(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", which should definitely be read in
order because you'll be lost otherwise :). Previous "episodes" can be
found at ftp.swcp.com pub/users/dstark in PKZipped txt; the L&C
fanfic list in regular txt; at ftp.cs.uofs.edu /pub/sidbury in
WordPerfect 5.1 (DOS) format; or from the author as multi-part email.
However you get them, I like feedback to help me to continue to
develop the story.--Debby, debby@swcp.com, July 7, 1996


                        Extraordinary People

                           by Debby Stark


     Clark Kent was sitting on the staircase, three steps up, smiling
at the phone he had just used. He could hear his folks working in the
kitchen, cleaning up after a hearty dinner, trying not to eavesdrop,
but he didn't mind that they had probably overheard his side of the
brief conversation. He enjoyed being close to them at times like
this, sharing his delight and knowing that they were pleased for him.
     He figured he had just about always known important things about
those two most-loved ones, like their general location and state of
well being. This was no strain because most times the couple enjoyed
a quiet life, easily dealing with the usual challenges of running a
small farm in their early retirement years. They also seemed to take
in stride the unusual challenges presented by a son with a dangerous
part-time job and what to Clark seemed to be more than his share of
personal life problems. But life for them was calm, and panicky
moments were rare.
     Even those moments were often comical upon reflection. For
instance, one day Robby apparently concluded that Jonathan Kent, who
was grumbling about property taxes, wasn't paying full attention to
the job at hand, a thorough currying earned after a difficult pulling
contest and then a long ride home in a tight trailer. So the draft
horse had gently stepped on the man's foot and refused to move. About
35 seconds after his father had started yelling at and pounding on
the animal, who was pointedly looking elsewhere, Clark had shown up,
delayed because he'd had to rush to the Planet's fifth-floor supply
closet and head out through its window, not even taking time to
change his clothes.
     He had not, however, been needed because the upset man insisted
he was uninjured (Clark checked; there were no broken bones in his
father's foot). "Don't touch him!" The older Kent warned, and it was
clear he was angry at himself, not at the horse. "He's trying to tell
me something and he'll just keep doing it until I figure it out..."
     The horse had given Clark an immanently patient look that seemed
to say "He's getting his priorities straight," Robby first, the rest
of life second. The horse then snorted, shifted his weight slightly,
and freed the man. Point made, for now. Clark had thrown up his hands
and dashed back to work.
     It was little things like that which had prompted Clark to come
to the pleasant conclusion that he had some kind of deeply embedded,
maybe even sort of psychic connection with his parents.
     At a less intense, less personal level, he had always felt
protective of his friends, too, starting well before he had developed
special abilities or even much size or muscle.
     On the playground he'd leap in to break up the occasional
scuffles regardless of the capacity or number of the combatants and
particularly when the match was uneven. Then, after the dust settled,
he'd try to mediate. His mom once claimed she was just about getting
used to repairing torn clothing acquired from his *not* fighting. He
would more often move with equal abandon to help slower classmates
with arithmetic, reading or other school work, often sacrificing his
free time without a second thought.
     All this was natural; Clark could not imagine any other way to
approach life, and he had tried a few times. For example, he and his
friends had daydreamed about being filthy rich with servants to wait
on them hand and foot in big houses in Kansas City, or being cunning
thieves and living well off ill-gotten gains (from, say, robbing
trains full of gold). All this was fun to plan on lazy summer
afternoons, but as viable life goals, nobody ever mentioned these
ideas to the counselors on career days in high school.
     At age 18 as his abilities were maturing, Clark had concurrently
redeveloped the strong desire to travel. Years earlier New Zealander
Trevor MacFarlane had planted the seed of desire in him, but school
and other mundane concerns of life had overshadowed all that. When
the time was right, the idea had bloomed full force and Clark took to
the open road and sky at every opportunity. This ranged from enjoying
jaunts to St. Louis or Denver when there was no work to be done on
the farm or for school, to investigating some whole continent for
summer vacation as his confidence grew.
     Once when he had been about to take off to explore the mountains
around Oaxaca, Mexico, he overheard his dad whisper to his mom that
he, Clark, was looking for someone in his yearning to travel. Clark
had glanced back at them. The way Mom squeezed his dad's hand in
return immediately made Clark think that they both believed he was
lonely.
     That was odd. He rarely had that feeling, life was just too
good. He had them, that was a lot, even tremendous. He also had
dozens of friends, though he had decided several years earlier that
it was safer for all concerned if they didn't find out all there
really was to know about him. That was okay, and besides, it looked
like nearly everyone he met had hidden talents, too.
     After he had given it some thought, he figured his parents
probably meant he was looking for someone like himself, someone who
could lift tractors and fly. But they were wrong, he was just
traveling to see and learn more than Kansas could provide and, if
luck dictated, to help those who needed it. If he found anyone else
who could do what he could do, it would be a bonus.
     For there was some kind balance coming into play here: he had
all these strange abilities that, true, set him apart from everyone
else sometimes--well, maybe most times--but then from the looks of
it, the world had an obvious need for somebody with his abilities. He
might as well use them where he could, even though his main desire
had become to observe the unceasing wonders of life and translate
what he saw into interesting stories for people to read. So what if
he couldn't go anywhere without eventually running into some
situation that demanded the use of his extra talents on the sly?
There was nothing wrong with that as long as he was careful. His
dad's frog dissection metaphors couldn't be ignored, but he didn't
worry much about that possibility.
     His travels and attending college meant an increased interaction
with people. He discovered that there was an endless variety of ways
to enjoy life--and an almost equal number of ways that people reacted
to the trials to which life exposed them. Observing all this pointed
out to Clark how comparatively uncomplicated his own life had been.
Sure, he had unexplained abilities, but he wasn't the object of some
powerful person's dislike, wasn't an unwed mother, wasn't crippled
and confined to a wheelchair--wasn't suffering at all in the grand
scheme of things. Indeed, he wondered after one particularly intense
discussion in Philosophy 201, why *was* he here? Only to watch?
     No, surely not...
     It was about this time that, given the challenges he did face,
he began to speculate if he had degrees of awareness of problems
other than his own that he could help resolve. After all, maybe he
didn't have that many problems so there would be room in his life to
help others. That would be okay, too.
     Most dilemmas that he was in the right place at the right time
to deal with were easy to fix though. They usually ranged from
opening stuck windows (a practice in restraint) to facing down
bullies. For the latter, his being a well proportioned six feet tall
and willing to quietly stand up for himself and anyone who needed him
diffused most situations quickly.
     The biggest challenges were those that required immediate
responses, like heart attacks and auto accidents, usually the result
of things people did to themselves in working out their karma (his
travels through India had brought this idea to mind). It more and
more looked like it was *his* karma to be close by and able to help.
     Interestingly, the scope of his (karma-induced?) feeling "right-
time, right-place-ness" seemed to widen during his later college
years as he began to hear of the occasional natural disaster that
insisted it required his talents but at the same time was
conveniently located in some night-enshrouded or back-of-nowhere
locale. Fortunately all this rarely interfered with his studies, and
he could do his homework and write articles for the university paper
in a few minutes before class or deadline if he had to. It was like
he was practicing for something, an interesting feeling.
     After graduating and when the life of a traveler grew routine
and being a news wire stringer wasn't pulling in enough money, he
decided to try to settle down and get a steadier job. His parents and
friends questioned why he decided to try Metropolis when Kansas City
was friendlier, centrally located, and had a better newspaper. Clark
agreed with them, but the much bigger Metropolis offered the best
chance for him to build a career using his journalistic training--
and, besides, the KC Star wasn't hiring. Also, for an inveterate
people watcher, Clark knew that he would find a wider mix of them in
Metropolis than anywhere else in the world.
     "Mix" was an understatement, his dad said, "mixed up and
cockeyed and darn crazy" was a better description. Clark hoped this
wasn't true, but almost as soon as he had arrived in the city,
breathing its fetid, news-saturated air, he found that the people he
met were at the very least fascinating. From the elegant wealthy to
the hard-working common person, they were all going somewhere and
doing something. They were busy all the time. They just didn't know
how interesting they were and that they all had stories to tell, and
that he, Clark Kent, a man with a fresh approach, was the one who
could help them do that.
     While trying to figure out just how to go about doing this,
Clark also noticed that many of the city's inhabitants, his target
subjects and audience, experienced problems dimensions larger than
people he had observed anywhere else. There were the normal, constant
stream of accidents caused by the general careless rush of life in a
big city; he'd seen this in London, Mexico City and Tokyo as well.
But unlike in those places, here there was an astounding amount of
criminal activity, of people preying upon people without the least
compunction or sign of remorse.
     Until setting foot in Metropolis, Clark had accepted crime as
being something best dealt with by skilled local law enforcement. He
had witnessed small-time crimes and criminals (like youthful
pickpockets on a bus in Milan or the guide who stranded a clutch of
Dutch tourists in the dunes miles from Cairo), and he had once
inadvertently tramped into the edges of a multifamily range war in
Argentina. In these cases and others, local authorities usually
turned up and took over, ignoring him because he had learned he could
often pass for a native if he had to: his vaguely Asian, vaguely
European air seemed to confuse people into simply accepting him.
Otherwise, he had learned he was good at fading into the background
after being helpful. Rare were the times he had been asked for his
papers, so his and his mom's forgery efforts were never questioned.
     But like most everyone else, Clark thought, he saw *violent*
crime--bombs, evil scientists, mass murderers--depicted only on TV.
It was scary, distasteful--and somewhere else, never competing for
his attention.
     Until now. Crime was no stranger to Metropolis. It pervaded the
city, and Clark observed that many inhabitants seemed to have the
uneasy feeling that something bad was about to happen and to happen
to them in particular. A lot of people in Metropolis were, he
thought, plainly paranoid. It could be something small, like finding
icy shower water in the morning after a night of bad dreams, to an
event so blatant as to be beyond the abilities of not only of the
police but maybe even the FBI and the Marines.
     Indeed, within days of having gotten off the bus in the main
city plaza, Clark was practically slapped in the face by the brutal
murder of Dr. Platt. The man had trusted and confided in him--and had
been murdered in cold blood. This had so unsettled Clark that he had
begun to blame himself for not realizing something would happen.
     It wasn't that death was a foreign concept: one brought up on a
farm accepted death's sweet necessity in the design of life. Clark
had also walked through slums all over the world and seen death in a
bundle of rags. Yet there was usually a kind of quiet dignity and
something to learn in both those circumstances.
     But nothing had prepared him for discovering Dr. Platt's body
and hearing the casual, callous comments by the police detectives.
     What was wrong here? This was *not* suicide but a horrible crime
done to an honorable man! Why were they blowing it off? And, more
importantly, how could his ability to help behind the scenes be of
any use to fix this awful problem?
     The basic question returned to haunt him: Why *was* he here?
Only to watch? It was as though he had run in to an insurmountable
wall in his increasing ability and desire to help people. Was this
it?
     No, this looked like where the overwhelming Lois Lane came in.
She'd blanched at the sight of Dr. Platt's crisped body--and then
recovered at superspeed and resolved to round up the murderers and
save the whole shuttle program as an afterthought. What's more, it
was okay if Clark, rank amateur, helped her as long as he didn't get
in the way.
     Her certainty of the rightness of *their* cause and *their*
ability to unravel the mystery had lifted his spirits when he'd
strongly questioned the very idea that he was cut out to be an
investigative journalist. Despite what Mr. White seemed to believe
him capable of, Clark didn't think that exploring the depths of the
criminal mind was exciting. He preferred writing the positive,
life-is-interesting features he had become known for among a small
audience.
     But then, Lois didn't work in features (she probably didn't even
read "fluff"), Lois needed his help, and Lois was just so special...
     She was among the most intelligent and sexiest people he had
ever met, and he just knew, practically as soon as he had met her,
that somewhere down deep inside she was as warm and loving as his own
dear mother. Her compassionate reaction to his targetless anger over
Dr. Platt's death just further proved him right about the person she
really was. It didn't matter to his heart that she had made no
attempt to hide her immediate distaste for the very ground he walked
on, or that she put him in his place for his school boy treatment of
her at Lex Luthor's ball or his out-of-line display of jealousy of
the billionaire. To imply that her interest in that man was other
than a purely journalistic... and even if it was, it was her life and
not his to judge.
     ...though he couldn't *not* worry about her, the way she danced
along the edge of disaster, pulling bouquets of roses from the
snapping jaws of certain death when she could just as easily lose an
arm or worse...
     Fortunately, as he had learned more about Luthor, Clark could
justify his instant, uncharacteristic misgivings. The man really had
been bad news all the time, though there had been no solid proof of
this until almost too late and Lois might have had to seek an
annulment. He realized now that his inability to challenge Luthor
effectively could be explained by his own ingrained tendency to see
the good in everyone--and to not realizing that the cunning man had
probably sold any sterling qualities he might once have possessed to
the highest bidder back in kindergarten.
     But that was quite a few lessons ago, and now everyone knew the
truth about Luthor. Clark didn't know where the man was hiding out at
this time. The federal authorities were searching for him, which was
only right since they had most recently misplaced him. Luthor's name
was bandied about now and again--Clark himself had speculated about
his involvement in the Bank of Green Meadows caper, for example--but
the villain was keeping a snake-belly low profile lately. He was most
likely indulging in complex financial dealings that Clark would have
admitted were beyond his ken. It could have been worse: Lex could
have been an evil scientist or a shady lawyer or both...
     Clark put all that aside; there were much nicer things to think
about on this quiet, late Thursday evening.
     There was the thought of how well Lois was transitioning in his
loved-ones locator database. From his first days on the job at the
Planet, he had known when she or Jimmy or Perry were in extreme
danger and he had usually been able to find them in the nick of time
if not sooner. The less danger Lois was in though, like when she was
trying to talk herself out of some minor crisis, the harder it was to
locate her; often he would come in too late to save whomever she had
to beat up.
     But in among the events surrounding her near-wedding to Lex--
which *she* had summarily terminated!--Diana Stride's nearly fatal
attack, Lois's trying to prove Stride right and then being convinced
that she wasn't, and a lot more, Lois had started falling out of love
with Superman and become more interested in Clark. She began to see
him again as someone other than a rival, like she had started to
before Luthor's all-out assault to gain her favor. She then slowly
invited Clark back into her small ensemble of acquaintances, and
eventually her microscopic circle of truly close friends.
     Spurred by this incentive, his sixth sense about her had begun
to evolve, too. He grew more aware of her moods, first when there was
a sense of personal urgency involved and she demanded someone to talk
to, to hear her out and not interrupt. Eventually, he could sense
when she was simply relaxed and hoping he was looking for some
laughs, too. He wasn't always sure precisely what was going on, and
neither sometimes was she, it seemed. But even this sibling-like
relationship felt so good most times that he rarely questioned it.
     With the boyfriend/girlfriend thing confirmed weeks earlier and
now realizing that she knew, *she really knew*--had she known then
when they'd agreed about their boyfriend/girlfriend status? Did it
matter? Wasn't it the natural course of things anyhow? Maybe... He
hoped so, because life was changing again and there was no trouble or
sense of urgency involved at all. Within the last few days, too, he
had begun to feel that if he wanted to find her, no matter what
mental state she was in, he could do so. He could turn, sniff the
slightest breeze or hear her heart beat a thousand miles away or
*something,* and know that flying in a straight line he'd find her
quickly. Before her Saturday visit and their Sunday treehouse talk,
he could have found her, true, but he might have zigzagged for a bit
first and maybe he'd be upset because she had moved or been kidnaped
or who knew what and he hadn't foreseen it or she refused to think it
important enough to explain.
     Now things seemed stable in that warm, comfortable part of his
near-conscious. It was a knowledge that impetuously proclaimed itself
ready to withstand any test. He didn't want there to be tests,
though, tests could mean--most likely would mean--that she was in
trouble. He just wanted to sit back and enjoy the feeling of Kent and
Lane in love. Lane and Kent in love. It sounded great either way.
     And that's it, he thought, it's love, I'm totally in love, this
is *meant* to be--and she knows it, too! That's why she's acted a
little wacko all this time, whatever length of time she's known. Hmm,
there's probably a clue in there somewhere.
     She's not used to love being the real thing--she's *said* so
several times.
     But she thinks *I'm* the real thing!
     It's *so* wonderful!
     ...and it was also more than a little annoying.
     She'd laid down the law: when I need you, I'll call you. She had
meant "need him to help her move" because she hadn't meant she
planned to need Superman, she never planned that. During this second
week of his vacation there had been no indication, by phone call or
psychically, that she needed a superguy either. Which wasn't
something to complain about, really...
     Now it was Thursday evening. He had switched off the phone and
was holding it loosely in both hands. He had found himself sitting on
this very staircase a lot lately, it seemed. From this position he
could see out into the living room, which was dark and quiet. He'd be
leaving it all behind again soon, heading away from this wonderful
shelter and back into the wonder-filled world he was making for
himself.
     And I'm going to share it with Lois...
     The thought prompted a happy sigh.
     His folks were in the kitchen finishing up the dishes, a long,
drawn-out process tonight. They were obviously staying as far out of
earshot as they could muster. Clark smiled about that. He'd have to
signal an all clear without letting them know he was on to them.
     As for what he could tell them when they pumped him for
information... there wasn't much. Lois had called briefly to give him
his instructions: "Tomorrow, 3 p.m., Metropolis time."
     So it would be somewhat more than five days between seeing her
plane off at the airport in Wichita to when he was officially allowed
to see her again. The time period wouldn't wind up being remembered
as five days of pure, gut-wrenching agony only because Clark had kept
himself busy.
     On Monday he had resumed helping out around the farm and with
general community harvest activities. He would whenever feasible do
his chores at high speed; his folks didn't seem to notice whereas
when he was younger and he had shown bursts of "enthusiasm," they had
insisted that he slow down and take care. They probably figured he
was old enough now to be fast *and* conscientious. They probably also
understood that he was antsy. They didn't bug him about it, waiting
for him to open up on his own. He realized he would rather, by just a
little bit, have been talking to Lois.
     He spent several evenings with his friends and enjoyed their
gentle ribbing, their glowing assessments of Lois (particularly from
Lana), their relief that it looked like he might be getting married
and it was about time for a nice, quiet guy like him, wasn't it?
Maybe she'd like to retire here, hey? Clark had no idea; frankly he
wasn't sure either of them would make it safely to old age, though he
had every intention of guaranteeing that she did.
     When none of these obligations were sufficient to distract him,
he'd slip on the suit and go looking for trouble. He didn't like to
think of it that way, but that was usually how it happened if it
didn't come looking for him. Trouble beckoned, he'd help prevent it
or ameliorate the results if he could, and then he'd move on.
     He naturally found the usual amount of trouble in Metropolis,
and Wednesday proved to be a good day to put in a noon-time patrol
appearance. It also provided a little test of his new relationship
with Lois.
     He dropped in on a grocery story robbery and, before any
shoppers were harmed, he rounded up the machine-gun-toting robbers
who were dressed as masked cowboys. The shoppers cheered; someone
called him a blue-light special; the store manager and clerks wanted
to kiss his feet and rename the ten-items-or-less rapid checkout
stand after him. He turned the robbers over to the police amassed
around the building, smiled and nodded at the shoppers, and stayed
well out of the way of the manager and clerks.
     Then Superman agreed to answer few questions because it felt
like the thing to do. The media and through them world had a right to
know what on his agenda, though he always tried not to even hint that
he had a real life, that he did anything other than cruise around the
world 24 hours a day, searching for situations to help out with.
     Maybe it was right, too, because he hadn't originally seen that
Lois was among the pack. Maybe they had both known--*known*--that the
other would turn up here.
     She elbowed her way to the front, threatening injury to her
colleagues with her usual zeal, so she could ask two simple questions
that any of the brighter members of the press corps might have
thought up. He answered them briefly and did not favor her over any
other. She didn't look particularly concerned about this (and a few
colleagues covertly checked her reaction). Instead she concentrated
on scribbling in her notepad. He knew those notes would be barely
decipherable to any but herself, and, with concentration, him or
maybe Perry if Jimmy helped.
     She seemed to be just managing not to giggle. She kept raising
her eyebrows and blinking her eyes in a bland, barely-interested-in-
anything-but-the-story manner. This reminded him of her reaction when
she had come by his ratty hotel room to pick him up that first time,
and he'd thoughtlessly answered the door without pulling on his shirt
first. Now he was too aware that *he* was having trouble keeping a
straight face, too. The thought of that first encounter and how she
had seen a lot of him then and was seeing so much more of him now--of
the *real* him--didn't help him keep his composure. The only thing he
had to cling to was his long practice looking benevolently removed
from the fray while wearing the suit.
     As he ended the impromptu news conference and flew away, he
overheard Karl Kingston asking Lois about that old rumor that had
resurfaced recently, that Superman was bisexual. It made sense, Supes
being the even-handed fellow that he was, share the wealth and all...
Clark then heard Marie Rose laughing and flavoring it with the hint
that she knew better, *much* better... He tuned out just after Lois
claimed that it was all a surprise to her, but, frankly, as she
hadn't been that interested lately, for all she knew maybe there was
some truth to it.
     On the Sunday evening after leaving Smallville, Lois called to
inform Clark that she had arrived home safely. According to caller
ID, she was using his phone. It was great that she considered his
place to be home, using that word in a casual manner.
     She made absolutely no reference to secret identities, though
she didn't hesitate to slip in some light sexual innuendoes that made
him chuckle and try to match her, something he realized he wanted to
practice more and in person.
     He got the impression, too, that she had some concern that they
were being overheard and wondered briefly what she had been doing at
work. He didn't ask, though, because he was sure she wouldn't tell
him and badgering her over the phone never worked. He couldn't detect
any evidence of electronic devices on the line, but if she was right,
the perpetrators would simply grow bored listening to two people
vocally pressing the new boundaries of their budding romantic
relationship. The idea made him feel warm and cozy inside yet again.
The whole thing was still so overwhelming that he might as well, he
thought, just give up and let himself feel this good *all* the time.
     Further on the home front, she reported that just before calling
him she had contacted his landlord and set up a walk-through
inspection of the apartment next door first thing Monday morning.
Clark told her he was surprised that she had even been able to locate
the fellow. She said the man must have seen her coming, feared her
wrath, and put himself immediately at her beck and call, wise fellow.
"That's the kind of neighbor you may be getting, do you still want
that?"
     Clark said he thought he was up to the challenge.
     She called from work on Monday afternoon to report that the
apartment was, to put it charitably, a pit, but she hadn't seen any
bugs larger than a few spiders, and not any mice or rats or even
scary baby chickens. The rooms were laid out marvelously, and there
was at least three times as much floor space as his place was
squeezed into, not counting the basement. "You have basement access?"
he marveled.
     "Of course."
     "All I have is a little crawl space in the attic."
     "I went up your spiral staircase and saw it."
     "It's only big enough to put a few boxes of books..."
     "Poor baby, maybe I'll make some room for you if you're good."
     The only thing the apartment didn't have was a view, but she
thought seeing the container garden in the courtyard was okay. The
landlord had used that and Clark's quiet neighborliness as selling
points, did he realize that? There was a staircase up to the roof and
one down to the basement, though the steps looked in need of repair,
but she could "do that easily." The roof looked like a good place to
spread a towel in the summer and work on her tan. He allowed as that
sounded like a good idea and he might very well join her. She said
"Umm!"
     So, given that the positives outweighed the negatives, she'd
decided to take the apartment. The landlord--"Call me Hank"--had said
she could have it as soon as the deposit check cleared. But she
wanted it quicker than that so she had given him cash, gotten a
receipt, and they had started to plan how he would clean things up.
"He said something about needing a lot of time but--can you believe
it?--I batted my eyes at him and he decided he could start right
away. It's a good thing because I didn't think that breaking his arm
would be the right way to start our business relationship."
     "But the Neighborhood Association would probably have held a
bake sale to raise money for your bail."
     "Would you have contributed something? What?"
     "Probably something with a lot of chocolate..."
     "Ummm... There will always be chocolate at my place for you..."
she whispered.
     That almost made him blush (which he never allowed Superman do),
but he gave in and let it happen now since he was alone, lounging in
the den.
     Lois called again on Tuesday, after her martial arts class, with
an update. Her new apartment was now bare of the junk that Hank had
been storing there. He promised to sand and seal those marvelous
wooden floors on Wednesday. She planned to shop for paint and
cleaning supplies on Thursday. She had measured the walls by eye; did
Clark have any advice on how much paint she should get? He gave her
his thoughts. If she bought too much, well, she'd have extra for
touch ups. Villains might descend on her apartment and she'd need the
paint to cover the scuff marks from her having tossed them against
the walls.
     "You'd sit back and watch, too, wouldn't you?"
     "And enjoy it immensely."
     "Of course I could turn on you next..."
     "You could..."
     "You want that."
     "I do, a lot--just after certain things, after we talk."
     "Uh-huh..."
     "And you know what else."
     "And *you* know what else, too."
     "Uh-huh..."
     On Wednesday Clark had seen her during the press conference and
she had looked well. He had caught glimpses of her here and there
throughout the week but had kept away since he hadn't felt her to be
in need him. He had every intention of making it clear to the world
that Superman didn't think Lois Lane was any more special to him than
anyone else was.
     Thursday evening she called with a progress report. Her new
apartment's floors were now in good shape. She was going to have some
of her furniture, including her bed, moved in on Friday morning so
she could sleep there that night. She would be covering everything
with plastic sheets during the day since she also planned to start
cleaning the place herself and painting on Friday, which she had
already told Perry she was taking off, and Saturday, too. The world
could just come to a screeching halt and wait for her to take notice
of it again while she enjoyed a well deserved three-day weekend. It
had survived her taking the unprecedented two-day one the weekend
before, hadn't it?
     "Yes, and I did, too."
     "I'm proud of you. Now the question is, can you tear yourself
away from slopping the neighbor's pigs a few days early and come back
to Metropolis?"
     "I can come right now--"
     "No, no, *tomorrow,* 3 o'clock sharp--3 *p.m.* and no sooner--
but if you're late for a good reason, I'll understand--Oh, Lucy and
her friends are pulling up, they want to see what's happening. They
call themselves Thumbers."
     "'Thu--'?"
     "Don't ask me why, I haven't figured out how to slip that
question into a casual conversation yet. I mean, maybe it's something
I should know and not something that's just... obvious. Lucy met one
of them at her new job temping at Star Labs, and that one introduced
her to the others. I think Laurie at work is one of them, too.
Metropolis is such a small town, isn't it? Lucy told me they're
forming a madrigal singing group and they want to headline at comedy
clubs at night. She said they're... how'd she put it... politically
progressive, bitingly feminist, and if those approaches don't work,
they have a line up of lusting-after-Superman songs."
     "Oh, great..."
     "Well, it is--don't you want me to sing lusting songs?"
     "Ah, not after--you *used* to, in effect--"
     "I know--and I was good at it, too, wasn't I?"
     "No question, you still are--*were,* I mean--"
     "I know what you mean, and you know who I'm considering singing
those songs for now..."
     "Heh..."
     "Uh-huh. You'd sing--*drum* for me, wouldn't you?"
     "Certainly--*privately.*"
     "Good. Well, Lucy enjoys hanging around with those women, it's
giving her something to do. She has a good voice, too."
     "It runs in your family, I bet. *She's* never lusted after
Superman though."
     "Little *you* know."
     "Okay, okay--Something tells me *you* have a part in this."
     "They want me to be honorary chairperson. I told them I might
like being their queen, but they said they already have one."
     "Good, then you don't have to--"
     "But they said as the chairperson I can sometimes appear on the
stage in the event they're forced to sing supersongs."
     Forced? "Did you... decline? You're busy moving and all, and
considering--"
     "Considering I'm some regular joe's girl friend now?
     "Well--yes."
     "*Well,* I said I'd think about it. I could quit the Planet and
go on the road, you know, my singing voice is okay."
     "It's gre--"
     "--Oh, they're knocking on the door--See you!"
     Click (with hints of giggle).
     Clark sighed at the phone, exasperated, but then he smiled. He
didn't know whether to believe her or not (he had heard the knock on
his door in the far-away city), but he sure was glad she was teasing
him. She wouldn't have teased Superman. Swooned on him, or even hit
him and yelled at him because he could take it, but not teased him,
not before whenever it was she found out...
     Because she sees *me*, not him any more...
     Jonathan Kent walked in from the dining area, which was to the
left of the foot of the staircase. He was drying his hands with a
dishtowel. He raised his eyebrows at Clark. "You look happy."
     "I *am* happy. Do you two need any help in there?" He pointed
with the phone toward the kitchen. "You're taking so long..."
     "No, no, we're finished now. The meat loaf stuck on the bottom
of the roaster and since I won't fork over the cash to get her a new
one, she made me wash it and she stood over me while I did it."
     "Oh, I see."
     "She didn't say a word either."
     Clark just nodded. Mom hadn't said a word about a lot of things,
things that he didn't know quite how to ask her about without it
sounding like he was asking. Why he couldn't bring himself to just
simply ask he wasn't sure, but it was probably because they were
about things he should already have figured out. Mom was like that
sometimes, holding all the answers and not offering any of them, but
she usually had good reasons. Like Dad had told him once: some things
were not meant for mortal men to know... except women seemed to know
all those things by heart.
     His dad sighed and concluded: "I'm going to get us a new one."
     "Sounds like a good idea."
     The man proceeded to simply stand there, somehow still finding
damp spots to dry on his burly arms up to his elbows. Eventually he
said, "Ah, well, son..." He stole a glance at Clark. "Was that...
Lois again?"
     "Well, of course, it was, Jonathan," Martha Kent said as she
pushed gently by him. "Who else would he look like he wished he'd
spent an hour on the phone with instead of--what was it? Five minutes
this time?"
     "Almost," Clark said. He scooted over so his mom could sit
beside him and look at him like she expected the full story. Hey, was
this fair? He was supposed to spill his guts at every turn but *she*
wouldn't tell *him* anything...
     He didn't really mind this arrangement though.
     She had been incredibly patient with him all week long. She had
also been quietly plying him with good food, understanding smiles and
comforting hugs. Yet she hadn't divulged to him or his father when
and how Lois had found out who Superman really was. Had she taken to
heart what Lois had said, that she'd threatened their first-born
grandchild if Mom told him anything?
     It struck Clark suddenly: wow, Lois might have considered,
however briefly, having children!
     Nah, Lois probably hadn't made any threat, it had probably just
been a tease, but still, to tease about children... Did she ever
think about having kids? Maybe just now and then? And maybe
favorably?
     Dad could be right about this, too, that it was part of the
complicated secret games women played to test the men they loved.
Look, not all women were enamored of children. That wasn't bad, per
se. Lois might feel uncomfortable about the thought but feel it okay
to talk to his mom about it and then it had been the first thing she
had thought of to use in the tease. Lois feeling free to discuss such
things with the other best woman in Clark's world was truly great.
     "She just called to give me instructions. I'm to be back in
Metropolis tomorrow, at 3 p.m. sharp, disasters permitting. She needs
help moving furniture."
     "Now, she needs you for more than that..."
     "I'll probably inspect the plumbing, too."
     "Oh..."
     "And check out the electrical wiring."
     "Clark..."
     "I'm going to bill her for every bit it."
     "The midafternoon train gets into Metropolis Union Station about
two, doesn't it..." His dad frowned, calculating, ignoring the back
and forth; then he nodded. "That would give you time to get home and
changed, if you'd started yesterday which you could say you did if
you need to. Maybe she thought of that."
     "She's clever," Clark agreed, "and she's on *my side,* so maybe
I'll give her a discount."
     "She's always been on your side, honey."
     "Not always, Mom, we've had some tenuous moments... well, days,
and a few weeks once or twice, but we haven't been at each other's
throats for like that for a long time, not since... late last fall,
when she was mad at me for three days and I still don't know why--but
I *know* she didn't know everything then."
     "You're right, she didn't."
     Clark looked at her, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you
weren't supposed to tell me."
     "I'm not telling you anything, you're telling me. There's a
difference."
     "What's the boy supposed to do, keep guessing?"
     "No..." His mom nearly grinned at his dad.
     "Martha..."
     "Dad, it's okay," Clark said in his best though rarely used
insuring-domestic-tranquillity tone of voice. He wondered how flat
such an attempt would fall if he tried it the next time he was
invited to a gathering of more than two members of the Lane family.
"I'll figure it out. It's not *that* important..." Which was easy to
*say*... Actually, it was easier to say now than it had been last
Sunday when his mom had claimed that his abandoned puppy look
wouldn't sway her one bit, he was not breaking her heart. Things were
much calmer now. "What's important is..." How to put this...
     As he paused, he noticed that both parents had instantly hitched
a ride on the wagon of his words. He glanced at his mom, who sat back
again almost imperceptibly, and then at his dad, who rocked back on
his heels a bit. The enormity of what had gone on over the last six
days or so seemed crystal clear suddenly. "I guess we should have
talked about this sooner, all three of us together, since it's a... a
family thing, it's not just me anymore..."
     His mom patted his knee, which substituted for reminding him
verbally that it had never been just him alone. "Were you ready to
talk?"
     "There's a right time for everything, you know, son."
     "I know, but... maybe I haven't been ready, or maybe I have--I
don't know. I've really wanted to talk to *her,* to see her face, for
her to see mine--to sit down and have some long, meaningful
conversations, more than just on the phone, though the phone has been
okay, better than writing letters and email, but she didn't want me
around this week so..." He spread his hands. Her desire not to see
him had brought what had begun to look like the chance for a
whirlwind romance to a screeching halt.
     His mom's expression turned to one that seemed inadvertently to
say "Oh, boy..."
     He saw it as his turn to hang on unspoken words, to ask, "What?"
He leaned forward to catch her eye again. "What did I do?"
     "What do you think you did?"
     "'Think'? I followed her wishes. She was busy worrying all last
week--about working alone, losing her apartment, moving, figuring out
how to sneak up on me... which was all right, now that I've gotten
used to the idea." It was, wasn't it, it was so *all right* that the
thought nearly floored him happily again... I've got to get a grip,
he told himself. Later sometime. Maybe next year. "Anyhow, this week
she's still had to" he began to count it off, "work her regular job
and add to that decide on the apartment and arrange for fixing it up,
and moving in..." He ran out of fingers, touching his thumb. "And
there's something going on with Lucy. So even if I weren't on
vacation she'd probably warn me to stay out of the way."
     His dad nodded knowingly. "There are times a woman wants you to
chase after her and times when she doesn't, and I think this was one
time you were right to wait."
     "Yes, I think I was, too."
     "I agree, this time you played it right, honey," his mom said,
now giving him a one-armed hug.
     *This time,* eh? "I'm glad neither of you said I managed not to
botch it up again..."
     "Oh..."
     "Because I have in the past, I know that, I've had to rush off
and... and save things. I don't regret doing that, don't get me
wrong..."
     They clearly didn't.
     "...but I do regret the times I've left Lois in midsentence. I
regret lying to her once she began to think of me as more than a
rival..." He sighed, then felt his mood bounce upward again. "Okay,
that's in the past. She understands that. She even told me she
understood why I didn't tell her everything right away, as soon as I
met her. Maybe she understands all of it now, I wouldn't be
surprised--well, maybe I'd be a little surprised... Actually," he
shrugged helplessly, "I'm constantly surprised when I think about
it... but not so much any more, I'm..." He made a smooth, flat-hand
motion, "leveling out, I think, and what she knows, what she does
with it..." He noticed his mom nodding in an encouraging manner,
"it's okay, it doesn't worry me, *that's* the part I'm leveling out
on. The thought of her knowing everything hasn't really *bothered* me
for a while now. It's just all coming together, it's going to work,
and I don't feel worried about the big picture any more."
     His mom said gently, "Maybe you needed this week away from her,
too."
     "Yeah, that could be it. It doesn't *feel* like it's been what I
needed, but it has definitely given me a chance to think."
     "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," his dad added.
     "It sure has. It's fonder than ever... Want to know something
that could be funny?"
     They leaned forward, which he appreciated because he was too
well aware that sometimes they had to strain to laugh at the jokes he
thought up or brought home but couldn't deliver right. "Okay, I've
been thinking about this. We're--Lois and I and everybody--we're in
the newsroom and it's busy or we're in a budget meeting, and I hear
The Call--you know, help, help, save me--or something urgent is
announced over the intercom or Jimmy rushes in with some bulletin,
and maybe nobody else realizes how important it is, or if they do,
they think 'yeah, yeah, Superman'll fix that, let's get back to
work,' but *Lois* is there...?"
     "And she helps you think of an excuse to get away?"
     "Exactly. She's very clever, there's no doubt about it, and I
think now that she understands--she understood about the South
Pacific thing--when I flew by the Planet on Tuesday afternoon, I
looked in and saw she had the shell on her desk, I should have
mentioned that to you... Anyhow, she could enjoy doing that, and she
can keep a straight face, she did on Wednesday and for as long as
she's known, too, it looks like."
     "She does seem to enjoy being in on secrets," his father
observed.
     "Right. So I think that's going to be fun, and for my part I'll
try not to have to leave when things are... important between us,
because that could get old *real* fast even if she *says* she
understands..."
     His mom tugged on his ear lightly. "Maybe at *those* times your
hearing will turn off."
     His father chuckled. "Maybe she'll be nibbling on his ear then."
     "Whispering sweet nothings."
     Clark smiled. "Maybe *I'll* be doing some nibbling and
whispering and..." He paused, wondering where this was going,
realizing these had once been the only people in the world he could
talk to with this depth, "and maybe certain other things will turn
off, too, and we'll... Well, we're going to talk about that first,
we're going to get it all totally talked out. After all, it's just
physical and it can be dealt with, she'll understand, probably..."
     He noticed his father was looking elsewhere and mother had
another "oh boy" look, just a small one. "All right, am I thinking
too much again?"
     "Oh, honey, I don't know. If you were your father, I'd say yes,
you are."
     "But you're not me, you're special, and a little caution can go
a long way in a special case."
     "She does want to go a long way--I mean, considering the
direction she's trying to push me--I mean... you know, it's not that
I don't *appreciate* it and not that I don't want to go there myself,
too..."
     He saw that his parents had more than enough clues.
     He cleared his throat unnecessarily. "But I think if there's
anything she doesn't seem to understand, it's that. I do *not* want
to hurt her. I have to be careful, *very* careful. And there are some
other things, too, they're hard to describe--they're hard to think
about, because I don't have any... I just have the Globe, and that's
not much help, though I'm glad she's seen it and that it opened up
more when she touched it... Maybe tomorrow we can talk about it while
we're working on her apartment. There should be plenty of chances
since she'll want to be in charge of everything and..." he smiled,
"and in charge of me, but I don't mind that for some things."
     That earned him a warm, you're-catching-on smile from his dad.
His mom gave him another big hug and said, "There's a name for
that..."
     "Sharing? Like I share being in charge of me with her and she
shares letting me move her furniture?"
     "Clark... if you give her a bill, I'll send her a chart of where
you're most ticklish."
     "You will? That's not much of a threat, mom..."
     "It's the best I can come up with on the spur of the moment."
     "Oh... Well, in that case I won't bill her because I'd rather
she find those places on her own. Do a little..." He raised his
eyebrows, "*exploring*..."
     They were word hanging again.
     "You know, maybe we'll do a little *mutual* exploring..."
     They hung closer.
     Too close. He realized what he had been saying and shifted a bit
uncomfortably. "I think I'll go... harvest some apples or something,
okay?" and he stood up, ready to escape through the narrowest gap.
     His father for one didn't move. "At 8:30 at night?"
     "Then I'll... catch some cattle wrestlers."
     "Uh-huh," his mom said.
     "In Montana--or maybe Argentina."
     "It's still night there, too."
     "Germany?"
     "Well, while you're at it then, bring back a quart of milk."
     "Make it ice cream, go by way of the North Pole."
     "That could be better than a cold shower."
     "No, no, I think I'll just go for a simple little walk to look
at the stars and enjoy them while I can, without a cloud of pollution
between me and them..."
     "Then scram."

                                 ***

     On Friday morning, his parents booted Clark out of the house
almost as soon as he finished breakfast. He had been sitting there
trying to convince his father to give him something new to do (he had
already exercised the horses) or a tip about some neighbor, any
neighbor who still might possibly need a little help. His mother
leaned on the table, hands supporting herself, and looked him in the
eye. "That's it, Clark. Out."
     "Mom?"
     "Now."
     "Well..."
     "Go make yourself useful to the world until 3 o'clock Metropolis
time."
     "But--"
     "Now, buster."
     "Can I pack first?"
     She allowed for that, giving him ten minutes.
     All his clothes were clean and folded, ready to be layered
carefully into his bag. She stood at the foot of his bed and watched
him, prepared to supervise if he slacked off, but otherwise they
didn't talk. He muttered to himself about being denied the only real
home he'd ever known, about being totally unappreciated. About facing
the cold, cruel world and trying to set things straight. About
dealing with a crazy woman who was *completely* unpredictable...
About whether he should stick both the bag and the computer or one or
the other or either of them in hyperspace now, or leave them here and
at 1:45 or so local time, return, store this luggage in hyperspace
and only have to think about it on the way directly to Metropolis. It
was better if he didn't have to think too long about things staying
where he put them in the "might-will-be" area of the universe.
     His mom had no opinion. She had once called hyperspace all
sleight of hand anyhow. "Just as long as you're out of here and
sleeping in your own bed--or at least *somewhere* in Metropolis
tonight."
     He gave her a scandalized look (she just raised her eyebrows
lazily), and then he rolled his eyes and smiled, shaking his head.
Parents... who deserved a superhug and got one despite and because of
everything.
     He did a normal six and a half hours or so of Superman-style
work, cruising around the world performing helpful deeds, saving
lives, easing suffering, stopping bad guys, spreading cheer. People
were at the very least glad to see him and returned his smile upon
being rescued or helped, unless they were up no good, in which case
they scowled at his pleasant expression. Nothing titanic or even
particularly reportable happened though.
     At about 2:30 Metropolis time, he put his next plan into action.
He zipped back to Kent Farm and found his traveling bag and laptop
computer awaiting him on the shady front porch. His parents weren't
home; maybe they had gone out to lunch. But as the weather was good
and crime was practically nonexistent out here, his things had been
perfectly safe. He stuffed them into hyperspace and headed for
Metropolis and home.
     He alighted quietly behind Mr. Cheung's grocery store there on
the corner of Sinibaldi and Clinton. In the dark area between the
trash compactor and a big pile of empty soda pop and bread racks, he
grabbed his real clothing out of hyperspace. He spun out of the suit
and into the clothes at approximately the same time, and then reached
back into hyperspace to trade the suit for his bag and computer. They
had survived the trip intact as he had been sure they would.
Entertaining a sense of "sureness" was, he figured, the most
important thing about dealing with hyperspace and it's endless
potential even half a second forward in the time line. Assuming time
ran in a straight line was also helpful even though he had heard good
arguments against it.
     There was a bus stop in front of the store. Anyone who knew and
noticed him would likely think he had returned to the neighborhood
using one of the frequent city buses, had stopped to pick up some
groceries, storing them in his bag, and then used the side exit. That
was an integral part of the plan.
     But no one noticed him as he walked out of the shadows and hit
the sidewalk, heading south toward home. That was okay, too.
     He wondered briefly if he might be able to just *know* whether
or not Lois was in her new apartment, but before he could test that
idea, he saw her jeep parked halfway down the street, on this east
side. It was in front of the high, one-story apartment house he now
shared with Mrs. Wallace, who didn't have a car, on the south side
and with the love of his life on the north side. I'm in the middle,
surrounded by women again, he thought. Lois and Cat; Lois and Toni;
Lois and Mayson; and now the best combination, Lois and Mom. He
didn't want any more combinations.
     He walked past "her place" without looking up or slowing. It was
only 2:37, he wasn't needed yet. He didn't want to even glance in
that direction and maybe spoil surprises in the making. If she hadn't
been in the midst of building something new for herself to share with
him in her own time, though, he was sure she would have been watching
for him and welcomed him. But this way, he assured himself, was going
to be more fun.
     His other senses kicked in unbidden. He felt a slight breeze as
he walked by. That told him that at least her front door, which like
his own had a little front porch, was open and there was probably a
door or windows open in the back, thus allowing the breeze. He could
smell a mix of cleaning agents and paint. He could hear without
trying that she had a radio turned on to the MetroU station and their
Jazz Hour, which was really four hours until local and then NPR news
at five. He also heard what he assumed was her moving around,
walking, bumping, dropping or causing something to fall, and saying
"damn..." but not in a serious or I'm-hurt manner, just some little
household accident.
     Household? She's moving in, he thought, she's really moving in!
     He smiled as he bounced up the steps to his front door and
opened the screen.
     The main door was locked. Oh, yeah. He dug out his keys and used
them.
     He hesitated. What he saw next could conceivably cast a pall on
his mood. He peered around the door cautiously, not sure suddenly
what he would or wanted to see, imagining a tornado having hit or a
completely robbed and cleaned-out living space. He had given her free
reign after all. Well, there was no she'd been acting like a slob,
leaving beer cans and potato chip crumbs everywhere like a certain
somebody who lived here did when Jimmy and Yusef or any of the other
guys from work came over to watch a game with him. But she'd been so
busy she might not have noticed the weather or a clean-sweeping
burglary...
     Little had changed about his home since he had last been in it
almost two weeks earlier. As he stepped inside onto his landing, he
scanned the room. His mismatched but comfortable furniture was nearly
all in the same place he had left it, with the exception of the big
old rocker, but that had only been scooted closer to the TV. His
video and audio collections were somewhat out of order, but that was
no problem. Tapes weren't scattered about, no equipment was left on,
no liquid had been spilled in anything. Hey, he could do that just
fine...
     Thinking of liquid, he noticed that Maxine the fish and her
small fry children were now residing in a large glass mayonnaise jar
that was sitting on the kitchen island-counter-table. It was nice to
know Lois had thought that up.
     Clark dumped his bags on the couch. Lois had moved some of the
pillows; he could imagine her or maybe Lucy or those women stretching
out here, reading, watching TV. The idea of strangers relaxing here
didn't bother him since at least Lois knew them.
     He walked up to the fish jar and peered in. "Hi, gals and
guys..."
     Covered by a square of cheese cloth held in place with a rubber
band, the jar was three-fourths full of water and half of that was
taken up by aquatic plants anchored in a floor of colorful rock
chips. He counted 18 guppies, 17 of them still small fry, and four
red snails. The container would be a tight one if they stayed in it
much longer, but they didn't seem to mind; maybe they figured it was
a motel and they were on vacation, too. Several of the fish
considered him blandly, evidently very little on their minds other
than hyperdimensional quantum physics perhaps (unlike dolphins, who
he understood preferred spending casual time remote viewing things
like the ruins on the Moon).
     He straightened. He could just hear the radio from next door. It
didn't sound loud enough to warrant his being aware of it, so he
pulled back on his hearing a bit. He wondered if Lois would be a
noisy neighbor and how he could complain if it turned out she liked
to throw big parties into the wee hours and entertain strange,
marijuana-smoking, green-haired friends. Stranger friends than
himself, obviously. Lois, throw parties? Nah...
     The kitchen looked okay. There were dishes in the rack; they
were dry. Maybe she had fixed some lunch for herself. The counters
were clear and clean. He checked the refrigerator. He expected to see
the dry goods he kept stored there (the sunflower seeds, the oats,
the flour), but there were also three containers of store-brand
fruit-flavored yogurt, a nearly empty pint of skim milk, half a
bottle of Gatorade, an open bag of prepeeled baby carrots, a nearly
full sealed-closed bag of semisweet chocolate chips, half a loaf of
whole-wheat bread, a jar of peanutbutter with grape jelly swirled
through it, two whole tomatoes in a bowl, and a block of cheddar
cheese in one of his plastic containers. In the freezer section,
there were some frozen waffles and a small tub of chocolate ice
cream. Nothing out of the ordinary for Lois Lane, though maybe a bit
more healthy fare than he would have predicted. Nice.
     The bedroom was the next thing he checked. Here the scent of her
was most evident in her work-a-day-world perfume. Light and flowery,
expensive, and often capable of distracting and even pacifying any
unruly male subjects of ruthless interviews. No hint of the headier
fragrance she used for patently impossible-to-get interrogations or
her infrequent wild nights out on the town. Hadn't she been having
any fun like that in the last two weeks?
     There were no pieces of clothing lying about in the way he
occasionally decorated the room when he was dog tired. The bed was
made up neatly, the pillow fluffed, though she had left it propped up
against the ornate-looking, garage-sale, bronze spray-painted
headboard. Maybe she had sat there reading or writing, using her
laptop computer, which was now closed up and sitting on the dresser,
trailing its black power cord off the side.
     The monotony presented by Ms. Goodhousekeeping was broken by a
single pair of panty hose tossed over the shower curtain rod. Not
exactly a hanging offense. He refrained from touching them.
     The once beer-stained clothes he had left hanging there were
gone. He found the jacket and slacks in his closet, looking none the
worse for the wear. There he also found several of her outfits (four
dresses, several skirts, matching blouses, a light coat). On the
floor were shoes he could never get his feet into and certainly
wouldn't try. He was glad he didn't have the mad desire to wear
women's clothing.
     Her things took up so little space that he wished he had known
ahead of time and been able to offer her more room so she could
spread out if she wanted to. It was like she was here but not quite
here, like she was testing deeper waters than she had ventured into
back when the Slime Monster's tentacle had blocked her from entering
that apartment.
     So far she was passing.
     He wanted a tougher (but not dangerous) test than this for them
both to breeze through with flying colors since they both seemed to
be grasping the concept with ease.
     He checked his internal clock and glanced at the alarm clock by
his bed to double check, to see that he was indeed on Metropolis time
after his having buzzed around the world and all 24 time zones
several times that day.
     He sighed. 2:55, right on the nose. If he had been hungry,
eating would have given him something to do, but a grateful family in
Costa Rica had offered and he had accepted a small meal of beans and
corn tortillas only an hour earlier, and the chilies were still a
warm, pleasant memory.
     He glanced through the window. The garden looked fine. Mrs.
Wallace had been entrusted with its care, not that it took much more
than watering and harvesting the cool-loving greens this time of
year, something the elderly woman could handle easily.
     Four minutes. He checked his mail, which was piled on the coffee
table. Ads mostly, plus two bills (electric and phone), a credit card
notice telling him he'd paid off his last balance, and three letters
from old friends.
     Three minutes. He decided he wasn't dressed appropriately to
help clean up a grungy apartment, so he changed into a T-shirt,
cut-offs and beat-up tennis shoes. Because of the spicy meal, he also
brushed his teeth. He checked his appearance in the mirror there in
the bedroom. I look okay, he told himself, I look like someone
rested, ready, willing and able to help out, to do whatever she asks.
     He smiled at himself: I look like a glutton for punishment.
     But she already knows I am... and that's just fine.
     Two minutes. He headed for the front of his apartment, up the
steps and half way through the door--and paused, realizing suddenly
that something was missing and that for once he knew what it was: he
didn't have a house-warming gift for her.
     What, what...
     There was no time to think of a place to fly to--like Mexico
City's giant La Merced market--let alone what to get there--what did
she need?--negotiate a price, and get back in time.
     Wine? Yes, a bottle of wine was always a good gift, but he had
only two bottles in his rack and both were opened, one of them from
the Will Waldecker-interrupted evening. Had she known then? It didn't
matter--at least it certainly doesn't matter now, he told himself,
worry about that later.
     He glanced around the living room until he saw his traveling bag
still lying there on the couch. What... It had been one weight when
he had brought it down from his bedroom back on the farm, and then
hadn't it been a bit heavier upon his hastily retrieving it? Odd. Or
maybe not...
     He zipped down to the bag, opened it, and saw in it nestled in
among his T-shirts and folded socks a gift-wrapped package about the
size of three fists. Attached to it was a tag that said "Lois, happy
new apartment!" neatly penned in a fair imitation of his handwriting.
He raised his glasses, checked the contents--indeed, the contents
were from Sumatra--smiled and whispered, "Thanks, Mom!"
     Ten seconds later he was knocking on Lois's screen door. The
main door was now closed. This had to be in anticipation of his
arrival; it was nice that she seemed to depend on him to not cheat
and x-ray viewing everything first. It was more like Christmas that
way, and helping Lois feel she had things under control was no crime.
     The upper half of her door was made of divided glass panes,
clean now, but there was a new, heavy curtain on the other side. He
sensed her moving up to the door, then saw her ease the curtain back
minutely and peek out.
     He leaned forward, raised eyebrows and said quietly: "Krypton
calling..."
     Before he could see her reaction or she could see much of his
"friendly salesman" smile, the curtain snapped back into place. He
straightened up, calmed the smile lest he come across as overwhelming
or, worse, silly, and rocked back on his heels, turning a bit to
glance over the neighborhood. Lois's Jeep was gone, interesting. A
teenage girl waved as she sped by on a 10-speed; he nodded hello. At
the far end of the block there was a noisy group of kids heading
toward the park. Four doors down, Mrs. Bourget was sweeping her
porch, surreptitiously doing her part for the neighborhood watch. 
Two weeks earlier the trees had been only beginning to think of
turning yellow. Now most of them had put on at least half a final
coat of colors. Soon he would be able to collect more composting
materials. Life was good!
     Lois, I'll have to take you on a tour of the neighborhood. We
can take nice walks in the evening like Mom and Dad do around the
farm...
     She opened her door. He turned back. "Hi."
     "Look at you..." She leaned in the door frame, the door open
just enough to allow this, and looked him up and down.
     He hoped she liked what she saw. "I'm ready to work."
     She smiled a little, that was good. "I see that."
     She was dressed in similar clothing, in worn-looking jeans
(though "worn" possibly by design while his had been worked worn) and
an oversized shirt blouse with rolled up sleeves; it was half
unbuttoned, revealing a dark blue camisole. A blue bandanna covered
most of her hair, though a strand or two of bangs were slipping free.
Bangs?
     "Ah..." he said. It didn't look like she was willing to make the
move to let him in--and she darn well knew she looked that way. Maybe
she needed--or expected a bribe. He held up the package. "Welcome to
the neighborhood."
     "Oh?" She straightened, letting the main door go. It promptly
began a slow swing open, which must have irritated her, he thought.
She'd want it to stay put or, better, swing closed. Not in *this*
neighborhood. Surely she'd get used to it.
     When she didn't open the screen door, though, he said, "It's not
another shell *or* a shrunken head."
     "The shell was beautiful, but I don't ever want to see a
shrunken head unless Perry orders me to and I'll make *you* look
first." 
     "You think I'd want to?"
     "You wouldn't?"
     "No, I wouldn't, though I have seen a few in museums. So..." He
lifted the package a little more into view, "Do you want this?"
     "Yes! What a silly question..." She opened the screen door,
accepted the gift, glanced at the note--would she be fooled by the
handwriting? Had she seen his mother's before? He hoped not; he
decided to admit to the unintended deception at the first
opportunity.
     She smiled. "Do you know what's in it? Should I open it now?"
     "Of course I know what's in it! I bought it for *you*." That was
the truth; it just so happened he'd bought it some nine days earlier
so that she could wake up smelling it, but that hadn't worked. Things
were working now. "You can open it any time you want."
     "Okay, maybe when it's less dusty in here." She turned away to
her left, put the package down on something--he glanced and saw a
kitchen-type chair, then she turned back and opened the screen door
more widely this time. "Bribe--*house warming gift* accepted, thank
you. *Now* you can come in."
     He took the handle, pulled the door open the rest of the way and
entered. She stepped back, on to a landing that looked a lot like the
one in his apartment but more spacious. It even had a door to what he
assumed was a coat closet. She waved her hand, presenting the living
room. It was sunken as his was, but had easily twice the floor space.
The floor, where it wasn't covered by tarps and newspapers, was a
rich, dark brown wood of some kind. The walls were a combination of
matching wood, rusty red brick, and paintable surfaces here and
there. There was some furniture, sturdy chairs for standing on, and
her couch, which was covered but the shape gave it away.
     "Wow, this is big, a lot bigger than I thought. I glanced in a
few times before, when there was the odd noise, but all I saw was
boxes and old furniture, not this much space."
     "That's one reason I like it, the space. I mean, I might decide
to throw a party one day and this place has enough room for that."
     "Unlike my little place..."
     "But your little place is nice and cozy--you've even had some
oversized parties in it, so I like it, too," and she nodded to
reinforce the idea.
     "Thanks..."
     But he suddenly didn't want to talk about living space. There
was right now too little space between them to continue ignoring.
"And you have a smudge."
     "A smudge? Where?" She looked down at herself. "Oh, on my..."
She began to feel about her face, which wouldn't help matters as her
hands were dusty and paint stained.
     "Wait, hold it a minute, I'll get it."
     He steeled himself--this was daring beyond measure, some part of
him commented calmly--faced her, cupped her right cheek gently and
ran a soft thumb just under her eye, apparently "getting" an
otherwise nonexistent smudge. She closed her eyes for this, as he'd
hoped. He leaned forward and touched her lips with his. He felt her
smile and open her lips a bit, first for a pleased little laugh and
then to engage and encourage him. What's more, she pushed his hand
aside, slipped her arms up and around his neck, and pulled him even
closer. He embraced her tenderly and they indulged each other for
some unclocked amount of time.
     They parted somewhat when one of them needed another breath of
air and both took the chance to chuckle.
     Her scarf had slipped during the close hello process. He decided
to continue to be daring. "This is coming loose..." It would be
interesting to try to tie it back into place; he bet she'd let him.
     He eased the bandanna off her hair and blinked. She smiled when
he said, "You cut it!"
     "Yes! What do you think?" She pulled arm's length away, shook
head and ran her fingers through her hair to fluff it, turned like a
fashion model, and then looked him right in the eye, demanding an
honest opinion.
     "I like it," was the first thing that came to mind. "It's... not
green, it's feathery and it falls right into place and looks like
it's easy to take care of."
     "That's exactly it, Mr. Clark of Metropolis."
     "That's funny, I did briefly consider becoming a hairdresser..."
     "You didn't..."
     "Well, ballet lessons called louder, but football really
shouted."
     "And journalism..."
     "Hmm... whispered sweet nothings."
     She raised her eyebrows almost up under her bangs, the look
still a knowing one. "The most seductive call of all."
     "Absolutely. You know, while I miss the obvious now and then, I
don't think it wasn't cut like this on Wednesday."
     "No, I had it done Thursday morning, right before I went
shopping for supplies. It's the look of the new Lois Lane."
     "New? I hope the old one's not entirely gone..."
     "That old frump? This one is new and *improved.*"
     "But the old Lois wasn't a frump, she was sterling! Can you get
better than that?"
     "Of course I can--and you can, too! I mean, you're getting
*me*..."
     "I am?"
     "Eventually, if you're good. After all, I'm nearly perfect.
Still, there's always room for improvement in everyone, and I have
plenty of room now."
     "You sure do."
     "I'll share, Bandit."
     "Like I need improving, you..." he still hadn't thought up a
good nickname for her, now when he was desperate for one. "You frump,
you?"
     "Ah-ha!" She seemed to know *that* wouldn't stick. "Yes, that
tells me you need a *lot* of improving and I think we should start
working on you *soon*."
     "We'll talk about it." They'd talked too much already. "Let me
get a closer look at the new Lois Lane who isn't a frump any more."
     She smiled again and sashayed right up. "And I want a closer
look at you, too..." She took hold of the waist band of his cut offs
and he decided not to notice. "You know, I'm glad you weren't the
cable guy..." she purred.
     He raised an eyebrow. "Cable? In this neighborhood?"
     "I know, I know... I'm expecting a phony salesman to come along
and offer to put me on his list for a small fee."
     "He would be a phony, MetroCable is afraid to come out here."
     "Well, it's their loss because I'm thinking of getting a
satellite dish anyhow."
     "One of those little digital ones with a hundred channels? Those
look interesting."
     "Interesting if you like pabulum. No, I want a..." Her hands
inched closer to his snap and zipper but she kept looking at his
face. "...12-foot one like your... parents have and every descrambler
on the market so I can get all the feeds and all the news before it's
news..."
     "Ah, well..."
     He looked down. Her hands were betraying her apparent interest
in making some surprising personal news between them. She wasn't
working very hard at it though, giving him leeway, perhaps awaiting a
go-ahead signal.
     He appreciated that, and he dearly wanted to give it, but better
sense (he hoped it was better sense) won out and he unpried her hands
and eased back. "Wait, wait. You're not putting a 12-foot dish in
*my* garden." He pointed east in case she had conveniently forgotten
in which direction it was along with forgetting it was out there.
"I'd have no room for any garden then."
     "Surely--"
     "*Don't* call me Shirley."
     "Shut up. I'm going to put it on the *roof*," she pointed
upward, apparently in case *he* had forgotten where it was, "because
of the full southern exposure."
     "Oh. Well, that's okay, that makes more sense. I'll help you
make sure the roof can support it."
     "I'm sure you will because obviously you want access to all my
channels..."
     Good thing I've had some practice with this, he told himself.
"Oh, yeah? And whose channel are you trying to pull in now?"
     She grinned and took his waist band again. "Guess, Bandit!"
     "And if I guess right will you marry me... Sugar?"
     She almost made a face. "'Sugar'?"
     "Sugar's not good?"
     "Not for right now."
     "It's... not the equal of 'Bandit', is it?"
     "No, not nearly--but it's *nice*, and I don't want you to stop
trying because I think it's... sweet."
     "Ha... I just don't have a lot of experience in thinking up
nicknames."
     "That's okay, I don't mind you not having a good reason to until
now."
     "You're the first one I've really wanted to... do that for."
     Her eyes sparkled. "I'm glad about *that.*"
     "And I *will* think of something appropriate."
     "I know. Until then, you'll definitely get a smudge." Now she
trailed her hands up to reach for his face.
     He didn't move to stop her though he couldn't help but look
amused. "With those hands I won't be surprised..."
     She silenced him with her mouth and proceeded to take certain
no-less-than-PG-rated liberties for another indeterminate amount of
time.
     He swore he'd never go on vacation without her again.
     He heard something happen behind him but couldn't place what it
indicated and didn't much care anyhow.
     "Woo-woo! And I thought *Lois* was moving in fast!"
     Lois's left hand was raking through Clark's coiffeur and her
right was fooling with his glasses. She might pull them off and he
might let her, and then he might consider pulling something off of
her and she might let him...
     She put an immediate stop to all this. She let him go and
quickly composed herself with the skill of a well-rehearsed actress.
     It was just about all Clark could do to catch his breath.
     Lois looked around him as he turned toward the front door. She
said, "Hi, Jimmy, you got back quickly."
     "Yeah, well, it was only nails." He held up a brown bag that
Clark guessed weighed some exact amount like 14.75 ounces. Lois must
have sent Jimmy on the errand only minutes before three. "The House
Club was packed, even at this time of day," the young man complained,
"but the 10-items-or-less line was fast. I hope they're the right
kind," he said as he came down the steps.
     "I'm sure they are, what's a nail between friends? Just put them
over there." She waved in the direction of a paint-stained TV tray
upon which was a hammer, an assortment of screwdrivers, and a quarter
of a roll of colorful paper towels.
     Lois and Clark took advantage of their young friend's not
looking to cool their jets a bit more. Clark hooked his thumbs in his
pockets, glad he had pockets (which was one of the big problems with
the suit), and Lois retrieved her bandanna from the floor and retied
it into place. She winked at Clark.
     He realized suddenly that he was feeling and looking upset about
the interruption, but things weren't really *that* bad, were they?
No, not at all. He shook his head at himself and sighed. Lois noticed
this and smiled contagiously. Suddenly it was even okay that Jimmy
had inadvertently sneaked up on them. The story of what their friend
had witnessed would no doubt be buzzing through the newsroom by the
time he, Clark, returned from vacation, but that was okay, too. It
was beginning to look like there was a right time for certain things
to be known.
     "Did you have a good time way out in Kansas, CK?" Jimmy asked as
he approached again.
     "It was fine, but I'm glad to be back, too."
     "Yeah, I could see that when I walked in the door. All that...
farm stuff must be tough and lonely."
     "It's... certainly different from the city."
     "All work and no play, huh? I don't get out in the country much,
there are more girls here in the city anyway. You know what, Lois? I
bet *you're* glad CK's back, too, what with..." he winked broadly,
trying to hide it from Clark but not turning away quite enough,
"*Superman* hanging around here making a pest of himself..."
     "Jimmy, it's not that, you and I both know that he doesn't have
to prove to me that he's not gay..."
     Clark's jaw dropped, partly involuntarily. He recovered it
quickly to say, "Superman's *gay*?"
     Jimmy almost grinned, obviously pleased to be in on the tease
and that Clark was so easily fooled. He tried to look deadly serious.
"Well, that's what *I've* heard lately. It must be because," he
cuffed Clark on the shoulder, "he's got serious competition!"
     "There's no competition between us that I've heard about."
     "Well, he's heard about it, obviously. Good thing he's never
come on to me," Jimmy said and then he glanced sideways, uncertainly,
at Clark.
     "Don't look at *me*!"
     Jimmy inspected his grubby tennis shoes while trying to hide
that grin.
     "Boys, boys..."
     "Superman is as straight as they come," Clark said firmly.
     "As straight as... Mr. Rogers?" Lois asked sweetly.
     "Ah, well, I don't know, Mr. Rogers is an ordained minister..."
Clark wondered just how many times he was going to get caught in this
scenario. Probably until Lois got bored of it or was sure that
everyone had gotten the message, whatever that was, and thought of a
new game.
     "I see..."
     "Superman is probably straighter than God, actually," Jimmy
informed them. "He sure hasn't hesitated to kiss you plenty of times,
Lois--Superman, I mean, not God--"
     "God just asks for my advice."
     "And you charge for office calls."
     "You bet I do, He can afford it."
     "But *Superman* doesn't charge," Clark said quietly, hoping it
would carry more weight that way. "He does everything for free."
     Lois gave him a "and what did you intend to charge me for?"
look. Plumbing and carpentry work, he thought.
     She said, "So you're saying Superman's better than God?"
     "That's not what I said--"
     "Superman's better than me then?"
     "Well, now that you bring it up--"
     "Ah, hey, guys?" Jimmy jumped in to the rescue. "Lois? Hasn't it
ever felt like Superman wanted to... you know... do more than just
kiss you?"
     "I'm sure he has. I'm sure that even though he's an alien from
outer space he's just the same as any other guy."
     "Who falls for you as soon as he sees you," Jimmy smiled as
though he were a proud younger brother.
     "Well, what can I say?"
     "*But*," Clark inserted, "he has his duty and his... sacred
oaths and democracy to protect and justice to fight for and... and
all that."
     "Small children watch his every move," Lois supplied helpfully.
     "Exactly."
     "And teenagers see him as a role model," Jimmy nodded.
     "I hope so."
     "And older women lust after him," Lois added.
     They do? Oh, yeah, if what she'd said about Lucy's new friends
was any measure. "*Every* day." I should charge for that somehow
maybe, he thought. Murray would love it, he could figure out how to
collect the fees, and the proceeds could go to battered-women's
shelters... Nah, it probably wouldn't work. While he planned to see
Murray tomorrow morning--Clark had called in for the latest news on
Wednesday, agreed they needed to conduct some business, and set up a
meeting at the usual time and place--he knew he could never mention
the crazy idea. Anyhow, that kind of charity was already benefiting
from the Superman Foundation.
     "So it's an image thing," Jimmy guessed.
     "Yes--even though he's a shy kind of guy."
     "Shy, right," Lois nodded. "That's it exactly, as shy as they
come."
     "But he's been hanging out around here, huh?"
     "Well, you know how it is, homeless puppies always home in on
me..."
     "*I* still think he's jealous, CK," Jimmy said. "What with Lois
moving in right here *next to you*..."
     "Jealous? I don't know. He knows there's a housing shortage and
it's more likely that... Lois, did you con Superman into helping you
move?"
     "Me? Con anybody?"
     "You conned me."
     "You volunteered."
     "She definitely conned me, she *requisitioned* me--and the Chief
okayed it!" Jimmy shook his head.
     "You're taking a sick day--a mental health day. Be happy to get
out of that stuffy, chemical-laden dark room."
     "And into this dusty, paint-fume filled--"
     "*Well,* Superman better stop hanging around you, Lois. I won't
have him attracting bad guys--you already do enough of that for you
and him *and* me."
     "Yeah," Jimmy added. "And me, too. The paint-fumes probably
scare him though, since he's environmentally correct."
     "If they don't," she told Jimmy, "and he shows his face around
here again, Clark will kick his butt right back out the window."
     "Kicking him through the door will be easier, I just need
somebody to hold it open for me--"
     "You'd do that?" Jimmy's eyes widened in anticipation. "Kick his
butt?"
     "Just see if I don't, drop kicks are my specialty." Enough of
this. "Okay, Lois, do I get to see the rest of this wood-and-mud-daub
ivory palace or do I have to bribe you some more?"
     "Whoa!" Jimmy grinned. "And I don't have my camera...!"
     "You don't?" not a good idea for a news photographer.
     "Well, I have a little one in my gym bag." He pointed it out; it
was up on the landing near the coat-closet door. "I have fast film,
too. *One* of you will be moving fast..." as though he was sure just
who would really be drop kicked if a face-to-face challenge occurred.
     "Me, keep your eye on me, I kick fast. Lois, do I get a personal
tour or is it self guided?"
     It was a group tour. Not only did Jimmy tag along, but before
they got more than a few steps, there was a knock on the screen door.
It was Molly Flynn, come to help clean up and bringing a bribe as
well, a shoebox full of vegan carob chip cookies. Lois let her in and
passed the cookies around immediately, though Clark noticed she
didn't take one for herself.
     "Vegan?" she wondered during midpass, trying them out on her two
volunteers first.
     "No eggs," Molly said with a smile. "No chickens in any form
were sacrificed to please our unhealthy craving for refined sugar and
dead animal parts."
     Lois paused and looked at Clark. They grinned simultaneously.
Lois tried unsuccessfully to control it (Clark didn't), but she
didn't explain the reason behind their shared expressions, either.
Clark followed her lead and let their two friends wonder. How soon
would the description of this exchange become part of the Planet's
rumor tear sheet? Who cared? As long as she wanted to keep private
her second visit to Smallville in two months, he'd play along. It was
nicer playing on her team than against her or, worse, being the
football.
     Lois tried one of the cookies then, smiled, "These *are* good!"
and she held on to the box as she took her entourage around her new
apartment in the making.
     Clark and Molly ooh'ed and ahh'ed at all the right places. The
kitchen was a large area with a centered work space ("I'm planning on
become a gourmet chef," Lois claimed), and the major appliances,
while grimy, all worked. She had already tested the stove, she said,
boiling water for tea that morning ("Wow," Jimmy said, "Good
start!"). Clark almost applauded Lois's restraint in not giving the
young man a good slap; she must have been in a great mood.
     The water, she said, tasted a little... old, not as good as it
did in Clark's place or probably at Mrs. Wallace's since the old
woman still going strong. Lois had brought a special filter just in
case, and she wanted Clark to check out the plumbing structures if he
would, please. They looked older than Mrs. Wallace, frankly. Okay, he
said, no problem. He didn't mention that he thought he should check
for corroding pipes and heavy metal traces and the like, he'd just
sneak a check of that in.
     She continued, asking him if he also think of ways to improve
the look of the cabinets, if they should be stripped, sanded,
varnished and sealed, or it would be easier to just replace
everything. Okay, he nodded. She added that he should watch out for
spiders, too, she'd seen several... Gotcha, he said, plumbing,
carpentry and spiders.
     That earned him a smile. He was almost glad he didn't ask if she
wanted him to bake a cake, too.
     Jimmy quickly said he'd help, looking like he hoped to make up
for his wisecrack about boiling water, except he'd let Clark deal
with the spiders, that sounded like a farm-guy kind of thing.
     The door to the back squeaked a little; Lois said she had oil
for it somewhere, or Clark probably did. I do, he said.
     Molly thought the garden was precious. Jimmy wondered if the
satellite dish would squash the squash ("Is that squash?" "No, it's a
miniature tea rose bush") or if the shadow cast would make it dark
enough to grow mushrooms. Lois told them that no plants would suffer
to help fulfill her addiction to the news; the dish was going on the
roof. They all looked in that direction and she said she'd show them
that next.
     Inside again, she opened a door to reveal a staircase up, a
staircase down, and another door across a very short hall. "Roof up,
basement down, and Clark's apartment is over there."
     "Oh!" Molly and Jimmy said in unison.
     "The landlord's lost the key," Clark lied mildly.
     "Oh..."
     "But I can pick locks if necessary," Lois informed him.
     "Oh!"
     "It may not be necessary..." Clark told her.
     "Ohh!"
     Clark was sure their friends already knew Lois had a key to his
apartment. How many other keys she had was ripe for speculation.
     Lois said the staircases were only slightly unstable, but she
would show them all was well by going up first. Clark, the largest of
the quartet, trailed behind to catch anyone who might fall. He hardly
touched the steps as not to strain them, but at the same time didn't
detect any danger.
     Other than the second cinderblock utility room on the far south
end of the roof where the other stairs up to here exited, most of the
area that they surveyed when they arrived was frankly boring. The
flat surface was adorned only with pipes coming up from the kitchens
and bathrooms below and the tight wooden trap door one reached from
inside via the decorative spiral staircase in his own apartment (the
landlord had been proud of that for reasons Clark could not
understand).
     Lois pointed out that there was nothing at all to prevent a
satellite dish from being placed up here, plus maybe a barbecue and
some lawn-type furniture and maybe some plants in containers, too.
The surface and underlying structure looked sturdy, Clark thought
after a quick glance into it when his back was turned to the others.
He had once considered the planter idea, but had not had enough time
to try it. He and Lois together, that was a whole other story--a
nicer, longer, more detailed one. A novel, one of epic proportions
maybe.
     He wandered toward the south end. Just beyond the small utility
room, the view from up here was surprisingly good now that the taller
trees were losing their leaves. Even though this was only a tall,
one-story building, standing here one could enjoy a nice panorama of
much of the skyline of downtown Metropolis in this early evening's
light. What wasn't visible was hidden by a huge brick building that
advertised itself as "The L. Luthor Moving and Storage Co." It was
almost half a mile south of the neighborhood and beside the busy
cross-town expressway that headed away east.
     Clark heard Lois advise Molly and Jimmy to take it easy going
back down the stairs, that she would round up Clark, who looked like
he was daydreaming of the countryside again. He heard her tiptoeing
up behind him, heard her calm her breath and try not to make a sound.
This definitely wasn't the same as *knowing,* which needed more
testing.
     He didn't expect her to give up tiptoeing and say out loud,
"That's where I'm storing my furniture." She pointed at the big brick
building.
     "*There*?"
     "I know, I know, I'd rather store my things in a pile on the
street with a 'take me' sign on it, but then I would have had to move
everything myself." She shrugged. "Of course somebody else owns the
business now. I guess they can't afford to paint their name on the
building. It's a wonder they have any business at all when you think
about it."
     "I'd rather not think about Lex Luthor."
     "Me neither, but they're what my ex-landlords would pay for.
Maybe the new owners are their cousins or something."
     "Is there a story in that?"
     "In ordinary, run-of-the-mill nepotism? Not that I can see, not
unless... they lose my furniture or their building burns down, and
now that I've said that, it won't happen."
     "You're probably right."
     "I'm always right. I've asked them to deliver the rest of my
things tomorrow afternoon. I should be cleaned up enough by then.
Will you help me move Maxine and her kids back into their tank?"
     "Of course. That jar was a good idea."
     "Lucy found it. She plans to come over around five, so expect
her, too, and maybe some other people."
     "Lois Lane presents Metropolis Union Station, huh?"
     "Only for a little while and I'm going to be the perfect
hostess."
     "And you have the perfect excuse to direct the surging masses."
     "Yes. I think they also want to see your reaction to me
muscle-ing my way in here right next to you."
     He wondered briefly why she was worried about that, why she
needed reassurance. Was she having second thoughts? He hoped not.
"You're not muscle-ing, everybody has to be somewhere, and I'm glad
you chose to be here. Very glad."
     She smiled a little, caught. "Me, too... It seems like some
people have been pushing us and pushing us, even people we don't
know..."
     "I've felt that, too. I *want* this, but I don't like to be...
manipulated."
     "Exactly. Still, we've done it *our* way."
     "Your way mostly..."
     "No, *our* way."
     He just raised his eyebrows.
     She looked defensive. "All right, I pushed us a little--but
*you*," she pointed at him, "you *were* trying. If you hadn't been
and I hadn't realized it, maybe I wouldn't have pushed. I needed the
incentive, and you know how pushy I can be with the slightest
incentive."
     "You, pushy?"
     "Me, the original pushy woman--and you love it. We both want
this, that's our way."
     Why did that make sense? "All right, *our* way."
     She smiled, content. Our way, he thought, was her being content.
When she was content and squarely on his side, like now, it
invariably made him feel that life was just wonderful. He matched her
smile.
     She let her contented gaze drift south, as though resting from
the effort of straightening him out.
     He looked back that way as well. Kansas was far to the west of
here but he wasn't daydreaming of the countryside, he wasn't
daydreaming at all. Something occurred to him. He walked forward and
looked over this south edge of the building, into the alley that,
conveniently, Mrs. Wallace did not have a window onto. It wasn't
something a little old woman should be subjected to anyhow; let her
contemplate the calm container garden or watch kids playing on the
sidewalks in front of the apartment house.
     He recalled his mom pushing him off this roof about two years
earlier to try to help him remember he could fly. It hadn't worked,
he'd fallen into the dumpster. A sterling moment... that had dropped
him in the right place and time to remember everything when Lois had
happened along, searching for him so they could huddle together
against what looked like the impending end of the world. The
expression on her face...
     Now she came right up beside him, took his waist band (she
really liked doing that, didn't she?), and said, "Don't fall."
     "Not this time."
     She looked over, using him as an anchor now, saw what he was
looking at (the half-full dumpster), and smiled. "I remember that..."
     He put his arm over her shoulders. "Did Mom mention anything
about that?"
     "No, that's another thing to talk about." She withdrew from the
ledge and pulled him back with her. "And I do want to talk. I want to
spend hours and hours and hours just... communicating with you, like
we did back on the farm."
     He found both his arms around her. "Good, I really like to talk
to you."
     She snuggled. "If you missed me half as much as I missed you
this week..."
     "More, lots more, ten times more, and it got worse as it went
on. I'm glad we got to talk some, even if it was just..."
     "Our telephone bills will put us in the poor house."
     "As long as we're together..."
     "In a room--a cell by ourselves."
     "A little tiny cell."
     "With curtains."
     "Heavy, lead-lined curtains," he smiled, "just in case you-know-
who is hanging around."
     "Do you think he might be convinced to break us out and help us
hide?"
     "That boy scout?"
     "He's for truth and justice..." She frowned. "Except he might
help us hide in the wilderness, yech."
     "'Yech'?"
     "Bears and bugs and quicksand, yech."
     "Okay, no break out."
     "So if he bothers us, you'll kick his..."
     He nodded. "Leave it to me."
     "I will. This I'll leave to you, too."
     A kiss... until they heard something crash distantly, obviously
from down within Lois's apartment.
     "We can't leave them alone for a moment..."
     "Tonight we can have dinner together."
     "I don't know, I don't think so. I warned you, I have the
feeling it will get busy around here."
     "After that then."
     "Okay. Is it a... date?"
     "It's a rendezvous."
     "That sounds exotic."
     "We can be exotic," he smiled. He had, he realized, always
wanted to be exotic with someone and not all alone. "I want to take
you to exotic places."
     "As long as they're not in the wilderness."
     "Not even a little? Not even if I protect you from... wild
chickens?"
     She sighed. "We'll see how well you do first against the wilds
of one big-time messy apartment."
     "I'll do fine. Let's clean it up, fast."
     "No, not fast, carefully," and she took his hand and lead him
back to the stairs, not allowing him to straggle.
     She resumed the tour. Her new bedroom was large, which was easy
to see since there was no bed in it. "I was going to have it
delivered today but I decided on the couch instead," she explained.
"I can sleep on that tonight because I want to wash the woodwork and
paint this room, *then* move the bed in here."
     Everyone agreed that made incredible sense. The room had a big
skylight window that Lois said she was still thinking about how to
cover. Molly suggested hanging roll-up art over them. She further
marveled and Lois beamed about the palatial, walk-in clothes closet.
Jimmy and Clark shrugged at each other; closets were closets: stuff
things in them, close the door tight, push if you have to.
     The next room, her bathroom, had a large, old, practically mint
condition tub with claw feet. Lois said the landlord had apparently
not seen its value since he had stored old magazines in it. Jimmy had
never seen anything like it, though Clark had, in Nebraska in the
home of one of his father's aunts.
     Lois tapped his arm. The plumbing here should be looked at, too,
hmm?
     Sure thing.
     He began to wonder about this, if she was taking him just a
little bit for granted... but those thoughts fled when, in showing
them her basement (emphasis on the *her*), she took his hand again.
The landlord's junk had been removed from this area, but it hadn't
been cleaned. The place was dank, dark even with the bare 50-watt
light bulb turned on, and spiderwebby in the places that weren't deep
in shadow. The furnace that was big enough for all three of the
building's apartments seemed to loom dangerously, and its pipes and
vents were right out of a monster movie. Lois didn't step foot on the
floor and kept everyone behind her up on the staircase.
     The place gave her a little scare, he thought. Not a nice
thought since she was living right overhead. Molly and Jimmy were not
rushing to explore foreboding corners either. While he didn't feel
inclined at the moment to show them everything was just scary and
nothing more, it did look like an eventual job for... "I'll help
clean this place up," he assured her, assuming with some certainty
that was the real reason she had taken his hand.
     She squeezed. Right on. So much for moaning about being taken
for granted, he sighed at himself, if I keep volunteering for it. He
made it "worse" by adding, "I'll make sure the furnace still works,
too, what with winter coming..."
     She brightened. "It must work okay, or Mrs. Wallace and you
would have frozen before this in the winter."
     "Good point."
     Her upward rebound mood continued as she explained her idea of
turning the area into a rec room/guest room, maybe getting a
big-screen TV or a big freezer or a pool table or all of those
things, there was a lot of room for whatever she wanted. Jimmy voted
for the TV and the pool table for starters.
     She took them back up stairs and explained that she and Jimmy
had already started working on the living room. "We still have a lot
to do in here. You two," she nodded at Clark and Molly, "can help us
or pick your own room to start on."
     Molly chose to help in the living room, maybe they would get it
finished tonight, whatever Lois decided "finished" was. Clark said
he'd start investigating behind the scenes in the kitchen. Lois
turned up the radio a bit so Clark could listen if he wanted to even
if he were, as she put it, crammed under the sink. He thanked her
from the bottom of his heart. She smiled as though she knew she was
doing him a big favor.
     Jimmy wound up migrating between the two areas, helping wherever
he could and eventually settling down to watch and assist Clark. The
young man claimed he thought it was a good thing to know how to clean
out under sinks, turn water off and on, open up pipes and look in
them without fainting at the grunge people were drinking, decide what
new parts were needed, make lists, visit the Home Club for the
umpteenth time using Lois's Jeep, stand in line, get receipts for
Lois to turn over to the landlord, and then install the new parts,
like pipes and faucets, and the deluxe water filter she had bought
separately that didn't really fit but Lois absolutely insisted upon
having. "I need to learn to do all this in case I get married some
day," Jimmy said.
     "Marriage is more than this..." or, Clark didn't add, I hope it
is.
     "Well, I know it's more than dirty hands and... I mean, what if
I don't want to listen to women talk about..." he looked carefully in
the direction of the living room and then almost whispered, "curtains
and paint chips? I can say, 'Honey, I have to go change the washers
in the faucets in the sink.' That's a great excuse, huh? Better than
'I'm going out with the guys.' It'll be like building up credit and
she won't realize it."
     "She'll love you for it." Lois better love and credit me for
this...
     "So, in case I can't stay, is it the same for bathroom sinks?"
     "You're not going to stay so I can show you them, too?"
     "Ah, well... I guess I will, I don't want to run out of
excuses."
     As predicted, Lucy turned up about six. So did Laurie from work,
and even Perry dropped by briefly about 7, saying he'd try to come
again Saturday morning--was 10 all right?--and bring Alice, too,
because she wanted to see what Lois had in mind to do with her cozy
new bungalow.
     All three were pleased to see Clark again and asked him about
his vacation and life on the farm--and what he thought about Lois
moving in right next door, *of all things*... Clark was happy they
were pleased to see him, though none of them offered a hug or even a
hand shake since he was dirty from the kitchen work. He said he'd had
a good time on vacation. He added that Lois's eviction problem had
been a shocker but the bigger surprise was that she had chosen this
place to live. It really was something all right.
     They looked like they saw right through this mild mannered
reaction and no doubt suspected Lois had more plans than that up her
blue plaid sleeve.
     At about 7, Jimmy discretely mentioned that he was starving to
death even though the little loaf of brick-heavy banana bread that
Angela had just turned up with looked delicious (it also looked like
*dessert*, he said).
     Everyone agreed that a break for dinner was long overdue since
most of the snacks had run out. They started to wash up,
complementing Clark and Jimmy on the new faucets in the kitchen
except they should clean up the mess, please, and not leave the tools
lying about even if they were Clark's and he could do what he wanted
with them. He and Jimmy shrugged at each other. Clark noticed that
the area smelled a bit of the work of changing out old plumbing, too,
but the odor of cleaning solvents and paint overwhelmed that for less
sensitive noses.
     As for a meal they could share, since no one wanted to worry
about appearances, were there any good restaurants in this
neighborhood that offered order-out? Clark suggested several places
and provided menus for them, which he retrieved from where he kept a
stash of them stored in his kitchen behind the bread box. A consensus
was obtained and Lois used her cell phone to call in an order for
pizzas.
     The pizzas, salad and cheese cake arrived just before eight.
Lucy said she bet they'd smell good if the apartment didn't smell
like paint. Clark went back to his place and got his fan, installing
it in a kitchen window and pointing it outward to help encourage
fresh air to enter the front of the house. "It cleared out the
gasoline fumes," he reminded Lois when she looked skeptical. While he
did this, tables were made out of the unopened boxes dotting Lois's
front room and he returned to be ordered to sit on a folded up
blanket and not on the hard, dusty floor. He didn't argue.
     Lois said she had some paper plates and plastic utensils around
here somewhere... Clark went back to his apartment and rounded up
enough real, recyclable dinnerware for everyone to use. Lois was,
however, able to provide napkins and supervision of the distribution
of the food she had paid for in thanks for their help. She ordered
him to sit down again and *not* to get up, he'd done enough, then
checked the radio for some dinner-eating-with-friends-in-her-new-
apartment music. She settled on light classical.
     The food was good. The friends were surprised that any place in
this neighborhood, with it's "iffy" (they said politely) reputation
could offer such a feast. They should have ordered more. "I'll order
more," Lois said, "but I'll expect another six hours' work out of
you..." Jimmy and Lucy groaned, but Lois ignored them and looked at
Clark.
     Did she expect him to groan, too? Nope, he was in it for the
long haul. "Greek food next time? Nick's has great food."
     "'Nick's'?"
     "Actually, his daughter runs the place now, but her name is
Susan."
     "That doesn't sound Greek."
     "So? I'll take a humus plate with an extra order of dolmas for
lunch tomorrow in trade for cleaning up the basement."
     "You're on."
     The others asked for lunches from restaurants serving Mexican,
Japanese and a Big-Bite Wheeler-Dealer Meals (they stared at Jimmy;
he shrugged "Hey, I'm still a *kid*!") for tackling various parts of
the rest of the apartment until Lois complained that she should have
been taking notes. "I'll remember," Clark smiled at her. She gave him
a narrow look.
     The conversation turned to what people had done at work that day
until Lois warned Laurie, Jimmy and Angela, "No details about the
Planet! Clark's still on vacation!"
     "What? What's been happening? Did Mr. Stern give everyone
raises? Was I volunteered to chair the Christmas Party committee
again? Did the Kyle Griffin escape again and trick everyone in
Accounting into thinking they'd been turned into bud vases while he
looted our pension funds?"
     "No, no, no..."
     "Gaw, CK, that vacation really warped you!"
     Clark smiled, nodded at Jimmy and finished off his first piece
of pizza.
     "Not the *Christmas Party* committee..." Laurie said, a warning
in her voice. Lois cut her short with a sharp look. Laurie had to
choke back any further words; she covered her mouth but smiled
anyhow.
     "We're going to talk about the *weather* now," Lois informed
them sternly, just as the music on the radio, a cheerful piece by
Vivaldi, lead into a brief rundown of the news highlights, which
everyone automatically quieted to listen to.
     Dateline, central Africa, West Bougainvillea: UN troops were
being overrun and some held hostage in a brazen attempt by a small
disgruntled faction in the multistate war to break the truce the UN
and Superman had engineered several weeks before. In Washington, the 
House banking pension loan scandal daycare continued unabated...
     Molly shook her head. "Some people just like to argue. In
Africa, in Europe, here in this country. It's bad karma all the way
around..."
     "And it's so stupid!" Laurie said. "You'd think with the rains
they've been having over there recently everyone would be insanely
happy..."
     The two women nodded at each other, sisters at heart. Lois just
shook her head, probably because it sounded like business as usual in
the vast scope of human existence.
     Clark wished it weren't so. Bad karma was right, he sighed to
himself as he felt a rain-wet blanket being figuratively thrown over
any chance of talking with Lois this evening.
     Then he pulled himself up short. No, he told himself sternly,
that's wrong: there's no reason to think I'm paying off bad karma,
not considering all these great things that have happened recently.
This is just one of those things.
     "I'm sure Superman's on the way to help them out," Lucy said.
"In Africa, I mean, not Washington. No one can help them."
     "He's always there to help when you need him," Jimmy nodded
firmly and then smiled at Angela. "*Always*."
     Angela looked impressed at Jimmy's certainty. No doubt he had
regaled her with stories of his interactions with the famous fellow.
     Maybe it was a good thing, Clark thought, that he hadn't yet
come up with a casual way to suggest that Lois and he find somewhere
quiet so they could simply chat and enjoy each other's company for a
while. It would be a lot easier to think of an excuse to make an exit
alone since obviously he should check out this latest turn in events
half a world away.
     He looked at Lois.
     But she was already trying to catch his eye. "Clark, did you
ever call your folks and tell them you got home safely?"
     Huh?
     She gave him a raised eyebrow: answer me, it's a perfectly
reasonable question.
     Even more reasonable considering all that she knew. He almost
laughed, recalling his speculation of the night before. He wanted to
shout: I can play this!
     Part of the game was showing great restraint such that it was
obvious only to the other player. "Ah, no, I forgot. I was too busy
thinking about helping you..."
     As hoped, everyone smiled. Again they were exactly right in what
they thought about what was going on, they just had no idea of the
depth...
     "Well, I know how your mother likes to chat..."
     She did? How often had she and mom "chatted" since Lois had
found out? Later...
     "Right, I'll probably be on the phone a long time. She'll want
to tell me all the latest Smallville gossip." He rose from his
comfortable place on the floor, looked around, saw a box that was
lined with a heavy-duty plastic trash bag and tossed his napkin into
it. One piece of pizza and half a can of soda was all he'd managed.
It would do. But would even a long phone call cover the time he'd
need to be away? "You know, I think I'll take a shower and get
cleaned up, too."
     The friends began to take stock of their own appearances and
plan to do the same thing. Clark could see the evening begin to wind
down. He hoped he wasn't the reason, that he'd simply been the
catalyst and that Lois had foreseen this possibility. While the
evening had taken on something of a party air, what had preceded it
had been hard work and people were tired.
     Lois stood up, too. "Well, don't *everyone* go away because I
can't eat all this food by myself. I expect you all to have seconds
and thirds. And you," she pointed at Clark, "wait up, I'll see you to
your door."
     Friends exchanged glances, stayed put, took seconds, smiled at
each other again, and made no move to hinder either Lois or Clark in
their quest for a moment's privacy.
     They left by way of her back door and, once out of sight, rushed
into his kitchen, and closed the door behind them. He turned on a
light and immediately told her, "I'm glad you came, but I can't stay
and chat and I really wanted to."
     "I know, I did, too, but if I didn't come, I'd miss seeing you
change. It occurred to me last Sunday evening that I haven't seen
that yet--"
     "So that's not how you found out."
     She blinked, thought a moment, and said, "That's right. I think
you're more careful than that."
     "I try."
     "You're successful--but not tonight. I want to see it because
it's been bugging me all week."
     "You should have said something."
     "You would have come and done it?"
     "Sure, it's easy."
     "Then I should have said something. If you had flown in, I could
have seen you change from Superman to you for the first time. I would
have preferred that, but I can settle for it being this way." She
leaned back against the counter to the right of the sink, folded her
arms under her breasts, and said, "So," she unfolded an arm and waved
a hand in an encouraging manner, "go ahead. What do you do first?"
     She was just standing there prepared to simply watch? And she
would have preferred it the other way around, to see him shuck
Superman to become himself?
     That meant a lot!
     Ah... "There's no 'first'... Well, there is something first." He
went into his living room, turned on the radio low and then a light
near one window but made sure that window's curtain was drawn closed.
     "To make it look like you'll be here," she said as he returned.
     "Exactly."
     "I'll turn them off later, if you're away past... ten, okay?"
     He paused. The game was bigger than he'd imagined. "That would
be great, thanks. I don't want to be gone that long, but..."
     "Hey, it's Africa, that's far away and it's a war. Okay, so
*now* what do you do first?"
     "Nothing in particular, I just... do it."
     "Oh? All at once?" There was the hint of normal Lois Lane
skepticism in her voice, and hearing that pleased him for some
reason. "So everything is first?"
     "Right."
     "It can't be very complicated then..."
     "It isn't. Well, one thing about it is complicated, and I can't
really explain it. It's the hyperspace part. You remember me
mentioning that before..."
     "You think your ship traveled through it."
     "Right. Now I keep my clothes there--in hyperspace, not the
ship, unless I'm sure I'm going to be home or on the farm, then I
keep my clothes in the closet."
     "Uh-huh..." now pull my other leg...
     Not her leg... "It works like this..." He reached into
hyperspace and pulled out the suit and cape, which earlier in the
afternoon he had folded neatly around the boots and then fixed the
belt around that. He had never lost this bundle of clothing "forward
in time." This was probably because clothing was the easiest thing to
think about (he had to wear it) and thus keep track of. On the other
hand, sometimes small things like a pen or spare change might get
stuffed into a pocket that happened to wind up on the outside of a
bundle of regular clothes; these things had been known to fall out
and wind up some time that he couldn't find them. He figured someone
occasionally received an unexpected windfall that way. Never had
never lost his glasses though. Odd how all that worked out.
     He noticed his arm and hand blurred a bit with the speed, a
sight he had gotten used to and usually ignored now. But he never
lost feeling, one of the things that he had feared at first when
experimenting with the idea. His fingers usually tingled a bit when
they touched whatever he put forward, but other than that the process
didn't feel unpleasant or dangerous.
     Lois's jaw dropped momentarily.  "Huh? What was *that?*"
     "It was... I guess I shouldn't have said 'it works like this'
because I don't know how it works, I just know how to take advantage
of it. I don't think even Star Labs could explain it if I had time to
describe it to them, but I don't. They'd probably want to keep me for
a week to write equations and I'm no scientist."
     "If you could explain it..."
     "It's got to do with hyperdimensional physics and statistics,
that much I'm sure of."
     "As in lies, damn lies and...?"
     "Sort of. Oh, and add a dose wish fulfillment, too."
     "Wish fulfillment I know about lately, but the rest... I'll let
it pass, you're in a hurry. Now what do you do?"
     He looked at the bundle and then back at her, hefting it a bit.
"I put these things on."
     "Oh--Oh! Do you want me to...?" She made a circular motion with
her hand: turn around?
     "Well, I have always wanted to show you this, maybe as much as
you've wanted to see it, I just thought we'd have more time..." Then
it occurred to him that saying "show you this" could apply equally
well to a bedroom-type activities and the changing clothes meaning
out of them and into nothing.
     She said, "We'll have more time, we'll both see to it."
     "Yes. We will, I *want* to..."
     She nodded, she knew, she straightened.  "I'll just..." and she
began to turn.
     "You don't necessarily have to do that..."
     He could almost see the Oh? on her face. As she turned back,
clearly curious, he put his glasses on the kitchen island work area
and took a glance through the wall and into her apartment. He saw no
one at all on the other side trying to overhear their conversation.
He and Lois had been talking quietly and the fan in Lois's window
made a racket, so there was no danger from that direction, and no one
was in the dark courtyard garden. He was pleased that everyone had
granted them this privacy.
     As Lois was passing the half-way point in her turn back, he
removed his regular clothes and tossed them over the stool that he'd
sat on weeks earlier while watching her start to make cookies. Then
he pulled on the suit and boots, fitted the cape into place using the
discretely hidden Velcro strips, and came to a passive, arms-folded,
Superman-type pose before her.
     All this took nearly 2 seconds and only because he slowed down a
bit.
     Her eyes widened, and she fell back against the counter, her
hand covering her heart, astonishment undisguised on her face. "Wow!"
     He both reveled in her reaction--she was smiling a little now,
too, as though it had been a marvelous trick--and feared for her
because of it: her smile had a tenuous edge to it. He wanted to
surprise her pleasantly, not make her nervous. "You see," he said as
offhandedly as he could, "you didn't have to turn."
     "I only had to blink!"
     "Well, yes."
     "And your hair even goes back--it had to be the friction."
     "That mostly, and this." He ran his fingers through it once,
briefly, and it stayed back like usual but not so painted-on looking
like it could appear at times like this.
     "And your other clothes..." but as she looked around she saw
them.
     "I usually fold them up and put them where I keep the suit."
     "In..."
     "Hyperspace."
     "Oh, of course. So you don't wear the suit under your clothes."
     "Are you kidding? Actually, I did for a while, in the winter,
when I'd be naturally wearing bulkier clothes anyhow, but where do I
put the boots?"
     "Beats me..."
     "Exactly. I used to try to hide my clothes. For a day or two I
used a gym bag, then I tried a brief case so things would get less
wrinkled. Neither of those ideas worked very well. I'd put my street
clothes in there when I needed to put the suit on, then I'd put the
bag or the brief case on a roof or some place else hard to reach--"
     "I remember that briefcase! I thought it was a... an
affectation. You know, country boy trying to look like a city
businessman..."
     He could remember her skeptical expression. "That's another
reason I gave that up, but the main one was I was always afraid the
bag or the briefcase would fall off the roof in a gust of wind or
someone would find where I had hidden it, and I'd never get my things
back."
     She smiled sympathetically. Yes, Superman had mundane problems,
too, lots of them, just like everyone else...
     "I thought someone *had* stolen it when you stopped using it but
I didn't want to say anything. I just thought it was funny..." she
hesitated but too late, she was committed, "that the big city had,
well, taught you a lesson..."
     "In a way you were right."
     She looked uncomfortable. The old Lois had entertained those
snide thoughts. The new and improved one... he hoped she would have
thought something similar, too, but in addition have tried to help
him out. There were, after all, times when a healthy sense of
skepticism came in handy, he knew that. His "problem" was that he was
generally a happy fellow and had never quite figured out how to
develop a cynical attitude that would last for any useful period of
time. Early on such a thing might have kept him out of the numerous
traps he optimistically blundered into... Then again, he wouldn't
have been the fellow he was today, either.
     She collected herself quickly and said, "So, okay, you save time
and worry by keeping the suit in..."
     "Hyperspace."
     "Hyperspace, I've got that now, it's all clear."
     "I'm glad." Her naturally falling into asking questions
indicated to him that she was recovering from the surprise.
     "And the friction doesn't burn your clothes at all?"
     "It did at first. After I thought up the idea and realized I had
to move fast, it took me a weekend of hard practice, mostly back on
the farm out in a field, to get the hang of it. Then I moved inside
and practiced in tighter spaces."
     She smiled slyly. "Did any one just *happen* to videotape any of
this?"
     "Mom did--"
     "Oh, good!"
     Wait a minute, this was *not* something she was going to sink
her pearly white teeth into, not if he could help it. He looked
downright silly on quite a bit of that tape. "Good for our great,
great, grandchildren--maybe," he said sternly, "and *not* before
that."
     "Ha!"
     "Ha nothing--"
     "Did you accidently..." she twirled her right index finger,
"into Martha's clothes maybe?"
     "No! She's too small anyhow--"
     "Jonathan's then!"
     "No! There's something more important about all this..." Like
what? *Anything* was more important, like...
     "Yes?"
     "What's more important is... I want you to know I can go
slower."
     "Slower?"
     "Lots slower." He nodded, hoping she would catch on. "Lots and
lots slower..."
     She caught on. "I see, except you conveniently don't have time
to show me--and I'm not blaming you, it's Africa, that will happen."
     "I'll show you sometime, *after* you..." he rolled his hand,
sure she could read it saying "stop the silliness and accept my
proposal."
     She said in the same tone of voice "After *you*..." and her own
hand replied: "stop acting like a frightened rabbit and show me your
stuff."
     Like that would be anytime soon. "Right," he said.
     Like, her expression said, she knew when that would be. "Right."
     "I think we understand each other."
     "Perfectly. I see no impasse at all."
     "None whatsoever." And I'm standing here, he thought,
Superfellow, saying all this with a straight face.
     "Except I do see that you better go fast now. Africa is far, far
away..."
     "Oh, yeah..." He had to watch out; such conversations could
become convoluted and distract him from important jobs. He doubted
that getting off a few minutes late would make much difference in
this case though, considering all the time it had probably taken for
the news to reach the media. He stepped forward, to her left, and
reached for the door.
     She watched him, frowned, and said: "Wait!"
     "Wait? Why?--Oh, it's safe, I go this way all the time. Everyone
in your place is either in the living room or the bathroom, I hope
they stay longer and you have some fun. Mrs. Wallace, she usually
watches TV..." He pictured the old woman; he remembered what night it
was. "Darn! I forgot the X-Files is on and it's not a rerun and I
didn't set my machine!"
     "Clark..."
     "Well, my folks will get it, they always do. They met those two
once, did you know that? I met them then, too."
     "Clark?"
     "It was on the farm. I'll tell you about it some time. But," he
smiled, "I can borrow their tape, no problem."
     "Clark!"
     "What?"
     She grabbed his belt. She had that look in her eyes. "Kiss me,
you fool!"
     She had called him "Clark" *and* "fool," both despite the fact
that he was wearing the suit! He forgot the XFiles, grinned at her
orders, and gladly gave her what she demanded. She didn't mess with
his coiffure.
     In a few moments she pushed him away. "Now go, Bandit."
     "Yes, ma'am... Tiger." 
     "No."
     "Not Tiger? But it's perfect!"
     "Yes--and it's trite, too."
     "Oh."
     "Neither of us is trite, Clark. You'll think of something, I
have faith in you."
     "Then I better not try 'Pumpkin' next."
     "That's right."
     Before she could say "Go!" he stopped hesitating, stepped out
quietly and flew away, forcibly setting his mind on his destination
and the unpleasant job ahead. Within 20 minutes he was cloistered
with the UN forces commander for the area, being told the latest
news. They worked up a quick plan, and he proceeded to rescue the
entrapped UN soldiers, round up the hostage takers and turn them over
to local authorities, destroy ammunition and bunkers, restore the UN
flag, and generally help everyone in that corner of West
Bougainvillea feel better about life again.
     But he frequently visited that gratified little corner of his
mind in which he had stored the look of Lois's new short hair cut and
how it framed her face; the way her brown eyes had reflected her
surprise and then a touch of thrill--with no fear at all!--at
witnessing him change so fast; the scent of the basil, olive oil and
mozzarella on her breath... and perhaps most pleasantly, the husky
insistence in her voice upon calling him a fool and demanding that he
succumb to their baser instincts for just a moment...

                                 ***

     He returned home some four and a half hours later. The task had
taken that long because of UN protocols, the desire of the relieved
citizenry to see him, and his effort to help them refocus on the UN
troops but even more on themselves. After all, they were ultimately
responsible for grasping hold of their own lives, keeping the peace
and seeing that the dictates of the truce were carried out.
     He wished briefly that someone could have carried him out.
     He was tired. An hour earlier the realization had finally dawned
on him that he had just spent an incredibly long day, maybe one of
the longest of his life. Fortunately it hadn't been filled with
serious events. "Serious" could describe the longer time period after
his first painful, draining exposure to Kryptonite. Some good had
come during those 36 hours, like experiencing pure humanness (a
character builder, he'd told himself afterward) and being a regular
guy for a warming-up Lois. The warming up hadn't lasted due to
Luthor's unrelenting amorous attentions, but things had been good for
a while. If he wanted to dwell on a miserable experience, Clark told
himself, look at the night and most of the day he'd spent trapped in
Luthor's kryptonite cage before Lois had nearly married the villain.
     In comparison, life over the last nearly almost 24 hours had
been at least 90 percent terrific. Five percent of the day was
nonwonderful because it happened while he was in the suit, cleaning
up messes. Upon his arrival in West Bougainvillea, he was told that
the standoff with the dissident army had started several hours
earlier when they had ambushed a bus, killing two UN soldiers and
several citizens. Bad news, but at least his dallying with Lois
hadn't affected anything. Too, he couldn't save everyone, he realized
that now and he tried not to let such things bother him.
     The other five percent of the day that was not terrific in
contrast then didn't look so bad. Yes, he'd had to work on all that
kitchen plumbing and the bathroom was yet to be touched and he'd
promised to tackle the basement. He'd had to stand in line for twenty
minutes at the Home Club, twice, and pay for things with his own
money since, despite her insistence that it was easy, he had refused
to try to pass himself off as Lois and use her picture ID credit
card. Then he had spent another twenty minutes total trying to get
into and out of the megastore's parking lot traffic jam, no flying
allowed.
     But this time had given him plenty of chances to chat with Jimmy
about sports and how they had both lost money in the last pool they
had mutually participated in at work. He also caught up with the
latest about Jimmy's love life (Angela was still number one), which
led to being able to weasel out of the young man important office
gossip and news. This way Clark discovered that, not being there to
nominate someone else, he had been volunteered to coordinate the
Thanksgiving potluck. It could have been worse: the logistics of
preparing for last year's Christmas Party had been a nightmare.
Everyone wanted either to bring chocolate cake or dinner rolls and
many didn't agree with the concept of first signed up-first choose
what to bring. Not enough people had wanted to help with decorations
but everyone wanted to sing Christmas carols, just not the same ones
at the same time. And every villain in Metropolis and the surrounding
countryside had entertained no good cheer toward anyone, so Superman
had been extra busy.
     Thanksgiving, fortunately, wasn't so big and he'd already put in
for and been guaranteed the Friday after it as a vacation day. It
would probably work out because guess who wasn't getting out of
helping him come November? Nothing short of a case of the plague was
would exempt Lois Lane from seeing herself drafted as his assistant.
There was a price to be paid for what that devious woman knew now...
     Putting all that into proper perspective, though, the remaining
90 percent of the day had been just about as perfect as a day could
be.
     So why did he feel exhausted--*pleasantly* exhausted, yes, but
exhausted nonetheless?
     He had no idea, but there was one obvious remedy.
     It didn't seem to include kissing Lois goodnight. Her apartment
was dark. She was definitely in there, he was sure of it. She was in
the front room, he thought, sleeping on the couch. He could almost
hear her breathing but mostly relied on it being logical (the couch
was the only bed available in her place) and also that he didn't feel
that she was having any problems.
     Her back windows were still open, but the smell of paint and
cleaning solvents was much decreased, probably because no one was
painting or cleaning at 1:15 a.m. Add to that a pleasant breeze off
the ocean out of the east. He'd forgotten how nice that could smell
here in the city.
     He be