. "How about 'Clark, 
Jr,' hmm?"
	She could imagine the chick's possible namesake 
rolling his eyes. "How about if I just go get our lunch?"
	"Take your time. I think after I tuck little Clark Jr. in-
-Do you have a middle name?"
	"No."
	"I bet you do. Henry? Cecil? Randolph?"
	"No, not even close"
	"I'll find out. I'll tuck him in and then I can bale some 
hay, and while I'm at it I'll milk a cow, any cow who happens 
to be standing around."
	"Fine. You do that," and he turned away, apparently 
happy to let her figure out what she had been saying.
	Well, she thought, I know your middle already name 
*and* I know there's no cow here... but I know there's 
someone who's smiling because he thinks I don't know. Now, 
how the hell do I fix a chicken coop when I don't know what 
one looks like?
	She turned toward where he said the coop was and 
eased that way, letting her eyes adjust. In a moment she saw 
what he meant, a sturdy indoor-outdoor type construction. In it 
the hen waited and, Lois assumed, the chick's siblings were 
hiding in the wooden shelter. The hen wouldn't have been here 
otherwise probably; she had opted to guarded the bulk of her 
babies. I would have, Lois thought. She tried to put the found 
chick down, but it hopped out of her hands, landed in some 
straw and fluttered away unharmed to hide with the other little 
ones.
	"Well, thank you, too..." she told its back, almost 
added *Jerome,* and, in deference to the wary hen, closed the 
coop gate carefully. "No rooster to keep you warm, eh, girl? 
Happens to the best of us..." though maybe that would change 
soon for one of them. She gave this indoor part of the coop a 
once-over glance but didn't see any loose wire and doubted the 
hen, who could have flown out probably, had wire cutters 
under her wing. With a fox around she should have a machine 
gun. "You be careful, now," she warned the big bird. "If you're 
not good and the fox doesn't get you, you can still become 
chicken soup in an instant, you know."
	The hen looked dubious.
	"Not today," Clark said as he returned.
	"I hope not," Lois whispered to him, "I wouldn't want 
to find out I was eating her."
	"She's a prize winner, and Mom has a hard time 
slaughtering any of them. Actually, I do, too. Dad usually has 
to do it, so that's one chicken who will probably die of old 
age."
	"And the fox?"
	"Dad has rigged up some alarms and Roscoe is 
sleeping out here again tonight."
	"Oh, good, maybe he'll keep the chicks warm because 
it's a lot cooler than it was. Are there little electric blankets and 
sun lamps in there for the chicks so Roscoe won't smother 
them?"
	"Just about. The coop's heated. Are *you* cold? I 
mean, physically?"
	"A little, but it's warm enough up in the loft," and, 
who knows, you may feel like warming me up eventually.
	"Yes, it is."
	"It's comfortable, too, and it's private, just in case... 
tourists stumble through. Unless..." well, there was always the 
chance, "unless you don't want to."
	"No, it's okay..."
	Lois felt suddenly like taking a swing at Clark and his 
pitiful-little-me attitude with... She spotted a stack of folded-up 
chicken-feed bags. With one of those. She restrained herself. 
No one has called to save his day for him like Martha had for 
her. But if he suggests going home with you, she told herself, 
turn him down flat, that will serve him right. "Well, if you 
really don't want to, I understand. After all, I turned up out of 
the blue and wrecked your entire happy life--"
	"No, you *haven't* wrecked my 'entire happy life'--"
	"And maybe you had something else planned--"
	"No--"
	"What were you going to do with the rest of the 
afternoon before you saw me? More work? Hang out in the 
hammock?" She waved a hand in emphasis. "Did you have 
*any*thing else planned?"
	"Well, I was thinking about going to England..."
	"England? Why England?"
	"It's, ah..." He looked away as though thinking about 
how much he should tell her. Ohmygosh, what if he had a 
girlfriend there, too? Well, she thought, frowning at him and 
ready to jump down his throat and throttle his tonsils, he better 
*not* have! He looked back at her. "It's a UFO thing and you 
weren't interested in that before..."
	A UFO thing? Was *that* all? Whew! Why, she 
wondered, do I still have these stupid doubts when he's been 
working so hard all this time to get my undivided attention? 
Just because she was used to men who stole her stories and ran 
away, or tricked her and tried to possess her body and soul...
	UFOs were much easier to deal with. She threw out 
her hands. "Of *course* I wasn't interested before! And now I 
remember--you said you might go there on vacation, but 
you..." wait a minute, don't give it away, "well, *Superman* 
was about to go to court and all you could think about that 
night was flying saucers and *not* helping him."
	"And now you know why."
	"Yes, because you wanted to relax, you had a plan--
and it worked and I'm glad it did. But if it hadn't, I would have 
visited you in jail and taken cookies to you. Each one would 
have a little piece of file that you could collect and weld 
together and use to escape. If the guards found out, maybe 
they'd throw me in the next cell and we could... call Clark to 
rescue us."
	"But jail wasn't..." He stopped himself as he saw 
through the little diversion and earned a gold star. "Lois, I 
*wanted* to share my plan with you. I was going to tell you 
everything Thursday morning because I... well..." He sighed as 
though helpless with the memory. "I needed a hug. But like 
always, something else came up."
	"Something else nearly sank, you saved that ship full 
of people. You couldn't waste time after that trying to find me 
or you might have been late to court and lost by default or 
been thrown in jail for contempt. That's exactly the way they 
work."
	"I don't think I would have gone to jail..."
	No, he had made the right choice and shown everyone 
that the American system of justice worked. But if he had 
considered disappointing millions just to find and talk to her... 
"It's nice to know that you were thinking of telling me..."
	"I probably should have told you the night before, but 
it was just too..."
	"Unromantic, and I was going overboard trying to get 
us to the Law Library when a walk in the park would have 
been much nicer."
	"Well, yes, but you didn't go overboard... No, 
actually, you did, but it was because you were worried and you 
cared and things were so frenetic that I couldn't tell you then... 
and maybe you couldn't tell me that you already knew...?"
	Clark, if you just don't hand me any more chickens 
and we can both get cozy and reassure each other about this 
whole thing... She took a step toward him and looked up into 
his eyes. "You mean did I know about you and..." She couldn't 
resist; she lightly drew an S over his chest.
	He retreated a touch, but not necessarily, she hoped, 
because he didn't want her to do it. Maybe he was ticklish there 
or just oversensitive at the moment. Otherwise he seemed 
capable only of raising his eyebrows in a pleading *tell me* 
manner...
	But while she thought she could have kept advancing, 
cornered him and forced him to submit, she didn't, it wasn't 
part of the flow. Did he wanted so badly to know how she had 
found out because he thought he could prevent it happening 
again with someone he didn't love? Maybe, but she was sure he 
wasn't truly suffering for lack of knowledge, and, if anything, 
seeking the answer was keeping him here.
	So she patted his t-shirt back into shape and as she 
did so she said, "I've been thinking a lot about our relationship, 
and that was one of the things I thought about. Your trying to 
relax the night before the hearing makes a lot of sense now..." 
and don't you remember refusing to listen, and what I said 
about us laughing at this some day? True, we're not laughing 
now, "but whether or not I knew then doesn't matter." 
	"You *did* know..."
	"Know what? Oh, that? I don't recall, it's not 
important to me any more. What's important is... what I know 
now." She capped that with a nod of supreme certainty. "Do 
you think the food's still okay and it hasn't spoiled or anything? 
Will you taste test it for me?"
	"Lois..." He shook his head. "It hasn't had time to 
spoil, but if it has, you're getting ptomaine on your own."
	"Thanks a *lot*--Oh, but you wouldn't know the 
difference, would you..."
	"I know rotten food when taste it, yech," he stuck out 
his tongue briefly, "but whether or not it's just ready for the 
compost heap or it's really dangerous, I don't know if I could 
tell," he said, and it sounded like he really didn't want to admit 
to it as it was just another thing that made him different. He 
didn't appreciate being healthier than anyone else on Earth? 
But then he made his case worse by adding, "After all, I've 
eaten things in Asia that... you don't want to know about."
	"Then don't tell me.
	"But I'm sure this food's okay, it's cool in the 
storeroom."
	"So let's go where it's warmer."

	***

	Since she didn't seem to want him to do anything out 
of the ordinary (for some reason Clark felt grateful for that), he 
waited to follow her while she climbed the ladder. As he 
touched the first rung she turned and suggested he toss the 
lunch bag up to her so his hands would be free. He said he 
didn't want to because the bag was heavier than it looked due 
to the bottles of water. She shrugged, "Whatever you say," but 
when he'd gotten several rungs up with the help of a bit of float 
to keep his balance, she reached down wordlessly and he 
handed her the bag. Doing so then made sense. When he set 
foot in the loft he saw she had settled on the blanket in the 
same place as before, waiting for him. He sat down across 
from and facing her.
	His feelings, he sighed to himself, were typically all 
mixed up. He longed to hug her because she knew, he could 
share everything with her now, it was such a relief. His ever-
present underlying sense of loneliness was retreating rapidly. 
But at the same time he felt better keeping his distance because 
he had no idea exactly how much she knew and what it was he 
had already unwittingly shared with her, and that made him 
nervous and, conversely, feeling even more isolated.
	He wasn't sure why this was. There wasn't anything 
wrong with her knowing. What's more, from what little she had 
said that he could make sense of--and that hadn't made him feel 
like ducking--she was partial toward him as himself. She wasn't 
trying to play up to him and via him reach the blue-suit-
wearing person she had once been in lust with. This seemed to 
indicate that she thought he, Clark, was at least the dominant 
person of the two.
	His folks used to be the only ones he could totally 
depended on, but over this last year he had become certain that 
Lois was also genuinely trustworthy. there was really no more 
question of it. So it wasn't that, either.
	Hey, she'd even had her hands on some Kryptonite 
quite recently but hadn't used it ("if you react to this, you *are* 
Superman!"). So either she didn't feel any need to do that, she 
had not known the truth then, or if she had a nefarious plot, it 
didn't require Kryptonite. In any case, if she wanted to entrap 
him, she could do so using her own native intelligence, that 
was more than obvious. Yet he didn't feel quite trapped now.
	She opened the bag, pulled out the bottles of water 
and then the two half-sandwiches he'd hastily wrapped together 
earlier. She unwrapped these and split them, one for each hand. 
"Hmm, I wonder which was mine..."
	She couldn't tell by the bite size? He took a close look 
from afar. "That one," he pointed, "has traces of lipstick." 
Trying for a little levity wouldn't hurt, especially since he could 
hardly help but say "and I don't wear that shade."
	She smiled--at the thought of the Man of Steel 
wearing make-up? He *hoped* not--and handed him the 
unlipsticked half. She said, "I'm wearing hardly any, it's just 
protection from the sun."
	It was a fact that Kansas was higher in altitude than 
Metropolis and what with the ozone layer fluctuating as it did 
these days... way to go, Kent, just try babbling about *that*. 
She'll think you're a real nut case and leave faster than she got 
here. He decided to say simply: "Good idea." 
	They ate quietly for what seemed like an hour but was 
only about 45 seconds, until, feeling pressed--not by her, he 
realized, though her presence was certainly partly responsible--
he decided to say, "You make good sandwiches, I think you're 
a fine chef."
	Their eyes met and for some reason she looked 
uncomfortable. He wondered, What did I say now? 
	"Clark, to be honest with you, I... I didn't make any of 
this." She waved at the bag. "Your mother fixed it all ahead of 
time. I guess she's psychic."
	Oh? But that clicked as being the truth. He looked the 
sandwich more closely. It was constructed in the way his mom 
usually did them. She skimped on the Miracle Whip because of 
the artificial ingredients and then loaded on the lettuce and the 
other roughage, though she could have convinced Lois to do 
the same for health reasons.
	Yet for Lois to have admitted to this little thing when 
she could have let it pass and basked in the glory? That was 
something special. "Ah, yes, sometimes she is psychic," and, on 
the down side, he thought--why do I have to find a down 
side?--sometimes she doesn't feel like cluing me in on critical 
things she's psyched out, either.
	I'm sandwiched in between them...
	And it tickles.
	"But it's easy to make sandwiches," Lois said 
pleasantly. "I make them all the time at home."
	"Then I'm sure you're good at that."
	"We all have to start somewhere." She took a bite.
	"Yep... How long has she known that you know?"
	"Your mother?" she said around the bite.
	"You didn't tell anyone else..."
	She shook her head. "Um-um."
	"I didn't think you had, it was just the way you asked 
that..."
	Now she nodded as though she understood and wasn't 
hurt by the near accusation. She took her time chewing, 
swallowed and said, "Well, what you like to do in your spare 
time isn't anyone else's business, is it? I know that's odd for an 
investigative reporter to say, but we don't work for a sleazy 
tabloid and I have to draw the line somewhere... I just needed 
someone to talk to and she's been there for me," she smiled, 
pleased, but it turned just a touch sad. "The more I think about 
it, though, I bet she's needed someone to talk to a *lot* longer 
than I have. At least now that I've found out and she found out 
I found out, she's had someone to talk to." Her smile 
broadened again. "Me."
	It had never occurred to him that his folks and 
particularly his mom might want to share the secret, that it 
could be a burden. They had never let on and would probably 
deny it to the end, and he couldn't imagine being so callous as 
to confront them about it. Mom had probably intuited that Lois 
knew and of course she'd want to talk to Lois to find out the 
extent of her knowledge. No doubt she'd psyched out right 
away that there was nothing to worry about, if she hadn't 
already suspected that long ago. Why she hadn't told him was 
another issue.
	He took a bite of his sandwich half. As he ruminated 
over it, what little irritation he had at his mother for having 
held the secret for who knew how long began to melt away. 
After all, maybe Lois had asked her not to say anything.
	"And," Lois continued, "I begged her not to tell you 
because I realized I needed time to think about it. She said she 
understood, so..."
	Wow, Clark thought. Did I foresee her saying that or 
did she read my mind?
	Okay, so Mom hadn't said a word and Lois had taken 
time--how much time?--to adjust to the idea. Well, that made 
sense, sort of. In a few moments he realized Lois was waiting 
for some comment, so he said, "I guess you asked about me..." 
which, he realized, was probably one of the main things 
bothering him. He didn't like to think they had been talking 
behind his back, that Lois might have quizzed mercilessly and 
he hadn't been any the wiser or able to protect the older 
woman.
	"Yes, we talked about you, she's very proud of you, 
but I think we've talked even more about me. It was funny how 
she did that. Every time we talked I wound up pouring my 
heart out to her..."
	Of course! Clark reprimanded himself for thinking his 
mom would cower defenselessly, or that Lois would assault her 
with probing questions. Loosen up, Kent!
	"I've discovered a lot about myself recently... But 
that's been fun, too, more fun than it started out to be, and all 
this is going to get even better." She smiled to herself softly.
	She certainly was smiling a lot. More fun? 
Discovering herself? With... me? Well, yes, probably that was 
what she meant, he hoped, and it was only fair since she knew 
so much about him now, a lot of it without his mother's help by 
the looks of it. Talk about discovery...
	He tried to focus on his sandwich, wishing suddenly 
that she had made it after all. But it was good that she had 
come clean about that and all these other things. He could help 
her improve her cooking skills if she wanted to, though it 
would be perfectly okay with him if she eschewed the kitchen 
and he did all that kind of thing in... their own home, if--
*when* they got together, after they got all this worked out, 
which they could get down to doing if he weren't generally 
choked up and at a loss for sensible words...
	"Clark?"
	He felt himself focus immediately and hoped he hadn't 
looked like his mind had been wandering. "Hmmm?"
	"This may sound odd but... I'm more used to trying to 
talk heart-to-heart with you when you're wearing glasses."
	"Oh? Oh, okay..." He assumed that was a request that 
he put them back on. No problem, and it was actually 
promising. It seemed to further confirm just who she preferred 
to see of the two people she clearly now knew him as. He 
pulled them out of where they hung in the collar of his shirt, 
but before he could put them on, she reached across and stayed 
his hand.
	"Wait a minute. You wear them at work and around 
me, until right now, but you were just wearing those sunglasses 
in the truck. So do you wear these when you visit here with 
your parents?"
	"Ah, not all the time, it..." It's important? "it 
depends..."
	She nodded as though encouraging him to continue, 
so he added off the top of his head, "Everyone's used to seeing 
me in them and I'm used to wearing them. They... slow me 
down so I'll think first before doing anything... unusual."
	"Or natural?"
	"Ah, yeah, natural for me. But, anyway, I don't really 
think about it much anymore." There were just things one 
didn't think about after, what? 25 years?
	She nodded like she understood, like there were 
things she didn't think about either. "And when you're alone at 
home, do you wear them then?"
	"No, usually not." He had little to fear at home any 
more. "Why?"
	"Because..." She sat back, looking at him 
speculatively, "maybe you shouldn't put them on, maybe I 
should get used to seeing you without them when you're 
wearing regular clothes."
	Oh, great, she meant seeing *Superman* in regular 
clothes. He felt the strong desire to defend himself against... 
himself: "But if it's easier to have heart-to-heart talks..."
	"You do want to talk?"
	"Yes, I do. I guess maybe I haven't *acted* like it..."
	"Not for the last half an hour--but I sneaked up and 
surprised you."
	"That's putting it mildly."
	She smiled in a comforting (as well as pleased with 
herself) manner. "I know, and I know you've been trying, we've 
*both* been trying to talk. If you feel comfortable wearing 
them," she said, totally neutral, "put them on."
	"It doesn't matter to me." Though of course it made a 
big difference for some reason. "If *you're* more 
comfortable..."
	She gave him a look that seemed to say she detected 
here a trend toward gridlock. She put down what was left of 
her sandwich, sat up on her knees and held out her hand. "Give 
them to me."
	Oh, no, "Huh-uh, you'll just put them on me and pat 
my cheek again."
	"I'm *not* going to patronize you, Clark. Hand them 
over."
	"Only if you promise not to do that."
	He hoped she didn't mean the irritated look, but he 
didn't feel like budging on this any more than he did on the no-
sex-before-engagement declaration. That (hasty?) decision had 
been a matter of maintaining his self-respect (yeah, that was it). 
So was this one. She'd just have to accept it.
	She sighed dramatically, in essence reassuring him 
that she was not angry. "All right, I promise. Give."
	He gave. She took them respectfully--then reached for 
him with her left hand (when here he'd been wary of her cheek-
patting right), and, because he didn't think to withdraw and 
despite himself enjoyed her touch, she was able to comb her 
hand through his hair, loosening it.
	"That's better," she said. "Now you look like you but 
without glasses. The rain slicked your hair down a little and I 
was beginning to worry you were about to fly away." Then 
apparently satisfied with the adjustment, she sat back and 
simply looked at him.
	He became self-conscious. It was a little like the first 
time he'd been in and then above a crowd while wearing the 
suit, but he had grown used to the stares in no time because 
such situations were never quite real and were easy to put in 
perspective as long as people didn't grab at him.
	She wasn't staring, though, and she was the woman he 
loved. She was gazing at him like she enjoyed it and didn't 
want to set a time limit on it. But if she was having trouble 
telling the difference between him as he was and the person she 
had somehow discovered he masqueraded as... Unless she 
actually saw the slicked hair and the suit as a disguise, like he 
did...
	She eased the intensity of her gaze before he could 
figure out a way to coax that information out of her. She 
looked down at the glasses, folded them and tucked them 
safely into the breast pocket of her fashionable shirt. Then she 
picked up her sandwich to finish it off. There she was, being 
serene again, as though she knew she could fix all the world's 
troubles in an instant for the asking.
	He, on the other hand, found he could just about get 
out the words "I'm not going to fly away..."
	"You'd better not, I'd find you."
	He bet she would. "And probably beat the crap out of 
me."
	She half smiled. Maybe she could picture that and 
easily, too. Could she have imagined beating the crap out of 
Superman? Somehow he doubted it.
	She said, "That's right, and when I was satisfied, we'd 
have a nice long talk."
	Talk... Oh, right, talk! But... "About...?"
	She blinked.
	"I mean," he continued quickly, "here we are and you 
know... *every*thing and we should be talking. But you're not 
upset about why I didn't tell you back on day one, so I can't 
ask why you didn't tell me you'd found out, so we're not talking 
about that. And you're not asking about how I can fly or what 
villain is next on my agenda or anything like that..."
	"Oh, *that* kind of talk..." She picked up the bag, 
opened it, pulled out the other sandwich and began unwrapping 
it. He noted it was vegan tofu salad. He decided not to warn 
her because she might like it if she didn't know what was in it; 
his dad had been fooled that way. She took half of it and bit in, 
chewing without seeming to notice what she was eating. One 
bite swallowed without comment and a sip of water later, she 
said, "But that's not talking, that's an interview, most of it is, 
and the rest doesn't matter, I'm just not upset. Besides, I know 
why you didn't tell me as soon as you met me."
	"You do?"
	"Of course! What would you have said?" She affected 
a somewhat deeper voice: "'Hello, Ms. Lane. I'm fresh off the 
farm via Borneo and Tierra del Fuego, and I want to be a real 
journalist, and in my spare time," she took a breath, "I leap tall 
buildings, which is one reason I came to Metropolis because 
there aren't any tall buildings in Kansas.'" She took another 
breath, paused, and said in her normal voice: "I don't *think* 
so..."
	"But... Lois, I hardly knew you."
	"You didn't know me at all. There's no way you could 
have trusted me with that information. On top of that, I made it 
abundantly clear that I was totally unimpressed by you and 
would have been happy to push you *under* the first bus back 
to Kansas if I couldn't get you *on* it. I would have told you 
to take a flying leap *off* a building if you'd tried that pick-up 
line on me."
	"You wouldn't have hesitated, but you were busy, 
too--"
	"I was territorial and I was a snob."
	Good grief, she remembered that stupid statement. 
"I'm sorry I said that..."
	"Don't worry, I didn't take it seriously, what could a 
hick farmboy possibly know about real life? But you were right 
in a way."
	"I was too judgmental." If she ever found out he had 
spied on her first date with Lex or at her acceptance of his 
proposal or any of the other times in between...
	"Well, you were young and naive. Unsophisticated, 
too, innocent, totally unsuspecting--and *gullible*--"
	"I get the *picture,* thank you, Ms. Memory."
	"I bet you even thought I'd recognize you when I first 
saw you wearing your new suit there in shuttle."
	"Well, actually, I did."
	"It's probably a good thing I didn't, that I was 
overwhelmed by... events. You would have become front page 
news in a way you didn't want to be."
	"Yeah..." Wow, she really had thought this out.
	"But I'm glad I was blind then because we've both had 
a chance to change, to grow up some more, and I'm not upset 
about anything now--I *was* upset for a little while, but got 
over it. Besides, knowing," she smiled, "has been a kind of 
revenge."
	"That's a... a natural reaction." Okay, then, when had 
she exercised some of that revenge on him? Nothing occurred 
to him immediately. He had not, for example, found his desk 
drawers full of shaving cream or any of his complicated batch 
files suddenly whistling Dixie. "Except I can't think of any 
revenge you've taken..."
	"Then I did a good job of it, didn't I? But, Clark, I'm 
glad it's out in the open now, that's what's important to me.... 
And I don't want to *interview* you because," she waved the 
new half sandwich with emphasis but carefully, so chunks of it 
wouldn't fall out, which was an inherent danger with such 
fillings, "this is definitely *not* a reporter-newsmaker kind of 
thing, no way. Two years ago it would have been, but now it's 
a girlfriend-boyfriend thing. I want to have long, heartfelt 
conversations with..." She paused, lowered the sandwich to 
hold in her lap, caught his eyes, and looked something halfway 
between warmly hopeful and nervously pleading, as though he 
might not accept or believe it when she said: "...with the person 
who... who means the most to me in the whole world now..."
	As he had allowed himself to be distracted by her 
actions with the sandwich and then the drawing power of her 
deep, brown eyes, he was unable to avoid the fence post 
slipping up and whacking him again.
	But this time it was padded with hearts and flowers 
and felt *so good* because Lois Lane, the woman of his 
dreams, gave every indication that she was talking about him, 
the real him who she had somehow psyched out. He could 
have, he realized, melted right through the floor and reformed 
in a pleasont swoon right in front of the horses. They would 
have said to each other that it was about time the boy got 
something right in his life.
	The absolutely only thing that came to his mind to say 
though was: "You have to marry me, Lois..."
	"Clark...!" Hadn't he been listening? She looked 
flustered, which worried him until he noticed that her eyes 
were merry. "I didn't say *no*, remember?"
	"What you said was something... just..." untenable 
and too scary to contemplate, but how to tell her that without 
coming off like the utter virgin she'd eventually find out that he 
was at this unbelievably ancient age? He'd probably flunk that 
test drive, too, before she even got him out of the garage and 
he didn't want to submit to that--and he shouldn't have to, 
either, he told himself, when it came right down to it.
	"What I should have *added* to that was that we 
haven't even had a successful start-to-finish *date* yet. Even 
Lex and I managed to have several of those--of course, he 
wasn't rushing off to save people. He was letting others do his 
dirty work and take the falls while he was making a fool of 
me."
	"Lois, we've talked about that, I understand it now."
	"And I'm glad."
	"Me, too."
	"So we're not going to talk about that, about him."
	"I don't want to talk about him ever again."
	She almost smiled. "He was worse than the Slime 
Monster, huh?"
	"Much worse. At least the Slime Monster had 
understandable motives."
	"Like... hunger." She took another bite of sandwich 
and looked like she enjoyed it. "Okay... I think that you and I 
can have successful dates, too--*better* ones, *lots* of them 
and lots better, because there's still so much we don't know 
about each other. Besides, I want to be courted. I want daisies 
and nice walks in the park and snuggling up and... And I want 
to court you, too."
	"Oh, well, you don't..." Wait, there was no reason he 
shouldn't enjoy the same treatment, was there? "I guess I'd like 
that, too." Maybe it meant she had been joking before about 
the sex test drive. And the date challenge, as part of genuine 
courting, was something he could initiate with right away--
easily! Charge in here, Kent! "Let's start tonight. I'll borrow 
dad's truck--but it's not very comfortable. You must have 
rented a car." His mom had probably been too busy to pick her 
up, and Lois would want control of her own transportation, 
just like she'd been in control a lot lately without his providing 
much interference. It pointed out how everything had been so 
normal since she had found out, whenever that was, and it was 
looking like longer than, say, a week and a half, a lot longer 
maybe.
	"I rented a car," she said, "but I don't want to drive in 
the countryside at night. I might run into a cow or something. I 
know the truck ins't very comfortable but don't care--unless 
you're proposing we...?" she raised her eyebrows--hopefully?
	He realized he felt himself almost looking shocked 
and snatched that back. "No, I'm *not* proposing that. I'm 
proposing that we go into town and see a movie and have a 
snack after and I'll bring you back here and we'll pretend it's 
your place and..."
	"And we'll shake hands good night and you'll sleep on 
the porch." She nodded. "That will work."
	"Not the porch--but not together, either."
	"Sleep with you on our first date? Not me, *Mr.* 
Kent, I have certain standards... You know, this is comfortable 
here." She punched gently at the hay-padded blanket they were 
sitting on. "And there are no snakes or rats and the horses are 
quiet and it's warm. Maybe I'll sleep out here in the barn. I've 
never done something like that before voluntarily, and it's not 
like it's in the *wilderness* or anything..."
	"Maybe..." Inspiration! "Maybe you'd rather just take 
a nap. Maybe around midnight you'd like to go to Paris for 
breakfast." That would be romantic. He pictured them sitting 
facing each other over a small table and fresh croissants.
	It didn't take her long to figure out how they'd get 
there, though the ramifications of that part hit him at the same 
time. She could freeze or asphyxiate or both on such a long 
trip. Maybe his mother would loan Lois her arctic-expedition-
weight jumpsuit and her Great Barrier Reef-tested scuba gear...
	"Wow..." Lois sighed, no doubt imagining the Tour 
Eiffel, Notre Dame and eating croissants, too, in some little 
coffee shop within view of them both, while he had been 
thinking more along the lines of a hidden cafe in Montmartre 
and a stroll through The Tuileries. "Do you do that often?" she 
asked. "Go to Paris or places like that to eat?"
	"Sometimes, but doing it alone isn't much fun, 
because I can't really get to know anybody since I've tried to 
settle down..." and not just fly off on a whim because he could. 
That hadn't been tops on the fun scale for years now.
	She nodded, she understood. But now he wondered, 
if she took him up on the idea, what would that mean? That 
she wanted to do it with him? Or, thinking he'd be lonely, that 
she'd agree to despite the ramifications? Or, taking the 
ramifications into account, she wanted to go with Superman? 
After all, for such a trip he'd have to slow way down (even 
with her dressed to survive), increasing the risk of being seen. 
Add to that the French mess in the Pacific, why suggest Paris 
at all? Why, he asked himself, had he prompted dreamy 
thoughts of an exotic breakfast with Superman when being 
associated with that guy got her thrown off tall buildings? Way 
to go, Kent...
	But she took an entirely different course. "I'd like to 
go to Paris sometime--I'd like to go everywhere sometime, 
because I'm sure we wouldn't do normal tourist things. But 
tonight I'd rather see Smallville and have fun where life is slow 
and comfortable. Then I'll turn in early. Jetlag, you know... no, 
you probably don't know."
	"No..." But he bet it felt something like being 
overwhelmed yet again because it looked like she wanted to do 
exciting things with him, Superman need not apply. Good 
going, Kent. "And you've been experiencing a lot of stress 
from changing apartments and the load at work and coming 
here and..." *knowing*... "all that."
	"Exactly. So I can relax now."
	Because she was happy he knew she knew. That was 
important. He was beginning to feel a glimmer of hope that this 
could work, this could really work.
	She continued, "Maybe tonight we'll meet some more 
of your friends. Those I've met already have all said some 
*very interesting* things about you," and she wiggled her 
eyebrows, teasing. Those friends he was sure she had met, like 
Rachel and the Dobsons, could only tell her things about 
himself, their childhood friend. She now knew more about him 
than they did. She knew more than practically anybody, and 
that was... that was great!
	Of course, she could tell them a lot about Superman, 
an acquaintance he hadn't felt much like talking about when 
they'd asked, and now he'd have to sit beside her feigning 
interest...
	No matter, he suddenly felt entirely capable of 
surviving it. "We'll look for some of them, though many are 
married and have children and they don't go out carousing at 
night. If we do get to talk to any, you'll find I was just a boring, 
nauseatingly happy kid."
	"Happy I believe, but I *doubt* boring."
	"Don't get your hopes up."
	"My hopes are well in hand, don't worry."
	Ah, right... "Okay. Can I pick you up at... 6?"
	"Sure. What time is it now?"
	"Four thirty-nine."
	"That should give me plenty of time to change since I 
don't expect this to be formal."
	"There are no big dance clubs in town and we're 
between monthly festivals."
	"Darn."
	"Next time."
	"It's a date."
	"Yep... Gosh, a real date."
	"A real one," she agreed.
	"It sounds like... a plan."
	"Sometimes a little planning can be a marvelous 
thing."
	"And we *can* call it a date."
	"I'm willing to take the chance. But if something 
happens and you have to disappear to take care of it, I'll 
understand. I've understood for a while now."
	Wow... "For a while, huh?"
	She nodded and smiled, giving no more clues, and 
then looked down at her sandwich. "This egg salad is good. 
The taste is a little different, but maybe that's because the eggs 
are country fresh and..." She paused, her eyes widened, she 
dropped the sandwich, and she exclaimed, "Ohmigod!" She 
covered her mouth as she paled.
	"What? What is it?" What if it *were* ptomaine? He'd 
only been joking and now here she was, poisoned right in front 
of him!
	She pointed downward weakly, not at the sandwich 
but at the floor of the loft and meaning beyond it because she 
uncovered her mouth enough to whimper: "I'm eating that 
chicken's eggs!"
	Clark felt a rush of relief. Was *that* all? "No, no, 
you're not! You're eating tofu."
	"Tofu?" she whispered.
	"Homemade tofu. There are no animal products 
whatsoever in that sandwich."
	She stared down at it. "Huh?"
	"Assuming it's mom's regular recipe, that means no 
eggs and no milk and no animals died or gave body fluids, that 
kind of thing. Anyhow, it's a tofu salad, one of her specialties. 
Not everyone likes them if they know what's in them 
beforehand, so I didn't say anything... I guess I should have."
	"No eggs?"
	"None." Mom often sold the chicks to 4H'ers to raise, 
but most of those below in the barn would probably wind up 
on the dinner table; he decided not to mention that. "Even the 
mayonnaise won't have any eggs because she makes that, too, 
so I guess it's not legally mayo anyhow."
	"What?"
	"To be sold legally as mayonnaise, it has to have... 
Look, don't worry. Here." He picked up the other half of the 
sandwich and bit in. It tasted normal; he liked the parsley and 
the hint of garlic. He swallowed, considered grabbing at his 
throat dramatically and making choking sounds, but rejected 
that because she might be fooled and then not appreciate his 
having a warped sense of humor. So he simply smiled. "See, 
nothing's happened to me, it didn't kill me."
	She narrowed her eyes at him. "You..." Her frown 
lessened somewhat and she apparently decided not to give him 
what-for. Instead said cryptically: "You didn't burp."
	"Pardon?"
	"Oh, forget it." She grabbed up the remainder of her 
half and took a hearty bite of it and mouth-full mumbled, 
"There, I'm not afraid of anything."
	"Then maybe you'll like real Asia after all."
	"Just see if I don't..." She finished off the sandwich. 
"This really is okay, now that I know none of her babies are in 
it. Though, in the interest of being honest with you today, I 
warn you I'm not going to be asking your mother for this 
recipe."
	"That's okay, and I'll try to warn you next time. You 
should have all the facts before you commit to... well, like 
between us."
	"I know. Feel free to warn me about any farm things, 
and we'll keep working on the other."
	"Like... talking about why you said I didn't burp?"
	"Burp? Oh, *burp*. Okay, okay..." She'd relent on 
this one. "The first time I saw you wearing the suit, the very 
first thing you said to me was"--she switched to a deeper voice: 
"'Burp!'"
	"'Burp!'?" He looked back over the scene in detail. 
"That wasn't a burp, that was a..." internal organ vibratory 
readjustment due to sudden physical displacement? "Okay, that 
was a burp. It was also..." This made him uncomfortable, but 
he could admit things like this to her now, couldn't he? 
"...dumb luck."
	"What?"
	"Swallowing the bomb seemed to be the best thing to 
do at the time since it was about to go off."
	Her jaw dropped momentarily but she recovered it 
liked the seasoned reporter she was. "You mean that was the 
*first* thing you thought of? And you didn't know if it would 
work? That you'd even *survive* it?"
	"Not really, no, though I've never had any trouble 
with Dad's five-alarm chili. Mom and me are the only other 
people who can stomach it usually, and sometimes even she 
can't. His chili, I mean, not bombs. Some hot foods don't agree 
with her, they can give her gas. She'll tell you that herself. It's 
embarrassing sometimes, that she just up and tells people..."
	Lois looked like she both couldn't believe it and yet 
couldn't believe anything else. "Clark...!"
	"What? Oh, about the bomb. You know, that's exactly 
how Mom said it when I told them, but I didn't really have 
much time to think about it. I'd never seen bombs before 
except on TV or in museums, and I'd never dreamed anyone 
would do something that could kill hundreds of people. And, 
actually, it wasn't the first thing I thought of doing with it, but I 
couldn't break through the walls of the shuttle or put the thing 
in your purse..."
	"I didn't have my purse with me."
	"Well, there, you see?"
	"No, I don't--how did it taste?"
	He hadn't thought about that. "Oh... metallic, I 
guess." Like chicken, he almost added but decided not to 
because she wouldn't have appreciated that humor either. 
"Then helping with the launch, I had no idea I could lift that 
much, the ship and its cargo and the fuel tanks and everything, 
or if the toxic fumes from the aborted take off would hurt me, 
or any of that. I sure couldn't practice that kind of thing Well, I 
suppose I could have, by... lifting whales, but they're floppy 
and don't like being out of water. It makes them testy."
	"You talk to whales, too..."
	"No, not like Mr. Spock, if that's what you mean."
	"Are they... nicer to talk to than gorillas?"
	"They're different. They seem real... deep. Gorillas are 
pretty straight forward."
	"Oh..." She looked a bit overwhelmed at the thought--
but then she frowned, suspicious. "You're just joking..."
	"A little. Except gorillas do like to communicate. 
Given their circumstances they don't have a lot to say, but..."
	"All right already. So you just... lifted the entire 
shuttle and everything in it right into space."
	He nodded. "I was reasonably certain I could survive 
up there for a while without air and despite the extreme 
temperatures, but all the other..."
	"You just... just did it then."
	"Someone had to. All those people were really 
depending on the experiments, and you were watching--"
	"From the pad because you asked them if I was a 
crew member and they found out I wasn't and they threw me 
off the ship. Nice job, Clark."
	"Well..."
	"That left me with only one story, finding out who the 
hell you thought you were and what the hell you planned to do. 
At least I had the best seat in the house."
	"And I had you back at the Planet, working with me."
	"Assuming you didn't get butterfingers and drop the 
whole thing first and crush yourself."
	"I couldn't do that, that would have been really 
embarrassing, and I... I guess I..." well, there it was, the reason 
behind a lot of things, "I wanted to impress you."
	She stared at him and then broke into laughter. "You 
did all that to impress *me*?" like that was impossible for 
anyone to want to do.
	All right, so maybe his motives hadn't been entirely 
pure... "Yes--but don't worry, I know myself better now and, 
besides," he hoped he could keep his face straight, "I don't 
want to impress you any more."
	"That explains a lot about your approach to the hero 
business for the first six months or so--"
	"Wait a minute--"
	"No, you wait. I know you didn't come to Earth with 
a training manual--did you?"
	"Well, no, it was all just serendipitous. I had it on my 
mind, I'd known for a while I had to do something with all..." 
he spread his hands, "this, and then I got the idea of a disguise. 
Dad didn't think it was a very good one, he's been really 
cautious ever since I was little, but Mom..."
	"I can imagine. She was enthusiastic."
	"She always tries to be, but she was glad when I 
finally settled on a disguise I could live with, too. We worked 
all night on it, from just after dinner until right before the 
launch the next morning, which I didn't realize I'd be going to."
	"She said you went through about a dozen different 
combinations."
	"At least."
	"I wish I could have watched."
	"Sure you do."
	"Because I would have been laughing too much? I 
would have videotaped it, too, and sent it to that funny home 
video show."
	"I wouldn't have minded winning a hundred thousand 
dollars..."
	"They probably wouldn't have picked it. And you can 
forget about not impressing me because you still do, but now 
for an entirely different set of reasons."
	"What? What reasons?"
	"The muscles and the speed, those are useful, but 
your willingness plow through boxes of dusty paper to do 
research and your excellent housekeeping skills and guppy 
husbandry, those are things I *really* need." 
	He bet she thought she could get away with that. "I 
could tell you needed a housekeeper the first time I saw your 
apartment," as she had asked him to take her there from the 
spaceport."
	"I had to change clothes--and you weren't supposed 
to be looking at my *apartment*."
	"I didn't look beyond the front room, I promise."
	"Too bad. It's not like I didn't entertain..." She pulled 
up the picnic bag and looked into it as she said almost to 
herself, "...casual thoughts of dragging you into the bedroom 
right then and there..."
	"It was the cape, wasn't it? Women love capes."
	She looked up and said breezily, "Capes can hide an 
awful lot, and I was starstruck, but you had other things on 
your mind, I could tell. You were being noble."
	"I try."
	"I know," she replied, looking down at the bag again, 
"but I'm working on helping you be less noble when it comes 
to you and me. Now what's for dessert..." She began to 
mumble to herself.
	Apartment? Less noble? Dessert? Sure, right! You 
better be glad I didn't figure that out, Lois, he thought; I would 
have fled in a second, you would have seen just how fast I can 
be...
	She found "Some cookies. They look good but I'd 
rather save room for dessert in Smallville and I can eat these on 
the plane back tomorrow, okay?"
	"Ah, sure, they're yours."
	"Thanks. Now I think I'd like to go take a shower and 
get ready for tonight."
	"And I better face the music with my folks and get it 
over with."
	"I predict they'll both be very happy."
	"You didn't tell my father, did you." She couldn't 
have, because no amount of begging would have kept his dad 
from warning him.
	"No, not a word. I needed time and I thought he 
would have told you. I think he's very protective of you, but he 
already has enough to think about running this farm."
	Wow, how thoughtful... but not unexpected, was it? 
While so much was overwhelming now, the new situation 
seemed at the same time warm and comfortably inviting, and 
even potentially funny. We'll laugh about all this one day, Lois, 
he thought. "Well, let's go try it."

	***

	"She's walking under her own power, she hasn't run 
away, that's a good sign."
	"But they're not holding hands."
	"His thumbs are hooked in his pockets, but his hands 
aren't *in* his pockets, that's a good sign, too."
	"He looks preoccupied."
	"Only a little. She looks bouncy. I've always thought 
that her bounce was a positive thing about her." Jonathan Kent 
drew back from the kitchen window; he had seen enough. 
Things were obviously going well between their son and Lois, 
and it was about time. "He was sure she'd... how'd he put it 
that once...--'massacre' him, but that bounce means she's 
already gotten over the surprise. That's because she loves him. 
She's strong, too, like you, I should have seen that a lot 
earlier."
	"Thank you, dear, but..."
	"But? No buts at all. Clark just didn't expect how well 
she's taking it." He smiled at her though she wasn't looking. 
She was still gazing out the window, a more thoughtfully than 
worried. "*We* should have expected this, you know. You 
still surprise me every now and then, so it's no wonder that he's 
surprised, too. Kent men just wind up being surprised a lot, I 
guess"
	His bride of over thirty years looked at him and smiled 
now, no doubt convinced at last. She shook her head. "Oh, 
Jon..."
	Sometimes she went with her emotions, Jonathan 
thought, so she could get confused about plain-as-day things. It 
often looked like Clark had gotten that from her side of the 
family. "He doesn't have much experience with women." Clark 
had definitely gotten that from him, and look what the boy had 
attracted, a woman a lot like Martha. It figured somehow. 
"Just look at the ridiculous things he's done and hasn't known 
how to fix properly." Like me again, he realized, though worse 
because of the superpowers. "But now he's waited until the 
right time and seen his chance and it's working out. He's 
learned that it's a good idea to be cautious and observant."
	"I'm sure you're right, he has been a lot better about 
that. I'm glad you insisted that we talk to him about it when we 
did."
	"We had to lay down the law."
	"Yes, and it worked, but I think *this* is a little more 
complicated." Martha let the light curtain drop back into place 
but resumed looking in that direction, as though she had x-ray 
vision like Clark did.
	If she had suddenly developed it, though, Jonathan 
was sure he wouldn't have been surprised. She was always 
coming up with something new. She was wrong about Clark 
this time though, there was nothing out of the ordinary in the 
way their son was acting. "It's bound to be more complicated 
than what you and I experienced because Clark's life is more 
complicated. For that matter, Lois is a complicated woman. 
But things will settle down. He's just... a little dazed because 
he's in love--we agree on that."
	"Oh, he is definitely in love."
	"And it looks like she's in love with him, too."
	"Very much so."
	"That has to be why she came out here on that 
weekend. She must have realized at last she was in love with 
him and needed the time to think about it, away from the city, 
out here where it's peaceful. With her record of being tricked 
into things, well, it was a good idea."
	Martha looked at him. "I hadn't thought about it that 
way."
	"I'll bet she nearly married Lex Luthor because she 
didn't take time to think it through and didn't believe Clark 
when he tried to convince her not to do it."
	"Frankly, dear, I don't think he did a very good job of 
that."
	Well, Clark was sometimes too easy going for his 
own good. But in his defense, Jonathan said, "It looks like she 
didn't love him then, either. They'd known each other for a year 
already but they still seemed to argue a lot of the time."
	"Uh-huh..."
	"All right, like we did, but we didn't take this long."
	"And we didn't have any big secrets."
	"Other than your record as a jail bird."
	"Jon, I'm proud of that record!"
	"And that collection of nude paintings in your 
portfolio..."
	She smiled. "Now I *asked* you to pose for me..."
	"I said I would--*after* we got married."
	"You held that over my head, that wasn't fair!" But 
she patted his shoulder affectionately.
	Sometimes he was just a little disappointed that she 
hadn't made him keep his promise to pose in the nude on a 
haystack in the barn. Then, as now, it could lead to more 
interesting activities. Hoping to inspire her to ask again was a 
good reason to stick to his diet.
	They heard Clark and Lois set foot on the porch. "Oh, 
here they come."
	"Don't say anything," he whispered.
	"Me? I can keep quiet."
	Sure she could; she probably wanted to grab Lois first 
thing and hug her. Martha had said that she and the girl hadn't 
had much time to talk when Lois had shown up this afternoon, 
but guessing why Lois had made this surprise visit as easy: she 
had wanted to talk to Clark and she knew that the city was too 
busy and that this was the place to do it. Flights certainly 
weren't hard to get.
	Lois had to explain why she had up and moved 
without telling anyone, too. Clark would probably accept her 
explanation quickly; it had been obvious over the last several 
days that being angry at her had made Clark miserable. 
Jonathan bet Lois had a good excuse and already suspected 
what Clark's reaction would be, like... a marriage proposal? 
Clark would jump at the chance--after telling her the truth first 
and calming her down, that was the only way to do it. It all 
must have worked much better than anyone had expected.
	Not surprisingly, Lois opened the door for herself, 
was first in, and announced: "Hi!" as though Perk were her 
middle name. It hadn't seemed so long ago that, when they first 
met her, "two left feet and both in her mouth" could have been 
her middle name. She was one of those persons who tried so 
hard but still didn't quite have a grasp of certain social niceties. 
Maybe that was one reason Clark had taken to her; she needed 
a calming influence sometimes, while sometimes he needed to 
be perked up.
	Following her and closing the door behind them was 
Clark, who looked... tired? But their extended stay in the barn 
should have meant Clark was bouncing, too. Though father 
and son had worried together about such things because Clark 
wasn't human, Jonathan had hoped that there was nothing that 
would make it impossible for Clark to enjoy the sexual part of 
life as much as he clearly enjoyed nearly all the rest of it. But if 
there had been trouble in that area, that could explain a lot. 
Lois could be acting bouncy to try to cheer Clark up. Women 
did that kind of thing.
	Martha and Lois immediately flung their arms around 
each other, so Jonathan gave Clark a brief hug, too. He'd have 
to take Clark aside, ask him if he'd had a "problem."
	As Clark pulled away from the embrace gently, he 
said, "She knows, Dad..."
	Then cheer up! We'll fix the other part, too, don't 
worry! "We figured that, son!" He laughed heartily. He patted 
and then squeezed Clark's shoulder, hard, to make an 
impression, to spread the good feelings. "I knew you'd find the 
right time to tell her. You know," he announced to the two 
women as well, "it's appropriate that it happened here on the 
farm, where almost everything else got started." And we can 
get you started, too, son, he would have whispered, I'm sure of 
it. Farms are the basis of all life: breeding, birthing, raising 
families...
	But he noticed that rather than agreeing with the 
sentiment, Clark was exchanging glances with Lois. On the 
other side of the kitchen, Lois was standing arm in arm with 
Martha as though they were old friends; they both looked 
comfortable--and close mouthed. Martha was giving him a 
look that told Jonathan she might also sensed what might have 
been behind Clark's barely disguised down-cast attitude.
	Clark looked at him. "Ah, she already knew, Dad."
	"Knew? Knew what?"
	"Knew the truth, knew about me, knew..." he looked 
helpless, "everything."
	Helpless? She already knew...?
	And Clark felt helpless because she had already 
known when he had tried to tell her?
	So it wasn't anything that had happened in the barn. 
No, she must have told him that she knew, laughed at him 
maybe at his careful attempt, and now she was holding it over 
his head. To make things worse, Clark added: "And she's 
known for a while..."
	"Oh?" Jonathan felt an old fear stir and threaten to 
grip his heart. He asked quietly: "How long has she known?"
	Clark could only shrug. She hadn't told him, she was 
holding that over him, too. Images came to his mind of that 
madman Trask who attacked them all and then that clever 
Stride woman who had tried to expose Clark.
	He looked at Lois, who certainly didn't *appear* to 
be a threatening person. Those were the worst kind, weren't 
they?
	But, he told himself, this is *Lois*, the woman who, 
as soon as she'd laid eyes on him had pegged him as a cross 
dresser--and then been mortified. A few weeks ago, in an effort 
to make conversation, she had to asked how high knee-high to 
a grasshopper *really* was, as though he had studied such 
things simply because he was a farmer. But she had looked so 
sincere and again was trying so hard to play the good guest and 
be interested when she probably could have cared less about 
organic wheat. He had made up an answer, something about 
whether the grasshoppers were from Texas or Montana; the 
ones in Kansas were under good control. Droves of giant 
pheasants were leased out every spring to eat all the 
grasshoppers they could find, so she shouldn't worry about that 
at all. The one she'd seen was a goner, a refugee.
	Now she looked small and apprehensive, with no sign 
of bounce. She took a careful breath and said, "It's all right, 
Jonathan." She released Martha and approached him almost 
cautiously, pausing just beyond arms reach.
	Did she fear he would grab her and try to pin her 
down? He could hardly imagine doing that to anyone short of 
someone like Trask, who had been a disgrace to his uniform.
	She licked her lips and continued, "It just means I've 
had time to think about it."
	"I see..." She had know for some time. How long had 
Clark been in danger? Lois Lane was was an award winning 
reporter always looking for good stories and frequently finding 
them...
	And about as frequently pulling Clark's Superman-
suited fat out of the fire...
	"And I realize how important he is to me..."
	"Uh-huh..." Well, that was right, Clark was important 
to everyone, to the whole world. That was probably why he 
had come to Earth and why he'd decided to make the disguise 
despite all the dangers Jonathan had tried to warn him about. 
Clark simply hadn't realized there were people in the world 
who would try to take advantage of him, that they would even 
hate him and want him dead. But when he got an idea in his 
head he could be as stubborn as his mother.
	"And I think I'm important to him--"
	"You *are* important to me," Clark corrected 
immediately.
	There went Clark's apprehensive look. Indeed, he 
seemed to relax a little, as though realizing something himself. 
Lois gave him a relieved little smile, like his statement meant 
the world to her.
	It could very well have, Jonathan thought. Clark 
trusted this woman, that was plain to see. There did seem to be 
reason to: they were both here now, Clark hadn't rushed in to 
protect them. Lois didn't have a weapon of any kind or she 
would have used it by now. She'd had that little chunk of 
kryptonite, too, hadn't she? But she'd given it to him and not 
used it against him. Had she known then? It hadn't been that 
long ago.
	Lois looked away from Clark and back to him. "I 
understand how his privacy--your privacy..." She seemed to 
look over her words carefully. "*our* privacy is so precious, 
too."
	It occurred to him that he was glad that Lois had 
stopped bouncing, that she had settled down and was taking 
this very seriously. It was also a good thing that Martha wasn't 
trying to act as a go between. Jonathan didn't think he needed 
an interpreter here. His wife looked concerned, but that was 
only proper; this couldn't be laughed off or explained away 
with some textbook psychology.
	"I just.. I just don't want to hurt *any*body."
	Well, Jonathan thought, there was that, just who has 
she hurt here? Clark was the important one in this, and now he 
looked as though he were waiting for something, watching 
him, Jonathan. It was funny: Clark had been nervous about 
gaining Lois's approval, when it looked like she hadn't gotten 
angry at all. She hadn't published the news and hadn't lead an 
army of reporters here. No, she had come alone and confessed 
her knowledge. That took a lot of guts.
	This could very well mean that it was just as she said, 
that she realized the importance of keeping Clark's secret and 
that she respected what was going on here. Those were the 
two most important things. Well, those things and love, and the 
love was obvious.
	So what were they waiting for? His consent? Oh, my, 
and here he had been worrying that Clark was having some 
kind of sexual problem. Jonathan almost laughed at himself and 
then realized no one would have any idea why he was smiling. 
Well, he thought, maybe I should have pushed Clark to get on 
the ball before Lois figured it out herself. Clark obviously 
needed this sharp little woman. Jonathan decided to tell her, 
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Lois."
	She smiled and blinked tearfully. Since he sensed it 
was a genuine and relieved expression, he added, "Welcome to 
the family!"
	"Dank you," she sniffled. She stood still as he 
carefully engulfed her in an embrace. She returned it without 
hesitation, a lot stronger than she looked, another way she was 
like Martha, who he noticed gliding over to give smiling Clark 
a hug as well.
	Oddly, Clark said, "Mom, you should have told me..." 
but he said it as though he didn't quite mean whatever that 
meant.
	"Clark," Lois said as she pulled away a bit but still 
kept in comfortable, daughterly touch, "I made her swear on 
the head of our firstborn child that she wouldn't breathe a word 
to you *or* Jonathan."
	Martha smiled, shook her head and said: "Lois..." in a 
way that made Jonathan suspect the young woman wasn't quite 
telling the truth. It was probably on Clark's behalf, she was 
feeling protective of him and had probably been feeling that all 
along.
	However these two women were talking, whatever 
they were really saying, Clark didn't seem to have heard 
anything other than the words that had come out of Lois's 
mouth. "Our firstborn...?" He looked surprised then thrilled 
with the idea, as well he should.
	"Lois, we don't know if that's possible," Jonathan said 
as delicately as he could. He was beginning to doubt that the 
two had found time to talk about that yet, let alone try 
anything. Given he would have a clearer mind before they tried 
it, Clark would probably insist on a long discussion first.
	Martha smiled up at Clark and patted his chest. "But 
don't worry, honey, I just *know* you two will have lots of fun 
trying!"
	"Mom!"
	Martha covered a grin and hugging him tighter.
	"Well, Martha," Jonathan said, hoping to get Clark's 
goat now, too, mostly because it was so easy to do, "at least 
we know what they *weren't* doing out in the barn..."
	"Dad!"
	Lois cracked up. She grabbed on to Jonathan as 
though in fear of collapsing, and he held her up easily. This 
young woman's joy was contagious. My goodness, where had 
she been hiding all this time?
	Clark was trying unsuccessfully to look peeved. It 
occurred to Jonathan that Clark's understanding and 
acceptance of this unexpected turn of events this was probably 
the most important thing to take into consideration. He and 
Lois could work it out, though, it was time for that, while his 
parents could sit back at last and enjoy watching.
	But Clark, who had a lot to understand, looked 
distant suddenly. Jonathan thought he heard his son mutter 
"Someone left the TV on..." Then he returned to this part of 
the world and said, mostly to his mother, "Ah, excuse me..."
	There was more to this than a desire to save 
electricity. Clark headed out through the kitchen door and 
toward the front of the house. Jonathan made sure Lois could 
stand on her own two feet, entrusting her to Martha (they 
hugged each other again), then he followed Clark.
	Yes, they had left the TV on in the living room. 
Martha had thought she heard the barn door open and they had 
gone out to see if the two were coming in now since the rain 
had stopped. Jonathan had just turned on CNN Headline News 
(LNN, CNN's cheesy competitor, was programmed out of this 
house). He had planned to catch the latest sports scores, then 
switch over to catch a Mark Russell special on PBS.
	Clark was frowning at the news now. He mumbled, 
"No, too late," and stepped over to the coffee table a little 
more quickly than an ordinary person would, looked over it 
just as quickly, and from under a newspaper grabbed the 
remote. Jonathan wondered what a stranger who saw Clark 
doing these unusual things would think. He should be more 
careful, but then the only person here who would be surprised 
was Lois and she and Martha hadn't caught up yet, so Clark 
was safe... Except, of course, that the young woman already 
knew. This was going to take a little getting used to.
	He shook his head at himself and decided that he 
better catch up. "What is it, son?"
	Clark glanced at him. "Oh, I thought I heard 
something, Dad. Is it okay if I change the channel?"
	"Sure, go ahead. What do you think you heard?"
	"A report about the French nuclear tests, but I was 
too late..." He played with the remote and called up one of the 
Mexican stations and found a news report. He'd once said they 
often gave better details on international news than US stations 
did, but Jonathan's Spanish was too rusty to understand what 
the reporter was saying.
	By now the womenfolk had arrived and were 
whispering, Martha saying something about what Clark had 
done earlier to stop the recent test and Lois nodding as though 
she were putting two and two together. Whatever they were 
talking about on TV, though, it didn't look like anything 
French.
	Rather than stand back quietly watching, Lois walked 
up behind Clark and tried to snap the band of his jeans. "What 
is it, partner?"
	Jonathan was completely surprised by the woman's 
action. How could she just... *do* that, knowing all she knew 
now?
	He felt Martha intertwine her arm in his warmly. He 
looked down and saw her eyes sparkling. She'd seen a lot in 
that interaction--and then he saw it, too: the snap symbolized 
the beginning of a new family. He and Martha had done all the 
right things.
	Clark was either too engrossed or used to such an 
assault from the woman. He didn't react other than pointing 
with his remote-holding hand at the TV. "Nobody wants the 
French government to test their nuclear bombs at all, let alone 
where they're doing it, in someone else's backyard. Everyone's 
down on them, the local population, a lot of French citizens, 
the UN, everyone, but they're doing it anyway. I slowed them 
down a few weeks ago but..."
	"And you didn't write an exclusive about it?"
	He shook his head. "I couldn't, I was doing it on my 
own, so Superman was about to give any interviews."
	The topic being talked about on TV changed and a 
map of the South Pacific appeared on the screen behind the 
reporter. Clark said, "There, listen..."
	Maybe Lois could understand Spanish. She said, 
"Diez horas? Ten hours for what?"
	"They've got all their ships repaired or claim they have 
and they're moving them out of the area. They've rounded up 
all the protestors they can catch have given everyone else ten 
hours' warning to evacuate because they're starting the 
countdown at five hours. That was two hours ago. It's going to 
be a big test, I guess." He shook his head again and pursed his 
lips; both gestures reminded Jonathan of Martha upon hearing 
bad news about some cause she was active in. Fortunately, 
though, Clark could do something more about his concerns 
than ordinary people could. "The UN needs more time than 
that--Oh, look, Australia's sending some of their navy to 
intercede, but they need more than ten hours, too, that's not 
enough time for anything..." He sighed. "I've gotta go."
	Lois looked surprised. "Clark...?"
	"I've got to slow them down again so the Australians 
can get there first and argue with them, and then maybe I'll 
have to stop a war, but I don't think it will come to that. The 
French will be outgunned and everyone will keep boycotting 
French wine and cheese and tires and all that."
	"Oh, okay."
	"Yes--oh, gosh, our date!" He looked striken.
	While Lois looked relaxed. "It's all right."
	Jonathan wondered, had Lois had heard this kind of 
thing before? Probably, but knowing why he had to leave 
helped her accept it now. That was encouraging.
	"I'll try to be back by six, I have almost an hour, it'll 
only take me about five minutes to get there."
	"Take whatever time you need. Just," and she shook 
her finger at him, "stay away from pretty French marines."
	His worried look melted a bit. "And the male ones, 
too."
	"*Especially* them."
	"Well, *you* started the rumor."
	"Can *I* help it if you attract all kinds of people when 
you're in that superguy suit?"
	What was it between them? There was *business* to 
be attended to! "Be careful, son, they might have figured it out, 
they could be expecting you this time."
	Clark looked alert again. "Yeah, Dad, but I'll 
approach from the south, they won't expect that, and I've got 
some new ideas, too. You'd be surprised what can just... drop 
off a battleship into some incredibly deep trench."
	"You probably don't need to do much, either. Do a 
little and they'll suspect more has gone wrong."
	"Right, Mom, good idea." He was edging toward the 
staircase and apparently trying not to look like he was. He 
smiled apologetically at Lois. "I really will try to be back--"
	She threw up her hands in a shooing manner. "Go! 
Now! Scram!"
	"Ah... okay."
	Clark blurred upstairs and in a few seconds they heard 
his bedroom window open.
	"We had to remove the screen when he started doing 
that," Martha told Lois in a matter-of-fact voice as the three 
turned to face each other.
	Lois smiled, her hands on her hips now. "I guess I'll 
get used to it."
	"We have," Jonathan nodded.
	Lois shook her head now and sighed seriously. "As 
long as he doesn't do it to get out of diapering our firstborn..." 
But then she smiled again, which Jonathan was pleased to see. 
Maybe she didn't think children were possible, either, since she 
was joking about it, but that didn't mean they couldn't adopt. 
Clark would make a fine father--and he probably wouldn't 
hesitate to change diapers since he was invulnerable to almost 
everything. Jonathan considered mentioning this, how he had 
diapered Clark on quite a few occasions; Martha had fed the 
baby so well that his poop hadn't smelled much. The 
information would fit in with the spirit he was pleased to see 
Lois was displaying, and he wanted to see her laugh again and 
give her another hug, too.
	But she was too perky to slow down for that, and 
what she said was a further good sign. "You know, I'd like to 
borrow your bathroom to clean up and get ready for our date!"
	Since Martha immediately gave her permission, 
Jonathan could figure nothing better to do than stand back and 
smile with approval, curious about how Lois had told Clark she 
knew and about this date they had planned. But he could ask 
Clark later when things quieted down again and Clark needed 
someone to talk to, unless this turned out to be the end of his 
vacation here and the start of one somewhere else with that 
perky young woman. That was good, too: it meant Jonathan 
could relax and stop having to think up make-work jobs.

	***

	Lois took her time getting ready, not that there was 
much to do. She hadn't come prepared to look glamorous, and 
she didn't want to anyhow, dressing up had not been the reason 
for the trip.
	But Clark didn't return by six. By that time she had 
gone back down to the living room and was wondering how to 
keep herself preoccupied while the Kents were eating their 
dinner. She refused to worry about Clark; he would be back.
	Martha offered her another hug--was this woman 
relieved or what?--and a private encouraging word about 
Clark's usually being able to recover rapidly from emotional 
trauma. He had a lot to recover *for* now, didn't he? She also 
offered Lois a place at the table, a cup of hot tea and all the 
comforts of home. Lois enjoyed the hug and agreed about 
Clark being resilient despite the trial she had put him through. 
She had already seen signs of his bouncing back. She accepted 
the tea and half listened to Jonathan reminisce for a few 
moments about Clark. But she didn't feel like talking and began 
to hope they both understood her desire to step back from 
everything for a few minutes and wait for Clark.
	How could Martha not understand? "You know," the 
older woman said, "if you borrow this sweater," which she 
plucked off the back of a chair there in the dining room, "I 
think you'll find it's still warm enough outside to sit on the 
porch."
	That was a good idea, she might see Clark return. 
Lois put on the sweater. It fit nicely and smelled of Martha's 
light, flowery perfume, if it was that and not something that 
had rubbed off from the woman's garden.
	The garden. Even though it was almost dark, Lois 
decided to walk out in that direction. It wasn't far: the big 
patch of cultivated vegetation was on the south side of the 
house within a few steps of the back door so fresh herbs and 
vegetables could be picked easily for immediate use.
	The lack of light didn't matter, there probably, wasn't 
much left of the garden anyhow, Lois thought. Fall was rushing 
in. Though the day had been warm, the nights were getting 
cold here, too, like in Metropolis. These must be hardy plants 
out here, though all she could make out were their sleepy, gray 
outlines. She stuck to the central path, strolling slowly, her 
arms folded under her breasts. It was cool out here, but she 
found herself actually enjoying the sounds of the evening in the 
countryside as they waft through the clean, crisp air.
	And, besides, she thought, whether or not he realizes 
it now, I'm going to have someone to keep me warm this 
winter...
	That made her smile; things were flowing sweetly 
along.
	She wondered about broccoli and thyme and pansies 
and all that, and if she could learn to grow them. She thought 
she'd rather have Martha show her how to do it than Clark. 
Maybe it was because she wanted to impress Clark with how 
fast she learned to do a good job at it, to make plants stand up, 
pay attention and thrive; to show, in a sense, that she could be 
a farmer, too, if she wanted to sometime.
	I want to impress you now, too, kiddo, and least of all 
because of who you dress up as.
	There was a momentary light breeze.
	"I didn't think I'd find *you* out here," the breeze 
maker said.
	She turned. "I thought I felt somebody trying to sneak 
up on me."
	Clark, fully suited, settled down on the path. "I guess 
I'll have to start getting up even earlier in the morning to pull 
anything over on you."
	You better not go to bed at all then, she thought but 
decided not to say, particularly when she wanted him to bed 
down with her eventually. "Does this mean... I'm smarter than 
the entire French Navy?"
	"It means you could take the entire French Navy in 
your..." he paused.
	French, sleep and her were probably words he didn't 
want to put together. "Yes?" she inquired innocently.
	"It means... you definitely are smarter than the entire 
French Navy."
	"Thank you."
	"When you set off explosions, they're more 
interesting, too."
	"I see..." Well, if he was unintentionally stumbling into 
innuendo, she could express it in a more calculating manner. 
"You're welcome to rise and shine at anytime in the morning 
you want to, and wake me up, too..." She walked up within 
inches of him, close enough to feel his body warmth. She was 
glad to see he didn't show the first sign of flinching. Just as she 
had changed clothes and then come out here to get away, 
maybe his slipping off to save the world again had also allowed 
him to think about all this. That and wearing the suit now 
probably made him feel more at ease. "...as long as you've got 
something interesting on your mind."
	"Like... explosions."
	"Precisely."
	"Well..." He then seemed to decide to convey that 
teasing wouldn't work because he was Superman, moral and 
upstanding and not to be swayed, stronger than base 
suggestions. "...you'll have to marry me first to find out, won't 
you?"
	"No, not when I can find out sooner if you'll just... 
take off the flashy clothing..." or let me rip them off you. She 
reached up, touched him (again he didn't flinch), felt and then 
flicked what could have been a bit of seaweed off his S. "After 
all, it's not like I haven't seen a whole lot of you and I don't 
already know you can *fly*..."
	She could just make out and then feel him moving to 
fold his arms before his chest--protectively? He would have 
pursed his lips, she was sure, to visually express his low 
opinion about such suggestive statements, but had he done that 
he wouldn't have been able to say: "And it looks like you're in 
no hurry to see any more or find out how well I can fly, either."
	While she wondered just exactly what she would see, 
she already suspected just how well he could fly and what kind 
of exclusive flight school she would have to open. Mwa-ha-ha! 
she thought and barely kept from bursting out with it. Well, 
just let him think he could hold that over her head just because 
he was so tall and broad. "Come here, you."
	He didn't move, didn't change his pose. "I'm right 
here, I can't get any closer."
	"Sure you can."
	She reached up and grabbed him by the neck with one 
hand. He loosened, perhaps automatically, but it was a good 
sign relationship-wise, and she was able to guide his lips to 
hers. It was a good thing, too, that one of them could see in the 
dark, she thought, or they might have bonked noses and wow, 
that would have hurt. But he was paying attention, which 
meant he was participating freely and it became apparent that 
he was willing to spend a bit of time doing this, looking for 
new cement to rebuild the path--or was it superhighway?--
between them. Sure, maybe it was hormones overriding his 
hesitation born of being surprised earlier, but then that deep, 
undeniable look he had given her there in the kitchen when 
confirming her importance... This kiss really meant a lot: 
maybe he'd accept it as a thank-you-for-surviving-and-
bouncing-back-like-I-knew-you-would gift.
	In time and the right time as not to make him realize 
how much time they were spending doing this and they really 
couldn't stay out here all night and mess up the carefully placed 
mulch, Lois reached up a bit further up and mussed his hair. He 
pulled away and grabbed that hand swiftly, carefully, but far 
too late.
	"Hey, lady, do you know how long it takes me to get 
this hair disguise just right?"
	She retrieved her hand and trailed both of them down 
his chest, leaned close again and took a grip on his funny 
yellow belt. She pulled on him and felt the buckle press into her 
navel. He was easy to move, seeming to float almost like 
balloon. Was she having that effect on him? That had 
interesting possibilities. She looked up and, she hoped, into his 
eyes. "An hour and a half?"
	"No!"
	"Be sure not to wear it like that tonight. Wear it like--
"
	He grabbed her darting hand easily this time. "Stop 
that!"
	"You've liked me to do it before."
	"I wasn't dressed like this... before," and he let her 
hand go on that: before he knew she knew. He was still touchy 
about it and didn't want to be so out of touch again. Yet she 
got the impression that the thought wasn't nearly so painful 
now, and that he had also successfully memorized all his lines 
about her stubborn attitude being the cause of their waiting to 
experience mutual explosions.
	That was all right, she could use play with it, too, and 
sweeten things a bit. "You know, I'm glad that *kissing* 
doesn't seem to come under the heading 'not until after we're 
married, Ms. Lane.'"
	"Well, of course it doesn't, I don't mind doing that, 
it's... different. You're just not allowed to mess with my... 
coiffure." He motioned and she guessed he was combing his 
fingers through his hair, but only, as she sensed him relax back 
down to earth, to become Clark again, which she preferred. 
"Actually," he continued, "when we're in public and I'm in this 
get up, we shouldn't be seen near each other anymore unless 
we can't avoid it."
	"Like when we have to save each other from 
something terrible."
	"Yes, like that."
	"Because my boyfriend will get jealous."
	"Absolutely."
	"He'd beat you up."
	"He'd kick my..."
	The suit really did come with restrictions. "Oh, say it."
	"Butt."
	"That's right, and he would do just that because he'll 
be at my side practically every moment of the day unless he has 
to... pick up his drycleaning..." She took him by the belt and 
pulled him closer yet again. She became particularly conscious 
of what he was keeping below that belt, hidden away all this 
time, but hers when the time was right. He wasn't responding 
there though, not remotely like he had that surprising Sunday 
afternoon. She had assured herself of his sexual interest in her 
on top of everything else, and might very well have proceeded 
to make his present vow impossible if things had worked out 
better then. "But all that doesn't count here, does it?"
	He said, "Ah, no..."
	"Ah-hah!"
	"*But!*..." he warned, obviously trying to grasp some 
control of the situation in a superhero manner, "we can't--I 
won't--all that comes under the heading and, besides, I'd rather 
get into more comfortable clothing."
	"Oh, can I watch?"
	Immediately: "No, you can't, you'd try to interrupt--"
	"You're right."
	"And I might not be able to stop you."
	"Oh?"
	"Or... want to..."
	"Oh...!"
	"And we have a *date* think about."
	He dislodged her hands carefully though she put up 
mock resistance as she searched for ticklely not-private bits 
about him. The millisecond she lost touch, he backed away and 
upward half a dozen feet. She resumed her previous posture, 
arms folded under breasts, as though cold without his 
proximity even as his warmth lingered. He seemed to hold out 
a hand and may have splayed his fingers. "Give me five 
minutes."
	"Take ten, take 15--take a *shower,* you smell like 
the South Pacific."
	She could barely make out in the darkness that he 
looked surprised, or maybe she imagined it because he said, "I 
do?" He probably then looked down at himself.
	"A little. It's not bad, mind you, but I think it would 
be out of place in greater downtown Smallville..."
	"True--"
	"Hey," brightly, "do you need help showering?"
	"I haven't needed help since I was... six years old. 
You *do* just want me for my body."
	"Hmm..." Press or withdraw? He didn't sound upset 
and he had, after all, returned and started all this. "Don't you 
want me for mine?"
	Abashed and heroic: "No!"
	"You mean I've put all this work into it for 
*nothing?*"
	After a pause: "...no."
	A-ha! "So? Do you or don't you?"
	"Well..." as though playing the part of like the noble 
cowboy--kissing his horse and riding off into the sunset--did 
after all leave a lot to be desired, "...some."
	"Uh-huh."
	"All right, more than 'some,' but *not* more than 
anything, not that at all, *never* that."
	"Okay, I like that. Just so you know where I am, 
where I'm... keeping it," and he darn well better have an idea of 
what "it" was.
	"Yeah, I'm well aware of that."
	"I'm not going anywhere either."
	"I'm glad, I would miss you, I *have* missed you... 
Oh, I brought this back for you..."
	He made a strange chest-level hand motion, floated 
back down to ground level, and attempted to give her 
something she couldn't quite make out but it looked no larger 
than fist size.
	She wasn't sure about this. After Clark had left and 
she had showered and come down, Jonathan warned her briefly 
about this very thing: Clark liked to bring souvenirs back from 
his trips abroad. Martha added that it had started as early as 
when he began to crawl. They'd find him under the dining room 
table with a doorstop hanging from his mouth and making 
choo-choo sounds like the baby books said he might. When he 
could walk, they laughed, he'd bring things in from outside: 
rocks, flowers--chicks? Lois asked. Oh, yes, just about 
anything he could carry. They thought it was endearing and 
encouraged his interest in the natural world (unless it was 
dangerous) until they realized too late that they had helped him 
on the road to collecting mania. He restrained himself these 
days, but he could still pull off surprises.
	So now Lois hesitated. The way she had been acting, 
he could be getting even by presenting her with a frog or even 
another chicken. Or, worse, as Jonathan had said ominously, a 
shrunken head... "I can't see whatever it is, Clark..."
	He withdrew it. "Well, you really have to see it, it's 
rare and I detoured to the Philippines on the way back to find 
one. I'll give it to you in the house."
	"Fine." Were shrunken heads found in the Philippines? 
She couldn't remember. She doubted he'd intentionally mislead 
her about where he had gone because he wouldn't know that 
she suspected. She hoped she hadn't misread him and that he 
was in the mood for revenge. So she said: "Hurry up."
	"Do you need any help getting back to the house?"
	"No, I can see well enough to do that. Stop stalling 
and go."
	"I'm not stalling."
	"Go!"
	"You sure are a--"
	She chimed in "a bossy woman."
	"Well, you *are*."
	"I know."
	"And... I don't really mind."
	That made her heart's temperature rise a few degrees 
and her knees feel a bit weak. She ordered herself not to show 
it. "Good! Go get ready!" and if you've brought me a shrunken 
head--*lose* it!
	"All right, all right..."
	She could hear him allow a smile he probably thought 
she couldn't see, but that particular little sigh of his gave him 
away. He glided back slowly, his lazy altitude and attitude also 
confirming that her take-charge nature didn't bother him much. 
So maybe even this guy who could be Superman at the drop of 
a hat--or, rather, his clothes--really did appreciate being bossed 
around some times, at least by someone who cared about him 
as much as she did. Not that he could escape it: she was just 
naturally bossy while he just was naturally... relaxed and 
cheerful. As he grew used to life on this heady new level and 
became his natural self again, his buoyancy would surely 
continue it's undeniable draw on her as it had for the last six 
weeks or so. Maybe then he'd begin to lay little traps of his 
own for her or, more likely, make a nest.
	How sweet...
	And, by God, Clark, I'll fall into every trap and set up 
house in that nest, just you see if I don't!

	***

	Despite the fact that he had adopted the disguise, had 
been given the heroic name (by that truly weird woman now 
safely ensconced downstairs in the living room) and he was 
able to do large-scale things the world pretty much needed 
doing every now and then, Clark thought one of the coolest 
things to do was look for souvenirs to bring home if he had 
time after the successful completion of a job. He had done the 
same thing--actually a lot more of it--when he'd been merely a 
tourist (or "scholar warrior," as his mom liked to put it 
mystically), but, hey, toting things home from one's travels was 
normal. And, way down deep inside, he told himself, Clark 
Kent was Mr. Normal.
	He usually looked for something nice as a little gift, or 
something to add to one of his many neatly cataloged 
collections, or even just a newspaper or a pretty rock as a 
memento. His folks hadn't seemed to quite understand why he 
liked to do this, but they had given up calling him a packrat (his 
father's description) because he wasn't changing. Why should 
I? he had once wondered; *every*body collects things. I can 
just go farther afield than most.
	He suspected, too, that his hobby was one of the few 
reasons they were happy he didn't live at home any more. He 
could, in an orderly manner, litter his own apartment with his 
collections. He had also discovered he had a hard time parting 
with things he really couldn't use or that didn't fit, like the 
unique transformation packs of playing cards from Belgium 
and Austria or that big stuffed green toad posed playing a 
violin or that housewarming gift from you-know-who: the 
Elvis kitchen timer complete with guitar and blue suede shoes 
that instead of dinging belted out "Don't Be Cruel". Despite the 
two break-ins he'd experienced, no one had noticed any of his 
real treasures: Jack had ignored the classic, pre-Anime 
Japanese comic books Clark had collected in Osaka, and Diana 
Stride hadn't shown the least interest in the drawer full of rare 
marbles his grandfather had given him. Everyone was a critic.
	He showered and dried off, checked for beard growth 
(none appreciable), decided against powder or scent (not 
smelling like the South Pacific now was probably enough), 
combed his hair, and put on fresh clothes. When he looked in 
the mirror again, he figured he didn't look anymore like 
someone who had recently barely survived the biggest shock of 
his life.
	No, he looked like a reasonably happy fellow, which 
was close to the truth. He could admit to himself now that he 
was still confused about all this, but he no longer felt hurt or 
frightened or whatever that totally justified reaction had been. 
The distance he had put between himself and Lois over the last 
hour had shown him at the very least that distance didn't cure 
anything. Departing had been difficult and coming home again 
exciting.
	And her teasing reception of him in the garden had 
been wonderful. Well, most of it was, anyhow. Even though it 
was so tempting to just succumb and just anywhere, he wasn't 
giving an inch of his body away, he silently informed the 
framed picture of her on his dresser. In the picture she was 
holding the bear he'd won for her at the Corn Festival that first 
time she had visited. She looked so pleased. In the garden 
fifteen minutes ago she'd looked... amused? That was certainly 
the dominant emotion. She must have thought she was going 
to win this body battle thing and keep her secrets as well.
	Well, she could laugh all she wanted, and tease and 
tickle, and think that he couldn't figure out when it was she had 
discovered the truth, but she'd find out quickly that he was 
resolute, resourceful and right about insisting she accept his 
proposal first. There were simply times when a man had to do 
what a man had to do... or, in this case, not do. He had to get 
certain things squared away between them first and that was all 
there was to it.
	The first thing to square away was this mess their 
relationship had become--though "mess" felt like too harsh a 
word to describe it now. After all, it looked like she wanted to 
work on it as much as he did. She hadn't come, slapped him in 
the face with it, warned him to stay out of her life, and left. She 
had come, she was still here, and she was happy. What more 
could a guy want? A little more time to think about it, yes, but 
her desire for courtship was giving to that time. Maybe she 
needed more time, too, but now to adjust to his knowing she 
knew.
	This was getting complicated again...
	But look, it meant that he had another person to bring 
things home to, he thought as he turned from the mirror and 
caught sight of the gift lying on the bedside table, not next to 
his glasses, wherever they were. Hmm, better make sure that 
her new apartment had a spare room for souvenirs. He picked 
up the gift and carefully wrapped it in a handkerchief he took 
from a dresser drawer.
	He hoped that the apartment she got would be the one 
next to his. That would be almost like living together but with 
separate rooms (and beds) that to which they could retreat if 
they somehow got tired of each other. He found that hard to 
imagine even though she was such a shocking woman and they 
saw each other all day at work already. Okay, he could admit, 
too, that he couldn't get enough of her. Maybe she couldn't get 
enough of him, either
	Maybe if he went along on her visit to his landlord 
and put in his two cents on her behalf... No, she might not 
appreciate that, even if he went in the suit. Wearing the suit 
might make it worse. If she wants my help, he thought, she'll 
let me know. Probably.
	But she could take care of it herself and wouldn't need 
his help to make a killer deal and wind up paying less rent than 
he did for more space. She just needed him to scrape paint and 
scrub floors... which he was going to do really fast, when she 
wasn't looking, despite her request that he do otherwise. She'd 
change her mind when she saw how much work renovating a 
living space could translate into. Getting the gritty part over 
with quickly meant more time for important things.
	Like... talking!
	Wow, what a concept! No time like the present!
	But he paused at the head of the stairs.
	I'm going on a date.
	With Lois.
	Yes, that's right, she's the one.
	Maybe that was another reason she had come, so they 
could have a *real date* where it was unlikely to be interrupted 
by crime running rampant in the streets. Even the interruption 
world politics had tried to present had come and gone, and 
here it was, the real thing, The Date, this was it...
	I'm going on A Real Date at last.
	Dressed like this. He looked down at himself. Like a 
farmboy.
	This is not romantic.
	He could hear her chatting with his folks below. His 
dad was beginning to tell her about how they had found what 
they thought was either a Russian or American baby that dark 
night in May of 1966. He had already reached the part where 
they'd been driving home from the movies and seen and heard 
the meteorite or satellite roar overhead and realized it was not 
only close but had crashed into Schuster's Field. They hadn't 
hesitated to see if it had caused any damage or started a fire.
	Clark's mind raced ahead and foresaw his father 
getting sentimental and saying embarrassing things, particularly 
if Lois decided to probe for them. Considering how she had 
eased his fears earlier, what could she get out of him now? 
Why did parents *do* this to the children they claimed to love?
	They had reminisced the same way the very first time 
they'd all had dinner together during the investigation of Wayne 
Irig's problems. They'd told her about his first day at school 
and how he'd cried his head off when his mom had tried to 
leave--just like a good half of the other kids in the same 
situation had done. He had quickly reminded his folks of that 
and how he'd gotten over it as soon as he'd realized that he 
wasn't among strangers. Lois claimed that on her first day of 
school she had organized all the kids into a union and 
threatened to strike unless milk and cookies were forthcoming 
by that afternoon. Since they did appear and nap time was 
provided, she was crowned princess of preschool. Clark hadn't 
believed a word of it, but it had earned her admiring looks from 
his parents who were suckers for such stories.
	Then his mom had gone on to top herself by implying 
she thought he and Lois were sleeping together already and 
would like to continue doing so when Lois could hardly even 
remember his name in those days. If that awful Kryptonite 
mess hadn't developed so suddenly and preoccupied most of 
his time, he would have been constantly mortified that entire 
visit.
	Yes, he sighed, I'm going on a date, dressed like this, 
in an old truck, planning to show a woman who grew up in 
Metropolis, maybe the biggest city in the entire world, the 
highlights of greater downtown Smallville. It was that or sit 
through his folks' tales about his youth and he bet that could 
easily last all night since they didn't have to hide anything 
anymore either and there was nowhere for him to hide...
	Fortunately, Lois was not dressed as her usual fashion 
plate self, expecting a grand time. She wore a solid-color 
blouse, his mom's sweater over it, a dark skirt and sensible flat 
shoes. He fit with her then in his pale blue shirt, jeans and 
tennis shoes.
	She looked him over the same way, he thought, that 
he had looked at her. She smiled. "Why do I feel like were 
going to the malt shop after a long day at high school?"
	"Because that's how we're dressed."
	"You both look just fine, honey."
	"Thanks, Mom. Lois?" Wow, he thought, I'm actually 
going to ask her this... "My glasses?"
	She pointed toward the mantle. "I'm told you put 
them up there sometimes."
	Ah, yes. He'd checked all over his room and briefly 
feared he'd lost them in hyperspace until he recalled that she 
hadn't given them back after taking them there in the loft. Now 
they sat on the mantle, sparkling. He bet she'd cleaned them 
again. He wondered if she'd make a habit of doing that. It 
might be nice. He put them on, turned, and realized he was the 
center of their attention. His folks wore the kind of expressions 
probably worn by parents who saw their son at last taking steps 
toward making them grandparents. Now he'd have all the 
trouble they'd experience while they got to spoil their 
grandkids. Lois's expression was cat-like mild and said: 
entertain me.
	This was not where he wanted to be. He focused on 
Lois. "Ready to go?"
	"Lois told us you wanted to borrow the truck," his 
father said, "and she offered to leave her car keys with us in 
case we have an emergency."
	So they'd already discussed it, and they hadn't told her 
that they could easily use mom's car. That was nice of them. 
"Good idea."
	Lois, though, had not stood up and was not half way 
out the door. Instead she said: "I'm not ready yet."
	She was sitting between his parents, to his father's 
right, and she turned to him and very lightly touched his knee. 
If it was suggestive, Clark thought, it was suggestive only of 
her budding connection to them now and how she was 
interested in whatever his father had been saying. This really 
was good, considering the man's almost scary protective 
reaction in the kitchen. Clark had rarely had the chance to feel 
that from either parent; more often he had been reminded of it 
only when something went terribly wrong for him while 
wearing the suit and that hadn't happened in quite a while.
	Now, though, his dad's reaction and his mom's quiet 
approach to it earlier, plus everything else his mom must have 
gone through knowing that Lois knew... it gave him a better 
understanding of Lois's observation about them needing 
someone to talk so it was hard to deny them this chance.
	"Okay," Lois said, "so you found this long ditch and 
you followed it and at the end found...?
	"That the ditch hadn't been made by a meteorite *or* 
part of a satellite because the thing was intact and very solid 
looking."
	"Was it very hot?"
	"No, not too hot. We thought it was probably made 
of something like Teflon, gold or copper Teflon."
	"It was turning blue," his mom added, "like it was 
cooling down."
	"But it was still glowing, which was good since my 
flashlight batteries were low and there wasn't much of a moon. 
It was sort of almond shape."
	"It just didn't look like a satellite at all. Satellites back 
then were round and had antennas sticking out of them."
	"I see. Satellites were big in those days, weren't they? 
People followed the space program closely. That was right 
before the moon walks, I think..."
	"That's right. They were just practicing sending men 
into space. Up," His father motioned with his hand, "a few 
orbits, and down again, into the ocean. They'd stopped sending 
monkeys, though when we first saw Clark..."
	Uh-oh, it was starting. "Dad..."
	"We watched all the launches and the coverage when 
we could, though our TV reception wasn't very good. They 
seemed to do all the launches early in the morning, and we 
were already up, so..."
	Lois didn't turn him back to the monkey remark, 
thank goodness. "Did this strange thing have a door? How did 
you ever get it open?"
	"Well, something did tell us to look inside. I had a 
crowbar in the truck, so I went back for it. I remember wishing 
I had my hunting rifle along at the time but I didn't. I also 
wished Martha hadn't followed me to see it, and then she 
stayed there when I went back for the crowbar, though I told 
her to stay away, to get back in the truck where it would be 
safer."
	The woman who would never stay behind smiled. 
Lois may have seen it, but thank goodness she didn't say 
anything like "I wouldn't have stayed in a stupid truck, either!" 
Instead she followed up with: "So you used the crowbar to 
open it, huh?"
	"No, I didn't need to. When I got back we moved 
closer and took a better look at the thing. That's when we saw 
the big door on top. It opened right up as we approached." He 
made a clam-opening motion with his hands. "It must have... 
sensed us somehow, looked us over, or maybe it looked at 
Martha while she was standing there waiting for me. At least, 
that's my theory. I've always thought it was a good thing we 
were just people and not man-eating tigers, but then the little 
baby we saw in there wouldn't have made much of a meal, he 
was so tiny."
	"And he was wrapped in a soft, blue blanket," his 
mother added. "He was so darling and he had such wide 
eyes...!"
	Uh-oh, this was it, Clark thought, he'd waited too 
long. He eased up carefully, acutely conscious that he was the 
only person standing, out of place, and, worse, the subject of 
their stories. "I think it's time to go, really..."
	Lois turned to his mom. "Do you still have that 
blanket? I bet you kept everything you could."
	"Oh, yes, we did. I'll show you sometime."
	"We kept everything but the spaceship," his father 
said, "but that's another story."
	"One *I* can tell you, *later*."
	Lois was having an attack of selective hearing. "I'd 
love to see it all. I don't think my mother saved anything from 
when Lucy and I were babies, she probably doesn't even 
remember giving birth, I don't think it's one of those things you 
can schedule easily. You know what I've been wondering? Was 
Clark wearing like... galactic Pampers or had he held it all in or 
was--"
	Whoa! Clark zipped to touch her shoulder, rather 
firmly, and when, interrupted, she looked up and blinked a 
"hmm?" he said, "Lois, it's Time to Go."
	"Is it?"
	"Things close early in Smallville."
	"Wow, even on Saturday night?"
	"Even then--*especially* then."
	"Not lately, son," his dad said helpfully. "You still 
have plenty of time."
	"Maybe you'd like a cup of coffee before you go, 
dear. We can ground some of that special blend you brought 
home earlier this week, I saved it."
	Had she known Lois would come? Clark wondered, 
and then realized she was trying sidetrack him.
	"And, besides, this is so interesting, Clark!"
	"I'm *sure* they'll be happy to tell you everything 
*some other time*..." like when I'm doing extended research at 
the South Pole and don't plan to return until I'm 112!
	"Yes, we have a *lot* of stories to tell, Lois."
	"Oh, good!"
	Oh, no...
	But Lois stood up. That was promising. She looked 
down at them. "We can talk in the morning, okay? Unless..." 
she looked up at him now, almost childlike in her enthusiasm, 
"unless you can think of something better to do..."
	He didn't buy that look for a moment, yet what else 
could he say but: "I'm *sure* I can." He had no idea what they 
could do since for example there wouldn't be enough time for 
Paris, but that didn't matter at the moment.
	"Okay, then, let's go--Oh, and that thing you said you 
brought? Maybe you can show that to me tomorrow or maybe 
some other time. I mean, I'm in *no hurry*..."
	The cautious I'll-need-a-stiff-drink-before-I-see-it 
message in her voice made him immediately suspicious. A guy 
didn't have to be a brain surgeon to figure out what had 
happened. He looked