Author's Note: The following story reflects my opinion on what
could happen between the two major characters on ABC/Warner Bros.
TV program *Lois and Clark, the New Adventures of Superman.* Those
corporate entities hold all the rights to all the characters and
some of the ideas and previous plot lines mentioned below. I'm
responsible for all the rest. Also, it does not reflect the comics,
and it was written before TOGOM. debby@swcp.com

Dawning,  or Cooking with Clark
by Debby Stark


     As she surveyed the wreckage of eastside downtown Metropolis,
Lois looked up the way to describe her overall feelings in her
mental thesaurus. The best match was "exhilarated." While Superman
fought the Slime Monster over the city for hours, trying every
trick in the book, she had been everywhere, too, interviewing
police officers, directing traffic, stalking government officials,
reuniting lost children with their parents, and generally having
the time of her journalistic life. As the Slime Monster drew it's
last gasps, and, heaven's knew, the Big Guy had tried to convince
it to leave peaceably, Lois was also ready for a breather. She had
written and rewritten her stories a dozen times, each time liking
them more, each version a step closer to a Pulitzer. Yes, as dusk
dropped over what was left of Metropolis, her world looked bright.
It was time to get some *real* work done.
     "Oh, Lois! There you are!"
     And wasn't it time for bed for some people? "Oh, hey, Jimmy,
you still here?"
     "Sure I am! My friends think I'm nuts but I'm staying right on
the job! And guess what? I used up the rest my roll of film! Do you
think the Chief will let me have another?"
     "If you remembered to take the lens cap off this time..."
     The young man smiled brightly. "I sure did! I made a note to
myself about that. I wrote it here on my wrist..."
     "That's good," she said, not glancing at the scribble he had
pulled back his left sleeve to show her. Instead she looked away
for something, anything to rescue her from the cub photographer.
Then she spotted it, or rather him, trudging toward them from
behind a pile of buses. "Clark! Oh, Clark!" She waved and began to
jog toward him to meet him half way. "There you are! Where have you
been?"
     "Oh, here and there," her partner said has he approached.
     She noted that his usually confident, easy gait was missing,
and, "What's that in your hair? It's looks sort of..."
     He touched his head and looked at his fingers. He didn't seem
surprised, just tired. "I guess I got a little closer to the Slime
thing than I meant to..."
     "Well, I hope you got close enough to get some copy. I don't
remember seeing you at all..." and she had been concerned: she
didn't want to deal with loosing her partner, say, under a fallen
building.
     He looked up from his fingers, which he absently wiped on his
jacket. "I was down at the waterfront mostly, to see if the thing
might dive in there and, I don't know, invade the sewers or
something."
     "Yecch. But that was a good idea, that thing was everywhere."
     "Almost too many places. And, ah, I got a brief interview with
Superman."
     Lois's eyes popped. "*I* called out after him several times
and he flew off to see *you?*"
     Clark almost looked hurt. "Sure, why shouldn't he? I know him,
too, remember? You already - he told me you'd already collared the
Fire Chief, the Chief of Police, the Mayor,"
     "Well, yeah,"
     "*And* Peter Jennings and Julia Roberts."
     "Okay, okay," she held up her hands to ward off any more names
of the celebrities she had collared.  "I'll concede you Superman
this once. I hope you got it on tape."
     "Nah, it's all in here," and he tapped his temple.
     She preferred tape, but after all Perry had come to accept
Clark's apparent photographic memory and she'd depended on it more
than once during their partnership. "Well, okay, I guess that will
have to do." She wouldn't have minded hearing Superman's voice, his
manly tones against Clark's investigative pokes and prods, but she
told herself she could live another day without that. She took a
deep breath and looked around at the dust settling. "Unless you can
think of something, I'd say there's nothing else here for us to do.
Let's go get this story ready for the morning edition!"
     "Uh?"
     He thought they were through for the day? "Or I could also
drop you off at your place so you can wash up and, um, get some
rest... I'll just go in and write up a few sentences about what
happened today..."
     As hoped, that livened him up immediately. "No way, Jose!
You're not the only one at the Planet who can write! I can wash up
at work. Lead on, McDuff!"
     "That's the spirit!" and she clapped him on the arm, noted
that his clothing felt a little... slimy, and decided to say
nothing about it because surely he could feel the creepiness of it,
poor guy. No, the high mood had to be sustained. "Let's go!" and
they headed toward her car.
     Jimmy, who had been watching their conversation with
fascination, tagged along. "Hey, Clark! Guess what?"
     Clark looked back, as though just noticing who was following
them. "Oh, I don't know, Jimmy, remember the batteries for your
flash this time?"
     "Flash?"

                                ***

     They worked their way through the littered streets, abandoning
her car within blocks of the Planet and arriving to find that
although the building had sustained little damage, the power was
out here as it was for most of the city, and building maintenance
was having trouble with the backup systems.
     "Okay, folks!" Perry announced to his gathered staff. "We're
going to do this the old fashioned way! You've all heard of it
before: pen and paper! We'll break out the same old typewriters we
used a few years ago, too, if anyone wants them. When the computers
are up, you can transfer your work to them, and if they don't come
up, we're all learning typesetting from Jimmy," (who, Lois saw,
looked startled at the prospect; he must have washed the arm where
the notes about all that were written...) "Now, get to work!" Perry
turned away toward his office and then turned back, "Oh, and since
there's no air conditioning, I'm suspending the dress code."
     "Now we have no excuse..." someone muttered to Perry's back.
     "Right," the editor said. Lois, who was already kicking off
her shoes, had come to the conclusion long ago that the man could
hear everything related to the Planet and its staff, regardless of
where he was in the building. "And if we don't have power by 11,
we're all taking turns on the treadmill."
     More groans, because he might just mean it. And they'd have to
tread to Elvis music, too.
     Clark returned from the showers. Lois noted he was wearing a
T-shirt, shorts, and sloppy tennis shoes. She raised an eyebrow
(though she was fairly certain Perry's comments had been relayed
back to the restrooms) and he shrugged: "It's all I had in my
locker, my basketball clothes, but at least they're clean."
     "Actually, you look... nice," Actually, quite nice, but she
couldn't let her praise go to his head; it might keep him from his
stories, so she added, "and comfortable, too," as though she might
have said it in the same way to anyone.
     "Oh, thanks," as though he might not have minded a little more
of an interested attitude out of her.
     But she couldn't imagine him having dressed this way with that
in mind. Clark was too mild mannered for that. He'd be thinking of
other things as he dressed, so she asked "How's the water
pressure?"
     "Not good and what there is of it isn't hot. Do you have your
water?"
     "A full bottle right here. Want a drink?"
     "Nah, tap water's fine for me. I just need some clean
paper..." and he started to root through the stacks of material on
his desk.
     "Ah, Clark?"
     Clark straightened, caught a pile of research that was about
the topple off his desk, and saw that their editor was walking
toward them, a concerned look on his face. Perry looked him up and
down and waved his hand vaguely.
     "I got slimed, Chief. These are the only clothes I have here,
unless you want me to go home and change..."
     What was there about Clark's voice that made Lois think he
wished Perry would send him packing?
     "No, no, we need you here. Just don't make a habit of it.
You'll get all these women giggling and I won't get a page of work
out of them."
     "Oh, okay..."
Perry glanced at Lois's desk, noting the can full of pens and
pencils and the yellow pads of lined paper. He nodded and said
nothing more, heading deeper into the newsroom, obviously putting
the clothing incident in its proper place in the file cabinet of
the universe. Clark looked at Lois, only to see her shake her head
and smile. Why, she thought, was Clark always so surprised about
such things? He was too serious sometimes, and she wouldn't have
been surprised if he was worried now that he'd have some
deleterious effect on the work flow. "I won't giggle, Clark, we're
just too busy. Here's some paper." She handed him one of the pads.
     "Thanks. How'd you find this on your desk? It's in worse shape
than mine."
     "This is in perfect order, I know where everything is, *and* I
keep things stashed away for a rainy day. Or a slimy one.  Someday
you'll learn to do that, too. The only thing I don't have is
today's sunspot report from the Metropolis Observatory..."
     As the news room settled down to work, evening hit with full,
noisy force and there was just enough power to give them dim light
and lukewarm coffee. Power was completely restored by 10:55, much
to the staff's relief. They hit their terminals with a vengeance.
     By midnight Lois was feeling that zing of pleasure that told
her she had yet another brace of award-winning stories in the pot
and ready to go. It was all getting rather boring, really, she told
herself in a British accent - then bounced it back with a NOT!
     She glanced over at Clark, who had been away from and back to
his desk as many times as she had from hers, but his was definitely
a more intense, even single-minded attitude. Well, it was keeping
him awake... If she hadn't known better, she might have describing
him as sweating over the job, though she couldn't remember the last
time she'd actually seen him sweat. She thought of him as being
best at doing the research and marshaling obscure facts that
backed up her hunches, interviews and more experienced writing
skills. Tonight it looked like he'd dived in and was having some
trouble resurfacing. She had already concluded he was tired -
they'd both come in to work early that morning - but maybe he was
coming down with something on top of it all. I was a bit early for
flu season and he was generally a healthy fellow, ignoring the
ailments that beset everyone else, but with all the stress today...
     He sat back, sighed at his terminal, and picked up his Nth cup
of coffee. He was always so even tempered she wondered if caffeine
had any real effect on him at all. In any case, he looked like he
deserved a reprieve to keep him from falling into his old habit of
working and reworking a story too hard, so she asked, "Have you
wrapped it up?" 
     "Maybe..."
     That was most likely a "yes" and he needed to be told to stop.
"Good. I'll let you seem mine if I can see yours..."
     "Sure," and they handed each other their documents.
     His pieces were tight and concise. They lacked some of the
lyrical quality his writing usually had, but considering the
subject matter and the wealth of material presented, Perry would
probably accept them all as they were. "Good sidebar scientific
information here..." She sat up. "Hey, how did you get this, the
average length of one of the beast's tentacles? I've been waiting
for hours for that information to come in..."
     "You have? You should have asked, I would have told you. You
remember about an hour and a quarter into the fight, Superman
knocked out one of the beast's incisors?"
     Jimmy was passing. "Oh, yeah! And then he had to deflect it
into the Sand Dunes! Imagine the dental bills on that sucker!"
     "Yes... Well, the beast discarded a tentacle and grew two more
teeth in its place. The tentacle dropped safely enough on the south
football field at Metro U. and a couple of professors pushed a
class of undergrads out to measure it and take samples. I mean, it
was a full tentacle and it wasn't moving on its own, so, I guess,
why pass up the chance?"
     "Golly, and I thought *my* job was hard! I'm glad I'm not
majoring in Biology!"
     "Don't you have someplace to be, Jimmy?"
     "Ah, sure, Lois..." and he disappeared in the direction of the
pop and candy machines.
     Clark returned to his screen, said absently, "When the phones
were up again I called them for the information, you were away from
your desk..." and there wasn't anything more that could be said
about that. He returned to her work and continued to zip through
it, the speed reader. "Your stories seem a little padded... but
frankly it's all human interest and well written. I can't see where
Perry could cut any of it."
     He couldn't? He *was* sleepy. "I agree, and I'm suggesting at
least three dozen pictures to go with it."
     "That'll give him something to cut."
     "That's the idea."
     "Any of, ah," he glanced toward the pop machines and almost
whispered, "Jimmy's pics?"
     "Two or three. Some of them were actually were quite good. I
thought his girl friend hadn't tagged along again, but she shows up
in several of them, looking all posed and frightened. Almost an
actress."
     "The blond or the brunette?"
     "The blond dropped him last month. This month she's a
brunette."
     "Oh," and he nodded, as though there were something of
interest in that. He could be as polite as Cary Grant, but she
didn't expect him to be up on the ladies' room gossip. He glanced
back at the screen. "What's this hiding down here..." He continued
to read. "Uh-oh."
     "That's why I put that last."
     He shook his head slowly, prelude to what she expected him to
say in a cautious voice. "I'm still don't think you've proved your
case. It's all coincidences."
     "*Too many* coincidences," she said confidently. "The Circus
from the Stars has been in every town the Beast was seen in, and
they dropped too many clues to be ignored."
     "Ignored by you, anyhow. You're probably the only one who'd
see them as clues. Jackonville, Kankakee, Lansing, Metropolis--"
     "Saving the best and biggest for what turned out to be their
very last. And they're not so much clues, actually. I figure
they're extraterrestrials and they got hold of a Rand-McNally and
decided to... try one city from each column."
     "Yeah, sure, Perry'll love it."
     "Just look at it. Fayetteville, Gary, Hoboken, Indianola..."
     "Sounds like a touring vaudeville company. I mean, just
because it goes back, ah, Decatur, Cleveland, Birmingham and
Amarillo, a case could be made for the beast being from the east
coast."
     "Except for Amarillo, and only a few of those cities are near
the coast anyhow."
     He wasn't convinced. "Everyone's got to start somewhere--
     "And Amarillo's out in the middle of nowhere," like Kansas,
she thought but didn't add, "the right place to land a spaceship."
     "Right where NORAD would be *sure* to ignore something that
big - And didn't you tell me you'd traced the Circus back to
Albuquerque?"
     She shrugged, a minor detail. "Well, I did, but they didn't
play there after all."
     "Okay, what's the deep significance of that?"
     She smiled. "You think you've got me, don't you? Well, I'm not
sure of the significance except there has to be one. The only thing
I can find is that on the same weekend they were booked to play
Albuquerque, the 10th Annual Fiery Foods Festival was also being
celebrated."
     "And all the rooms were booked? To celebrate hot food?"
     "Hey, it's popular, what can I say?"
     "You could say that carnivals play to the local population,
they don't need to draw in out of towners and these are all at
least moderate-sized cities."
     "True, but something made The Circus From the Stars cancel
it's first-ever show and move to Amarillo, where as it so happens
the Pentax Plant was mysteriously broken into. I think they did it,
and I think their beast gained enough energy, at least in *my*
scenario, to turn up next in Birmingham, half way across the
country."
     "You just need to figure out what made it move and Perry will
buy your story. Maybe. No, probably not even then."
     "Don't be like that. What if it moved because there was so
much hot food in the Albuquerque area? That stuff can be scary..."
     "Um..." Clark looked thoughtful. "That reminds me of
something. About two hours into the fight, while Superman was
helping evacuate the orphanage, the beast was taking a breather
over... Maria and Paco's Natural Mexican Foods Plant and Taqueria
Show Rooms down on 12th and Bell..."
     "That *is* interesting. You can smell that place a mile away
when they're canning the salsa."
     "Maybe the beast could smell it, too."
     "I saw it all!" Jimmy exclaimed as he passed by again. He
paused and looked dramatic. "It was hovering over the main plant
building, slowly drifting down," he moved his hand like a languid
leaf, "when this strange look came over its faces, half of them
sort of... sneezed and the other half looked like they were going
to throw up. Then it all took off like a bat out of heck!"
     The reporters looked at him and asked in unison: "Did you get
any pictures?"
     "Ah... I hear the chief calling me..." and he disappeared
again.
     The reporters looked at each other. Clark said, "He seems to
be getting younger every day..."
"Scary, isn't it?" She sighed. "Where were we? Oh, yes. I
think you're on to something. What if they were using ingredients
from New Mexico? If we'd noticed and knew what there was about, oh,
maybe the chilies..."
     "They're a New World plant, a member of the nightshade family,
and main ingredient of the fruit, the hot part, is capsicum, and
it's measured in heat units, the hottest variety currently
considered to be in habaneros--"
     She held up her hands, "Thanks, Clark, thanks, I needed that,
it'll be great for our follow-up investigation. And if it's true,
if the beast was afraid of chile powder, we can use it against the
next one."
     "`We'? You and moi? I don't *think* so. Frankly, while I have
every sympathy for only children, I hope that thing was an orphan."
     "Only children, huh? Why didn't your folks have a dozen more
kids? I'd just love to have a few more Clarks around."
     "I don't know, I guess they didn't think they'd find another 
one like me. And I still say Perry will make you rewrite."
     "He better not touch this story."
     "He'll tell you that you need more proof before you can indict
the whole City Council..."
     "That's the part he can cut - for now. The rest is the
important news for today. Tomorrow, Circusgate. I'm ready to
commit, are you?"
     "Pardon?"
     "Your work. You know, give it to Perry and get paid next
Thursday? Unless you want to fix this typo here first."
     "There's *no* typos in it," and he sat forward to start the
program that would land his work in Perry's lap.
     Lois was sure she had him beat with her Hell or High Water
macro, but tonight she didn't really care which stories arrived
first. Perry would be happy and he would let them go home; after
all, they were finished a good 20 minutes ahead of deadline.

                                ***

     "Walk me to my car?"
     "Why? Forget where you left it?"
     "No, Clark, I just want a little company. We'll overlook the
fact that its nearly 1 a.m., there are looters everywhere, and you
need somebody to watch you so you don't fall asleep on your feet."
     "Yeah, right. Don't forget your shoes."
     "Don't *you* forget your clothes. Your mother's going to have
an awful time getting those clean..."
     He picked up the bag and tried to pretend it was just a large
bit of leftover lunch. "*I'll* clean them.."
     "Good luck..." and she pointed.
     The bottom of the bag was almost soaked through, which he
seemed to notice now. "Oh..." He obviously thought about it as they
quietly left the nearly deserted news room and when they neared the
exit he sighed and dropped the bag in a convenient trash can. "I
ought to put in for hazard pay..."
     "Well, you should, I bet you'd get it for all we did today."
     "Umm. I liked that suit, too..."
     "And you looked fine in it, but you couldn't know what was
going to happen. The day looked so ordinary when it started..." She
gave in to an impulse and gave him a quick hug, then slipped her
arm through his. He seemed to relax a little, that was good. As
long as he didn't relax *too* much, because she couldn't see
herself slinging him over her shoulder, jogging all the way to her
car, and tossing him in the back; she'd have to clean that out
first.
     They found her car where they had left it, unharmed, no longer
boxed in, and decorated with a parking ticket. "How dare they!
Crime runs rampant in the streets and they ticket *my car*!"
     "I told you we were too near a hydrant--"
     "Thanks, Mr. Law and Order, and *I* pointed out to *you* that
it's broken and drier than the Sahara Desert and dogs were ignoring
it and we couldn't move any further anyway because we were stuck!!"
     Unexpectedly he jerked the ticket out of her hand. "Right, you
did, so I'll pay for it, it can't be very much--"
     "No, you won't!" and she grabbed for it back but he moved too
fast and she missed. "Clark! Don't do this! I want to be angry!"
     "Huh? Why?"
     "To wear myself out so I'll be able to sleep." She kicked her
nearest tire, glad she had put on her heavy new walking shoes
before leaving the office, then she growled: "I'm going to get the
Mayor for this!"
     "You were going to get him anyway."
     "I'll enjoy it even more now!"
     "For five dollars I don't think he'll make the connection. You
better check and see if anyone made off with your engine."
     "Oh, if they did...!"
     But no one had, the car started up obediently. She leaned
across and unlocked the passenger door. "Get in."
     "I don't think I want to ride with you, you're in a dangerous
mood."
     "Not as dangerous as I'll be if you *don't* get in..."
     He dropped into the seat and fished around for the seat belt
parts, found them, put them to use and glanced at her. "Are you
angry enough yet?"
     She had been watching him out of the corner of her eye and now
suppressed a smile, just. It dawned on her how much she enjoyed it
when he fell into the straight man role, and then peeped out from
it at just the right moments to make her laugh or prod her on. "I
might be. It depends on the roads."
     The roads were bad enough to make a strong man cry and further
fuel Lois's competitive senses. But she didn't let her anger get
out of hand; she was tired enough now, she'd sleep well, if she
could get Clark home and make it to her own bed. As she negotiated
the streets, sidewalks and alley ways, she noticed that he was
looking out the windows in near amazement. "This is just little bit
of urban renewal, Clark," she said when she didn't have to
concentrate on the road for a moment. "Don't let it get to you."
     "I didn't realize it was this bad..."
     "Wait 'til morning, it'll look even worse then."
     "It's just... Superman could be doing something to help..."
     She shook her head. Men - hell, all of Metropolis, she bet.
"Hey, give the guy a break! He saved the city as best he could - I
mean, the Army offered to nuke us, remember? No, you weren't there,
and I didn't add the gory details to my story. Superman gave
General Garfield a tongue lashing and he deserved it, too. I don't
think I've ever seen him that angry, but it did make him seem
more... I don't know, real, like you and me..." She braked for a
suit-and-tied drunk carrying a coffee cup, pulling a wooden duck on
rollers, wandering across the road and calling out "Mary?  Mary? 
Mary?"
     She shook her head at the sight. "Now everyone - well, almost
everyone else can chip in and clean up. We've got a weekend coming
up and I'm willing to give up my three-day vacation to help out,
even though I've planned on it for weeks..." She started them
rolling again. "The long and the short of it is, even Superman
deserves a rest."
     "Well, I don't exactly picture him laid back with a beer and
the latest Sports Illustrated..."
     "No, neither do I. I've tried asking him what he does to
relax, to get away from it all, but other than the obvious, having
dinner with me for example, and, well, nothing beyond that, nothing
*really* relaxing..." she glanced at Clark to see if that was
enough hints but wasn't sure if she saw the light of understanding
about those kind of things in his eyes. It was dark in the car
though and she didn't want to go any deeper into her failures than
that. "Anyhow, I haven't the slightest idea what he does, if he
even takes any off time to... to eat popcorn and watch videos like
you and I do. It's not fair..." She checked out the west bound lane
of the intersection she was approaching and realized Clark was
still looking at her. That sparked her indignation again. "Well,
*is* it?"
     "No, no, of course not. He probably... gets as tired as you or
me, needs somewhere to hang out, needs people to talk to..."
     "Damn straight. Comes here from another planet, has no family
that we know of, and needs some rest after this hell of a day.
There's got to be a big difference in expending energy over a
short, intense period of time, like... oh, like when he launched
that rocket after I first met him or when he pushed the asteroid
away when breaking it up wasn't enough, and a long fight like the
one he had today with that yecchy, slimy, shape-changing...
*thing*. Why, it could even have had some Kryptonite in it
somewhere."
     "I hadn't thought of that. I suppose... I don't think so
though, I... he would have said something to me about that when I
interviewed him. What that thing could do was tiring enough..."
     "That's why we have to get that Circus, in case they have any
more tricks like that up their collective sleeves."
     He looked away - and sighed?
     "What? *Tell* me..."
     "Let's not rehash your circus theories, I'm tired enough.
Let's talk about it in the morning."
     "But it is morning."
     "Lois..."
     "Okay, okay..." She put on the brakes hard when a pile of
trash cans loomed in the road. "I've had it. I can't get to your
place from here."
     "It's all right, I can walk--"
     "No, it's *not* all right. There's still one more way I
haven't tried. We'll be going by my place, I can see if it's still
standing..."
"I was just joking, God, just joking!" She pounded on the
steering wheel and then rested her forehead there.
     "There doesn't seem to be any damage, actually..."
     "There's a..." she restrained herself lest Clark be shocked,
"big, nasty, ugly, glistening, slimy, monstery *tentacle* draped
over my apartment building and he says," she put on her most mild
mannered and reasonable voice, "`There doesn't seem to be any
damage, actually...' How am I going to get into my place!?"
     "You could climb up and--"
     "No, I can't! It's 18 stories!"
     "I told you not to move, you're not really in Superman's
flight path up there, but maybe I could go find him and--"
     "I don't need his help! Even if I were callous enough to wake
him out of a sound sleep - even if I had his phone number like
*you* seem to..."
     "Well, it's a guy thing..."
     "Yeah, right. What am I going to do!?" she demanded of the
heavens, which didn't have the sense to cringe.
     "You could crash at my place, nothing much happened over that
part of town..."
     She sighed. She told herself she had expended too much energy
on being angry earlier. The best rejoinder she could come up with
was "Oh, I don't know, Clark..."
     "Well, then you can sleep in the park."
     "Huh?"
     He was fumbling with his seat belt.
     "Wait a minute! What are you doing?"
     "Leaving so you can find a comfortable tree to stretch out
under. You don't need my help for that."
     She grabbed his farther-away hand to stop him. His hands felt
strong (she had noticed this before); good thing he stopped
immediately at her touch. "Don't go, please? Couldn't you tell I
was... joking or something? I didn't mean to get upset, not at you,
you've been really nice. I'm just surprised at seeing my poor
apartment and my fish and... oh..."
     "They're probably all right. We can check in the morning."
     There was just enough streetlight to let her see the concern
in his tired eyes. She suddenly appreciated the compassionate tone
of his voice. There wasn't anything they could do now, he was
right, but the touch of hope in his voice was helpful and she could
have smacked herself for not noticing it earlier. She gave him the
best "I'm glad we're friends" smile she could muster. "I'd like to
crash at your place, thank you for offering. I'll just need to
borrow some... pajamas... and toothpaste... and I have my own
toothbrush..." All I have in the world now is in my purse...
     "Yeah, I have all that, but only if you're sure you want
to..."
     "I'm sure. This will probably be cleaned up in the morning, I
won't be bothering you very long."
     "No bother," he said automatically.
     "Sure it's a bother, unexpected guests always are." But she
could be generous, too. "I'll sleep on the couch so you can have
your bed."
     "You'll sleep on the bed, *I'll* sleep on the couch."
     They argued about this, keeping each other awake as she tried
the last-chance route all the way to his practically unaffected
neighborhood and his totally undamaged apartment house (complete
with electricity and running water, no doubt) and up the steps.
     "Sleep on the bed or sleep here on the steps, that's my final
offer, and as my guest you really shouldn't argue."
     She rolled her eyes heavenward, imagining his mother using the
same words. "All right, all right..." She watched him unlock the
door and stepped in after him, letting him look around. As though
there might be something wrong. Ha, the place looked perfect; he
just wasn't the kind of fellow to throw clothing over chair backs
and leave dirty dishes about. Unlike me, she thought. What do we
see in each other? "You know, I like arguing with you, Clark."
     "I hope so, we're so good at it..."
     "It keeps us sharp."
     "I don't want to be sharp at 3 in the morning, thanks."
     "Do you have any food?"
     "Probably not, at least not chocolate food, but you're welcome
to check. I'm taking a shower. You can have one after me if you
want."
     "I do."
     He wandered away down a short hallway toward his dark bedroom
while she turned on the light in the kitchen nook and began to
forage through the cabinets and the refrigerator. She had felt a
headache coming on earlier but it had subsided on its own. Good
thing, as she noticed he had no aspirin, antacids or drugs of any
kind, not even vitamins. Maybe he kept them in the bathroom. She
didn't find much to eat and most of that was junk food, none of it
better than the two large pizzas Perry had managed to find order
somewhere in the wrecked city to feed the entire newsroom. Some had
complained about this when they'd thought he couldn't hear; the
rest had glared the few into silence. It was a wonder there was any
food at all and the pizzas must have cost a fortune and all out of
sweet Perry's pocket, too, she bet.
     She found some cans of soup and a box of crackers, said a
quiet thank you to Martha Kent, and next searched out a pot to heat
the soup in. Once this was underway, she began looking around the
apartment for extra bed linens, found none, and wound up taking the
top sheet off Clark's bed. It didn't look slept in, maybe the
sheets were clean. At this stage, she didn't care very much. She
took the sheet and an extra pillow and made up the couch. She heard
the shower turn off and felt a little nudge of urgency. Back in the
kitchen she found mugs and spoons. She was pouring soup when Clark
reappeared. She smiled to herself: he was wearing a robe which
covered more than the T-shirt and shorts had earlier, but it did
look soft and comfortable. It reminded her of her own cozy robe far
away, at home, in the wreckage... she ordered that thought out of
her head but only saw it scramble into hiding, ready to pop out
again when she didn't need it.
     Clark glanced at the couch and then at what she was doing in
the kitchen. He looked appreciative, though not a whole lot more.
The shower must have been hot and steamy, washing away all but the
very last of his resistance to sleep. He caught himself, looked
like he realized he should say something, and said, "This is really
nice... Ah, and here's a T-shirt you can use for pajamas if you
want," and he tossed it over the back of one of the dining area's
chairs.
     "That's fine." Too fine. She knew it would be long enough and
discrete, and she couldn't imagine him taking advantage of her
anyhow... darn... huh? Why "darn"? Well, yes, darn, didn't he look
good and take advantage-able? Stop it, girl.
     "Sit down... and have this..." She put the mug of steaming
chicken soup before him. He picked it up immediately and began to
sip. Well, more than sip, she told herself, barely keeping from
pointing out to him that he was scalding his mouth as he drank
slowly. He didn't look as though he were noticing the heat, or much
of anything else as he gazed half asleep into the middle distance.
     But as she thought this he blinked at her. "Aren't you having
any?"
     "I'm letting mine cool... I have this tooth..."
     "Oh, oh, of course..." He looked down at the half-empty mug
and back at her. "It's really quite good..."
     "It was nothing, I just opened a can..." She pulled herself
away from watching him. He was just too vulnerable and there were
more of those thoughts she couldn't trust hovering in the
background of her mind. Control, girl, control; this isn't the
first time you've thought about this. He's always been there, he
always will be, unlike some people who come in the night...
     Instead she picked up the pot, and began washing it and the
stirring spoon, making a job of it. She wondered why he didn't
protest ("I can do that in the morning, Lois") until she glanced
his way and saw that he had finished his soup, put his elbows on
the table, pushed his glasses up, and perhaps intended to rub his
eyes but some time in there had fallen asleep instead, propping
himself up. There it was, he just didn't have the stamina that she
did. Clark, I couldn't take advantage of you now if I wanted to, if
I weren't nearly as tired as you are...
     She dried her hands, rounded the table, eased his glasses off,
squeezed his shoulders (he had the tightest shoulders of anyone she
knew even when he looked relaxed), and said, "Come on, wake up for
a moment so we can get you to bed..."
     He gave a little start and blinked, trying to open his eyes
wider to compensate for the momentary lapse. "Finished? Are you -
Is it Thursday already?"
     "Yes, yes, yes - and you don't need your glasses, you're going
right to bed."
     "Oh, okay..."
     He didn't seem to actually need the help, but she found that
she enjoyed guiding him in the right direction, getting his robe
off (he was wearing briefs...) and seeing that he sat down on the
couch. "I couldn't find a blanket for you," she apologized.
     "'sokay, I don't get cold..."
     "Sure..."
     She watched him sink toward horizontally and for the first
time she could remember she witnessed someone actually falling
asleep as soon as their head hit the pillow. "Sure you don't get
cold..." she whispered as she arranged the robe over him. She
watched him a few moments, then shrugged mentally, bent down,
kissed his cheek, noticing that he smelled soapy clean, squeezed
his shoulder (which was warm, even through the robe; maybe he
didn't get very cold at night), and noticed that none of this made
a dent in his flight toward dreamland. "You don't know what you're
missing, kid," she said absently and smiled at herself. Why should
I be surprised? When even Superman doesn't... No, that's not fair,
girl, get some sleep!
     She took her purse, the T-shirt and mug of soup to a
convenient table in the bedroom door, went back and turned off all
the lights except a small one in a far corner that could guide her
back later if she needed to return in the dark, and then prepared
to close the door between them. Not that he'd be bothering her, he
was dead to the world, poor guy. Then she caught sight of the
cellular phone on the coffee table in front of the couch; she
thought, we don't need the world bothering us for a few hours. She
picked it up and figured out how to turn off the ringer. It had a
little light that would blink if someone called. That was surely
enough.
She looked at him again. He did look endearing with his hair
down in his eyes, his body heavy and taking to sleep as hers did to
chocolate... She hoped he didn't decide to start snoring, but she'd
never noticed that before about him in the other times she'd taken
refuge here.
     She took a quick, steamy shower and dried her hair as best she
could (he had plenty of towels, yet no sign of another blanket and
no medicines here, either), combed it into place and shook her head
at herself in the mirror. There are people out there don't have
homes and I'm worried about my hair?
     She finished her soup, dropped into the bed, pulled up the
bedspread, buried herself into the pillow and was asleep in
seconds.

                                ***

     She dreamed of the monster, of interviewing it to find out
it's deeper needs (women, Mars needs women). She dreamed of Perry
on a treadmill and Elvis keeping time with a stopwatch and not
looking particularly pleased about Perry's progress. Both of them
burst into Jailhouse Rock to give Perry incentive. She rolled over
and dreamed of stale pizza that tasted like too-salty chicken soup.
     No, that one wasn't a dream. She bleared her eyes open and
realized she needed a drink of water, now. All right all right all
right... She sat up, remembering where she was and where the
bathroom was. Her legs felt shaky, so she put off standing for a
moment and instead groped for her watch on the bedside table. There
was some vague light from what might have been an east-facing
window in the bedroom and she could just make out that it was some
time near 6. Not nearly enough sleep. Perry would have to
understand she was coming in late this morning because she was
heading back to bed as soon as she quenched her thirst.
     She couldn't find drinking cup in the bathroom. How do you
brush your teeth, Clark? *Every*one uses a cup...
     She went to the bedroom door and made herself stop and listen.
If he was up and puttering around she wanted to be wearing a more
than a T-shirt that proclaimed "Organic farmers do it under mulch."
It covered a lot since he was a big fellow, but at this time in
morning, after having done absolutely nothing with him during what
had been left of the night, she wanted more coverage.
     But she heard nothing and told herself he was either still
asleep or maybe out jogging in the early morning. Some people did
that kind of thing; she couldn't understand them and hoped he
didn't trend that way unless it was for a story.
     There were more windows in this big room of the apartment, so
dawn was making itself felt a little more here. That and the extra
light she had left on allowed her to feel some confidence that she
wouldn't knock over anything as she tiptoed toward the kitchen. She
could hear his calm, even, deep breathing and smiled for him. She
wanted to glance his way but kept herself from doing so, even
closing her eyes, in case there was any chance it could wake him.
If she wouldn't, ergo couldn't see him, then he couldn't and
wouldn't see her. It had worked on parents and bad guys alike, and
it would work on Clark, an ordinary, guileless fellow if there ever
was one.
     The kitchen floor, of linoleum, was cold and she wished she'd
put on her socks. She found the water glass she had used only hours
earlier and eased water into it from the tap. She was glad his
plumbing wasn't the booming kind like that in her place - no, don't
think about your apartment! In a few hours we'll go check it out
and everything will be just fine and if it isn't Clark will say
something appropriately compassionate and I'll box his ears...
     She refilled the glass, deciding to take it with her back to
bed, turned, allowed herself a glance at Clark - and nearly dropped
the glass and had to grip it.
     Clark was not on the couch. He was over it. Hovering.
Floating. Maybe two feet higher than the couch surface, just a bit
higher than the couch back. The robe had slipped off him and was
lying crumpled on the floor. His back was to her but she could tell
he was clutching his pillow. He floated there as though he might
actually have been lying on a bed, his legs drawn up a bit, though
his back appeared straight, reminding her of one of those
orthopedic mattress commercials.
     Not wanting to take her eyes off him, she eased forward until
she could sense the table and set the glass down there so silently
a tomb would have envied her.
     I can't just *stand* here, I have to *do* something about
this.... My camera, yes!
     Her purse containing a cheap but useful instant camera was far
away in the bedroom. She looked that direction, plotted a fast,
silent run and grab - and then pulled herself up before the plan
could get any further, like her using up the roll, escaping before
he knew what had happened, processing the film herself, making big
prints, and showing them to Perry, who would be speechless...
     I can't do that to *Clark,* just because he's...
     She closed her eyes and took a deep, measured breath.
     I am frustrated because I don't know what to do; I am
homeless; and I am tired. I know all this. Knowing this is
advantageous. I can control it. I must remain calm, I must remain
absolutely, totally calm.
     My gosh, I might still be sleeping! If I open my eyes, after
this,
     She pinched herself just enough to hurt.
     and I'm still seeing what I saw, then the implications are
big, too big, way too big, and I need to spend some time on some
heavy-duty thinking, without any interference
     Particularly from him...
     And I certainly don't need to wake him up, disturb the first
peace he's enjoyed in, what, 24 hours? More probably, if he was,
oh, patrolling Tuesday...
     No, I'm sleeping, and this is not Clark in my dream.
     She steadied herself and opened her eyes again.
     Yes, it was still Clark.
     The scene hadn't changed. A tad brighter maybe, but no change.
She covered her mouth and forced back the squeal she had realized
was building.
     Gather facts, Perry would say. We don't make the news (and
he's trying hard not to look at me and I'm just playing it cool),
we just report it...
     Clark's making news enough for both of us...
     On the principle that sometimes doing something was better
than doing nothing, even when that something could be dunderheaded,
she decided it was safe enough to ease a little closer to him. She
moved around the table, fearful of every sound to the point of
policing her body so some tendon wouldn't crack and wake the
neighborhood. And you better be quiet out there! she wanted to
scream out the nearest window.
     She made herself keep moving until she was within an arm's
length of him. She had noticed that he rose a little as he inhaled
and fell a little as he exhaled, and that he was perhaps easing up
a little more often than down. She wondered why that might be
(little questions, she told herself, were often easier to ask and
deal with than the big ones which she wasn't sure she wanted the
answers to anyhow).
     She reached out, not to touch him but to feel if, well, if he
had an aura or something, and within an inch of his shoulder she
could feel a definite warmth. He hadn't been kidding, he doesn't
get cold at night...
     She nearly panicked and did step back when he seemed to
shutter and proceeded to roll over. He changed his grip on the
pillow. He frowned and winced away from something she couldn't see.
He muttered a few unintelligible words (English, she was sure,
sleep English) and clenched his right fist for a moment.
     He's dreaming! REM sleep, of course!
     Not a good dream, either, and not about pizza (he'd only had
one small piece in deference to Maggie's pregnancy and Yusef's
diabetes) or typos or treadmills. No, he'd be dreaming of the
monster, of the devastation to the city, what he might have been
out doing to help if he hadn't been worn out... No wonder he looked
upset now, and then it came to her in a rush: the comments he'd
made in the car, and everything she'd said and flavor of all she'd
ever said to him and the feeling he'd been dropping hints right and
left and he *wanted* her to know...
     But I'd die before I woke you up to grill you about it...
     Maybe there's something, some way I can help you relax...
     Nothing in her immediate surroundings gave her the slightest
clue. In a few moments something did occur to her and she eased
down to sitting cross-legged and wracked her brain for all the
meditative techniques she'd picked up last year while investigating
that fake swami and his outfit. She'd gotten good advice from the
real yoga instructors Molly had recommended - and promptly dropped
the whole thing when the story was published and the malefactors
behind bars.
     Why can't I get a life?
     Later, girl, later, just try this... Remember, he meditates, too.
     She became as calm as she could so she could justify beaming
calming thoughts toward him.
     The beast is dead. You did a wonderful job. I'll get the
Circus, don't you worry about a little thing that. I'll call Perry
and get you a day off - two, the week. You just relax and sleep,
sleep, sleep...
     She heard him sniff, saw him rub his face absently, stretch a
kink out, sleep on.
     This is the real you, isn't it?
     Did she want to wake up like this every morning? Sleeping by
him, holding him, holding him down perhaps, being held...
     Well, maybe... She felt herself smile a little.
     More calm thoughts, more calm thoughts...
     But I can't just sit here until he wakes up and sees me, and 
panics or something, I'm not ready for that yet...
     She sighed, and the phone light began to blink.
     God, I'm glad I turned that off!
     But I don't want to talk to anyone!
     And if it's Perry and he's tried my place already and then he
sends someone around to here if the phone isn't answered...?
     She picked it up and cupped the ear piece so, she hoped, he
wouldn't hear anyone talking. Did his superhearing work when he was
asleep? It could be useful - but not right now!
He didn't stir, giving not the slightest indication that he
was aware of her...
     She eased her way out of the room, into the bedroom, closed
the door, rushed into the bathroom, closed that door, and stepped
into the bathtub, her back to the world. She held the phone up and
whispered into it: "Yes? Who's calling?"
     "Oh, dear, I must have the wrong number--"
     Lois recognized the voice and felt a wash of warmth and
relief. She whispered, "Martha!" Of course the woman would be
calling! Clark's folks would be worried sick! The fight had to have
made national news, their stories would have been in the splashed
across the world's papers. They'd know Clark was all right, but why
hadn't she, Lois, insisted he call them the night before and
     Because of course she didn't know the implications and he
probably would have said he had called already.
     And what would he say? "Metropolis's fine, I'm fine, I've got
to get back to work now"?
     And if he had called, Martha wouldn't be calling now and
     "Lois? I can hardly hear you, are you all right?"
     "Yes!" She began to detect in her own voice the rising need to
squeal, not whisper, and ordered it down again. Good luck, she
thought...
     "And Clark?"
     "He's fine, he's..." she licked her lips "sleeping."
     "Oh, that's why you're whis - oh, oh, my, you and - the
night - you were--"
     "No, Martha, no, it's not *that*, nothing like that! My
apartment house was damaged yesterday and he let me crash here. We
got in really late and he's all worn out and... and..."
     "And he's sleeping..."
     "Yes..." Oh....
     "And there's something particularly singular about the way
he's doing that..." Her voice was steady, measured, comforting
somehow.
     "Oh, yes..."
     "I see, I understand now."
     It was nearing squeal time again: She knows, Martha knows! I'm
*not* the only one... "Oh, good..."
     "Do you know when he got to sleep?"
     "Oh, 2:30, maybe 3..."
     Rapid math. "Then you can let what you feel out a little if
you want, dear, I suspect he has at least another hour of heavy
sleep him."
     "I won't wake him?"
     "Believe me, a fire cracker in his ear wouldn't wake him
unless maybe he sensed you were in trouble..."
     "I've been watching him for, oh, fifteen minutes, I guess..."
     "Then you're all right, you're a lot calmer than you think,
and unless you tell him, I doubt he'll have any idea you were
there." She laughed. "I can see you trying to wake him up - hitting
him with a shovel *might* do it but it could bend up the shovel,
too - and then trying to convince him you saw him floating. He's in
some kind of denial about that, but he only does it when he's very
tired. You should have seen him as a child! We had to tether him to
his bed until he grew out of it..."
     Lois laughed a little and felt the need to squeal recede. "A
shovel... I feel better already..."
     "It just sort of sneaks up and knocks you out, doesn't it?"
     "Yes, that's it exactly! Oh, I'm so glad you called!"
     "I was afraid I was too early, but something told me I should
try anyhow. Now don't start breathing like that, you'll
hyperventilate..."
     Lois got a grip on herself, held her breath for few moments,
and nodded. "Your right..." Then something occurred to her. "Ah,
Martha? Are you from, ah, Krypton, too?"
     "No, dear, I was born in Seattle and Jonathan was born right
here in Smallville. Now, he's out tending a cow who's calving, so
all this is just between you and me. Do you want to keep it that
way for while?"
     "Oh, yes! I have to think about all this..."
     "I shouldn't wonder. If Jonathan were to find out that you
know, he'd tell Clark even if he didn't mean to, and, well..."
     "It's a guy thing."
     "Precisely. Is there any food in the apartment?"
     "If you have to ask..."
     "Umm, I think Clark's gotten into the habit of grocery
shopping on Wednesday."
     She makes this all sound so normal... Maybe it is...
     "Well, he didn't get to yesterday. I decided last night, ah,
this morning, that I'd go out and try to scrounge up some
breakfast, but now..."
     "Go ahead and do that. There's a nice little store on the
corner just down the street from where you are."
     "I've seen it. Supplies might be a little tight..."
     "Then consider it a chance to get some fresh air, hmmm?"
     As much as she didn't want to leave, it sounded like a great
idea. "Okay..." 
     "Clark will eat just about anything, particularly after he's
exerted himself a lot. He likes Rice Krispies, if you can get
them."
     "Not... not Wheaties, breakfast of, well, you know..."
     "You are feeling better," she chuckled, "that's good to hear.
Get whatever they have, and do *not* neglect yourself. Get some ice
cream - chocolate, isn't that your favorite?  And don't let him get
his hands on it until you've had enough."
     "Yes, ma'am."
     "And take your time when you're out. I can call back in a hour
or so and if it wakes him, I think it will be all right. As for
you, you can call me any time."
     "I will, believe me, I will..."
     "Hang up the phone now and get going..."
     "Okay..."

                                ***

     "Oh, hi, Mom, Dad, I'm sorry I didn't call you yesterday, but
I don't think I've ever been that busy in my whole life, all day
and nearly all night."
     "The lines were probably down, son, we know how hard it is to
get good help and service in the city, so you couldn't have gotten
through until today. Your mother tried earlier this morning, but it
rang and rang."
     "Somebody turned off the phone. Maybe it was me, I don't
remember - or maybe Lois, so it wouldn't wake me."
     "Did we wake you?"
     "No, Mom, I was just laying here enjoying the peace and quiet.
That's unusual for this time of morning.  I guess most people are
keeping inside."
     "Wait a minute, son, did you say `Lois'?"
     "Yeah, Dad, her apartment house got hit by a tentacle. It
didn't do much damage that I could see, but she couldn't get in.
She stayed here and slept in my bed. I slept out here on the
couch."
     "Good boy, it sounds like you were too tired for any funny
business."
     "I could hardly think straight by the time I got home. I'd
rather have ten Lex Luthors at his worst and half a dozen more
Perrys when he's unhappy than another one of those things..."
     "No, you wouldn't."
     "Well, maybe not..."
     "You did a good job stopping that thing, we saw a lot of it on
TV so we could cheer you on. They even did a wrap up on Nightline
after talking about that movie star's trial."
     "We didn't get to see any of that, we were too busy at the
Planet and parts of the city didn't have electricity anyhow..."
     "What's that sound, dear?"
     "I'm opening windows, I've got this urge for some fresh air
that doesn't have a slimy smell in it..."
     "Good thing you live in the north part of town, up wind."
     "Yeah, Dad... I don't know about yesterday. I'm not real
satisfied. I couldn't think of any way to stop that thing. It
wasn't smart enough to talk to, but it had enough brains to have a
bad attitude. It wasn't quite solid enough to get a good grasp on,
my laser vision just seemed to tickle it, and it would drop pieces
of itself on playgrounds and grow new parts that were nastier than
what I'd figured out how to defeat already..."
     "Son, don't dwell on it, you're wearing yourself out all over
again. You stopped the thing. So it took a few hours."
     "Eleven. And that doesn't count the time spent arguing with
the troop carriers and stopping the tanks and then stuck with the
mayor and the governor trying to convince the Army not to nuke us.
Can you believe it? Lois almost slapped the Chief of Staff and *I*
had to threaten him! Oh, `tactical nuclear warheads were just
little things and they won't hurt *any*body but the target...' I
told him I'd track him down and hold him personally responsible if
he launched any missiles. He questioned my right to do that,
judging humanity and all because I'm obviously not human..."
     "Oh, my. I wonder about his humanity. That must have been when
Lois tried to slap him."
     "No, that's when she went for his, ah, scrotum, Mom, but a
Secret Service agent stopped her."
     "Gently, I hope."
     "Very gently, with me there. He's lucky, she might have knee
capped him... I finally asked her to sit down."
     "Did she?"
     "No, of course not."
     "Well, she's on your side."
     "Yeah, well..."
     "The city, the world then."
     "She didn't need me, actually, and I don't know if I would
really have tried to stop her anyhow. Those guys were almost as bad
as the monster."
     "So you defeated two brainless monsters. If the one that took
longer was as brainless as you think, you can use the same tactic
if another one comes along and be done in time for lunch."
     "I guess so, Dad."
     "Clark, you mentioned Lois and you talked like she was awake
now, too...?"
"Well, yes, but she's not here. Don't worry, we didn't do
anything, at least not that I can remember, and I think I'd
remember *that*. She left a note under my glasses. `I'll be back.'
What does that mean?"
     "It means she'll be back. She's not in any danger in your
neighborhood."
     "No, I haven't heard gunshots in years, not since the
neighborhood watch group got started. Not that I have time to
*go* - well, I went once in the suit, but I try to get to all of
them to encourage turn out."
     "That's a good idea."
     "But, Mom, that's not important, she'd be okay, I guess. I
just want to know why she left. That's not much to ask. Her car's
gone, too. We were going to go over and check out her place, and
now... Oh. Never mind."
     "And now you hear her coming, I bet."
     "Ah, it sounds like her footsteps... Yeah, it's her. She's
carrying things in bags--"
     "Clark, don't peak. Pretend it's Christmas."
     "Yes, ma'am. I suppose should go open the door for her..."
     "She didn't abandon you, so if she knocks of course you should
open it, silly!"

                                ***

     Lois put down one of the two heavy grocery bags and opened the
door carefully, quietly. She hadn't locked it, though she had seen
his keys lying on a table near the door.  But Clark only had one
lock on it anyhow, which was stupid as he'd already been burgled
once and she'd had to help him get his things back. For somebody as
experienced as he was fighting crime, he sure trusted people a lot.
The lock was nothing that would stop a sleep-walking burglar right
here on the ground floor. But all things considered, a break-in in
progress was the kind of thing that surely would have woken him, so
he wouldn't have been in any danger of being seen floating. She
picked up the second bag and with her knee eased the door open and
peaked around it.
     The apartment was much brighter now than it had been when she
dressed, thought of leaving a note, left it under his glasses on
the coffee table, constrained herself from touching him as he
seemed to be slowly drifting lower, and slipped out the door. She
had hoped he would make it all the way back down to the couch
without waking, if that's the way it worked.
     Shades and windows had been opened and a breeze took advantage
of the door adding an air current. That could all only mean one
thing, or two actually, the second being that she didn't have to
worry about being quiet.
     Clark, in nothing but his shorts as though he had just woken,
was across the apartment in the kitchen, leaning back against the
sink, talking on the phone. She noticed he had his glasses perched
a top his head but that he pulled them down into place quickly.
     Don't worry, Clark, I'll play along until I figure out who all
you really are now...
     She cleared her throat. "I could use some help..."
     The look on his face and his body language said, "I was just
coming..."
     Maybe that was true; he'd had only a second or two to absorb
the fact of her return, if counted from her peak around he door,
but whoever he was now (and there was no indication that he had
become someone who knew that she knew who he was), she wanted to
keep him on his toes.
     He practically glided across the room, moving in a much
steadier and more athletic manner than he had the night before.
"What'd you get?" he asked as he took both bags from her as though
they weighed nothing.
     "This and that - but the Rocky Road's all mine, I thought I
should keep some in your freezer. The rest is for breakfast."
     "Sure, that's fine..." He peaked in. "Great! Rice Krispies! My
favorite."
     "Well, your worth it, Clark..."
     That made him stop in his tracks on the way to the kitchen and
look at her as though he couldn't believe his ears. He looked so
endearing, and even a little vulnerable, being almost naked...
     Maybe it *was* an odd thing to say, and would she have said it
before...?
     Yes, maybe, probably, yes. Maybe it wasn't so much he was a
new Clark as she had a new way of seeing him... "Don't look so
surprised, I really think that, I'm not joking."
     "Well, thanks, Lois, I... think a lot of you, too..." and he
smiled, just a little, shy almost.
     God, you do think a lot of me, don't you...
     She immediately told herself not to dwell on that. Things were
going to change. Back to Plan A. "Did you leave someone on the
phone? Did I interrupt something?"
     "Oh, no, it's my folks, and Mom said she'd like to talk to
you."
     Now she could put on a genuine smile, no planning required.
"Good, I'd like to talk to her, too." She picked up the phone, took
it off hold, and said, "Good morning, Martha!"
     "Good morning, dear. We were a little surprised to hear you'd
stayed the night..."
     "Stop giggling..." but Lois was smiling, too. If Clark was
listening in, he was doing a good job acting engrossed in the
contents of the grocery bags.
     "I know nothing happened."
     "Not this morning, but you never know..."
     He was listening. He glanced up and gave her a "huh?" look,
tried to conceal it, dragged himself back and continued unpacking.
     "Tell us, Lois, are you and Clark feeling all right after all
the work you two did yesterday?"
     "Well, a couple of weeks' vacation in Bermuda would come in
handy at the moment."
     "I'd rather ski," Clark muttered. "Switzerland or New
Zealand."
     "Clark's having delusions of grandeur at the moment, thinks he
has some time off coming. A nice, quiet place would be fine with
me. I've been planning for a month to take this weekend off, but
with everything that went on yesterday..."
     "Go, Lois, not *every*body has to stay to clean up the city. I
can follow up on the Circus, and I promise I'll try to take it
seriously."
     "Are you having two conversations at once, Lois?"
     "Yes, and it's your turn."
     "Why don't you come here for the weekend? Bring your sloppiest
clothing and forget your make up and it will be quiet walks in the
woods or girl talk, whatever you want."
     Whatever I want... Clark had found a knife and was slicing
open the bagels she had bought. He dropped two halves in the
toaster and then opened the cream cheese. Exactly what she would
have done herself. Except, of course, she wouldn't have poked a
knife into the toaster to see if the bagels were in the right
position.
     "I'd love to come. Sloppy clothes may be all I have if I can't
get into my apartment, but maybe when I come back I'll be rested
enough to tackle all that. I could leave here tomorrow afternoon
after I clear up... Oh, no..."
     "Trouble?"
     "I'll have to break a date. It was tentative anyhow, it
usually is, he's a really busy guy..."
     "I'm sure you can manage it."
     "I'll put an ad in the paper," which she read out of the thin
part of the air in front of her, "`Brown skirt to blue tights,
Friday night is off.'"
     Clark didn't flinch, but then he had probably anticipated this
as soon as Martha had made her invitation.
     "It might work. We'll have to let you go, dear. I have to go
help with this darling new calf."
     "Yes, Lois, I'll introduce you to her on Saturday."
     "I won't know what to say, Jonathan."
     "It's all right, she won't either."
     "Let her go, honey, she has to get breakfast before Clark eats
it all."

                                ***

     "Granola, Lois?"
     "Sure, why not? It tastes good, and I have to be ready to
tackle the countryside."
     "You're really going? Without Perry ordering you to?"
     "Your folks live there, Clark, remember? I like your folks a
lot, I wish mine had been more like them. I can see both of them in
you, too. There're times when you're conservative and thoughtful
like Jonathan and other times when you're, well, sassy like
Martha."
     "You've taken time to notice all that?"
     "Yes, there are actually moments in my life when I take time
off to notice other people..."
     Instead of trying to top her, he didn't say anything as she
poured skim milk on her cereal and then put the milk container in
the refrigerator. When she turned back and they both caught each
others' eyes, he said, "Except yesterday, when you were, well,
normal, in reporter mode, you've been really... okay, lately, the
last six months or so."
     Am I so hard to talk this seriously to? Is this why you don't
say much when you visit my place? You don't have to? It's all
physical? Lucy can't be right, it's not just lust... but maybe I
don't expect serious talk when you fly in, I expect... hope for...
Why is this relationship so... different? Because you're super then
and real now?
"Lois? Are you all right?"
     Later, this could be thought out later. "Oh, I'm just trying
to figure out a way to take that as a compliment..."
     "I meant it to be, you have been easier to get along with
lately... Ah, do you want one of these?"
     A bagel with cream cheese. "Sure, one."
     "And garlic on it?"
     Maybe that's why he was super... "Not with granola, thanks."
     "I think I have some cherry preserves..."
     "That would be fine."
     "And how about bacon? Or some eggs?"
     She watched him bite into one of the hot bagels as he awaited
her reply. She glanced down at her bowlful of honeyed wheat bran,
almonds and sunflower seeds. It actually did look good, and
filling. "No, I think I'll stick with this and the one bagel, and
the cherries if you have any, but you can certainly feel free to
make whatever you want, that's why I got it. I'll watch and learn
how it's done."
     "My mom taught me most everything I know about kitchens," and
he unloaded four eggs from the carton, laid them aside, and began
placing half a dozen strips of bacon in the skillet. "Maybe you can
talk about that when you're there."
     "Hint, hint, hint? We'll find *some*thing to talk about.
Probably *you*, mostly."
     "Well, don't believe everything she says..."
     "Those are the parts I'll believe twice as much... I mean, for
example, if she tells me you like to cook while you're three-
fourths naked..."
     He looked down at himself. "Oh. Ah, I'll go put something on."
     "Don't do it on my account, it's *your* home, you look
comfortable, and I'm even trying not to giggle."
     He looked thoughtful for a beat. "Maybe that's why I *should*
change..."
     Her jaw dropped; she recovered it into a smile. And he's
keeping a straight face!
     Just. He could turn away to wipe his hands on a convenient
towel, say off-handedly "I don't mind if *you* giggle, Lois...,"
check the flame under the skillet (would he have normally just
looked through the pan?), and then head toward his bedroom.
     "You are feeling better, Clark."
     "Um-hmm, just needed a cat nap."
     Yeah, a drugged, floating cat, Tiger. "Don't dress for work
yet - and I'm serious. As far as I'm concerned, Perry can sit on
his thumbs until we're ready to go in, which should be about noon,
if he's lucky."
     He glanced back, said "That's soon enough for me, too," and
almost ran into edge of the bedroom door. He patted it
apologetically, went in, and eased the door shut.
     She wondered, Are you clumsy on purpose, as a cover, or was it
just an accident because you're relaxed?
     Martha will know.
     And if he puts on something blue, I'm going to scream...
     He was away only a minute or two (no super speed required, she
told herself, he'd know where his clothes were and could slip them
on quickly), back in time to turn the bacon. And, no intrepid blue:
he was wearing raggedy cut-off jeans and a white T-shirt with a
Metropolis Club emblem (though she knew he wasn't a member) and a
few well washed grease stains. "It's all I have that's clean," he
explained when she raised an eyebrow. "I usually wash clothes on
Wednesday."
     "I see," yeah, standing there in the Laundromat on his day
off, wearing the Superman suit because that's all that's clean...
     Perhaps hearing some skepticism in her voice, he added, "I had
one other clean T-shirt, but you're wearing it."
     She looked down at herself now. She was wearing the shirt over
the blouse and slacks she'd worn all yesterday. "It's cool out and
I thought I might need to look a little less conspicuous."
     "I see... Are you sure you don't want some more of all this
food?"
     "No, go right ahead. I told you I wanted to watch."
     "Okay. Feel free to speak up."
     "You know me, I don't hesitate," but she did feel like
watching him quietly. She thought about his questions and attitude
for a moment, but decided he was simply trying to be a good host.
He cracked the eggs open into a bowl, added ingredients from here
and there, made a big omelet and poured it into the skillet when
the bacon was done. Just like any guy would, she told herself, any
guy who could cook.
     I never thought of Superman as being able to...
     I never thought Clark couldn't...
     She closed her eyes. *You're* him...
     "Did you get enough sleep?"
     "Probably not," she sighed. "I'll be able to catch up at your
folks' place. Think they'll give me your bed again?"
     "Yeah, it's the guest room now." He turned from tending the
omelet and pulled a bag of brown rice out of the lower part of the
refrigerator.
     "Some day I'm going to get in one of your beds and find you in
there first."
     "*That* would be interesting." He pulled a cylindrical piece
of kitchenware out from a cabinet under the silverware drawer. "You
could giggle all you wanted then."
     "I don't think giggling would be foremost on my mind... What
*are* you doing?"
     "Sending a message to the universe."
     "Huh?"
     "I'm due a quiet evening at home. If I start making dinner
now, we might have a quiet day and I can get home by six." He
checked the omelette, then began measuring water into the
cylindrical thing. He glanced at her. "Don't tell me you've never
seen a crockpot..."
     "I leave that kind of complicated device to those who know
about them. You couldn't, like, order a pizza or something?"
     "I could, if I thought they'd be easily available, but I don't
think I want to spend a month's salary on one."
     "Oh, so you'll eat rice."
     "And other things with it, like broccoli if I can find some."
     "Whatever you say..." She suddenly realized how difficult it
was sitting there watching him be all domestic. Another time she
might have enjoyed it, joked more with him about it, helped him,
but now, what with everything else that had hit her in the last two
hours or so, she was feeling close to squealing again ("You can't
be doing this! You're Superman!" and he'd be all reasonable: "But
I'm hungry.") "Ah, Clark? Can I look at your tape library and put
on some music or something?"
     He looked rather surprised that she would ask, and then rather
pleased. "Sure, feel free."
     She had noticed it before, on previous visits, but she hadn't
particularly cared about what he liked to listen to. Now it would
be nice to know - and she was glad she had thought up the diversion
for herself. He had a mix of tapes and CD, an inexpensive multi-use
player for them, and small speakers set some ten feet apart and
aimed into the room. Not very super, she thought, until she started
looking through the tapes that were racked and hanging on the wall.
Ray Ellington (not Duke?), Pavarotti, McCartney, Verdi... "Is
this... Chinese? I recognize the French... Spanish... Korean?
Welsh? Bagpipes? Teton Snow? Polynesian? This collection has no
rhyme or reason..."
     He had eased the omelet out on to the waiting plate, put
that on the table with some extra silverware and big glass of milk,
and then walked up behind her. "What are you complaining about
now?"
     She would have poked him had she not suspected she would only
wind up with a broken finger. "Where did you go to get this
variety? Not here in town for many of them, and certainly not in
Kansas."
     "It's just music I liked when I heard it, and I bought them,
at the source, mostly. After I pestered them unmercifully, my folks
gave me plane tickets and traveler's checks for my high school
graduation and said `go see the world,' so I did." He picked up an
ordinary looking tape with a simple scribbled-upon label. "My mom
sent me this one a few days ago," and he slipped it in and turned
the tape player on. As the leader ran through the machine, he said,
"Come on, your granola's getting cold."
     "But what's the music?"
     "You'll see - I mean, hear. Come sit down, you can hear it in
here."
     She trailed along after him and as she sat down she began to
hear pan pipes and bird songs. She smiled. "That does sound like
something your mother would approve of."
     "It's relaxing after a hard day at work," and he picked up his
fork to dig in.
     "After yesterday..." She caught herself, just shook her head
to make it into a general comment, and picked up her spoon. She
hesitated over the cereal and decided it was now or never for this
healthy food (at least he'd found the half-bottle of cherry
preserves). But it tasted fine, and as for yesterday, even if he
were simply Clark and someone else were Superman, he would still
have been as busy, as a reporter, as he wanted everyone to think
now. "After yesterday especially. It's good to relax, and that
music does help. Oh, and an organ..."
     "Yeah, it builds up and smoothes out and gets soft, and then it
rains on the other side and you can hear sheep, like in a meadow."
     A meadow, right. So this really was the guy who wears the
suit, huh? Ah, "Can you read the Chinese titles and those other
languages? I mean, I wouldn't want to think that you'd gotten
ripped off, a kid just out of high school, living out of his
suitcase."
     "Backpack, and I can read enough of a couple of languages, I
did fine traveling round."
A couple *dozen* languages, she bet, and more than read, *and*
you didn't travel by any plane, either... "I had no idea you did
all that. You'll have to tell me about it sometime..."
     "Sure... if you're really interested..."
     Still can't believe I could be, can you? And why wasn't I even
half this curious about you before? Checking your credit history
and if you had a police record when we met clearly wasn't enough...
"I don't think stories about your world travels would be boring,
unless you took a lot of slides of insects or something like that."
     "No, well, not many, and my slides are back home. You can look
at them when you're there if you want."
     "Not without you there, too, so some other time."
     "You mean you might actually think about venturing into the
countryside more than once for no other reason than that you want
to?"
     "I guess so. You know me, just full of surprises."
     "Yeah..." he played with the remaining half of his omelet
for a moment. "Nice surprises..."
     That made her smile. Progress.
     They listened to the remainder of that side of the tape
without having to say anything more, just enjoying breakfast. It
made her feel quite good about being here, doing this simple thing
with him, him looking and acting all normal, as though this was the
way he wanted things in life.
     And maybe it wasn't an "as though" case, but the real thing...
     He had another bagel and cream cheese (she refrained from
asking where he was packing it all away), finished his milk, and
sat back as the tape ended. "I think we ought to listen to some
news, or see if there's any TV coverage of what's happening. It
might not be safe to go out yet."
     Not safe for me, he's thinking, she told herself. If I weren't
here, would he be out already, helping people in need? He didn't
look at all anxious about missing doing that... But just in case:
"So would you regularly be out... jogging or something if it were a
normal morning? If you wanted to, you could, you don't have to keep
me company. I could... wash dishes."
     "Nah, I got enough exercise yesterday, running around every
where trying to... interview people and not get stepped on by that
thing the times it was on the ground. You don't mind if I turn on
some news then..."
     Of course not. He tried television first, but only found
cartoons, several channels full of infomercials, and world news
programming out New York. "I've got to get cable."
     He always said that, but it wasn't offered in the neighborhood
yet. "You're reception's probably all snowy because of the damage
to the TV transmitters on the towers downtown."
     "No, actually this is what it looks like this time of day. I
just thought someone would be covering local news and not that
actor's trial again."
     "Well, with two hung juries in a row, what can you expect?
     "That they'd cover something else for a change." He sighed.
"That leaves the radio."
     "Or the paper?"
     "No, I don't subscribe any of them. I mean, we already see
everything before practically everyone else, so it's the radio or
nothing."
     A popular all news/talk radio station was somewhat helpful,
but the eclectic almost-pirate college station had runners
throughout the city phoning in uncensored reports of what was
really going on in Metropolis, and it wasn't pretty. Not dangerous,
Lois noted, just not pretty. Some of the remains of the beast
seemed to be jelling and making sticky messes in unfortunate places
like heavily trafficked intersections and over parking garages and
fast-food restaurants. All the parts that could be removed to the
University for study had been. There was no particular mention of
Superman being seen anywhere in the vicinity of Metropolis yet that
morning, but in all live interviews where he or the fight were
mentioned, praise was effusive. Clark didn't bat an eye, she
noticed when she looked at him in an absent manner; was he blasé
about it? Waiting for them to get on to real information possibly,
and maybe still a little overwhelmed... There were no more fires or
broken water mains, but large areas of the city were still without
power or water, there were runs on big grocery stores and discount
houses, some looting had been reported, and work crews were being
organized. Restraint was advised, stay home and telecommute.
     Lois, who had gotten up to pace, sighed and suddenly felt her
knees weaken. She sat down on the couch quickly before it showed.
"Do you think..." Why did her voice sound so small? "ah, any of
that's happening in my part of town?"
     "I don't know." He knelt down in front of her and gave her the
impression that he felt quite protective of her. "But you're
certainly not going alone to find out."
     She held herself and sighed, trying not to shutter. "I'm glad
you're going with me," and I don't care who you really are. Just
you being you is enough. "I don't mind admitting to you that I'm
getting just a *little* bit concerned..."
     "Well, somebody I won't name mentioned that this was just
*little* bit of urban renewal..."
     "And you were half asleep!"
     "But not any more. Do you want to hang around here for a while
longer or hit the road now?"
     It was almost 8:30. "If traffic's really as bad as all that I
guess we better go now."
     "Get as close as we can and walk the rest of the way."
     "Yeah, I'm looking forward to *that*..."
     "It will get you ready for the countryside," he smiled.
     "Uh-huh."
     The smile became sympathetic. "You don't feel like joking..."
     "I'm trying, and I appreciate your efforts, I really do..."
     "Okay. Why don't you go brush your teeth and I'll clean up in
here?"
     That was the logical, level-headed guy she knew.
     He washed dishes, gave her a clean cup for the bathroom, and
brushed his teeth after she was done in there. He also pulled out
some clothing to wear in case they went to work from her place, and
a battered backpack for anything she might want to remove from her
apartment for safe keeping.
     Before hitting the road Lois realized they should call in to
the Planet and report their present and expected whereabouts. They
were informed by the assistant editor that they should be looking
for stories while they were out. "Why, what a novel idea, I would
*never* have thought to do that," Lois told the woman. "And good
morning to you, too."
     "You're not getting angry again, are you?" Clark asked as she
opened her trunk for his bag of clothing.
     "It worked last night."
     "In that case maybe I should drive."
     She gave him a look that he translated correctly, no dummy he.
     "How about if I ride shotgun again?"
     She nodded her approval. "And I'll try not to get angry."
     They negotiated the roads of his neighborhood without trouble,
then were able to enter the main south- and east-bound avenues that
headed toward the city's center. She was pleased to see that some
of the wreckage and trash that had made her detour so often and
stoked her anger the night before had been shoved to the side in
consideration for her need to use the road. Snow plows and earth
moving machinery were common sights. People carrying lumber,
buckets of nails and other building materials were becoming instant
contractors. Other people, confused and hopeless looking, stood on
the sides of roads with possessions heaped around them. "I hoped I
don't see the day out like those poor people..."
     "This is where some of Church's money could come in handy,"
she heard Clark say. "Rebuilding that school over there, for
example."
     She noted the flattened buildings but wasn't particularly
impressed; there were quite a few such along this route and she was
sure all the children had been evacuated in time. "If he was
promised his name on it he might do it, I suppose."
     "Who cares what it's called if it's a well-stocked school?"
     She wanted some blazing retort to leap to her lips but her
brain was in stall mode on the topic. It could only mean one thing.
"You're probably right."
     "It's Mayson, isn't it?"
     "You *want* me to get angry!"
     "It's better than your being depressed."
     "Clark, I'm not depressed," and she gripped the steering wheel
and eagle eyed the road just to prove it.
     "Well, that's good, because I haven't heard from her since she
got elected to the state house last year."
     She felt herself relax a little. "Now I'm *really* not
depressed."
     "And here I had thought I'd be her favorite reporter..."
     "Do you want to hear me sing?"
     "You didn't want me to get the inside scoop on legislative
hanky-panky?"
     As long as it meant he wasn't part of it, "I can dance, too."
     "Nah, I don't want to attract police attention."
     She backhanded him playfully, with no intention of making much
contact, but he caught her hand gently and squeezed ever so lightly
before guiding it back to the wheel. "Please drive carefully."
     "Yes, sir," because suddenly she felt enlightened about how
much she had to live for, and who...
     She eased the car off the main thoroughfare and on to Elmwood
and caught the first glimpse of her multi-story apartment house -
and shouted: "Oh, look! They got the tentacle off! Everything's
going to be all right!"
Or so she thought until within two blocks of the building she
realized she wasn't going to get any closer and had to park there
on the street. There were police barricades up. A block down she
could see that the parking building in which she rented a space was
damaged, but her own apartment building further on looked unscathed
and that was all she cared about at the moment.
     She had every intention of ignoring the barricades and gave
Clark the eye, meaning he should take on the very same attitude, to
charge right through them after her, but one of the two police
officers on patrol didn't see it her way. "Lady, you can't go past
here, the whole place is closed."
     All right, Plan B. "I live in that building there, the one
that's not burning or leaning or damaged in any way whatsoever."
     "That's still to be determined by the City Building Code
Department. Or will be when they get someone out here."
     "Which could be any time between now and Christmas, right?"
     "Beats me, ma'am. I don't live in the city itself."
     "Lois..."
     She heard a back-off-a-bit-before-you-say-something-you'll-
regret warning in Clark's voice. Maybe, this once, he was right.
(It had probably been more than once, she amended, but there was no
time to count that up now.) "So, officer, you didn't have any
damage wherever you live?"
     "No, ma'am, none at all."
     "It's good to know that someone who has to be here doesn't
also have to worry about their home and their cat and their fish...
and..." She sighed shakily, not altogether an act.
     "Let me see some proof that you actually reside in that
building, ma'am."
     That's more like it. She showed him her driver's license. As
he looked it over, comparing it to a list on a clip board his
partner passed to him and not appearing to recognize her name,
Clark spoke up. "Do you think we could talk to the building
manager?"
     "There should be someone on site for that. All right,
Ms. Lane, you may pass. But you, who are you?"
     "Me? I'm--"
     "He's my boy friend. *Practically* my fiancee."
     "Hmmm..."
     Clark smiled and said to the guard, "The wedding's in May if I
can convince her."
     She clung to him, and looked up with dreamy eyes. "Just pop
the question, dear..."
     "All right, all right," the officer said. "You can pass, too.
That your car?"
     Clark didn't deny it, simply shrugging an apology if it was
misparked.
     The officer said, "I'll be watching for you to come back,"
with a touch of warning in his voice.
     "Thank you, sir," and they walked through the barricade hand
in hand, Lois trying not to pull Clark along.
     When they were out of earshot, he said, "Being your fiancee is
the best Costello I've played to your Abbott yet."
     "And it didn't hurt at all, did it?"
     "Not in the least."
     "Keep it in mind in case we're stopped again."
     "Yes, ma'am. I didn't know you have a cat."
     You've never seen one when you've visited, have you? "I don't,
but plenty of tenants do, it was just a natural thing to say."
     The building loomed ahead. Its extravagant landscaping, one of
the things Lois liked about it, was mashed, probably by those who
had removed the tentacle. The pool, which she glanced at through an
open gate in the wall, was drained and looked cracked. The
restaurant on the ground floor was closed and some of its windows
had been broken out. "I can see my rent going sky high and not
stopping..." She noticed a gathering of people at the front of the
building. "I recognize some of those people in that group there -
and that's the building manager."
     They arrived in time to hear that basically while it was hoped
that the building was in sound shape, no one could guarantee it.
The building's management would not stop any tenant from entering,
but if they wished to do so they would have to sign a waiver for
damages and any injury climbing stairs could cause because the
elevators were out. There was no water, no electricity and no
garbage pick up or maid service. God, 18 floors... Lois thought, 18
*dirty* floors maybe...
     Out of the corner of her eye then, while listening to the
Building Manager talk, she noticed Clark, who had stayed back a bit
perhaps in deference to the real tenants, taking off his glasses
and beginning to clean them with the edge of his T-shirt. At the
same time he looked at the building, affecting a not particularly
convincing squint (at least to someone who knew what she did, she
told herself). He gazed at the building from side to side, slowly,
and from the top all the way down to the foundation at the same
pace. Then, his glasses clean, he slipped them back on and listened
politely to the remainder of the warning legalese about entering
the damaged structure.
     The tenants turned away to form little groups and mutter among
themselves. Clark was Lois's group, and she said to him, "I'm not
sure what to do now," which means you better have good news for me.
     "Well, I don't know much about buildings and how they're
constructed, but this one looks plenty safe enough to me..."
     If she could trust anyone about this... But she simply nodded.
"It does look nice and steady. I'd like to try. Are you up for
jogging 18 stories and no water when we get there?"
     He swung his back pack around, opened it and pulled out a
clear plastic bottle of water. "I didn't want to mention this in
case we didn't need it."
     "You're my hero. Come on and let's sign whatever they want us
to sign and run right up there."

                                ***

     All right, she told herself, jogging and running were not
exactly the right words for their rate of travel up the steps. They
were the first to enter the building with that in mind and no doubt
had the farthest up to go. Her enthusiasm at seeing her home again
got her as far as the fifth floor landing before it began to flag
seriously, and Clark had to retie his shoes. He mentioned the light
wasn't very good and, true, it was only emergency lighting, but
enough, she thought, particularly for one with his visual acuity.
Still, he made it seem like it was giving him trouble and he had to
take time to do a job everyone learned by heart when they were
practically babies.
     But she didn't complain and didn't mind the rest. Some people
who lived on the sixth and seventh floors passed them as Clark
struggled, but they said nothing, which was a good thing because
she felt very defensive on his behalf.
     By the time they reached the tenth floor landing, the sounds
of people on the stairs below them and of stair doors opening and
banging shut had diminished. Only they were nuts enough to have
come up this far for now. No doubt others would try later in the
day, but for now they were as good as alone.
     "Water?" he asked.
     "A little drink maybe..." and another excuse to rest.
     "I'm glad you're wearing sensible shoes."
     "Me, too." She drank, licked her lips, capped the bottle and
handed it back.  "Come on."
     On fifteen, he came right out with it: "Rest stop."
     "We're almost there, I don't need to rest."
     He gave her his patented "even *you* don't believe that" look.
     "All right, rest... You really do jog, don't you, not winded
at all..." Hint, hint, hint - no, don't tell me, don't confess
right here, I'd hate to hear it here. I want it to be romantic...
     "Maybe we can find an exercise program for you..."
     "Yes, maybe..." Fat chance... but if I'm going to keep up with
with the new you... She sighed. "Ready?"
     "Lead on."
     She did so. The remaining steps seemed easy because they
weren't top most in her thoughts. No, it was that idea of romance,
of him telling her about that other guy in their lives, and why it
was taking him so long to get around to it.
     He could have told me right off, first thing after getting to
know me, but he didn't.
     Why? I'm trustworthy, I can keep a secret, I'm a good
companion, mostly...
     Usually.
     Well, on occasion, with those who catch my attention, true,
like...
     Not like you, Clark, not at first...
     Which is all you've had to go on, isn't it?
     We've got a perfectly serviceable friendship...
     But being best friends, as little as that has meant, isn't
enough any more, is it? It hasn't been for you, but it's had to be,
you've been stuck with the role, and I certainly haven't been very
encouraging...
     A plan, I need a plan...
     As she set foot on the 18th floor level, she turned, forcing
him to stop on the next step down. She could face him and was just
touch taller. He eased her arms around his neck (he felt as steady
as a stone pillar).
     "Lois?"
     "Shhh," and she proceeded to hug him, hard. He returned it,
gently. "I really appreciate what you're doing for me," she
whispered. "No one else would help me like you have."
     "Well--"
     "*No* one. God knows why you've put up with me for as long as
you have. Maybe you're crazy for doing so, and maybe I'm crazy for
not having realized all this before, but you have finally attracted
my full and undivided attention. And I'm glad."
     She began to ease out of the hug but, as hoped, he wouldn't
let her. Maybe kissing was the next step in his plan, too.
On a scale of ten, where twelve was admittedly Superman 
and his could have been just an absent-minded peck on the
cheek, she rated this a 7. His reaction was a bit too shy and not
over being surprised at the Lois he expected only to see when he
was... the other guy. It was definitely more than a friendly five
or less, and more definitely an exercise she wanted to practice.
     But not right now, though there was plenty of time for a
little looking into each others eyes and smiling warmly because he
did look quite look-at-able...
     "Maybe we better get going and get this over with," she
suggested reluctantly.
     "I'm in no hurry."
     "Good... but we should still..."
     "If you insist..."
     "I don't actually want to..."
     They parted and she noticed that some of his attention was
drawn away to the door and perhaps beyond it. She reached for the
bar to push it open but he reached faster, "Allow me," and eased it
open, putting himself between her and the opening edge. He peaked
out and then pulled in and pulled the door to so quickly that it's
safety mechanisms groaned.
     "There's someone out there with a shotgun aimed right at us!"
     And if she had gone ahead, she might have been shot, that was
it. "Was he dressed in fatigues?"
     Huh? "Yeah..."
     "Okay." She approached the door despite his obvious desire
that she not do so, but only called through it. "Mr. Johnson? Is
that you, Mr. Johnson? It's Lois from next door, remember me?"
     "Lois? Lois Lane?"
     They heard the handle on the far side of the door being
gripped, Clark let go of the bar and positioned himself more
protectively, and they saw the door open. A man confronted them. 
He was in his early 50s perhaps, his hair was quite short, and he
wore an almost threatening look. "What are *you* doing up here?" he
said to Lois. "It's a long walk up for a little slip of a girl like
you."
     Thanks a lot, buster. "I had to come check on my apartment. I
was at work when the tentacle fell, so..." She didn't feel like
explaining herself to him. "This my good friend, Clark."
     "Kent, isn't it?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "Harvey Johnson, USMC, Retired," and he held out his right
hand. Clark took it for a brief shake. If there was any
stereotypical strength testing on Johnson's part, Lois didn't see
him show it. Wouldn't *he* have been surprised if he'd tried. It
might have been a friendly shake, but Johnson didn't look friendly
toward Clark. "I've read your articles. Too soft on some of the
criminal element, if you ask me."
     "You're welcome to your opinion, sir."
     Johnson was not impressed by Clark's unwillingness to snap at
the bait and dismissed him with something short of a snort. He
turned his attention to Lois, who he softened up for. "Miss Lane,
if you are at all frightened or in need of an escort or
assistance..."
     "I'll keep you in mind, but so far we're doing okay."
     "I've set up lights around the perimeter here, but since I
have no idea when the low-brow building management will have
electricity re-established, I suggest that as soon as you gain
access to your apartment you open some windows for light."
     "Thank you, I'll do that."
     "And I have plenty of supplies I would be willing to share
with you. Your series on the Metropolitan VA hospital abuses was a
breath of fresh air."
     "Thank you. We can talk about it later, all right?" and maybe
she would inform him pointedly about Clark going undercover for
that one. "You've had some fascinating experiences, but I really
must see about my fish..."
     "Certainly, ma'am." And he nodded curtly and stepped out of
the way. He gave Clark his mean look again. "Ever served your
country, young man?"
     "Whenever I can, sir."
     "I'll bet."
     "Come on, Clark," and she grabbed his elbow and pulled.
Fortunately, he came.
     She unlocked all her locks and stepped into her apartment,
threatening to pull him along this way, too, but she didn't have
to, because he wanted to know, out of ear shot, "Who does that guy
think he is?"
     "Don't let him bother you, he's really a pussy cat. He just
doesn't know you like I do."
     "I don't care what he thinks about me or if he's a pussy cat,
that shotgun's dangerous."
     "We agree, okay?"
     "And shouldn't he be holed up in some hills somewhere?"
     "Probably. I asked him about it once, more politely than that,
and basically he thinks of Metropolis as a jungle already and he
has a great view from his... concrete tree house. I bet he's been
here since yesterday, when... That would make a good story, you
know?"
     "I think you should be careful around him."
     How sweet! "I am, don't worry. If it'll make you feel any
better, he's not a major or a colonel or a general or anything like
that. He may have retired from the Marines but he didn't advance
very far before he did."
     "That doesn't make me feel any better."
     Then give him something to do, she told herself. "Would you
open some windows for me? I have to check my fish."
     He opened all the curtains and blinds and several of the
windows to encourage drafts. The new light showed that her
apartment had undergone quite a shaking and things had been knocked
down and off shelves, but there appeared to be little actual
damage. The only thing she gasped at was that a third of the water
had been splashed out of the 10-gallon aquarium there in the living
room near the fake fireplace, and she looked down into the tank,
calling softly: "Marvin? Maxine?"
     Clark came up behind her and looked, too. "Oh, there's only
one left, maybe the others..." he hesitated to point out their
obvious fate.
     "Only one? I only *have* one. Where - oh, *there* you are!
Come here, baby..."
     The fish ignored her and swam to the right and then to the
left, thinking whatever fish in such situations think about.
     "You have only *one fish*? With two names? Isn't it...
confused?"
     "I don't know whether it's a male or female." She straightened
up and sighed. "I had a more colorful one but it went to that great
aquarium in the sky sometime Tuesday night... I just can't seem to
keep them alive..."
     He shook his head, probably to clear his own confusion, and
looked down again a little closer. "It's a guppy, Lois, and the one
that died was probably male because Maxine here looks like she's
going to make you a grandmother in a few days."
     She knelt down beside him. Even if he knew just about
everything, "How can you possibly know that?"
     "I had tons of guppies when I was a kid. Maybe you overfed
yours and that's why they died."
     "They always look so hungry..."
     "Well, you don't have to feed her today. Maybe we can take her
with us if you have a jar, but she'll probably be happier if we
don't."
     "She's used to these surroundings... If I had more water."
     "She has enough, this tank's plenty big. I can check on her
over the weekend while you're gone if you want, and clean up the
tank and add water."
     "Thank you, Clark, that would be nice. It would make me feel a
lot better. There's not much you can do, like coach her through
labor, I realize that, but..."
     "But I'll do my best. Did you want to get some clothing? And
use this," his back pack, "to put it in?"
     "Yes, thanks. It shouldn't take long for me to decide what I
can't live without for a few hours. There's a portable radio on the
mantelpiece if you want to hear some music or news or whatever..."
     She went into her bedroom and opened the curtains there, and
then started through her dresser and closet for, at worst (so to
speak) another night away from home. It wouldn't be so bad if he
invited her to stay again, though how they'd interact with him wide
awake and expecting her (because before she had always managed to
descend upon him out of the blue) was something she wasn't quite
ready to plan for yet. She heard him turn on the radio and
experiment with stations. Good. She nearly always had that blues-
all-night, blues-all-day stationed tuned in because, if anything,
the reception was good, but except for Maxine's mindless plight,
she didn't feel like singing the blues. He found that eclectic
college station and some kind of Latin American music. That was all
right with her, too.
     Until the music began to trail off and a slightly drugged-
sounding host came on. "We've got some more information on the
unfolding - god, what a word, *unfolding*, like we're a newspaper
or something... *unfolding* shuttle problems. They're trying to
keep it from us, folks - Hey, DeWitte, turn *off* the music, all
right? All the way? I don't need background mariachis, I've got
something important to say here... Good, that's better. Can't get
decent help these days, even though I trained him myself... Yeah,
we're all volunteers, but folks keep sending in your money anyhow.
Now, where was I?
"Oh, yeah. Ole NASA's got a bit of trouble with the Shuttle
Poopsy - I mean, Pioneer, that went up last Saturday to do more
earth surveying. Does it seem to you like it does to me that we
have just about *enough* pictures of Mother Earth? We've got her
good side and her bad side and her side with her pants down and her
side with her makeup on. Is this what you want *your* tax money
paying for? Hey, how about this for an idea? Give Superman a couple
of bucks for the charity of his choice and a camcorder and some
videotape and--"
     As she walked back into the room she heard the station cut off
as Clark searched for another one. He glanced at her and explained,
"I like Sleepy Stan, but he never can seem to get to the
*point*..."
     "Sounds like he was about to misplace it altogether."
     He found a news/talk station, the better of the two in town,
in her opinion. A major network-sounding voice was talking in an
excited yet also controlled and understated tone. She wondered how
they managed that, if they taught it in radio announcer school.
     "--and from the reports we have, NASA claims to have the
situation under control. The Shuttle is maneuvering to retrieve
astronaut Odette O'Connor with the robot arm, already famous for
having launched many useful satellites. If it were evening over
America, powerful telescopes could probably catch the action as it
occurs. Currently, the network is obtaining live footage, which we
will be broadcast over our television affiliates this evening..."
     Well, that was boring in comparison to what she, Lois, was
going through. "Oh. Then everything is under control. We can
relax."
     "Unless Sleepy Stan is right, that we're not being told
everything. Obtaining live footage and not broadcasting now doesn't
sound right..."
     True, and it didn't take a mind reader to see that Clark was
worried. Do something, girl - get out of his way so *he* can do
something if he wants. "Clark, I've picked out enough clothing and
makeup and things to take. I want to follow up on my hunch that
Mr. Johnson's staying here last night will make a good story"
     That dragged his thoughts away from a possible Shuttle
disaster. "You think you're really safe around that guy?"
     "If I didn't, you could tag along, but I don't think he'd talk
to me then. I'm going to have to ease the story out of him. It
should only take a hour or so."
     "Oh, well, I don't mind waiting..." he looked around himself.
"Maybe I could... straighten up some things..."
     "No, don't bother, I know where everything goes, just relax."
     "Okay, if you think you'll be all right..."
     He did sound genuinely concerned, that was nice. "I'll be
fine," and she went into her den to get a notepad and pen,
returning to the living room to see that Clark had already decided
to relax (or appear to) in her overstuffed chair near the window
that looked out on the river. He was leafing through one of the
pile of magazines on the table to his right. "Give me a least an
hour."
     "You've got it. Maybe I'll go down stairs and find someone to
interview, too."
     "That's a good idea."
     "Maybe you better go before he... booby traps his door or
something..."

                                ***

     She would have loved to stay just outside her closed door and
listen for what he did next, but then he might have spied her and
wondered just what the heck she was doing there and delayed any
rescue-oriented movement that would give him away. No, she had to
keep up pretenses. She walked down the hall, noticing that the
"perimeter lighting," two strategically placed, battery-operated
lamps, was actually a useful idea.
     She paused, composed herself, took a deep, calming breath, and
knocked on Harvey Johnson's door. A little rap was all it took.
Johnson opened it immediately and, as expected, looked big and
surly until he saw who it was and that she wasn't frightened of
him. "What can I do for you, Miss Lane?"
     "Well, Mr. Johnson, since you're not one to abandon your post
easily, it occurs to me that you experienced the piece of that
monster falling on our building and you actually lived to tell me
all about it. Of course, your anonymity is important, I don't even
want to mention what building you're in, but your story could
give... meaning and hope to the lives of all those out there who
wonder about their very survival."
     "Well put, young woman, well put. I see your strategy, but I
don't see anything wrong with it. And I don't see that... young
man. Has he gone about his own affairs and left you here on your
own to climb all the way back down to the ground?"
     "Oh, no, he's back in my apartment, writing copy, taking
pictures from the window, that kind of thing. He didn't want to
bother you..."
     "Good thinking. Will you please come in?" He opened the door
wider and motioned. She stepped in. He continued, "I hope you don't
mind me being blunt, Miss Lane, but there are certain types of
people I cannot tolerate."
     "Yes, I understand. My goodness, I didn't realize you had so
much in your apartment - and nothing about this will be in my story
without your permission, of course."
     "Of course. I have several power generators and batteries that
I charge myself on this treadmill. That's one way I keep fit
without having to jog through traffic, for example."
     "Marvelous. It is nice to see a well lighted apartment in this
building."
     "You haven't seen anything yet. Let me show you my... war
room."
     She knew that this size of apartment could have up to three
bedrooms, and he ushered her into a one of them. She was prepared
to defend herself if this took a turn for the worse, but as her
eyes adjusted to the startling light, she heard him chuckle,
"Calling it my war room is just my little joke, you understand."
     "Oh, my..." it was a media center, dominated by a large screen
television and something that looked rather like a satellite dish.
"You have power for all this, too?"
     "More than enough to spare. You're not to mention that. You
can mention that I make my own power, just not how much."
     "And is that a satellite dish? How can it work here in the
building?"
     "Because it's not a satellite dish," and he volunteered no
more.
     "I see. I'm not to mention it. Well, what are you watching?"
Something about the black that looked like space and the white that
looked human made and the blue tinge in bits of the background (on
the top of the screen) that looked like water...
     "I'm monitoring several NASA satellite channels. They don't
usually scramble them, but they have today. I didn't have any
trouble unscrambling them. You're not to mention that, either."
     "You mean this is a live feed?"
     "It most certainly is," he said proudly. "It's probably for
the boys at the White House. You know, I watched the Gulf War
unfold on this little baby. Now this shuttle problem."
     "I just heard about this happening on the radio. They made it
sound like nothing at all."
     "Well, that certainly isn't the case, no, ma'am. Sit down
here..."
     He indicated a comfortable-looking chair and took the one next
to it. He pointed at the screen. "What you're seeing now is from a
video camera looking out of one of the windows in the back of the
crew quarters. The Shuttle bay doors are open and that stick-
looking thing is the robot arm. Tell me if I'm going too fast for
you, Miss Lane."
     She restrained herself from blacking his eye for thinking her
a dummy. "No, it's fascinating, do go on. An astronaut is having a
out there, or so I heard."
     "You heard correctly. Odette O'Connor, a woman." He shook his
head. "That's one of NASA's big problems--"
     "Mr. Johnson, has something happened to her?"
     "She was out repairing the robot arm - something always seems
to go wrong with them, have you noticed? Probably fancy bookkeeping
and cheap foreign parts."
     "It happens."
     "They sent her out, she's supposed to be an expert, but it
attacked her. I got it on tape, you can see it later if you wish."
     "I do. It attacked her?"
     "Yes, ma'am, and it may have torn her suit. I suspect that
much. In any event, she seems to be unconscious because she hasn't
responded to calls from the Shuttle or the ground." He pointed to
something high on one of several stacks of equipment. "See that
radio up there? I'm pulling in those broadcasts, too. That's not
for publication."
     "I understand. Can't they send someone out to get her?"
     "Oh, they've thought of that, but the robot arm hit her with
such force it sent her spinning off and then somehow it managed to
slice through her tether as she was getting to the end of it. They
seem to have only a vague idea in which direction she went. You
see, they only have those windows and a few others, and a couple of
video cameras outside. And basically only the light reflected from
Earth. That's it on top. They're upside down, in more ways than
one. They should never have sent a woman. I'd say she's as good as
lost."
     And a man can't get lost, too, you idiot?
     Get a grip, girl, this reeks of being a really big story.
     "There has to be something someone..." what was that? "can
do..." she squinted at the screen. "What's that dot? A star?"
"No, I don't think so, too blue. Let me switch satellite
channels..." He picked up a complex-looking control box and the
image on the screen began to change, flipping until he got one he
probably considered the best. She told herself that if she had to
sit by a lunatic to witness this, it was a good thing he knew what
he was doing.
     And he had switched to a good camera: it showed that Superman
was coming toward them, the injured astronaut in his arms. She
seemed to be clinging to him and no wonder. Her current and quite a
few past lives had probably been flashing before her eyes until he
showed up.
     Lois could relate to that. "Yes!" she said, sitting back and
wanting to cheer. Yes! She felt all warm and tingly. Yes!
     "That's the only hope I held out for her. That young man is a
shining example if I ever saw one. He's a pacifist, true, but he
knows the criminal element and won't let them get the upper hand."
     "Even if the element is from outer space."
     "Precisely. He's well balanced and I can respect that. I'm
going to change channels again..."
     As Superman moved out of the view of one camera, he moved into
the range of the next and closer. He looked placid and in no
particular hurry. His cape eased out from behind him, almost as
though there were a wind but instead, as Johnson pointed out, going
over the physics for her, reacting to his body movements and a bit
of solar wind.
     "If she were dead," Lois said, "he wouldn't look so
unconcerned."
     "You know him, don't you? Dump that Kent character and pursue
Superman. Hitch your wagon to a star, that's what I always say."
     "I'll keep that in mind. Where's he taking her?"
     "Shuttle bay, probably. There is an airlock there."
     Superman disappeared down out of view. A different angle shot
showed him from the back, placing the astronaut into the airlock,
and then backing out. He raised up and looked back at the camera,
in which Johnson caught him making an "okay" signal.
     "He's not going in with her?"
     "No, and it's a smart move. Unless he wants to land with them,
they'd have to let him out again and that would waste precious
air."
     And I only gave him an hour... She checked her watch. Twenty
minutes had gone by already?
     Superman produced a pad of paper and a pencil from a pouch,
perhaps in his cape, and began to write as he floated backwards,
around to the side of the shuttle and a window. Johnson changed
channels yet again and they could see Superman waiting outside one
of the windows for a bit of attention from inside. "I wonder..."
Johnson muttered. He found a satellite channel broadcasting what
someone with a camcorder inside the shuttle was picking up.
     "That's amazing..." Lois said.
     "They're not particularly good videographers, especially under
stress. If the movement begins to bother your stomach, let me know.
I have ginger ale for that."
     "Thank you..." Well, she thought, she had never alcohol on his
breath or clothing, there was something good to be said about the
way he lived.
     According to the shuttle-to-ground broadcasts, some of the
five astronauts inside noticed who was floating along outside the
window. One of the two camcorders being focused through the window
into the airlock was pulled away crazily and turned to the window.
Superman smiled a bit, at last being acknowledged and held up the
pad of paper. In a well defined script that Lois could see was
Clark's but larger, the note read:
     "Her heart beat is steady. No broken bones. She may be
stunned."
     He turned to the next page as the two astronauts watching
absorbed this and reported it to the others, one of whom was a
doctor.
     "Her radio is broken. Suggest taking her home."
     Everyone in the Shuttle agreed heartily. They were within two
days of return anyhow.
     "They have contracts to fulfill," Johnson muttered. "Every
hour these fights cost millions, and most of the work could be done
by robots anyhow."
     She couldn't help comment, "But then you'd miss all this..."
     "True..." he smiled a bit, his eyes not moving from the
screen. "Look, they've got the air lock filled with air and they're
getting her in."
     The captain of the mission had found a piece of paper. The
camcorder moved from Superman's window (he was simply waiting
serenely again, his arms folded obscuring much of the big S), and
focused on the captain, who was scribbling. The note said, "She
looks okay - coming around" and he showed it through the window.
     The camcorder butted it away to see Superman nodding and
writing another note of his own.
     "Do you want me to check out the robot arm?"
     "Yes!"
     Thumbs up from outside. Johnson's fancy channel switching
caught Superman looking over the troublesome piece of equipment
(does he know that much about such things? Lois wondered, but maybe
something obviously wrong would stand out even to a layperson's
eye). Satisfying himself after about two minutes, he looked over
the exterior of the craft and then returned to the window, floating
up unconcerned about his movement, knowing it to be right, she
thought, concentrating on his next note.
     "It's unusable. Can you fold it back in or should" next page
"I remove it and take it back to Cape Canaveral?"
     "Don't take it," the reply said. "Would [equal sign] unbalance
at landing. May take a few hours to get it in - get ready - land
ahead of time."
     Superman nodded. "Let the media know if you need help and I'll
come," and as he tucked the pad away he floated backward and the
shuttle went on its way.
     "I wonder if the networks are picking any of this up..."
Johnson turned to his right and used a remote to turn on a small TV
screen on the wall. It brightened up to show the face of a popular
network commentator and, in a computerized video box behind him,
blank black space with a bit of the shuttle and a bit of Earth,
similar to the picture Lois had seen upon her entry into the room.
Johnson turned the satellite feed radio down and the network
broadcast up. The commentator was saying something about the
suspected loss of an astronaut and that NASA was not yet commenting
on the matter. They had this live feed though and were going to
stay on the air with it until matters were resolved...
     "They're at least fifteen minutes behind, if they're supposed
to be live."
     "More than that, if they insert commercials," Johnson laughed. 
"Censorship, the great demon countering what little democracy we
have left..."
     "I agree totally. What a scoop... Do you have a phone that
works?"
     "Yes," and he pointed. "That cellular one there, but..."
     "Don't worry, I won't say *anything* about how I got this, I
promise, you can listen."
     She called the Planet, got Bev in rewrite, spun out the story
of what she had seen and heard, and read to her the verbatim notes
she'd made of the contents of Superman's and the Captain's notes.
     "We haven't heard any of these details, Lois, and we've got
radios on everywhere and people posted by the wire. You've done it
again," the transcriptionist said when Lois said that was all she
had at the moment. "What do you want me to tell Perry?"
     "Just tell him that I got it and it's totally accurate. He can
decided what to do with it, but whatever that is, the byline is
shared by me and Clark."
     "Gotcha."
     She rung off and thanked Johnson for the use of the phone.
     "My pleasure, but I can't understand you sharing the credit
with that... ineffectual young man."
     "Don't let it bother you, I owe him one."
     "Well, you know your business. They'll pull the robot arm in
next and it will probably work just fine. Technology like that, if
it isn't shown who is boss, lashes out and then acts angelic
afterwards. The technology I have mastered, on the other hand..."
     Lois resigned herself to going through with the interview she
had originally come for. She wanted to be waiting at the window for
Clark's return, or at least imagined she did. She proceeded to
follow Johnson around his castle, actually becoming amazed at what
the man had managed to build on this floor of the apartment
building, only a few doors away from her own once-comfortable
little home. What if he had been asked to evacuate? There could
have been a face down with guns blazing... or not. He probably would
have turned off everything and not answered the door.
     Of course, ninety percent of what he told her was so far off
the record she'd need a flashlight and bloodhounds to find it
again. But she was able to obtain from him a description of the
feelings he had experienced when he realized he was trapped by the
tentacle of the Slime Monster and what he had planned to do about
it and how he had ridden it out. Several good paragraphs could be
rung out of those feelings alone, and what with that and the
satellite dish report, it had actually been a worthwhile way to
spend an hour and a half of her morning.
     She promised Johnson that she would save a paper with the
article in it for him in case he didn't want to go out for one on
his own, and then left, also assuring him she would keep in touch
when it came to needing his special knowledge.
     When he closed the door and she was half way down the hall,
she paused, shook herself, and reassumed what she hoped was her
relaxed persona. Clark was going to be surprised that she knew what
she did, assuming he was back. If he weren't, he could always say
he had gone downstairs after all. Clever to think up that cover
story ahead of time...
But he was there. He was sitting in the same chair, thumbing
through what looked like the same magazine, the only immediate
difference in his appearance being that he didn't have his shoes on
and his feet were up on her coffee table. Maybe walking in space
could lead to sore feet. She couldn't help but smile at herself,
but then widened it a bit to smile simply at seeing him. He looked
fine otherwise. Where did he keep the suit? And did he just run his
hands hastily through his hair to return it to that fresh-off-the-
tractor look? Why did it slick back when he was Superman? She
wondered if he thought about that or just took advantage of it.
     "I hope you got a good story, I was beginning to worry."
     "He had a lot to show me, nearly all of it off the record,
much of it possibly illegal, and, in case you wonder, he didn't
touch me at all. I do wish you could have gone. We watched Superman
save a shuttle astronaut."
     That obviously surprised him, but not inappropriately.
     "Something *was* wrong with it then. I turned off the radio to
save it's batteries, so..."
     "I appreciate that, but you probably wouldn't have heard very
much. The networks were cut out of live coverage. When I realized
that, that *I* was seeing it live, I called it in, and you're
sharing the byline because it wasn't fair that he doesn't like you
and you couldn't go."
     "Thank you, Lois. You are turning over a new leaf, aren't
you?"
     "I'm turning over so many I feel like a leaf blower." She
tossed another smile at him, entered her den and put her note pad
there. She had hardly used it, just jotting down the carefully
chosen words Johnson had used to describe his emotions. She
wouldn't have been surprised to hear he was planning to write his
memoirs.
     Then she noted something different about her desk. She had a
stack of blank steno pads, and one with neon dinosaurs on the cover
was laying out of place, and in the spring of wire holding it
together was a yellow pencil about one third used and blunt. She
picked up the notepad. It felt cool, and the pencil, which she took
out of the spring, felt brittle somehow. She opened the notepad and
got a shock. She took it to the door and waved it at Clark. "When
did this arrive?"
     "About ten minutes ago. He brought it back, saying you might
want a souvenir. Do you know the only pencil you have is that one
and it was in your silverware drawer?"
     And how did *you* find it then? "Well, you should have asked."
     "I told him I would go get you, you'd like to see him, but he
was in a hurry. He didn't think a ball-point pen would work, but he
didn't say why. Now I know."
     "I see..." and she thought, fast footwork, buddy. I would have
fallen for it before... "Well, I don't really need another
souvenir, I have a closet full already, that's one reason I took
this apartment when it opened up, big closets - and *not* because
it's on his flight path. I thought of that, too, well after I had
signed the lease."
     "Of course."
     "It's true! It has a great view, it's big, it's... covered
with slime, but it's *all mine*... Maybe we could give this to NASA
and they could make a display or something with it."
     "Or give it to a charity to sell."
     That had to be what he preferred, she thought, coming out with
it so naturally, but he needed her as an intermediary. "That's a
good idea. Help me think of one - later. I've got to get my
clothing together and get changed for work."
     "Remember your walking shoes - and you're welcome to stay at
my place again tonight, if you want, but *you* have to sleep on the
couch."
     "Agreed."

                                ***

     Their walk down to ground level was at a steady pace without
need for rest stops. The drive in to the Planet was uneventful,
though they saw evidence of damage and quick looting, and lots of
police on the streets looking bored. Lois told him about the
shuttle rescue, going light on the facts, which he knew, and heavy
on what she had seen and heard from the interior of the Shuttle
(which he probably couldn't have heard since he wasn't a radio) and
on her opinions about how the story should be approached. He held
up his end of the conversation by thinking up a few arguments
countering her ideas, and suggesting some obscure but knowledgeable
people they could call that would all wind up sharpening the story.
     The streets had been cleaned enough for her to get into the
parking garage and find that today, for once, no one had taken her
favorite parking space. "Good omen," she claimed.
     They got his better clothing out of her trunk and after the
entered the building, they parted so Clark could go to the locker
room to change. She noted the newsroom had its normal buzz, that
the electricity was on in full force, and her desk was a mess
again. Back to normal. She got on the phone right away and called
the Planet's travel office, telling them she wanted to leave at
noon or shortly thereafter the next day, destination in Wichita,
Kansas. She was pleased to hear that the airport was open and there
was no prospect of delay.
     She was checking over the new pile of incoming messages,
brochures, files and magazines on her desk (Slime Monster or not,
she shook her head, the mail gets through unless it's Christmas),
when she heard the receptionist down at the main entrance paging
Clark to Perry's office. She looked up in that direction to see the
editor motioning at her, she was included in the call. She nodded
and waved, but waited until she saw Clark walk in, straightening
his tie. There were little tea roses on it, pink on burgundy. How
could he get away with it?
     Her look, which he saw in a glance, said "Get over here
first," and he obeyed.
     "Yep? Your prediction?"
     "A reprimand for me, an excuse I can use, and an assignment."
     "Too easy."
     "Oh, yeah? Then you do better."
     "Okay..." And he looked thoughtful, but not in the direction
of Perry's office, which, she realized now, could have been
cheating. "One of us gets Jimmy. Probably me. Like a mentor thing."
     "Oh, great, I hope you're right - that it's you, I mean."
     "Jimmy deserves a chance..."
     "We've given him so many."
     "Look, it's worked for you before. You gave *me* a chance."
     "I was dragged kicking and screaming into it, too... and it
hasn't been so bad."
     "*So* bad..."
     "Don't push your luck. Oh, he's seen us, come on, we can't
escape."
     She lead the way up and barged into Perry's office, figuring
she'd give Clark even chances on their personal pool by stating
right off: "I'm still taking my weekend off, Chief, and it starts
tomorrow at eleven. There's nothing you can do to stop me, I've got
the plane tickets already."
     Perry looked tired and not particularly surprised nor amused.
His voice was gruff. "That just means I don't have to order Clark
to convince you to go after all. Have a good trip. Now, Lois," he
sighed, "Why did you tell Mrs. O'Shea off?"
     "I didn't."
     "You told her looking for stories was a `novel idea'?"
     "Well..." She glanced at Clark but he was examining something
of interest on the ceiling and was only accidentally caught by her
eye. "I was out of the room, remember?"
     But he had been listening, that was the same as being there...
     Perry sighed. "I calmed her down. I told her you were upset. I
showed her these pictures..." He pulled out a number of black-and-
white glossies from a file among those in front of him and handed
them to her.
     "It's my apartment building! The tentacle's being removed!"
     "When were these taken?" Clark asked as he peered over her
shoulder.
     "This morning, about dawn."
     "So while we slept," and she noticed Perry's eyebrows raise;
fine, let him wonder, "someone was doing a good job."
     "And Jimmy was taking those pictures."
     The reporters said in unison: "Jimmy?"
     "Yes, don't be so surprised. He got up early and used his own
film. We're going to use several of his pictures, too, if you two
can get me copy to go with them. Here, Clark, take this requisition
and Jimmy down to supplies and get him some more film and batteries
and whatever else he needs. He's expecting you. Take him with you to
the University to find out what they're doing with the remains of
that beast. Talk science with them."
     "Right, Chief."
     "And, Lois, your report on the Shuttle rescue was good. We got
it out on the wire a full five minutes before NASA released
anything remotely official. The world press is eating it's heart
out."
     "Thanks for taking the risk, Chief." And there goes the pool,
I forgot about adding that to my prediction...
     "You don't have time to rest on your laurels, and I don't have
much of an assignment for you because you're late. Everyone else
got the juicy ones. The City Council has called a press conference
at one in Council chambers. I want you to cover that. They claim
Superman's been invited as a guest speaker."
     The reporters asked in unison: "He has?"
     "I doubt it, it's just something to get people to attend,
which of course will backfire. That young man has too much sense to
get caught up in the politics, and that's all it is, BS and
politics. Ask them a few questions about the clean up, taxes, that
kind of thing - but don't probe that Circus thing, I'm still
thinking about that."
     "Right, Chief," and she turned to see that Clark hadn't gone
yet. Of course he wouldn't have, he was probably trying to think of
a way to deal with this new situation, having to be in two places
at once, where Perry wanted him and where the City Council expected
him to be. This could be interesting, but it wasn't something she
could help him out with here in Perry's office. She swept past him,
an indication that he should follow her, which he did, but she also
heard him say quietly, "Wait a minute..."
"I know, you want me to take Jimmy off your hands. What was
that you were saying? About giving him a chance? Taking close-up
images of alien microbes is a chance no cub reporter should pass
up." If he got engrossed in it, Clark could slip away...
     "It's not that, I don't mind taking him along."
     Nice try. "But then if he doesn't go with me he'll miss
Superman, hmm?"
     "No, Perry's right. If you ask me, Superman won't turn up for
that, he's got better things to do. I just want to talk to yo