This continues the story started in Dawning and continued in Dawning 2-8. If you missed any of those (and they should be read in order), ask me, visit my ftp site (ftp.swcp.com/pub/users/dstark), or the fanfic index keeper. All recognizable characters mentioned below are the property of their respective owners. I refer below to a movie that probably most readers haven't seen; it is available on video. debby@swcp.com., November 4, 1995. Dawning 9, Daybreak, or Call to the Mild Over the breakfast table in the Kent household dining room, Clark Kent gave his folks all the juicy details of the bank investigation: Lois Lane being thrown off the building to trap Superman; the string of attempted robberies that had lulled the bank into a false sense of security; he and his friends being caught in the big middle of the real things; and how he'd survived two close brushes with Kryptonite...! But Martha and Jonathan Kent, while soaking all this up with rapt expressions, seemed just a bit more interested in how their son and Lois were getting along now. "Oh, *that*..." "Yes, 'that,'" his mom said, a full-strength twinkle in her eyes. He looked at his dad and saw he was twinkling, too. And here, Clark thought, I've been babbling like a kid about how exciting work's been... He sighed, making it deep and exaggerated. "I guess we're friends again..." "Guess?" his father frowned. "Son, you have to be decisive about these things." Decisive with Lois? Ha... Clark looked at his mom. "Was Dad decisive with you?" he asked even though he was sure he knew the answer. But it wasn't the one he got. "Every step of the way." She touched Jonathan's arm lovingly. "You always knew what you wanted..." "A farmer has to have a plan in mind or the whole operation will slide right down the drain faster than a whistle." "Yes... That reminds me, you'll wash the dishes, won't you, dear?" "Oh, I suppose so, it's my turn..." He looked at Clark. "Besides, she's going to paint the back porch today." "I repaired an old sprayer I found at a yard sale. It works just fine now and it will save a lot of time." "That was a good idea," Clark smiled, but an insight eased up and tickled: had the parts of the decisive path his father traveled down in courting his mother actually been measured and laid down by the gentler-looking half of the duo? It wasn't impossible, his mom was a brilliant woman. Then again, so was Lois in many ways. Odd about that, how the two women were similar. What if... What if *Lois* were designing a path for them both to take, it would be just like her to think she could. I should be alert for that possibility, he thought. His mom leaned toward him. "Come on, now, tell us how last Sunday was and then Wednesday. The *whole* story this time, hmm?" "Well..." He found himself smiling again as he admitted that things between Lois and himself had clicked right back into place and were somehow even better than before. Maybe getting mad at each other hadn't been *such* a bad thing. It hadn't ruined their relationship, but somehow strengthened it. Funny, wasn't it? "I don't *want* to get mad at her, or make her mad at me, but we seem to do a lot of that, and this time... well, it didn't kill us, we got some things out in the open, so I guess it was what we needed." His mother nodded, her eyes warm. Yep, that was it. Of course he still hadn't been able to tell Lois everything yet, the most recent lost chance being the night before in the vault when she had seemed ready to hear the news. But telling her wasn't quite so... terrifyingly urgent any more. It had to be done, yes, before things got any more serious between them. It probably would work out okay, too, since she wasn't mad anymore at the man-in-blue part of him for Wednesday night's disastrous-looking but successful plan. But spending this evening vedging out in front of the TV, both of them determined not to draw any interruptions, appealed strongly. "Sounds like you just need a breather, son," his father said as he sat back, a knowing look on his face, too. "Yeah, maybe things will slow down for a few days. Lois needs some real rest without realizing she's getting it, though I don't know if I'll get any until my vacation because something's come up. You'll read about it..." He motioned at the Sunday Daily Planet he'd brought; it was lying on the antique chair next to the hutch. The headline Perry had written ("Superman's Super Suit Shocker") was below the fold so his folks hadn't seen it yet. "It's not a big thing, and I'm not very worried about it, but it could be time consuming." "Well, spit it out, son." "Oh, I'm just being sued, Dad." "What?!" Clark had expected his father's gasp and his mother's blinking double take, but he wondered briefly if he should have worded it a little more carefully. Then again, maybe the gravity of this new problem would make it easier for them to grant a little request he planned to make. He simply wanted them to hide the chunk of lead-foiled Kryptonite they hadn't yet noticed he'd placed near the flowery centerpiece. After all, they might need it sometime. He considered picking it up and playing with it but that would be too much. "Well, it's not *me* being sued, it's Superman--I mean, it *is* me, but... well, you know what I mean. But I wrote it up, it's in today's edition. I've got bylines all over the front page today, isn't that great?" Jonathan leaned forward, obviously refusing to be sidetracked, pinning his son with a concerned frown. Clark wondered just how his mother was able to go off on tangents and be assured of a following. When he, Clark, tried it, he usually turned around to see the person he intended to lead astray standing back on the path, tapping her foot, checking her watch, warning him that while they were partners, she was still in charge and he better get back over here right now... "Son, you're being *sued?*" "Well, yes, but I think it's going to be all right." Naturally this required an in-depth explanation and assurances that they didn't need to rush to Metropolis, least of all to help Superman, who, he reminded them, they didn't know except as their son's casual friend. But that was why he was telling them all this, so they would have the facts if--okay, when sensational stories leaked beyond the boundaries of Metropolis. He hoped the news wouldn't make it that far, this really wasn't so important, and it certainly wouldn't become a case of the Defendant of Steel winding up in jail again, like during Luthor's heatwave. The worst he thought could happen was that the court could eventually find against him. Superman might have to fly around for the next, oh, thirty years with a beggar's cup, collecting tips and donations because he refused to take from the Superman Foundation the multimillions that the plaintiffs might be awarded. Explaining this took more time and more pancakes than he had planned. But because his parents also thought it was a stupid case that he'd win hands down, and it looked like he'd done all the right things in response as far as they could tell, and sure they'd hide the Kryptonite, no problem, he felt a lot better as he left Kansas at almost noon Metropolis time and flew toward the South Pacific. There he secretly sabotaged fourteen French Navy vessels carrying marines intent on stopping, boarding and commandeering two rough-and-tumble Greenpeace ships. Those two he checked over but they didn't require any hidden repairs or other help. Due to his ignorance of the workings of complex nuclear devices, Clark kept well away from them, certain that they wouldn't be set off for the test until there were at least no French nationals in the waters around the test site. With his "help," though, there would be quite a few stranded boats in the area for at least a week, and then he'd come back and play with them some more, buying extra time for activists worldwide, which was only fair. Heading back toward Metropolis, he did some other helpful deeds, letting his budding (he hoped it was budding) intuition lead him here and there over the globe. He got back home in time to head out again in regular clothes, do some chores, chat with neighbors, and then return to mull over his video collection for 6.5 seconds, looking for additional tapes to take along for the heavy-duty vegetating. Lois opened the door and welcomed him with a smile just as he was about to knock at five p.m. sharp. She was dressed fashionably grubby, in shorts and an old burgundy- colored sweat shirt with a roughly scooped neckline and cut off sleeves. He'd settled on a T-shirt with the slogan "Happy Camper" he'd gotten out of an National Public Radio catalog, and stone washed jeans (which he had once washed in a stony Andean stream). "Perfect!" was her verdict upon looking him over. She took the videos and nodded her approval of the first one, but frowned uncertainly at the second. "Monty Python..." "Not too serious, is it? It has the Dead Parrot sketch *and* Confuse a Cat..." "Ah, the Dead Parrot sketch, you *do* know how to sweet talk a girl. For my part, I dug out a Three Stooges compilation I forgot I had, how's that?" "Perfect! I'm ready to vedge." "Can you smell the popcorn?" "And the butter. They smell great. I'm starving." Bending propellers a bit and punching nonlethal holes in touchy areas of battleship hulls really took it out of a guy, he thought. "Well, I opened a new bag to make the first batch of popcorn, so we won't run out." "Great. I like a woman who thinks ahead." She grinned. "You'd be surprised...!" Oh, no, I wouldn't, he almost said, hoping he was keeping all signs of his smug feeling off his face. I'm on to you. You can have fun planning things all you want, but you can't fool me, I'm making the decisions about my life. "Can I help in the kitchen?" "No. Sit--Oh, you can turn on the TV and VCR if you want." He did so, and she brought out a big bottle of soda, two glasses, and a big bowl of full of popcorn. When her back was turned to him as she opened and poured the soda, he picked up two of the videos, hers and one of his, held them behind his back, and, when she turned around again, he said "Choose one." "A video? Oh, okay. Well, you're more expressive with your left hand for some reason, so you probably used it to pick up that Marx Brothers one I want to see." "Pardon?" She smiled, shook her head and pointed at his left side. He looked because he hadn't noticed in particular. How about that, she was right. "Good guess--Good *reasoning.*" "Good boy." He put the tape in the VCR, tossed her the remote and sat down beside her to her left. She had settled dead center of the couch, forcing him to squeeze into a corner. Sitting hip to hip with her felt okay though, it seemed like ages since they had been this kind of close. She started the tape, leaned forward, picked up the bowl of popcorn, balanced it on their laps between them, and they both dug in. She also put her bare feet up on the coffee table. She had once said: "What else can this piece of furniture be for? I don't subscribe to *that* many magazines..." He eased his sandals off and did the same. She wiggled her toes at him and he returned the gesture and grinned when she did. "When was the last time we did this?" she wondered as Mrs. Rittenhouse's guests sung to Captain Spalding, newly carried on to the set by a half-dozen African-American extras. "It seems like we used to do this all the time." "Sing in big choruses with our friends?" "No, this: sitting and watching TV." "Oh, *this* this. It's been weeks and weeks, hasn't it? I think the last time was when I stayed at your place." "Yeah... That was fun. You know, I still miss you..." "Oh? And I... I didn't send you a thank you card, darn..." "'Thank you card'? That's not what I..." She gave him an urgent look. He said, "What are you trying to tell me?" "We weren't going to get serious," she whispered so the gods of misfortune wouldn't hear. "Oh, yes, right, ah... Listen, here's the 'I must be going' song." She listened. She smiled. "Your theme song-- whoops!" She covered her mouth with her hand and mumbled: "Sorry, my mistake." "Well, it's *not* my theme song, not any more. I mean, I have a... a reason--" She covered his mouth. Her hand smelled like the garlic powder she'd added to the popcorn butter. "Shh!" she warned, "That's certainly too serious!" He hoped his eyes said "Thanks for stopping me!" Apparently they did. She uncovered him slowly, watchful for misspoken syllables. He just smiled carefully, though he liked the way she was watching him, it almost made him tingle. She licked her lips, probably unaware of how suggestive it seemed to him, smiled, too, and nodded, no doubt assured that their peace had not been breached. Then she leaned forward and up a bit and he met her lips half way for a brief, tingly garlic kiss. He hoped that was a little serious, though playful was okay, too. "Yeah," he sighed, "we *really* haven't been doing enough of this lately..." and how truly content he felt that he himself--and not some blue-suited guy or some conniving billionaire or some slimy Frenchman or anyone else--was the object of her attention these days. "You'll stay a week or two?" she asked. "Oh, I'll stay the summer through." "But please don't tell me..." "That I must be going? Never!" Assuming a dirigible didn't crash into the building next door, that is. "You're stuck with me, ma'am." "Umm!" She gave him a little growl of appreciation and promise, turned, sat back again and snuggled--then sat forward and complained: "Your arm is wrong, buddy." "Sorry." He put his right arm up along the back of the couch; she snuggled properly under it and pulled it down into place as though it belonged there. Yes, this did feel very good. They settled in to vegetate, eat popcorn, drink soda, and watch the rest of the movie without doing anything more serious than laughing, rewinding parts they didn't catch, and laughing some more. After the movie it was a different story. She turned toward him. "That was a good one, Kent, you've been holding back on me." "I was saving the best, I guess..." "For last?" "Well, sort of..." Nah, it looks like, he thought, I've been saving *me* for last... And he wanted to be the best, the very best for her, but how? "And I feel like we're only just starting. You've been terrific about everything over the last month or so--" "You have been, too." "Then we both deserve rewards, me for... being serene when I can and you for acting when the time was right." I've been *trying* to find the right time... "Rewards?" "To convince us to keep at it." If only I could, he thought, right here and now, tell you that one last little thing... "I don't need much convincing." "Neither do I," she smiled. Did she have a tingly feeling building, too? They had experienced tingly moods together in situations like this, even though the last time had been a while ago, but it looked like neither of them had forgotten how it felt. What he hoped was his good sense suggested he ask: "You had something in mind?" "You said you like a woman who thinks ahead..." "As long as she looks exactly like you, as long as she *is* you." "Well said." When he smiled she planted a kiss on it and he didn't make her work to draw one like it out of him. "I guess the Stooges and Monty Python will have to wait," he said when that occurred to him. "Yes." She used the remote to turned off the VCR and TV--then in turning back in a quick move she straddled his lap and looked at him, looking him over. Wow, he thought, captivated by her eyes. This, he realized, was just what he wanted even though it wasn't something they'd done before. But he felt compelled to remind her: "Lois, I want to have some fun but are you sure about this? I mean, Wednesday was just--" "Almost a whole week ago." "Almost four days." "That's almost a week." "Not really--" "Whose counting? *I'm* not. Don't worry, I'm feeling just fine. Are *you* feeling fine?" "Ah, never better..." "Then let me do something here first." In another surprising move, she grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt and proceeded to try to pull it up over his head. "Lois! What *are* you doing?!" "You have to ask?" she laughed. "Get your arms up, now!" "But--" "No buts--unless..." she paused, "unless it's just the garlic speaking and I'm moving too fast..." "Well..." Their eyes met. Was she truly concerned, he thought, and not wondering just why a guy his age was hesitating? Did she sense this was a little... well, face it, frightening--no, no, not *that*... *unexpected*--for one of them? She had seen him shirtless several times, but they hadn't at the same time been this close or ever mutually in this mood, though he had dreamed about. But she must have been concerned because it felt all right to say "No, you're not really, I'm just, you know... surprised." "I know," she said gently. "Raise your arms." He did so, rescuing his glasses before her maneuver could knock them off. She tossed the shirt aside like some rag. Her pleased smile was welcome. "Much better!" She closed in again for another deeper, longer kiss, making him tingle more as she occupied her hands exploring his neck and broad shoulders. This part was all familiar and welcome. He also did a bit of discrete and gentlemanly exploring, gently stroking her back, and he heard himself say "Oh..." when she let him up for air. He realized his hands had paused where he would usually have felt her bra straps. There were none. "Still feeling fine?" she whispered in his ear. "I'm feeling... less than I expected..." he whispered in return. The room was quiet as they just held each other and breathed together. He closed his eyes. He was glad she wasn't being particularly pushy and didn't expect him to be, that she wasn't moving too fast. He just wanted to enjoy this and all its implications without worrying if he could follow through to their mutual satisfaction. She pulled away slowly, a very... *friendly* look on her face. "Do you want to... 'feel' better?" "Ah..." Yes... No! *Wait!* Good grief, he told himself: you're acting like a wide- eyed *kid*, Kent, and you're a *grown adult*... In a passionate rendezvous with the woman of my dreams who I really don't want to make a bad impression on... Unless, he thought, considering how she's sitting on me, she's already noticed and I'm making a *really* interesting impression right now... Her encouraging expression didn't help much when, he told himself, a clear head was needed here. --*What* am I thinking? he demanded of himself, glad he wasn't prone to blushing. Affecting an airy manner was not quite the right thing to do in response to that look she was giving him, but it was the only solution that stepped forward and took over from analytical brainlock. "Well, sure." She raised an eyebrow. "Sure? Then how would you like to do that?" Back to square one... I should have paid more attention in high school and college, should have gone out more, had more fun instead of chess club and classes and avoiding this kind of thing... Just because if I get careless I can crush a person between my fingers doesn't mean... Well, yes, actually, it does mean exactly that, the logical side of himself advised. He told that side to pipe down, it wasn't helping matters any, particularly after its earlier "clear head" remark. "I'd like..." he decided to say carefully, "to ask what *you'd* like..." Her raised eyebrows evened out, relaxed, and her expression warmed again. Score one for the rank amateur! "Clark, what *I'd* like you to do is take hold of this," the edge of her short-sleeved sweat shirt, "and take this thing off me, slowly." "Oh." Was *that* all? Well, *that* was simple... Except that he could foresee that, as the rest of his body was trying to tell him, it would be one of the most exciting things he'd ever done in his life unless he lost his world-famous control and made a utter fool of himself. She raised her arms and he grasped the edge of her shirt and worked it up and off her slowly, wondering why she thought that speed had been important to mention. But, giving himself credit, he figured that out quickly enough. The perfume of her warm body poured over him and his control called for the check, it was leaving. She moaned, too, and the thrill that caused him didn't make self government any easier. He could have sworn he was sweating or blushing or both, or definitely *should* have been, especially when she whispered "Hurry, hurry!" Ohmigosh, this could be it--no, it can't be it--can it? An orgasm? He'd read books and seen a few risque movies in dorm rooms after midnight, and women didn't have such things this fast, he told himself. It takes a lot more time for a woman and less time for... well, me, so *calm down*... Except... except what now? Slow down, he ordered his body and babbly brain, *just slow down.* You're not a human male, you have better control than any of them ever dreamed about--in theory, anyway, in just-made-up theory--and she knows what she wants, she'll tell me or make it obvious, and just hope it's *soon*... He tossed the shirt aside, trying to make the move as careless as she had in getting rid of his shirt--and *not* look like he was totally captivated with this new aspect of her that she was presenting, face to, well, breasts... Instead he tried to widen his scope of attention. He noticed that she was lowering her arms again, slowly, her eyes were closed, and she was biting her lower lip. That was odd, it didn't seem to fit in with the mood. "You're pale," he said--*That's* a stupid thing to say! "I mean, you're *face* is pale." The rest of her was marvelously tanned. Could he say that? Would she like to hear him say that? The pale meant something though... "Are you all right?--I mean, you *are*, you look great, wonderful--but something's not... ah..." "Clark," she said, her voice strained, "...shut up." Now there was an idea. "Okay. I will. Shut up, that is, not say anything more... ah..." He noticed her hands were fists, her eyes were still closed, her face somewhat less pale. "Something *is* wrong..." he whispered. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have moved like that..." She unclenched and rested her hands on his shoulders (this reminded him that he hadn't figured out the proper place to put his hands yet, whether on her or anywhere else). "...my back... wasn't ready..." "Your back hurts?" "Yes... Maybe four days wasn't enough..." "Well, yesterday you knocked out that guard and then you crawled under the desk and you were going to jump on that woman..." "Adrenalin..." "Oh." That made sense maybe. He had no idea if he had adrenalin; probably the Kryptonian version. Right now he didn't need it. Right now, the pain on her face made her look totally unexciting but, conversely, in great need of him, or rather of his help. "Do you... do you want a massage? Can you lay down? I mean, on your... front? Face down?" She blinked her eyes open, frowned, and thought about this for five long seconds. He made every effort to keep his eyes on her face lest she catch them straying to watch the movement of her breasts caused by the simple act of breathing. She might then think he didn't care about her health when he really did, a lot. "I guess," she said at last, "I'll trade a 'front' side massage for a back side one." "I'll give you a rain check..." *believe* me. She managed a smile. "Didn't Groucho say... 'if I say I like your body, will you hold it against me?'" "Yes, something like that." "Then you can say that later if you want and I'll do it, okay?" "Only if you're feeling all right, *totally* all right." "Whatever..." They disengaged carefully. He tried to help without really quite touching her anywhere but her arms, and she stretched out slowly on the couch. Then she pushed up, wincing, and said, "Wait a minute... there's not... enough room here... The floor." "The floor?" It was covered with a thick Navajo blanket. "Move the coffee table." "Oh, of course." He moved it out of the way without spilling anything, and she laid down there were it had been. He took advantage of her being unable to see him do so to lift his glasses, inspect her muscle structure and determine that her problem probably was as expected from the strains gained Wednesday night. He rubbed his hands together briefly to warm them and proceeded to massage her back using some techniques he had picked up in visits to China. He had only used them once, on his mother when she had strained her back several years earlier due to a fall off the barn; fortunately she had landed in a haystack while Lois had landed in his arms. "Tell me I if do *anything* that's uncomfortable..." "Ummm... Your hands are strong..." Don't remind me. "Does it hurt?" "No. Press a little harder right... there... ahh..." "There" was a triggerpoint, he could feel the knot of it. He pressed a bit harder, working on it until the muscle loosened up and he could move on. After a soothing three minutes of this in which she proved she could take a lot more pressure than he had expected, she mumbled that if he didn't mind the fragrance, she had some baby lotion in the bedroom on the vanity. He retrieved it, its use did make things easier and that fragrance brought pleasant childhood memories. In time she had a blissful smile on her relaxed face. Seeing that, he thought, was an acceptable consolation prize. After all, if they had gotten any further with the... other thing, she might not have been smiling for long; laughing was more likely. A few minutes later she asked where he had learned to do this, and he said, "Shanghai and, oh, my mom walks on my dad's back sometimes." Eyes closed still, Lois grinned ruefully. "Maybe I can walk on *your* back." "Maybe..." That could be a lot of fun. His dad always seemed to like it and cold feet wouldn't be a problem. "Maybe when you're done." "We'll see." "Umm... and to think I paid someone $50 to do this... last Friday night... umm... when I only had to go to your place... kick that freeloader... Superman out, and... umm... lie down and point you at my... back." "That would have been something to see. A warm up for Saturday night's fight. Would you have come dressed in seven veils?" "Uggh... I'll have you know I still have that costume." "I'll have to get you some ostrich plumes to go with it." "Delightful," she sighed. She was quiet for a while then, until eventually she said, "I want to roll over now..." For a "front" massage? he wondered, of two minds about the prospect. He didn't hesitate this time to warn her, "Be careful..." While she moved, he distracted himself by finding her shirt and when she was on her back, he blanketed her with the piece of clothing. She smiled as though it wasn't quite what she had in mind. He felt blanketed himself, stifled--and yet relieved. It had been such a close call... There'd be more calls like this surely, calls he would answer--*after* he told her everything. She looked at him sleepily. "That felt good, Clark, you're so sweet..." "Yeah, that's me all right..." "Aww, you don't want to be sweet?" "Actually... no, not all the time, but it goes with the territory." "The mild mannered territory." He nodded. "As in boring?" "Yep." "Like *I* didn't know better?" "Oh?" Like she'd find out at this rate? "Clark, you're my best friend, and the first boyfriend I've ever felt truly comfortable with, and you'd *never* take advantage of me..." "Never," especially since she was lying there practically helpless. "But maybe..." She ran her fingertips up his right side, tingling. He leaned forward a bit so she didn't have to stretch to keep in contact (being thoughtful has its virtues, too, he reflected). "Maybe I can convince you that it's okay..." "Lois..." "...and we can personally find out more about that spicy side of your territory." "Spicy?" "Shhh..." She touched his upper arm, coaxing him closer, and he gave her a light kiss. She massaged his neck and kept him from easing away again. "Don't go, I'm not going to bite you, not right away..." Good grief, reality: she'd break her teeth if she tried that. "Lois, you almost strained your back again." "I know. We'll strain yours now instead." "Well..." Was that *such* a bad idea? Guys were supposed to make the major moves anyhow, particularly spicy guys. He'd have control of the matter, too, maybe complete control, and he could keep her from injuring herself and them from going further than he felt comfortable about trying. "If we take it easy." "Whatever you say." As he leaned forward to kiss her again in a gentle, nonstraining manner, she ran her hand down his left arm, somehow took his left wrist, and guided his hand to a strategic area under the cover-up shirt. He knew exactly what he had been given to hold and was pleasantly surprised at how... cup-able it was. She then whispered, "Now the other one..." Wait a minute, wait a minute, I didn't plan it to happen this way... His memory was crystal clear about the last time he'd done something like this. A class mate had lured him, an innocent freshman with more on his mind than their mutual history class, to her car to exchange notes in the dark and, as she put it when she got him there, to do some groping. Because she was beautiful, apparently liked him and was the very first one to hint at wanting to go that far and *maybe* further with him of all people, he'd thrown to the wind what little caution he had entertained about the matter. In a move too much like Lois was proposing now, he'd squeezed passionately--and she had yelped. He had panicked and fallen back. The young woman had laughed, said he shouldn't worry, he was stronger than he looked, didn't he play football or something, and she wanted more of the same and she'd show him how to be a little more careful. But, badly shaken because he simply couldn't remember what exactly he had done in the heat of the moment, he feared he couldn't be more careful. He had made some excuse, gathered his books and fled. Minutes later he was alone in some Canadian wilderness and hours after his arrival he had calmed down and worked it all out, coming to some heavy conclusions. He had promised the universe to never do anything like that to anyone ever again. It was just too risky too touch someone he admired and respected with the same hands that could effortlessly stop a charging bull.. and for all he knew his bizarre alien mind might be that of a sex maniac from Mars and it was best for everyone concerned if he kept himself under strict control. But, he reminded himself, that was ten years ago, he had a much better understanding of his strength now and he was reasonably certain that Kryptonians had sex drives comparable to the average human. Most importantly, the Kents hadn't raised a pervert. Too, this was Lois, the woman he'd dreamed about and who he kissed quite a few times, until recently most often while he was in the suit. She had risked those fervent exchanges and survived quite nicely, thank you, though she had no idea she was kissing the same fellow in him. The massage had loosened her up back; this activity, kept gentle, probably wouldn't hurt her; she wanted this, too, obviously, and with him and not with someone else; and it wasn't like they were going to progress to... well, *that*... Kent, stop thinking about it and *act*! So 2.5 seconds after her request, he moved his right hand carefully to comply. She smiled. That made him tingle, too, and decide, as she eased her hands behind his neck and coaxed him toward her again, that it was time to nibble her ear. She had once told him he was good at that. Actually, this had been about three months earlier and she had mumbled, "Hey, you're pretty good at that..." and after 45 seconds of her nibbling his, too, "Really we should... ah... try to get out of here..." What with the flood waters rising and their feet shackled to the floor of the log cabin, for some reason they'd felt it necessary to mutually distract each other as death loomed. After she pointed out their situation again, he had reached down into the murk and found that the chains had been "loosened" by the water. But before he could engage in nibbling under far better circumstances, she said, "Oh, these are about to fall off." She moved her hands up a few inches to take his glasses. "You don't need them with me..." But she paused. "If you don't mind..." He hesitated to pull away and especially to remove his otherwise preoccupied hands to stop her. How had he gotten in this situation? But could *this* be the time, even though he hadn't planned it? Everything seemed so... right. If she did recognize him as also being that other guy, all things considered she might be in the mood to listen and understand why he was being *so careful,* and they could work together and... Yes, this was the time. "It's all right," he whispered. She smiled as though she were ready for anything, which was incredibly comforting. There was a sound at the door. They both froze, her in mid pluck, him in midsurrender to it. The sound was that of someone furtively using a key. He immediately noticed that his body temperature dropped a figurative ten degrees. He straightened a bit, glanced toward the door, removed his left hand from that comfortable place she and then he had wanted it, and repositioned his glasses. So much for spicing up his life. "Lucy?" he whispered to Lois because he was unable to look through the door for himself. "It better *not* be, I told her we'd be busy--my gosh, maybe it's the landlord!" "On Sunday afternoon?" "No one's said anything about Wednesday night yet," she said tersely. "Maybe he's bringing the bill." She grasped at the couch, grabbed one of the arms, and pulled herself up. He watched her but she seemed to have no trouble. The shirt fell away, and she glanced down a moment. "Oh, well, we'll startle him," she said, almost matter of factly. "It'll serve him right." Clark stared, dragged his eyes away, met hers (which looked a touch too merry considering the gravity of the situation, he thought later), and he frowned. "Lois...!" She rolled her eyes and repositioned the shirt to take into account what he realized was his own prudishness. But she smiled a bit, too, now, and said, "Okay, then, go scare him away--and don't act sweet or he'll walk right over your *front side* and leave tire treads." Scare, sweet, walk, tire treads? Fortunately, she didn't look angry with him; he wasn't sure what he would have done had that been the case. Whoever it was had been stopped by the two chains. They pulled the door closed again and proceeded to knock loudly. Clark prepared himself to look the part of the indignant and then mean boyfriend if necessary, unchained the door and opened it. It was Ellen Lane, Lois's mother. Thoughts about being the angry, protective boyfriend flew right out of Clark's head. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Lane, we were just--" "Mr. Kent? What are you..." The petite, gray-haired woman, dressed in a business suit and high heels and carrying a brief case and over-night bag, looked at his face, at his chest, and then she looked around him. "Lois? Lois!" Lois's eyes were wide. She almost dropped the shirt again, but then held it up to cover even more. "Mother! What are *you* doing here?!" Mrs. Lane pushed by Clark as though he were an ineffective doorstop. "What am *I* doing here? You were nearly killed last week! I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner!" "But you didn't have to--" "Of course I did! I want to be here for you!" She dropped her luggage on the nearest chair, rushed to the couch where she grabbed up an afghan. She insisted that Lois sit up on the couch and then sat down next to her and draped the multicolored blanket over her daughter's shoulders. "My poor baby girl..." "I'm not your 'baby girl'--you didn't *call*--" "I wasn't sure I could get a flight and I knew you'd be disappointed, but then something opened up. I don't have to be in San Francisco until Tuesday morning, so I can spend some time here with you and make sure you're all right and not..." She looked at Clark and the look shot daggers. "under a lot of *stress*..." Clark had no idea how to defend himself. "Mother, I'm *not* under *stress,* Clark and I were just... watching videos." "I can see that," her mother said drily. "Well, we *were*!" "Ah, Lois, maybe I better," he motioned toward the door, "be going..." The look she gave him said "coward!" but it changed quickly to wait I *can* fix this! He hoped she could but it looked like the time for that, if there had been one, had vanished only seconds after Mrs. Lane had rushed into the room. Ellen Lane stood up and looked almost angry and definitely protective. "That's a good idea, Mr. Kent. My daughter needs to *rest*." Well, I can't argue with that, Clark thought. "Rest is good--" "Clark!" "But it is, your back--" "My back is *fine*." He knew better. He was disappointed and he would have told her that, but her mother was right, sort of. He spied his shirt, plucked it up, thought about pulling it on, wondered if that would indicate he thought that they, two consenting adults, had been doing something wrong rather than just maybe careless, decided not to pull it on, and he shrugged at Lois. "I'll see you at work tomorrow--" "She may not go in," Mrs. Lane informed him. "Mother!" "And you need a good meal, too," she smiled at Lois as though she saw a definite need for some old-fashioned mothering in the situation. "Not..." she glanced around and caught sight of the popcorn bowl, the bottom of which had a layer of brown, half-popped kernels. "...snack food." "Lois, we can talk later--" "Clark, you *don't* have to go, really, I'm sure mother--" "Good night, Mr. Kent. Should I see you to the door?" He both wanted to help Lois argue (actually, he thought, he would have sat down and reasoned with the woman) and not come between her and her mother since they got so little chance to interact. "No, ma'am." "Oh, all right," Lois sighed. "I'll call you later..." *** Lois watched the door shut behind Clark. Then she fell back, threw her arms over her eyes, stopped because it hurt, and tried to refuse to hear her mother moving around her apartment. The woman was a neat nut who thought everything had to be arranged just so and of course she knew the best ways to do it. That was how she ran her life and advised successful financial institutions. Now, Lois growled, she's thrown out my boyfriend just as he was melting in my hands, and she's flitting around fixing things that aren't even broken! She sat up and pulled on her shirt and waited until her mother passed by again. "Mother!" On the next pass, Mrs. Lane found a chair. She perched there. "You look a little pale, dear..." "Mother, I *wish* you had called from the airport. I would have found you a comfortable hotel to stay in and--" "There are no vacant rooms in town, dear, due to that awful monster you had here last month and all the damage it caused." "Oh, well, still--" "This is such a dangerous city to live in any more, despite that nice Superman fellow, when you could make a perfectly fine living in Paris or Milan or even Tokyo--" "Mother, *Clark's* not in any of those places, he's here, and I *like* it here!" "Because of him?" "Lately, *yes*! He's not the only reason, but he's one of the best!" And why am I telling *you* this? "Oh, I see. Yes, I should have called, I'm sorry I didn't." Lois closed her eyes. How could she have an argument with the woman if she was going to be contrite and agreeable? She sighed. "Well, it's done now..." "And I've chased him away..." Lois just looked at her. "But he'll be back, I could see that in his eyes." My mother, Lois thought, the world's expert on men... She looked away. At least I've broken *that* genetic jinx... That thought made her smile a little. She looked at the door. "Yes, he'll be back..." and not just for his tapes and not necessarily to take up where they'd been interrupted. Oh, it had been fun helping him agree that they spend the evening passionately, and she was sure they would have done so after some endearing fumbling on his part. She knew he was overconscious of, even restrained by his strength, but she'd also seen him holding Vanessa and cracking eggs and doing all kinds of things that required the lightest of touches. She had no doubt that they could work things out and have a lot of fun doing so. But she also knew that he had come originally simply to be with her because that was enough for him. How sweetly genuine he was... And knowing him as well as she did now, she also knew why despite his clear disappointment he had bowed out: so that she could have some "quality time" with her mother. He cared a lot about that, family, friends, happiness, comfort... Maybe he was right, and she should take the opportunity thrust upon her by fate. "Come on, mother, let's call Lucy and make some real dinner." *** "Clark, you weren't home when I called." "I'm sorry, I was... busy." Lois had heard about it, thousands trapped in a major hotel fire in the Virgin Islands. She wanted to hug him for having done a good job saving them, but she couldn't do so given her supposed state of ignorance and their present situation, a chance meeting in the hallway near the water fountain with people coming and going. "That's okay, you just missed out on my mother trying to apologize for kicking you out." "Lois, you should never threaten little old gray-haired ladies with bodily harm." "Oh, I didn't lay a hand on her. No, Lucy came over and we had something to eat and we sat around and had a nice long chat about..." about men, mostly, and it had come down to contrasting unnamed guys like Sam Lane and Clark Kent. It had been a much better night than she expected, and she had briefly regretted not taking the day off and spending it with her mother. "...about all kinds of things, like... like babies." "Babies?" The look on his face said that he remembered every nuance of what they had done the evening before, with imagination supplying the potentially baby-making actions they had missed out on. His look was far more fascinated than worried, that was interesting. Did he think a lot about having children with someone--with *her*? Was that possible? Did she want that? Maybe... Trying would be fun anyway. She pulled herself back and supplied the missing word that changed things: "*Fish* babies." "Fish?--Oh, Maxine." "And it was a good thing we talked about that, too, because she had four babies last night, isn't that wonderful?" "You're a grandmother? Congratulations!" They hugged each other. Co-workers stopped, stared and hurried away to tell others, looking back when they dared. Let them, Lois thought, they'd never know bliss like this! "There were at least 15 or 20 in the tank when I left this morning. They move so fast, they just dart around, and you can't see their little fins, and they're so cute!" He nodded. "Real charmers." "I *can't* get other fish to eat them," she sighed. His arms felt comforting then, and he didn't move them, either, smart man. "But I can see how the charm will wear off quickly if I have too many in the tank..." "It will be a while before you have to deal with that. But now this calls for a celebration. Let's do something tonight." Their eyes met. She smiled. He smiled, too. The world faded away. "What do you suggest?" she whispered, fully intending him to understand that they should continue what had been interrupted the night before because she'd send her mother to a movie. "The Green Room at the Hyatt?" Oh? Well, that wasn't a bad idea, either. Still, "Clark, I was joking when I said that before, and we'd need reservations," while he didn't need reservations to pass through *her* door... "Well, then, something like that. We haven't eaten out at a nice place in a long time, and we haven't done anything we could call a..." he whispered in her ear, "a date, girlfriend." "Since you put it that way, I'll help you think of a nice place," and by gosh she was going to kiss him now, too, growing crowds or no. Before she could accomplish this, though, Perry brushed passed them and cleared his throat. "Sorry, kids, budget meeting in two minutes--Oh, but, wait." He turned, finger in the air, indicating a change of plans and they should be alert and ready to move, and, oh, stop hugging each other, there, that's good. "You two busy tonight?" "Well, we're working on it," Clark said. Lois sensed an opportunity. "We haven't decided yet." Something brief and then a long, intense time--at Clark's house, yes! Mother wouldn't *dare* bother them there and he'd feel more comfortable in that setting. "Oh, good. I know this is last minute, but Alice got this invitation," he pulled a square white envelope out of his vest pocket, "to some charity ball, but after Saturday night she wants to keep me to herself for a while, if you know what I mean..." He raised his eyebrows playfully. Attagirl, Alice, Lois thought, rein him in a bit. She plucked the invitation from Perry's hand and opened it. "Ah-ha! The Ballroom at the Hyatt!" "Close enough," Clark smiled. "And the price is right," Perry agreed, "free because you're press and they want the attention. Dress well and make contacts--Oh, and you can skip this budget meeting, I'd only be telling you to follow up on the bank job and..." sadly, "the Diaries, and when you're not doing that, get the public's opinion on the Superman lawsuit. Now, scoot." Follow the bank job or lawsuit? They were supposed to be conflicted about what to choose? She looked at Clark and he looked at her. They said simultaneously, "You take the bank, I'll take..." He paused politely, and then probably realized he shouldn't have because she raced right through the gap, "Clark, you had him Friday night, it's *my* turn." "I can't help that you were out getting a massage and that you hate research--" "Kids, kids!" "He's *mine* today!" "Oh, yeah? You've got to *find* him first!" "I bet I *can!*" "I bet you *can't*!" Perry put his fingers to his mouth and split the air with a whistle. In its wake, silence reigned. Half a dozen staffers rushed in to see what was going on, and Jimmy readied his camera. Perry turned and frowned at them. They scattered. Lois folded her arms under her breasts and put on her "I'm unimpressed by all this because I'm right and I refuse to budge" expression. Clark looked less certain, as though he knew he'd fallen behind in this already. What was worse, he argued. "Chief, Lois and I are too close to this. All of us are likely to be subpoenaed or something any moment, we're just not the right ones to follow up on this bank story." "Oh?" "And I'm really tired of seeing the insides of police stations and the DA's office." Perry nodded a little, like those were *good* arguments. Lois couldn't believe it. "And my vacation starts next Saturday and if the Green Meadows police think I'm available, I won't be able to help my folks on the farm and they need me desperately." "Uh-huh..." "And Laura, for example, loves banks, and she and Raul saved us all, they're looking for this kind of assignment now, I'm *sure*." "Well, that's your best argument. If you'd cut out all the whining and said that first, son," he pointed at Clark, "you and Lois would have been out of here five minute ago looking for what few friends Superman has." "What few friends...?" "He's *joking*!" Lois hooked his elbow and pulled. "Come on! Thanks, Chief!" Before their editor could change his mind, they collected their notepads and rushed for the elevator, catching it just in time. They startled someone in a supplies department uniform who stared at them, the light of recognition overtaking his face. Lois ignored the kid; she was used to being recognized by everyone in the building. "Clark, that was *some* performance..." "Well, I've been sort of... confused after last night. I didn't even use my best excuse." "Which was?" "That I have to rent a tux." "Yeah, right..." Then something occurred to her. "Maybe I better get my hair done." "There, see? And you thought the bank follow up was more important." "No, *Superman's* the one to catch." "Yeah, right." "And, you know something? I'm getting a little suspicious of the way he seems to like hanging out with you..." "What do you mean by that--" "Oh, nothing, nothing at all. Considering how he gets around I'm sure you're not the only guy he's seeing and that he doesn't realize *your* interest in him is purely professional..." "Lois, are you trying to say he's..." clearly shocked, he couldn't even whisper it. "The way that man kisses? *Completely* different from you. No, no, relax, Clark, *you're* a straight arrow, you have nothing to fear." The elevator door opened, they exited into the main lobby, and Lois glanced back discretely to see the wide-eyed clerk still staring at them. More rumors, good. She had been looking for the chance to see what role the supplies department played in the mill. She noted the time and wondered what the tale would turn into when she heard it again in a few days from, say, Jimmy or Karyn the Food Editor. It would definitely knock her and Clark's tentative affair off the front page for a while. *** They visited the lawyers for the plaintiff and heard the same uninformative, we're-going-to-win-this-easily statement that the other reporters did there in the office's crowded lobby. One of the lawyers recognized Clark and took him aside to try to pry out of him clues about Superman's state of mind. Lois tagged along and Clark didn't say anything to stop her despite the lawyer's warning look. She did not, though, feel that her presence prevented the man from answering a few more questions than he asked, and, good for him, Clark didn't give away anything. She would rather have grilled Selig, but, despite being the lead attorney in the case, the woman wasn't talking to the press at this time. Next they inspected the massive damage to the flattened Metropolis Megamall west of town. Even though it has been a month since the damage had occurred, paperwork had delayed the start of rebuilding. Contractors were now swarming all over the site, giant machinery had been moved in, and Lois could almost see the dollar signs floating over the area, much as the Slime Monster had on that strange Wednesday evening. They tried to interview some of the laborers, but guards followed them and shooed them away before they could get many publishable quotes. On their return to downtown Metropolis, they visited several popular watering holes to obtain opinions from those who knew about the case of the Megamall vs. Superman. The results had to make Clark happy, Lois reflected, because almost to a person, those who had an opinion thought it was one of the stupidest things they'd heard of and they wanted to be on the jury. Clark, ever Mr. Fair Play, pointed out several times that no jury would be involved in this and that Thursday's court date was only a hearing on the merits before a judge; if the judge thought the case against Superman was sound, it would go ahead. Those who understood these ramifications were less positive in their assessments. They said they thought the case would breeze through the preliminaries, get messy and bogged down, and lawyers would have everything tied up for years and years. Many of the professional people thought that Selig, Miller, Powers and Burgess were the best attorneys to hire in complicated cases like this. Too bad they weren't on Superman's side, poor guy: he didn't stand a chance... "I should have stuck with the bank follow up," Clark sighed as they returned to the office around three. "This has really been a depressing day..." She patted him on the back, glad that they were alone for a moment in the elevator and she didn't have to think of some way to warn him about appearing to be so involved in the case because it might look suspicious. She said, "Don't let it worry you," though it was a little late to be handing out such advice, she thought. She had tried several times to point out what tenuous humor she could find in the whole thing, but her attempts had fallen flat as he had only managed polite smiles. He'd picked at his lunch and let a pained look creep onto his face when their waitress, who they interviewed briefly, had wondered if Superman had a defense fund. Lois thought that it was a good idea but she didn't say so. When the woman had gone away, Clark had quietly told Lois that Superman had mentioned on, oh, Sunday night, it was, yeah, in practically a flyby on his way to... Afghanistan for an hour or so, that he still had no plans to hire a lawyer. "He--I mean, we--well, I'm... beginning to wonder if... his arguing his own case is really such a wise idea but it's probably the best thing..." Lois hadn't known what to say, other than to point out that he was obviously of two minds about it, but she didn't. Now back in the newsroom she went over to his desk and for a moment watched him sort through and concentrate on reading his phone messages. "When we can get hold of Superman," she said when she intuited that it was a good time to interrupt and, besides, she didn't want to wait any longer, "I'm sure *we* can help him get a good lawyer." "Well, maybe if Thursday does turn out to be just a preliminary round, that's probably a good idea. Oh, look, Will called. 'I have everything under control, Laura and Raul are here'..." he paused to read ahead and then sighed. "'Pourhamidi and Jerrigan escaped some time before 10 am head count--'" "What?!" She grabbed the note. That was exactly what it said. "That's incredible! We should have been informed about this." "We were out--" "We should have been called or heard about it on the radio--maybe we--Laura and Raul, I mean, maybe they got an exclusive!" "I hope so. You know, maybe Lex *was* involved. Maybe he got them to agree to a truce and then he sprang them." "Only if they did manage to steal something he wanted--to switch it out and no one realizes and he needs them free to give it to him!" "He could have planted more people in the bank and in the Green Meadows Police Department." "The Elvis Diaries could be..." They stared at each other. She felt a tingle indicating another story... but it faltered seriously as he said, "Do we really care?" She looked over her feelings. The tingle had a sour note, and she had to admit, "Not right at the moment, no..." "And I don't think we're in any personal danger from any of them..." He would worry about that. Just another thing. "We didn't foil their plan, we just got in the way. They're probably laughing because *we* still have to deal with the police." "So let's let Laura and Raul think up all the implications." "And if they don't think of them, Will's probably got it covered already, and we have this lawsuit thing to solve..." *We* do, Clark, you and me, you're *not* alone. "It's much more important." "It's certainly enough to worry about. I don't want to get any more involved than I have to in the bank's problems." "It's a mess." "And I *need* my vacation, Lois." "I know..." She realized she had never thought of Superman needing a vacation, but that it was perfectly reasonable for Clark to claim his two weeks every year and a mental health day off now and then as well because he hardly ever got sick and now she knew why. "We've both been working hard. It will be good to get away tonight on someone else's dime... My gosh, I need to call Mother--and get my hair done! I'm busy already!" He was, too. He rented his usual tuxedo across the street at the Metropolis Men's Store, and then she dropped him at his home on the roundabout way to her emergency appointment. They exchanged a brief kiss, and as she drove away, she turned on her radio to listen for reports of some crisis that might draw him because she was sure he would trudge through his apartment and fly out the back window to look for something to do to keep his mind off his problems. He wouldn't allow a convoluted law suit to keep him from doing his level best to help people. A judge ordering him not to use his powers hadn't stopped him, this certainly wouldn't. She wished she could help, but even if he had known she knew, that wouldn't have changed a thing for Superman. Dancing helped. He looked marvelous when he arrived in the cab to pick her up, and his admiration of her black dress and lightly curled hair did her a world of good. His mood was much improved as well. One of the all-news cable channels had reported his rescuing a troop of boy scouts in the Rockies and unbeaching some whales in Hawaii, well away from his problems here. Those accomplishments would make anybody smile and he did, a lot, enjoying the stress-free evening of schmoozing as much as she did. Almost stress-free: he had to slip away at about 10 pm and return as Superman to stop an armed robbery making a mess of the hotel's large kitchen, through which the villains tried to escape. Police arrived quickly and he didn't stay to explain the obvious. He surely, though, heard the round of applause given to him by those who witnessed the exciting events. When he returned as himself, Lois played her role. "You just *disappeared,* Clark!" "Yeah, well, nature called--but I interviewed two maids and a bellhop who saw everything." "You did? How? And when?" "I did; I asked the right questions quickly; and just now. Here's my notes..." He pulled out a small notepad and showed her his neat scribbles. He had this cover-up act down pat, didn't he, she thought, and there had been enough time for him to get the interviews as well. Very clever these Kryptonians. "Well, I talked to the Mayor and her husband about it and got an appointment to lunch tomorrow with the Chief of Police." "That's great, you moved fast, too." "But," she whispered the secret part, "I plan to ask him if Fynk has a criminal record." "I see. That could be... helpful. Let's find a phone and call all this story in." The dancing, the music, the food, the adventure, the applause... he was beginning to sound like cheerful Clark again, and she realized how much she preferred that. They found a phone, both talked to Mrs. O'Shea, and 20 minutes later were told to get more information and phone that in, too. "Hi-ho, hi-ho," Lois sighed. But it was nice to simply be a bystander in this instead of smack in the big middle. *** Tuesday, as Lois lunched with the Chief of Police, Clark was able to get away for a regular hour's worth of noon patrol. To his immense relief, he discovered that everyone with whom he came in contact said they were on his side, and the more he heard that, the more he saw that it was exactly what he needed to hear. He thought he had heard the very worst that morning: the plaintiff's lawyers had called a news conference to counter what they described as the unseeming antics of the so-called "Man of Steel" to gain the sympathy of a citizenry that did not have all the facts about the case against him. The attorneys were gathering new evidence every day, and indeed they were considering adding to their case a claim by several people injured while doing repairs at the crushed Megamall. The members of the press questioned them avidly, but answers had been skillfully crafted ahead of time and the reporters were put in their places almost without knowing it. Karl Kingston, courthouse reporter for the Metropolis Star, summed it up the next day in a manner that would have pleased the plaintiff: it came down to a recognition that, yes, while Superman had done some wonderful things for the world, he had to learn to be more thoughtful of innocent people's property rights. If a lawsuit was what it took to make it clear to the man, so be it. In the meantime, the fellow should look into getting comprehensive no-fault insurance... Clark had kept Lois from whacking the man when they overheard him mumbling the phrases to himself after the press conference. The event was televised but apparently few people Superman encountered during his noon patrol had seen it. As he did his usual helpful things around the city and the surrounding country side--stopping a run-away garbage truck, finding a lost child, assisting an elderly couple, averting a construction accident--people not only simply thanked him, they grabbed his hand and pumped it and some offered him gifts, like food--cookies, sodapop, candy, tea, coffee, sandwiches. He refused it all politely, patting his stomach, "It's not on my diet, but thanks." If he accepted one gift, he figured he'd have to accept them all and he couldn't hang around eating. At the very least they beamed at him, gave him thumbs up, and informed him that they were pulling for him. Despite Perry's dire prediction during that morning's budget meeting, no one fell down in front of him screaming about being injured or otherwise faked an actionable cause. He realized that this didn't mean there weren't people who had contemplated it, just that he wasn't drawing them to himself. At the moment anyhow. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't. He ordered himself to Think Positive, Kent! Back in the newsroom at two, Lois reported that the Chief of Police said that the Mayor wanted to hold a rally for Superman, but... "That's a bit much," Clark said, more alarmed than pleased by the idea. This little thing was turning into such a *big* thing... though of course he'd written the original story. But he hadn't asked for the problem, and somebody else would have written the story and maybe not have given it such an even-handed treatment. "Oh, the Chief said the Mayor agreed. She knows the City can't really afford it and the crowds would be impossible to handle. After all, the whole city would turn out." Not the *whole* city surely... bad guys could take advantage of the crowd, and some citizens might very well agree with the plaintiff after they saw the coverage on the evening TV news. But what was worse, "People could get hurt, that happens in big crowds." "Exactly, so instead of sitting humbly in some uncomfortable chair being praised up one side and down the other, Superman would have to catch pickpockets and deliver babies and sort out traffic jams." "Yeah." He didn't think being praised up one side and down the other was fun either; that wasn't what he wanted, wasn't the reason he had put on the suit in the first place. If he wanted something up one of his sides and down the other with long stops at stations in between, it was a person, and that person was Lois. He wished he could dwell on that thought instead. "I think she's going to make some kind of announcement, though, if the preliminary hearing doesn't go well." "I guess that's all right," though it could signal to all the people who were thinking of bringing lawsuits to rush to court, Superman was vulnerable... "I guess he's stuck with it. Oh, and I asked the Chief about Fynk, but he didn't have anything on the guy, so he really must not have a criminal record since we couldn't find one either." "Superman wouldn't use it anyway." "Then Superman wouldn't have his head on straight. What are you doing tonight?" "Ah, nothing?" other than hiding under my bed, you mean? No, no, *think positive...* "Good. Come to my place at seven and we'll plan out a strategy to help him win this case. I've got a lawyer friend, his secretary and a PI they know all coming over." Newsroom colleagues who had quietly turned and cocked their ears upon hearing her question turned away again as the boring part rolled off her tongue. "Well, Lois..." She leaned toward him and gave him The Eye Mark II, the "Do you really think you can get out of this?" version. "Okay, seven it is." Her friends were on video. They were Perry Mason, Della Street and Paul Drake, and they defended wide-eyed, clearly innocent young men accused of horrendous acts of mischief and murder. Lois said she'd always been a Perry Mason groupie, which was news to Clark, and that she had nearly all the books and videos. These particular episodes, she swore, were among her favorites. Although the stories were clever and Clark only figured out the true villain ahead of time in one of them, he didn't see how he, or, rather, Superman, could use similar theatrics to expose a villain since his was a civil not criminal case. The Megamall's insurance simply wasn't paying off, so its owner had told his lawyers to find someone who could pay, and that might turn out to be the one who looked like he'd killed the Slime Monster. Still, it was her thought that counted, and her enthusiasm was endearing as she pointed out all the nuances of the cases on the screen. Maybe she really was a groupie. He promised that, yes, he'd pass the information on to Superman if he saw him first, but the fellow seemed to be avoiding the press. Well, she said, he *should* be out there manipulating that very press, even if it confirmed the "unseemly antics" accusation. Who cared what those lawyers thought anyway-- and *don't,* she warned, argue with me about fairness, *they're* not acting fair, are they?--*are* they? He didn't argue. She was right, even if the whole system said it was fair and that was why there were courts and laws and justice and... God, he thought, I sound boring even to myself... She made popcorn again and explained that her mother wouldn't break in on them because the woman was most definitely in a plane heading toward in San Francisco. He realized that she was imparting this information as purely that, information, and that it didn't imply they might tonight engage in anything potentially heart stopping even if he could rest up after it the next day. She didn't pull any of his clothing off nor suggest he do the same to her, though in between programs or as the tapes rewound, they practiced a bit of lip tasting. During the programs they sat back, his arm over her shoulder or vice versa if she was sitting up pointing out things, and concentrated on the narratives. It was an interesting not physically strenuous evening, he thanked her for it, and she told him to go home and *relax* for his day off. *** "Lois? Am I interrupting anything? I know it's late..." "No, not at all. Clark left five minutes ago, your timing's great." "Well, that's a relief. I only have a minute or two. I tried to call Sunday and yesterday, but I only got your machine. I'm sorry I hung up without identifying myself." "But Clark might have been here and wondered, you were right to do that. My mother visited Sunday and then Clark and I went to a charity thing last night. Tonight we were here and we watched some videos that I think will help with the lawsuit--you know about that, don't you? Did he tell you?" "Oh, yes, he told us on Sunday..." "But?" "He was more nervous about it than he let on, I just know it. I'm glad he has you to talk to, but..." "But we haven't talked much and I'm sure he's worried--I mean, *I'd* be worried, and he can't tell me everything and even if I knew officially, there's not much I could do." "Yes. And from what I can tell, he hasn't done anything beyond filing the papers. He's just waiting and that doesn't seem like a very good strategy to me." "Umm, sometimes he doesn't seem to understand the concept of presenting a moving target, does he? Still, he's not the kind of person who would blitz the media buying ads proclaiming his innocence." "He'd consider it a waste of money that could help some charity. But surely he could give interviews about it." "Yes, and make it clear that he understands how serious this is and he's going to fight it, that they can't take advantage of his easy-going nature. Believe me, Martha, I'm working on him. I've suggested several times that Superman should get a good lawyer, and he has agreed that he probably will after the Thursday hearing." "That's promising." "It would be nice for him to have one to argue his case now, but he doesn't. A lot of lawyers have called the Planet volunteering their services, and some of them have to be sincere and know what they're doing, and Clark knows about them, everyone does, but he seems to be sure he can handle the preliminaries himself. I guess maybe he can, there's probably not much to them, he just goes in and says he's not guilty or something and the judge sets some more dates." "Do you know anything about the judge?" "You mean old 'Hanging Judge Booker'?--hey, I'm just kidding. Strict but fair, they say. Known for handling long cases with extreme impartiality. I guess she's okay, I don't really follow that kind of thing to be honest with you. But, listen, I have a plan I'll spring on him tomorrow night, it's even more brilliant than tonight's plan. I'm sure we can find some obscure laws he can cite in court that will win the case right away. I'll call him with it after we hang up." "Oh, that sounds good. Tell me--Wait--Just a minute, Jon! I'm on the phone!... He needs some help carrying things. Call and tell me if your plan works, okay?" "You've got it. We'll make him understand how important this is and he better start taking it seriously, *believe* me." "I'm glad you're there for him." "Me, too. See you!" *** "You're going to a *what* tomorrow night?!" "A MUFON meeting. You know, that UFO group--" "I *know*--but you *can't*--" "--Sure I--" "--be thinking about *UFOs* at a time like *this*!" "A time like what?" "You're--You know, Superman's in big trouble and *you're* thinking about *UFOs*?" "Well, no, they're not the only thing on my mind, but they're more fun to think about than... someone else's troubles." "Like you're taking a day off from it or something?" "Yes--" "Clark!" "What? What's wrong with doing that? I can't think about it 100% of my time or I'll go crazy!" "All right, all right, relax, don't--" "--I *am* relaxed." "--say that... My God, UFOs..." "Well, I'd think you'd be interested. After all, a lot of members of the group probably agree with you that the Slime Monster was from outer space." "Where it should have stayed." "Yeah, but it didn't. So I take it you don't want to go." "They didn't talk it to death already? Do you *have* to go?" "No, they were slimed out of their last meeting so they haven't talked about it. And I don't have to go but I want to because it's fun. You don't have to go, I know you don't care--" "Are they meeting at their usual place?" "Yes, it was cleaned up--" "Then I'll be there. We can do something afterward. I mean, Clark, the hearing's the *very next day*!" "I know." "Well, get some sleep." "I will, I was on my way to bed. You get some sleep, too, you sound awfully tense." "*I* sound...? I guess I do, don't I?" "Yes. Relax, won't you? I know you care, and I do, too, but *I'm* trying to relax..." "Okay, okay, maybe you're, well, right, it's not like *you* were on trial, is it?" "It's not a trial, it's--" "I know, I know. Good night, Clark." "Sweet dreams, Lois." *** Wednesday was a bad day. This wasn't due to the sporadic Autumn rain, nor did anything almost fatal threaten the peace, unless being extremely bored could prove terminal. As Lois was working up an agenda to keep herself busy on this nearly Clark-free day, she received a call from Metropolis Police, asking her to be at headquarters at 9 a.m. sharp. They wanted her to pick out James Richards from a line up. This, she had thought, was a good thing. She was rarely invited to visit: she usually had to force her way in for interviews or talk her way out of trumped-up charges. She left early, planning to corner and pump Inspector Henderson for information she could give Raul and Laura, and then interview every person who might have knowledge of Judge Booker's frame of mind. But they saw her coming and assigned a Ms. Farrell, PR Specialist, to "comfort" her during this time of reliving the hell she had survived the previous week. Lois tried to get rid of the young woman but she stuck like glue. Then Lois tried to be nice, the kid was only doing her job, but as noon crept nearer, she felt her famous composure decomposing. Before leaving the newsroom, she had called Clark and asked via his machine that he meet her for lunch. She had to call again and inform the machine that she had to cancel, the ever-efficient Metro PD hadn't held the line up yet and who knew when Richard's lawyers would let that happen? 12:15. Lois said, "Him, Number Three. Can I leave now?" She was given another cup of coffee and more paperwork. Perry picked her up at one and they headed for Green Meadows for similar activities. The Police Department there, as though to make up for *somehow* having lost two major prisoners, requestioned the witnesses in excruciating detail about Saturday evening. As 4:30 neared and Lois was starving (though the coffee was better here), she said "I've had enough!" grabbed an unprotesting Perry, and they left. What topped everything was that no one tried to stop them. They picked up some fast food on the way back to Metropolis, and listened to the car radio to try to catch up on the day's events. The only thing that interested Lois was that Superman had reportedly rescued some overenthusiastic researchers set upon by exasperated penguins. "Great, no penguins were harmed, that's wonderful--but why isn't he working on his case?!" "Lois, honey--" "Interviews, photo opportunities, doing an end run or whatever that's called, but *nooo*, he has to go to South *Pooooole*..." Perry pulled up in front of her building. "Lois, I'm sure he's thinking about it--" "Wanna bet?" "Huh?" "Oh, nothing, forget I said that. He should have given me an exclusive, I guess I'm upset about that." "Well, I wish you'd gotten one, too, but it's all happened so fast and he's only talked to Clark, and as little as that was at least we've kept the coup. Listen: you just take your day off tomorrow and skip the preliminary hearing. Take a drive in the country, get some fresh air, read a good book, go shopping: have some *fun.* Remember, you're going to be working twice as hard when Clark's on vacation." "Vacation!? How can he take a vacation at a time like this?" "Lois, get some rest. That's an order." She gave him a narrow look, which bounced off, and kept herself from slamming his door, wondering if he knew he was lucky to escape with his life. She showered, pulled on some comfortable clothing and arrived at the west side branch of the Metropolis Electric Company, which had an auditorium in which MUFON meetings were held. The local UFO research group used to meet in Molly Flynn's spare room at her new-age book store, but membership had soared when people realized that some UFO fanatics were right about life in outer space, particularly the kind that wore a red cape. Clark had become interested in the group and, now that she thought about it, she could see why: Martha had explained that they still knew little about where he came from, and there was always the chance that the eclectic group might come up with information he could use. She found a parking space several rows away from the entrance and sprinted for the door through a sprinkle, hoping she wouldn't need her umbrella by the end of the meeting. She could, though, send Clark out for the Jeep; he'd like doing that, it would put him in a pliable mood if he wasn't in one already. She signed in and paid her five dollars. "It's only two dollars for members," she was informed by a plump older woman wearing a T-shirt sporting an expressionless bug-eyed, egg-headed alien. Uh-huh, Lois thought. It was a good thing Clark didn't come from *that* planet... "I'll think about it." "Would you like a copy of our newsletter? It's only a dollar..." Newsletter? "Do your members write for it? Are there any articles by Clark Kent?" The woman didn't know but the name sounded familiar. Lois bought samples of all the back issues available, giving the woman a twenty and telling her to keep the change as a donation. She then began looking for Clark and formulating a plan to whisk him out of here before he realized it. She had been to two MUFON meetings over the last year or so. The first one because she'd gotten confirmation that Superman had said he'd try to attend (that was back when she had been in girlish lust and kept fanatical track of his comings and goings). He had appeared, briefly, and answered a few questions, and from then on, according to Clark, attendance at meetings had soared. The second meeting Lois had gone to was to hear a talk by a famous French UFO researcher. She had figured that his presence might draw the mysterious Man of Steel to ask questions, but no such luck. Clark had asked several though and soaked up the answers like a dry sponge in the desert. Molly had mentioned that before and after the meetings the group often broke down into subgroups. "I've seen Clark in every group at one time or another and that's rare; people usually have one or two interests and ignore or even degrade the rest." "Well, he's a rare one all right," Lois recalled having yawned, but that was, what, centuries ago when she didn't know any better. She herself had been drawn during her second meeting to the government conspiracy subgroup, thinking they might know of new Bureau 39 activities. But the members (among them level-headed people like an accountant and an electrical engineer) treated her with caution. She hadn't gotten a rise out of them even after saying she'd witnessed the death of Jason Trask. They informed her that he had quickly been replaced by someone even more secretive but not so obsessed with Superman, didn't she know that? She hadn't. They proceeded to keep her at a distance, and so she had decided in turn to ignore them. Petty, girl, petty... Clark, not dressed in some God-awful UFO T-shirt, thank goodness, was talking about crops or something agricultural sounding with a group of people, several of whom had British accents. They were passing around pictures they had taken of the latest "formations." Had funky farmers been doing unusual things with haystacks in the bucolic English countryside? Too bad, someone said, that Superman hadn't had a chance to investigate them. He's a busy guy, someone else said, especially now. We're going to talk about that tonight, a third person said. "Good," Lois said as she made her entry into the group by taking Clark's arm. "I'm glad I came then. Sure, flying saucers and little green men are an interesting diversion, but the people of Metropolis should be taking this lawsuit *very seriously.*" The conversation came to a screeching halt and they all looked at her, even Clark. Several moments of uncomfortable silence followed. What did I say wrong? she wondered. These people can't be serious, UFOs are not more important than the very fate of Superman's legal standing in the community! *** Clark dearly wanted to say "Lois, give it a rest, *please?*" He wondered if she'd thought of anything else all day long. He had been entertaining the hope (silly me, he thought) that she had busied herself with some new story that he could pick up on the next afternoon and they could work on together Friday. Her obsession with the lawsuit was all out of proportion when there really was nothing anyone could do to hurry along the legal process. Other than cheat, that was, by tuning in on the plaintiff's private sessions with his lawyers, or sneaking into the attorneys' offices and destroying paperwork. or finding out sordid details of everyone's pasts and using them. These "helpful" ideas he had heard from friends and people in the street over the past several days. No, Thursday he'd state his case and let the chips fall where they would and try to get on with life, part of it as Clark, part of it as Superman, part of it as a defendant trying to work things out so everyone was happy. But now, of course, Lois had made a near fatal faux pas: she had denigrated the views and beliefs of these nice people right in their own community. The look on her face though said that she didn't realize what she had done, so a rescue was called for. "Lois, let me show you something." He asked Jenny if he could see the snapshots again. "My friend doesn't know anything about crop circles, so she doesn't realize their importance." Ah! the group said collectively, understanding immediately that the tense newcomer was merely unenlightened. They surrounded her and, as Clark held the pictures, informed her of their origin (the heart of Wiltshire) and explained what they showed. The swirls in the crops were impossible to reproduce overnight by human machinations in a field that had been heavily watched on a 24-hour basis. The balls of light, the proud photographer proclaimed, had *not* been flares set off by the pesky military or sparklers held by hoaxers hiding in the crops, and they were not flaws in the emulsion. No, there had been 14 witnesses and a third of them had been clergy, rounded out by farmers, retired military officers, and herself, a cardiac surgeon. She went on about the sounds they had heard, the agitation of the livestock in neighboring fields, and the odd feelings inspired by simply walking inside the formations the next morning. "Wow," Lois said, as though she found it fascinating; maybe she did. She respectfully returned the photos that had been taken from Clarks hands and stacked in hers as they were explained. "Those are really.. unique! Thank you for showing them to me." She smiled, waited for the conversation go elsewhere, mainly off her, and took Clark's arm again. She tried to turn him aside. "I have to talk to you for a moment..." "About this? You know, I'm thinking of taking some of my vacation time and visiting England, maybe I can get there before the season ends this year," or at the very least make yet another attempt to be floating over Wiltshire at just the right time... "No, Clark, about you know what." "Oh, well..." So she'd been faking it. Darn. But, he reminded himself, the Big Fight had shown him that they simply didn't have everything in common and that was life. "I'm sorry, Lois, but I'm doing *this* right now." Jenny touched his shoulder and began telling him about cheap air fares; Frank said he thought there was still time to see crop circles forming in Canada; Ruth thought Australia's crop circle season would be starting soon, that was the place to visit next. "Clark..." Lois muttered behind him. "Really..." He pointedly ignored her. She had heard what he preferred to be talking about and the Big Fight should have taught her the same lesson. Besides, no one had held a gun to her head and made her come tonight. The district chair shouted for attention and said the meeting really should get started. Everyone looked for seats. Lois pointed out two near the exit, which he accepted. Her next ploy was to whisper about mysterious goings on at MetroU Law School and they really should check them out *right now*. He whispered in return: "I was there Friday night and it was truly boring. It can fend for itself, I don't want to go back." "You were there already?" "For three hours. Now, shhh." She fumed through most of the meeting, except for the brief discussion of the group's favorite alien's current problems and the decision to start a petition to the governor demanding his pardon. As though they expected him to lose, too, Clark sighed. The vote in favor was overwhelming, so it was the thought that counted though probably the governor couldn't do anything about a civil case. He saw Lois frown; she must have wanted to vote but, hey, she could have become a member that very night, it was easy. She snuck her hand up though when Farah, the group's resident Superman expert, asked for volunteers to picket the courthouse on Thursday afternoon. "Well," Lois whispered, "It's part of covering the story. You'll be there, won't you?" "Wouldn't miss it," unless someone in Siberia stubbed a toe and called for help. The main presentation, which Lois nearly snored through, was on the Slime Monster. Clark had to admit that she could be right about this one, they already knew a lot of the details and recalling them through slides and videos was not exciting. He did, though, find the wrap up interesting: a county veterinary school instructor and an assistant coroner with Metro PD speculated on the possible causes of the Monster's death. It could be of potential use in his case, backing up a paragraph in one of his legal replies that pointed out that he may not actually have been responsible for the Monster's demise. Another good reason for having come tonight, he told himself. The official part of the meeting ended. Clark bought another soda from the snack committee and proceeded to schmooze with this group and that, catching up on the latest cattle mutilation reports, releases of secret government documents, crashed saucer revelations from 1947 forward, Bigfoot and Loch Ness sightings, and other topics covered by the nebulous term "UFO." Lois remained seated, reading back issues of the Metropolis UFO News (to which he contributed now and then, mostly book reviews). She was currently perusing an article on "our tall, blond alien friends from the Pleides." She was also trying her best, he saw, to make every motion tell him how impatient she was to get the real show on the road. That just made him linger longer than he might have, until almost 11, when the District Chair announced that he had to lock up, would people please help put away the chairs? Outside it was sprinkling again lightly, as it had been at 7, but Lois marched right out into it without a thought. Clark strolled after her. He wondered if she would have let him get the Jeep if there had been a downpour instead. Quite possibly. Then again, she didn't look very happy; maybe she would have preferred to let him walk home. "The Law Library's probably closed by now," she huffed as she forced her way through confused drivers and out of the parking lot. "Good. I still wouldn't have gone, and I don't think you'd find it much fun, either." "I didn't want to go to have *fun*!" "I know why you wanted to go--" "Then we should have gone." "No, not we, if anyone you, and you didn't need my help." "But you know all the ramifications--you typed up the paperwork." "True, but today--" "I know, you didn't want to think about it." "Exactly." "Oh, Clark, you're hopeless!" "Huh? What *are* you talking about? Just because I'm not giving myself an ulcer over this problem? *Lois*..." "*Clark*... Did you see him at all today?" "Well--" "I didn't see him. I wish I had. I would have told him about the message Judge Booker sent early this morning. Perry told me about it this afternoon." "A message? To the Planet? To Perry?" "She thought Perry would know how to get in touch with Superman and gave him a private message, that's all." "What message?" "Oh, *no,* *you're* not interested, *remember*?" It was just like her to think he was going to beg to be told. "True, I'm not. It probably wasn't important anyway." "It depends on who you are, I guess. It was just a suggestion about where he should go to get into the courtroom so he won't be besieged by reporters." Ullp. "I bet *you'll* be there." He could look for her and, bingo, get in unbesieged except by one, who he might be able to sneak around when she wasn't looking. "No, Perry told me to skip the preliminary hearing and I might just do that. I certainly don't need to get an *ulcer* over it." "Oh..." In that case it looked like he'd have to slip into the office some time tonight and see if Perry had left the original message, assuming it was on paper, in his desk... "But *you* could watch that back door, there's supposed to be one open on the loading dock on the east end of the building, between 8:45 and 9." Ah-ha! Calm down, Kent... "You think I'd do that? Besiege him?" "That's what I've taught you to do for a good story." "It's not so much good as it's... it's *there*, and, really..." "I know..." She sighed and then let it turn into a frown that indicated she wanted to think about something. She pulled onto the Crosstown and headed east and then north. He decided to look out the window at the skyline of Metropolis, The City of the Future, The City Where Time Waits for No One, The City that Rose from the Slime, and, what was the latest one?... Ah, oh, yes, the City Where Supermen Fear to Tread, at least according to the editorial in this afternoon's Metropolis Star. He was glad he hadn't tried to get a job there when he'd first moved to town. Several long, quiet minutes later, Lois cleared her throat. He turned and noticed that she composed her face and she looked quiet, in control and as though she expected to be listened to. She said calmly: "Clark, I think we should get something straight, that we should be honest with each other, it would probably make things easier." He could see it coming, another attempt to drag him down a path. Well, she wasn't getting him on this one, either. "Easier?" as in easier for her to make him do what she wanted? "There's something I probably should have told you a while ago, something I found out but... things have been happening and, well, I've been taking advantage of it, using it, and maybe that wasn't the wisest thing to do although it's been fun, a lot of fun, and I've learned things I'd never *dreamed* of..." Yeah, right. "Is this about the Slime Monster?" She closed her mouth, licked her lips, thought about it a moment more, then said, "Well, it's related--" "Then I *don't* want to hear about it." "Clark, it's--" "Lois, before you say anything more, pull over and let me out, and you can talk to yourself all you want and no one will argue with you. I refuse to talk about *anything* related to that poor creature tonight, got it?" "But--" "*Got* it?" She sighed again and shook her head, but for some reason smiled a bit, too, he was sure he saw that. "All right..." Strange, but still he said "Good," because being firm about it felt just that, good. He had forced her to listen to him for a change (which she might actually have appreciated, that could be the reason for the smile), and, to top that, tricked out of her the information in the Judge's message. Two for two. Now to wrap it up: "Can we just drive on in peace? Just take me home and then go home yourself and get some rest." "Okay... Perry said that, too." "Well, he was right." "You know, someday we're going to laugh about all this." "Someday." "You're mad at me, aren't you?" "A little...--but this is *not* a fight." "No, it's a friendly disagreement about priorities." "Yes." "And I happen to be right and you happen to be..." she glanced at him and surely saw that he was refusing to rise to the bait, "...in need of your vacation." "Your darn tootin." She broke into a real smile. "What was that?" "That's what my Grandmother Kent used to say," he explained, thinking of the strict-looking old woman who had made the best macaroons in the entire world especially for him because he, at six years of age, liked to sit on her kitchen counter and listen to her when no other grandchild had time for her. "It always made me laugh even when I shouldn't have, when she was being serious." "I see. Maybe I've been too serious..." "No," he sighed, "That's all right..." Was it? Here he'd been ignoring her insistence all evening long and told her he didn't want to hear anymore, and now it was "all right" when it was too late and he couldn't explain why he felt like he did and share his uncertainty? Boy, Kent, your timing is *really* something. "No, that's *not* all right. I've been bugging you. you of all people about it and that hasn't been very helpful..." "That you've wanted to help, that's all right, it's just that..." Wait, stop, think about this a moment... "It's just that it's one of those things he doesn't want to share again, it seems, or he would be working on it with us." "It's not that, it's more like there's not really anything more that can be done at the moment." "You mean he could still ask for help?" It occurred to him that she really did simply want to help. So why was he being combative about this? Was there some degree of... jealousy in his own reactions? I'm jealous of myself? Nah... But still... "Yes, he could, I guess." "Maybe... Do you think then maybe tomorrow he'll ask you, or maybe *me* for a little help?" "Ah..." Oh, Lois, if you *only* knew, if we weren't speeding down this highway but sitting in some calm, quiet, out-of-the-way place, preferably after a nice dinner, with nobody interrupting us for five minutes straight, just five pure minutes... "Yes, I think... he'll probably knock on your window or something like that..." "Good. I'll be there or I can be, you know, on a moment's notice." "I know." "And you'll be there to help, too, I know it." "Yeah, right there..." She smiled warmly and then concentrated on driving. He thought it interesting how the highway lights strobed in and out of the car as though trying to point out a woman of mercurial moods when this was not a fickle woman, not really, she was a *passionate* woman. She pulled off the Crosstown and on to Sinibaldi. "Clark, I've been thinking about your vacation and how I still have about a million years of time coming. I want you to take me on a comprehensive tour of Smallville sometime. Martha showed me the shopping highlights, but you can show me the places you and your friends had fun together. We can go to Wichita and see that cafe where your parents hung out when they were young. Martha told me about that." "Well, sure, we can do that, if it's still there." "It's a date then." "It's beginning to look like we'll have to leave town to have a date, doesn't it?" "We'll get it right sometime, somewhere, *soon,* I just know it." "Maybe..." go for it, "Maybe tomorrow night, if you're not busy." "I don't have anything planned, but let's see how things go with the... that *other* thing, the one in the morning." "Okay." Yes, there it was, tomorrow night, the perfect time. He'd definitely tell her then, tell her all, get her help and ideas. At least he could be sure that she probably wouldn't get very upset because he'd look so desperate by then. She pulled up before his apartment, set the brake and turned to smile at him. My turn again, he realized, and a good thing. "Lois, I want to tell you that..." not *that* now, but lay some groundwork, Kent, start building that path, "in case you didn't know it, you're my best friend in Metropolis, in the world even, in more ways than one, more than a girlfriend-boyfriend thing, and I'm... I'm really happy about that." "Oh, Clark..." That warm look again... It made his heart do funny, merry little things. He told it to calm down. "And I'm sorry if you still think I'm hopeless..." but you won't for long... "No, that was just..." she looked away, looked for words, met his eyes again, and she shrugged... "Well, sometimes you *are* just hopeless, but I don't think I could stand you if you were totally confident about everything in life. Where would I fit in then?" Wow. "You worry about that?" "I used to, but I don't any more." "Oh, good, because you... well, you really do fit better than anyone I've ever known," whatever all that meant exactly. "Except my folks." "That's different, and I love them, too." "I'm glad." This all seemed so favorable, and he was saying the right things, the pleased look on her face confirmed that and made him feel more confident. "So, even though I'm still hopeless apparently... do you want a kiss?" "Umm, do penguins have feathers?" "Well, actually, yes, they do." "I thought so." He confidently assumed the go-ahead, and he was right. *** Superman arrived at the Metropolis Court House at 8:55 am Thursday morning. Avoiding the front of the big building and the seething mass of humanity and media there, he had taken the suggested obscure back way in and met no one but a security guard, who gave every evidence of expecting him and didn't ask for any identification. There were no besieging reporters, no Jimmy taking pictures, no Perry waving a banner. But most of all there was no Lois. Clark was more disappointed than relieved. Now he wouldn't get to put into effect the slight change of plans he had decided upon. He had given it plenty of thought during the sleepless night full of regular patrol, work originally intended to keep his mind off this whole hearing thing. He had decided that upon finding her waiting for him there by the back door he would take her aside, say float her up to the roof, and in a few seconds whisper the truth in her ear or maybe kiss her in a special way or something else totally romantic. A beautiful, serene look would brighten her face as she enlightened to the amazing connection between the guy in blue in front of her and the fellow she had been getting along with so well lately. She would understand everything in an instant because that was about all the time they'd have. Then he'd admit to being so glad to see her and they should have talked a lot sooner but things just kept getting in the way. She'd understand that, too, give him an encouraging hug, which he really needed, and tell him to be careful and not let on because she'd put superglue on the opposing councils' chairs so the first time they jumped up to protest something, their pants would rip open and their whole world would see their case for what it really was. Nah, he thought now, none of that would have worked. Well, the hug would have worked, and the glue part might have, and he felt in need of a good laugh. For here it was, within minutes of everything being laid on the line at the moment of truth, and other cliches that seemed to fit the stressful situation. Representing himself was the right thing to do, he told himself yet again, because he had somehow brought all this about, had been open to it, and he should take full responsibility for that openness and not fall back on seeking help... at least for this first part of the lawsuit, unless his strategy worked and this turned out to be the last part as well. His strategy was simple, too simple maybe, but he thought that the worst that could be said about it was that he was asking the court for mercy. That wasn't what it was, really, and wasn't the way he planned to play it if he got the chance to play, but that was how he realized it might sound. If it didn't sound too much like that, maybe no other disgruntled people would try suing him again, at least without a better reason. One Law Library book had said such strategies often worked, but a different, equally literate law book advised against them at all costs. At the moment, though, the strategy was the best one he could think of, and he didn't like thinking about it too much. Most of all, he didn't like not being able to share it with anyone, but there was no use making his folks more nervous than they already were. The night before that had left a rah-rah-sic'em! message on his machine. It had made him laugh but hadn't been any more helpful than Lois's Perry Mason tapes. Too, he'd heard the hesitation in their voices, the strained laughter... and there wasn't a thing he could do but look forward to taking his vacation and being with them again and at least act like he believed it would work out all right eventually. The anxious, talkative security guard led him down several hallways, pointing out this office and that as belonging to people whose names Clark didn't recognize. But of course they recognized him, or, rather, the suit when they came out to stare and smile and wave tentatively and then, the women mostly, giggle at each other and make the usual comments about his physique when surely they thought he couldn't hear. Fortunately, everyone was otherwise polite and no one besieged him. And there's the canteen, his guide said, did he want a cup of coffee? No, thank you (eating was the last thing on his mind). The machine actually made a pretty good cup though the man said he usually brought a thermos full from home, and they sometimes had sweet rolls, but he hadn't seen any this morning so delivery was late or he was sure Superman could have had one if he wanted, for free even, you don't look like you carry a wallet, do you? "No, I don't," Superman smiled politely. Clark thought hyperspace would see money as a cosmic joke, so he hadn't even tried to put his wallet in there without it being wrapped in with the rest of his normal clothing. The guard ushered Superman through a back door into what he said was the largest courtroom available and even then it probably wouldn't hold the huge crowd that wanted to get in with all their cameras and lights. The judge wasn't happy about this, the guard whispered as they stood in the door and looked at the big chamber that had large windows on one side and a lot of dark wooden furnishings like, Clark thought, a courtroom one could see on any TV program. The judge was calling it a "g-ded circus," the man continued, carefully refraining from repeating the curse in front of the Man of Steel. But he also said he was pretty sure that she probably realized it wasn't Superman's fault. "Thank you," Superman told him. "Where do I sit?" The guard motioned and a uniformed middle-aged woman who had been watching them came over. She was the Chief Bailiff and she was no more amused about this than the woman in the Court Clerk's office had been last Saturday. The difference was, this woman was carrying a gun and she looked like she'd use it if pressed too far. Superman did not press. She asked, "Where's your lawyer?" "I'm representing myself, ma'am." "Uh-huh..." she nodded, her expression saying she'd seen stupider moves in the courtroom but not often. "All right, you're going to sit over here..." The crowd--there must have been at least 200 people but they surged so much Clark couldn't get an accurate count from floor level--caught sight of him. A hush fell over half of them while the other half found new voices to shout in his direction. He did not encourage them, not wanting to be responsible for the Chief Bailiff maybe pulling out her gun and shooting into the air to scare them silent, so he mostly ignored them, they were on their own. Except he looked briefly for Lois. There was no way she was going to stay home and rest on her day off, though there was the fact that she had not intercepted his entry into the courthouse. Okay, that was thoughtful. Maybe she was looking around out front in the crowd for him, Clark, which made sense: he had called in to Mrs. O'Shea the afternoon before to say that he'd collect crowd reaction outside the courthouse because he didn't think he could get in without a pass. Being a friend of Superman's wasn't enough--though apparently being Superman's agent was, because he saw that Murray had a good seat about five rows back. The man waved, smiled, gave him a thumbs up and mouthed out "I'm here if you need me!" Superman nodded in recognition, hoping it conveyed a "I don't think I will, thanks." But then, as he was about to turn away from the gallery, he saw Lois. She was squeezing into the courtroom on the heels of a half dozen more security guards. She was dressed in a conservative brown outfit and no one else seemed to notice her as she melted into the crowd and somehow--not somehow, no somehows for Lois, Lois was a pro--find a seat. It would probably be in just the place she wanted so she'd have a great view but then be among the first out the door to call in the results from the closest pay phone upon which she'd surreptitiously hung an "out of order" sign since everyone's cell phones would have been confiscated at the door. He wished that instead of being up here it had been some other schmuck, and that he and Lois could be figuring out how to get the best angle on the story. Instead through the night he had been Superman, and he had spent most of the previous two hours putting out a fire on a cruise ship and, until tugboats could take over, towing it toward port, the nearest one being in Puerto Rico. That had turned out all right but getting back to Metropolis on time had been a close thing and it had kept him from putting into action the now-aborted little plan to share all this with her. Sorry, Lois. Someday you'll understand. Probably. He hoped. The Chief Bailiff showed him to a highly polished mahogany table and he settled into one of the chairs behind it. The table was absolutely clear until a clerk brought a tray on which was an icy pitcher of water and several plastic-wrapped glasses. He stared at Superman a moment, said nothing but obviously ached to, and then rushed away. Clark wasn't thirsty. He wasn't, he realized, sighing quietly, much of anything. He wasn't much interested, he wasn't much excited, he wasn't much nervous. And he didn't much care. But he knew what it was as he sat there examining his lack of feelings. It was his normal reaction to the closeness of his vacation. He always felt himself sort of shutting down and withdrawing from city life as what had become his regularly scheduled two-week fall escape neared. At the office they called it "Clark-on-the-farm days," or "Clark returning to his roots." Anticipating all that time not having to dress up in a suit and tie or in the Superman suit (unless there was some emergency or this stupid lawsuit demanded he return to town), being himself with his folks for two whole weeks always had a nice feel to it. Rough times just did that. Add to it his original innocent desire to keep this court thing simple, and, voila, something that might have been mistaken for apathy settled over him like a wet blanket. Maybe that's what Lois had sensed. Interesting. Someone off behind him to his left began cursing her video camera tripod in Japanese; someone one else complained in French about the bright lights being aimed in the wrong direction; and people who apparently thought the guards wouldn't see them began shouting questions at him in English with a variety of accents, but that didn't last long. The complainant and his team of lawyers descended upon the table on the other side of the open area in front of the bench and began to spread out papers. Powers and Burgess pointedly glared at the respondent when they weren't mumbling among themselves, but Selig gave them a single look and they calmed that down immediately. The complainant, a frazzle- haired man in his 40s, sat back and pinned a fierce frown on the defendant, whose self-admitted near indifference made it easy to keep a calm (though not mild-mannered) visage. Clark tried not to listen to the opposing attorneys, the sense that someone had to play fair here insisting it be part of his simple plan, but apparently Selig had that covered as well because what little conversation that could be heard by anybody, particularly the reporters straining for juicy tidbits, was totally unrevealing. Instead Clark sat back, folded his arms before his chest, crossed his legs at his ankles, and closed his eyes. He wondered if he was becoming bored now. It was another sign of impending vacation: he wanted to be home driving his father's combine or exercising the horses or helping the neighbors or playing with the dog or sitting in his Fortress catching up on his reading. Anything. Soon. In less than three days... Unless something bad happened here and he wound up in jail, and breaking out probably wasn't a viable option. But why come out when he'd probably have his own cell and it would be quiet, unless another monster came along and then maybe he'd wait until they begged him to *do* something and then he'd think up a lot of paperwork for everyone to sign... The Court Clerk announced the arrival of Judge Booker. Everyone stood to honor the small Asian woman who was draped in black and who walked in and up to the big chair behind the bench. Cameras flashed and videocamera lights glared; people dropped things and yelled at other people not to step on them. The Judge gave the room full of people a narrow look and aimed a particularly fierce frown at the photographers who had rushed forward past the guards toward her to get her picture. They scrambled away again. Among them had been Jimmy, good for him, and he grinned at Superman and didn't take his picture, which, while thoughtful, wasn't a good idea, Clark reflected. A picture of Superman standing up to his problems and looking serious would probably have been publishable. The Judge sat down and the Clerk said "Be seated." Judge Booker proceeded to outline certain rules of decorum she expected to be followed in her courtroom and if anyone questioned them, they were welcome to do so from outside the courthouse or inside a jail cell, it would be her choice. There were no questions. Further, she said, seconds after someone turned a bright strobe on her, all artificial lights brought in to the courtroom that were not the property of the City of Metropolis were banned for the duration of this hearing and those in possession of them had three minutes to dismantle them or lose possession of them. Reporters groaned and within three minute the light level in the room dimmed to a normal one. Clark hoped that Jimmy had brought high-speed film for this turn of events. The Judge asked the Clerk to begin reviewing the paperwork. This took a near sleep-inducing ten minutes, with only about 15 seconds of panic for the defendant as Superman's dozen pages of replies and motions were apparently missing and Clark hadn't thought to bring copies. But they were found and put to one side and the complainant's paperwork, a one-half-inch-thick preliminary tome, not including attachments or exhibits, was seen to and also admitted formally into the procedures. Apparently satisfied with all this, the Judge then asked that complainant Mitchell Fynk, owner, manager and representative of Metropolis Megamall and all the stores therein and its parking lot, to make his opening remarks. He was also asked to keep it to five minutes if at all possible. Ms. Selig rose, and in 2 minutes, 35 seconds made a concise statement of the facts as the plaintiff saw them. Clark noticed that she spoke calmly and didn't imply anything to get hysterical about; he wondered if she was leaving that to one of her teammates. Judge Booker nodded when Selig was finished, thanked her, looked at the defendant and said the same offer and rules applied to him. Superman rose, said "I have no opening statement, ma'am. Ms. Selig covered the facts of the case adequately," and he sat down again. A surprised murmur rose behind him, but he didn't listen to it. Well, not much. It was difficult not to overhear the reactions that ranged from shock at his lack of direct attack to certainty that he had a trick up his tight blue sleeve. He didn't hear anything from Lois, but she tended only to mumble to him, Clark, at times like this. The team of lawyers for the Plaintiff looked equally divided in opinion about his tactics. He didn't care. The Judge advised the plaintiff to proceed to his opening presentation and to try to keep it under half an hour. Mr. Miller made the presentation. He was a lawyer's lawyer, everyone agreed, and he explained the details of the case in a flashy, professional and tight 45 minutes. He used videos and big glossy color pictures, the former being displayed on a large-screen TV and the latter passed to Superman and then on to the Judge. He asked to enter these as exhibits. Superman had no objections other than to point out a flipped negative for one of the pictures of the remains of the Slime Monster. That did not however alter the fact that it was indeed a picture of part of the dead Monster draped over the entrance to the Sears store. Miller frowned at the picture, shook his head, mumbled audibly that he wanted all the evidence to be accurate, thanked Superman for noticing, and withdrew the submission. Miller called upon three witnesses. Two were customers who told tales of woe at not being able to finish transactions at two shops because they had been evacuated. The third was a clerk in a fashionable shop who said that customers who had been planning to make purchases had been kept from doing so by that same evacuation order. He also confirmed that the sight of the Slime Monster slowly settling over the Megamall later that afternoon had been frightening for them all. The extent of Superman's cross-examination was to ask two questions of the first witness: when was the evacuation ordered? Four p.m, she thought. Did you leave the Mall at that time? Yes, sir. The two other witnesses answered "yes" when he asked them if they agreed about the four o'clock time and if they had left the Mall then as well. He further asked the clerk when the actual settling of the Slime Monster had taken place to the best of his recollection. About 5:30, or when he would normally have ended his shift, sir, he said. He added that the Monster had been in the area since 3 maybe, or so he had been told; he hadn't gone out to see it for himself because it had been a busy day, they were having a special promotion at the store, though it all had sounded exciting and he'd watched the round up on TV that night. Superman thanked each one for coming, said he had no further questions and he sat down again and waited for the next witness until all three of them were done. The plaintiff redirected several questions about the time and the rush the witnesses had felt due to evacuation. Superman asked no questions upon his second chance to cross. The witnesses were telling the truth as they saw it and simply represented people who frequented or worked in the shops that had been destroyed when the Slime Monster died all over the property. Everyone had been right to be alarmed and nervous about the prospect and then, if they felt safe, excited about what had happened. The press gallery was growing alarmed, nervous and/or excited about what they could only guess were Superman's tactics, but Clark didn't care. For his part, he reflected that his cross examination was rather like how Perry Mason had handled a similar situation, which had turned out to be a distraction. How had Lois known, or was it a lucky guess? Mr. Miller proceeded to sum up their preliminary case on behalf of Mr. Fynk with a stinging indictment of the respondent for criminal carelessness in not having made it perfectly clear to the Slime Monster that it should have died elsewhere. "Preferably on a mall across town," Karl Kingston muttered from somewhere in back. The Judge frowned down the stifled laughter. She nodded to Superman. "Your preliminary response? Please try to keep it to half an hour," though her tone of voice indicated that since the complainant had gone over and though she wasn't happy about it, he had permission to do the same. Superman stood up. "I don't need that much time, Your Honor. The counselors for the plaintiff have presented the correct basic facts of the case and knowledgeable witnesses and striking exhibits," and he'd had no doubt that would happen. It must have been hell deciding to take the case even though he and Lois had discovered the law firm was on retainer and obligated to do so. The truth at all costs was what they had to uphold, and their arguments couldn't be specious. "The Slime Monster did fall where it did as it died and it frightened a lot of people and a lot of damage was done. I wish the creature had been able to live out its life back wherever it came from, but it didn't. As I stated in my written response to the plaintiff's questions, I do not know why it died. As I understand it, scientists are still speculating about that." He actually leaned toward the theory that he had distracted and then worn it out somewhat, and, keeping it busy in the daylight, it had then dehydrated and sunburned to death, poor thing. But he couldn't say that. "In summary, I knew of no way to stop what wound up happening, and that I am pleased that I have found no evidence and none has been presented that anyone was injured during the evacuation of the Mall or the subsequent settling of the Slime Monster on it. That's all I can say in my defense at this time. "That being the case, I hereby ask the Court to end these proceedings and make a judgement as soon as possible. I ask that it please be in my favor due to this being a frivolous suit and a waste of the court's time. I ask also, please..." An uproar had begun before he started his last paragraph, but the Judge gaveled everyone into silence as the respondent waited quietly. The Judge also sharply informed the noisier of Fynk's counselors: "He has the right to ask for this...!" Selig, who had reacted calmly and said nothing, nodded, turned toward her colleagues, and looked like she might very well slap some of them into shape. They grumbled but quieted down quickly. The Judge cast an unrelenting gaze out over the audience as though seeking someone to throw in jail for contempt. She found no volunteers. She gave them time to make a false move as she sorted through the papers stacked in front of her, letting the tension grow and a lesson be taken from this. Eventually she said in a noncommittal manner: "The respondent will continue, please." "Thank you. I ask also that all court costs be paid by the plaintiff, and that if Your Honor decides to impose a fine due to the frivolity, any proceeds from that which might conceivably come to me be split between the Metropolis Children's Fund and the Metropolis Orphanage and Foundling Home. The Orphanage was severely... slimed and the Sisters of Charity need rebuilding funds. I would also like to point out that they are not suing me. That's all I wish to say, Your Honor," and he sat down. The public gallery paused and then cheered. He could picture them kissing his feet and eating out of his hands. They'd do tricks if he wanted, peel grapes, fetch newspapers. If the Judge found against him, he could borrow his choice of hats and pass it on the spot, pay any fine and give the rest to his charities of the moment. The judgement would be something else, but the emotions expressed in the room made him feel considerably better, though he looked straight ahead and kept a serene, emotion-free face through it all. (He did feel for the eight reporters who were cited for contempt because of their careless use of camera flashes and for "assaulting" the bailiffs who held them back, but that was not exactly his problem.) The Judge looked exasperated but let the roar wear itself out for a few minutes before meaning it when she gaveled. Relative peace (if one didn't count the mumbly undercurrent) soon reigned again. Judge Booker asked for a response from the complainant. Both Mr. Powers and Mr. Burgess took on this task and did so for another thirty minutes. It was likely, Clark thought, that Selig had foreseen his defense tactic and prepared for it. For example, when a further witness was proposed and that they had to go get her, she was close by, the Judge raised an eyebrow at this happening during, in effect, closing arguments, Selig herself pointed out that the defendant wanted to cut off debate without addressing all the issues. She expected though that the testimony would be short. The Judge asked for Superman's input on this and he said presenting more witnesses was an understandable move and he did not protest. The Judge, while commenting that this was unusual, let the plaintiff proceed. Clark wondered if he should brace himself for this, but debating the wisdom of pouring himself a drink of water was more stimulating. While everyone waited for the witness, the counselors pointed out that Fynk's tenants were losing money every minute, that countless employees were experiencing extreme hardships, and that the city had lost a steady source of tax revenue from local shoppers and indeed those who traveled from all over the nation to visit the many attractions once offered by the now flattened Megamall. They presented visual evidence that Superman had been able to steer the Monster on three different occasions on that Wednesday, but when the Judge quietly asked, as the rules evidently allowed her to, "Steer it? Away from something? From what?" Burgess admitted that it was away from the Metropolis Hospital Complex, the Zoo, and Eastside High School where an emergency center had been set up. But, Powers pointed out, it was nonetheless apparently possible for the Monster to be steered and the defendant should have done so more efficiently. Burgess and Powers also brought up the well- reported (by Lois, Clark knew) desire of the Pentagon to bring military power to bear against the Slime Monster. They called in a witness (her close availability more proof of Selig's forethought) who had been a scientific advisor for the generals at the planning meeting that Superman had been invited to attend. She said that the respondent had given the very clear impression that he knew how to deal with the Slime Monster and that the military men in time had decided to acquiesce to his insistence. In his cross, for Clark realized he had to make one, he asked the witness if she recalled what weapons the Pentagon had proposed to use, a proposal made in both her and his presence. She said she thought that was classified information. When Superman pointed out that he didn't have security clearance of any kind (Clark figured it was something to do with a search of his alien background being impossible) and yet they had told him, the Judge cleared it up by asking the witness if she had been specifically sworn to secrecy about this. No. Then she should answer the question. The use of tactical nuclear weapons had been proposed, ma'am. The audience held its collective breaths. Superman asked if the effects of their use on the civilian population had been discussed. Yes... Were there casualty and injury projections from the use of these weapons? Yes... Did she recall the numbers? 10,000 deaths, 100,000 injured, but the Monster probably wouldn't survive. And had the witness heard the current death toll blamed on the Monster's visit? Yes, 14, with about 200 injuries. Superman said "Thank you," and sat down. Fynk's lawyers redirected the witness to speak of the less dangerous weapons proposed for use, and the clever maneuver the scientist and military had been planning. It involved luring the Monster out over ocean, where the use of dangerous weapons would least effect the city. Clark had been hoping not to have to ask any more questions but couldn't let this go by, either. "Your Honor, I am going to reference a report I read but don't actually have a copy of it hand, though I can get on in about five minutes if you wish. I am hoping that the witness has seen it. It's a report by Professor Hamilton and his colleagues at Metropolis University on the observation that the Slime Monster appeared to draw relief and strength from its plunge into the waters at the entrance to Hobbs Bay at approximately 10:45 a.m. that Wednesday, which was shortly before the Pentagon called the meeting that I attended. I was, by the way, not invited; I suspect they couldn't reach me but they probably tired. I saw them gathering and just showed up. I had just noticed the effect of the water on the Monster and pointed it out to those at the meeting." He turned to the witness. "Do you recall my doing this, ma'am?" The witness nodded and added that she had read the report and it made sense after the fact. "At the time though," he asked, "not knowing this, did those in authority still wish to proceed with there use of tactical nuclear weapons against the Monster the next time it was out over the bay?" "Yes." When the Judge nodded in apparent understanding of his argument (and maybe the reason he had lured the Monster inland, away from the water), Superman said. "I have nothing further, thank you." The Judge had a few questions though, asking what other plans had been proposed. They all concerned trying to lure the Monster elsewhere or at least further skyward and using different kinds of weapons on it. After the witness was dismissed, Fynk's lawyers summed by saying that it was clear that Superman's personal arsenal of weapons had failed. He had nonetheless lead the main governmental agency charged with protecting the nation's interests to believe that he could take care of the situation and they should stand down and not deal with it immediately as they saw fit. The results, drawn out over the long afternoon of that day, unfortunately showed otherwise, as they, the plaintiff's lawyers, would elaborate upon further in subsequent proceedings but they realized their time was up for this morning, thank you, Your Honor. When they were done, the Judge looked at Superman and raised her penciled-in eyebrows. He rose, said, "I have nothing to add in my defense," and sat down again. The crowd behind him roared. The Judge sighed audibly, gave everyone a displeased look, and stood up, looming despite her size. The roar was bitten back. She straightened her papers for a coolly calculated 30 seconds and finally said, "I have one question of the respondent..." She looked at him over her glasses. Pin drop time again. Superman stood up respectfully. She asked: "Do you have any funds of your own?" Good thing she wasn't asking this of the guy who wears the ties, Clark thought. What little I have in that bank account at the moment is a joke. "No, Your Honor." He wondered about adding that he didn't feel destitute or in need of charity, or if that might sound like he sponged off of friends, but she didn't indicate that she wanted to know that much. Selig rose, that action alone indicating she wished to object. The judge nodded at her. "Counselor?" "I would like to point out that the respondent has done a number of commercial endorsements and has been paid for them, and that he maintains a publicity agency." The Judge raised a (surprised?) eyebrow at that and looked at Superman again. Clark had wondered if this would come up and he had a finely honed little speech: "I have made appearances for nonprofit organizations, and it is true that my image has been licensed in an attempt to avoid its commercial misuse. My agent"--who must have foreseen the issue and that was why he had come--"deals with this, and he and his secretary receive a commission which covers their salaries, benefits, and office overhead. He sometimes also employs two copyright lawyers who work on contingency. All the profits from the sales of products and any awards the lawyers obtain go to charities, not to me." He had considered adding that he didn't see any of the money either, but then that wouldn't have been true. He had twice asked Murray Brown for money from petty cash. When pressed for something to write down in the account book, Superman had explained "a lot of birthday presents." The amounts were paid back over time, in cash and with interest, and that could have been pointed out if necessary. The first time he had visited Murray to borrow money from the Superman Foundation was when the Planet had temporarily shut down after Luthor blew up the building. After three months Clark had needed help with the rent and utility payments and to loan some to Jimmy, and he hadn't wanted to ask the Union for it because there were members who needed those funds more than he did. The second time was repay Lois after her Jeep had been impounded because she had parked it in a "Never, Ever Park Here!" zone when rushing after the ambulance taking Superman to the hospital seeking a cure for Diana Stride- induced Kryptonite poisoning. She had intended to actually be in the ambulance, but the attendants had found her nervous style of "helping" to be so downright interfering that they had stopped the ambulance and removed her from some 20 yards from his front door and she'd been forced to use her own wheels. He had been too weak to protest, which had doubled his feelings of guilt. What a terrible day that had been. Several days later, early in the morning, he had taped an envelope full of cash to the inside of her open kitchen window. He had included a simple thank-you card and a note that explained he hoped it would be enough to cover the fine and the damages towing h