This story picks up where Love Beyond All Measure (LBAM) 
left off.  You really should read that one first (don't worry, it has 
only *7* parts. :-))  I can send it to you or you can get it from 
the fanfic archive: beyond1.txt ... beyond7.txt.  Once again, as 
in LBAM, this is based more on the TV show, 'Lois & Clark: 
The New Adventures of Superman,' than on the comic books.  
The major characters are the property of their original creators, 
the rest of it comes out of my own imagination.
I began working on Dimensions of Loving (DoL) back in April, 
as soon as I finished LBAM.  The whole story was always there, 
it was just waiting for me to tell it.  Because I hadn't yet seen the 
last few episodes of season 2, events depicted in those are not 
represented here. 
Asterisks (*...*) around a word denotes emphasis.
	Brief intro: Lois and Clark have been growing steadily 
closer in their relationship, it's been at least a year since the 
Luthor/Lois wedding fiasco, and Maysons & Scardinos do not 
exist in my little corner of the universe.
	While Clark is away on vacation, Lois investigates a 
securities fraud, which results in her being held hostage by the 
guy responsible for the fraud.  He is armed with kryptonite and 
threatening to kill Lois.  Since Superman can't save her, Clark 
does.  If you want to know how, you'll just have to read LBAM. 
<g>

Dimensions of Loving 
by Chris Mulder  (mulders@mindspring.com)

	He was looming over her, taunting her, his face inches 
from hers.  What can I do?  I have to get out of here, *now.*  
She couldn't move, but something was telling her to *move,* 
now, or it would be too late.  How?  How do I get away?  Move 
now, or it will be too late.  Why?  She couldn't remember, but 
she felt it was something important.  She needed to remember.  
No, don't waste time, get out *now!*  She tried, but something 
was pressing her down.  *He* was holding her down.  The face 
was back, laughing at her.  He started to sing, "I'll kill him and 
you can watch!  I'll kill him and you can watch!"  She 
remembered now why she had to get away, time was running 
out.  Clark was coming home today.  "Lois, it's me.  Are you 
up?"  He shouldn't be here yet!  She had to warn him.  Her 
mouth opened, but nothing came out.  Her brain screamed, 
"Clark, get away," but no sound came out.  Fear escalated into 
panic.  She was sobbing now, "Please, Clark, run -- please run," 
but still no sound came out.  "Lois, it's me.  Are you up?"  The 
face had stopped singing.  An expectant, gloating look came 
over it.  "It's ti-ime."  It turned away from her and towards 
Clark's voice, that dear sweet voice.  "No, please, no!  Not that, 
no!"  
	Lois sat straight up in bed, panting and trembling.  
Wildly she looked around her, still seeing that face and feeling 
that panic.  Where am I?  *Where am I?*  Then, with relief, she 
remembered  -- she was in Clark's apartment.  It was over.  
Everything was all right.  Whitehurst was dead and Clark had 
been saved at the last second by a sharpshooter's bullet.  She 
looked around for him; yes, there he was, safe and sound.  
Sleeping next to her -- lying on the quilt.  Lying *on* the quilt?!  
How had he managed to do that?  They had fallen asleep in each 
other's arms near the center of the double bed.  Now he was 
facing the wall, completely out from under the covers, way over 
by the edge of the bed.  She remembered him telling her once 
before that he was a heavy sleeper -- gee, he wasn't kidding!  
	He was restless now, though, and she wondered if her 
dreaming had disturbed him.  Not knowing if it was the right 
thing to do she reached over and very gently rubbed his back.  
Her touch did seem to soothe him, and he sank back into a 
deeper sleep.  The room was chilly and she shivered, the cold 
bringing her more fully awake and making the dream recede 
even further.  She withdrew her hand from Clark's back and 
tried to decide what to do.  Dressed only in T-shirt and shorts, 
he'd get cold if he continued to sleep on the covers like that.  
Not wanting to wake him, she slipped slowly out of bed, went 
around to his side and began to ease the covers out from under 
him. 
	It wasn't all that easy to do and she wasn't feeling 
particularly strong after the day that she'd had yesterday, but she 
persisted.  Finally the sheet, blanket and quilt were down near 
his knees.  He stirred in his sleep and mumbled something.  She 
reached up to stroke his shoulder soothingly and noticed that 
actually he felt pretty warm.  She didn't get the time to think 
about that, though, because just then Clark took a deep, sighing 
breath and started to turn over.  Taking advantage of the fact that 
he had tucked his legs up in order to do that, she pulled the 
covers down the rest of the way.  He grabbed his pillow and 
burrowed his face into it while she covered him. She looked 
tenderly at his unconscious form -- he had risked everything for 
her yesterday, and had nearly been killed.  He had gotten so 
bruised and battered, and yet his only thought had been of her.  
The expression on his face when he'd stepped off the elevator 
and seen her, the way he'd held her ... the way he'd said he loved 
her.  She touched his back again lightly; he'd be OK now, but 
the cold was penetrating her night clothes and making her 
shiver.  Hugging herself she scurried on tiptoe to her side of the 
bed -- it was going to feel good to get back under that quilt.  She 
glanced at the clock as she carefully slid back into bed; it was 
almost 2.
	The sheets felt cold again so she scrunched herself into 
a ball, waiting for her own body heat to re-warm them.  It would 
have been nice to snuggle next to Clark -- he really had felt 
warm -- but she didn't want to take a chance on waking him.  
One touch of her cold feet would probably send him into orbit!  
So she stayed where she was, and tried to conjure up some warm 
and relaxing thoughts.
	She didn't want to think about the last twenty-four 
hours, but bits and pieces of that time kept popping into her 
head.  With regret she remembered Clark's phone call from 
Kansas and realized that they'd missed their date at Angelina's; 
she had really been looking forward to it.  Unfortunately, this 
wasn't the first date that they'd had to miss or postpone.  The 
memory of a few of those flashed through her head as she 
thought back over the past few months.  The unpredictability of 
their work made the making of plans a chancy proposition, but 
they had kept trying and were rewarded by a deepening 
friendship and a feeling that there was more waiting in the 
wings.  
	She felt so comfortable with Clark now, but things had 
not been easy for either of them after Luthor's supposed death.  
It had taken a while for them to return to the casual and relaxed 
manner that they'd had with one another before her engagement 
to Lex and the destruction of the 'Planet,' but they had done it.  
A great deal of the credit for that had to go to Clark, she 
admitted to herself.  
	In the beginning, he was the one who had come up 
with ways for them to be together away from work -- things that 
weren't dates, but were just ways for them to have fun and spend 
time together.   Even though she hadn't known it at the time, this 
was just what she'd needed.  Misjudging Lex the way that she 
had had shaken her confidence more than she'd been willing to 
admit.  She had needed some time to sort things out in her own 
mind and Clark had given her that time.  Patiently he had waited 
for her to get her balance back by always being there for her, 
listening to her, and never pushing for anything beyond 
friendship and the pleasure of her company.  It had recently 
begun to occur to her that this was a surer sign of his true 
feelings for her than another avowal of his affections would 
have been.
	Often lately she had thought back to the day when they 
had stopped by the damaged 'Planet' building to say good-bye to 
it, and she had come to realize that Clark must have lied to her 
when he had told her that he wasn't in love with her after all.  
Exactly why, she still hadn't figured out, but at least partly it 
must have been for her benefit the way that so much of what he 
had done in succeeding months had been for her.  Other men 
had said they loved her, had promised things to her, but Clark 
had shown her that he loved her.  And if Clark really had loved 
her all along, he had probably been more hurt by all that 
business with Luthor than she had realized at the time.  
	Oh, how she wished that she had done things 
differently!  If only she'd recognized sooner the kind of man that 
Lex really was.  How could he have fooled her, indeed all of 
Metropolis the way that he had?  Well, not all of Metropolis.  
Clark had known somehow and had tried to warn her.  After 
Lex's 'death' and the surprise re-building of the 'Daily Planet' she 
had had quite a struggle to get back to where she had been 
before.  When Lex had suddenly returned from the 'dead' and 
tried to reclaim her, all those feelings of remorse, guilt and 
chagrin had resurfaced and had had to be faced all over again.  
Superman had saved her when Lex had tried to have her 
kidnapped, but it was Clark who had been there for her each day 
afterwards.  So it was no wonder that her deepening relationship 
with Clark meant a lot to her and that she'd come to think of him 
as more than a partner and friend.  Only now, friendship wasn't 
enough for her anymore, and she was initiating their get-togethers 
as often as he did.  Occasionally a glimpse of his true 
feelings would peep through the guard that he had put over them 
and she would catch a glance or a look that told her he wanted 
more than friendship, but neither one had actually come out and 
admitted it, though, until last night.  
	Even with all the progress they had made in their 
relationship, yesterday had had a profound effect on each of 
them, compelling them to face their feelings for each other 
*and* express them.   Now they *knew* that there was love on 
both sides.
	She felt warm now, so she relaxed into a long, drowsy 
stretch as she turned over to settle down for what remained of 
the night.  She listened for a moment to Clark's deep breathing, 
then glanced his way.  He had turned onto his back, and his face 
was towards her.  He has such a nice face, she thought.   "The 
best looking guy at the 'Daily Planet,' " is the way she'd once 
overheard one female staffer describe him, while bemoaning the 
fact that he only seemed to have eyes for his partner.  Lois had 
been secretly tickled by that observation at the time.  It was 
making her chuckle now and she quickly stifled the noise.  She 
didn't want to wake Clark -- he looked so peaceful and, in this 
light she could hardly see the marks from the fight ...  Wait a 
minute, she really couldn't see them ... but she'd been able to 
before they had fallen asleep, what ... ?  Maybe the light was 
different?  But, no ... the only available light was that neon sign 
hanging in the alley outside.  She looked more closely at him, 
edging nearer to him and propping herself up on her elbow.  She 
studied his face intently.  She could barely make out the bruises, 
now.  The scrapes that had looked so raw before, now had scabs 
on them that looked two days old.  His left cheek wasn't swollen 
at all.  How could he heal so quickly? What in the world ... ?  
Suddenly her whole body stiffened.  She could feel her heart 
begin to thump uncomfortably.  She reached a trembling hand 
out, smoothed his hair back off his forehead, and then jerked 
her hand back.  It couldn't be!  She looked again -- it *was* 
true!!  Clark was Superman!  Clark was *Superman?*
	For a moment her mind was blank, she felt numb.  This 
wasn't happening.  No.  Wait a minute here.  Let's think about 
this.  Maybe there is another explanation.  She looked at him 
again, very carefully and slowly, allowing herself to really look -- 
the eyebrows, the way his hair grew at his temples, his chin, 
his lips were all just like ... !  His right hand was resting on his 
stomach.  All those muscles in his arm -- they're not from 
playing football or working out, but because he's ...  And his 
hands ... the long slender fingers -- Superman's hands!  She 
looked for the marks on his wrists.  They had faded, too!  He ... 
he... it was true, then -- Clark was Superman, or was it ... 
Superman is Clark?  Either way he hadn't told her, she wailed to 
herself.  Why hadn't he told her?
	She felt overwhelmed.  I have to get out of here, she 
thought.  She got out of bed and almost ran to the front door.  
She was at the steps before she remembered that she didn't have 
any street clothes, or her purse.  Where was she going to go at 
this hour with no money, no I.D. -- nothing.  She stood there in 
the dark and the cold trying to decide what to do before the cold 
and common sense won, and she headed back to bed and 
warmth.  It would be morning soon anyway.  She'd just thank 
Clark politely for his hospitality and leave.  No need to tell him 
that she knew his little secret; after all, she thought with a 
pathetic sniff, if he didn't trust her enough to tell her all about 
himself, then she didn't have to tell him what she'd found out.  
He wouldn't understand why she was doing what she was doing -- 
why she was leaving so abruptly.  He'd be hurt.  With a little 
sob she thought, but I don't want to hurt Clark!
	So many thoughts and emotions were coursing through 
her, that she trembled under the sheer force of them.  She was 
hurt that he hadn't told her, angry with herself for not having 
seen it for herself and upset by his apparent lack of trust in her.  
She wanted to shake him awake and demand an explanation and 
she wanted him to wake up of his own accord so that he could 
hold her and reassure her.
	Huddled on her side of the bed as far from Clark as she 
could get, her mind chased itself: she loved him, she thought he 
loved her.  Why hadn't he told her about this?  He should have 
told her about this.  Oh, Clark, why?  Are Martha and Jonathan 
from Krypton too?  How many of them are there?  How could he 
do this to her?  Why did she have to tell him that she loved him? 
(She couldn't take back those words now.)  Just when you think 
you know some people!  But he isn't "people" is he?  Can people 
(beings) from Krypton fall in love with humans?  He said he 
loved her?  He *does* love her.  How can she be sure ... 
Suddenly a whole series of memories from yesterday flooded 
her brain: Whitehurst's face as he gleefully predicted 
Superman's death, Perry's voice over the answering machine, the 
feel of Clark's arms around her just before he pushed her 
through the door to freedom, the hands of the S.W.A.T. team 
reaching for her to pull her out of the building to safety, the 
sound of a single shot, her own voice screaming.  She sat up in 
bed again and put her hands over her ears, but she couldn't 
block out the sounds, and the images kept coming: of sitting in 
a dark room, with her face buried in Perry's shoulder while they 
both listened to Clark gagging and choking from the water being 
poured onto his face, Whitehurst's cold-blooded words as he 
told Clark that he would enjoy killing him, Clark's quiet, steady 
voice taunting Whitehurst to make him loose control, the 
exploding guns.  Then she was crying, holding handfuls of the 
quilt up to her face to muffle the sounds.  He loved her; 'even 
more than his own life' -- her words from a few hours ago came 
back to her now.  Clark had saved her, at considerably more risk 
to himself than she had at first thought.  He had come to her 
even though he knew the deadly kryptonite was there.  
	He had always come to her, always, both as Clark and 
as Superman, he had been there for her, held her, helped her, 
shared her triumphs and her failures, but never pushing his own 
wants or desires.  He had never taken advantage of her, never 
betrayed her.  Yet he hadn't shared this secret with her.  There 
must be a reason.  There had to be a reason.  Clark wouldn't not 
tell her just out of spite, or maliciousness, would he?  No, she 
*knew* him.  After all he had done for her, all that they'd 
shared; the fun, the danger, the hours of tedious research, the 
long stakeouts, the hastily eaten lunches ... He *did* love her 
and *she* loved him.  Running away had been a silly idea, an 
impulsive reaction, she knew that now.  Running wouldn't solve 
anything any more than getting angry would, but ... the 
implications were just too big for her to comprehend at this 
moment.  I need to think.  I need to decide what to do.  What 
*do* I do?  What do I say: "Who *are* you?" --or-- "Clark, is 
there something you'd like to tell me?"
	She felt Clark stirring behind her,
	"Lois?"
	I've got to get control of myself she thought 
desperately, I can't let him see me like this.  I need some time to 
think!
	"Lois, what's wrong?"
	"Nothing.  A bad dream, that's all.  I'm sorry if I woke 
you up."  Frantically she wiped at her eyes.
	"You didn't wake me ... exactly.  I just felt that 
something was wrong."
	He was there beside her, sitting next to her, putting his 
arm around her to pull her towards him.  Who *was* this man, 
she thought, who wanted to hold her?  Clark?  Superman?  Or 
someone, something, in between?  She knew him, and she didn't 
know him.  Yet his arms felt like Clark's arms as they gently 
went around her, his hand felt like Clark's hand as it caressed 
her hair and his voice sounded like Clark's voice as he made 
soothing noises into her ear.  She didn't want to look, and yet 
she felt compelled to.  Her world had turned upside down in the 
last five minutes, so she could almost have believed that Clark 
would have changed somehow, too.  Timidly she raised her face 
from the shelter of his shoulder and saw Clark, 'her Clark,' 
looking at her with concern and love in his eyes.  He had taken 
the time to put on his glasses, which suddenly struck her as very 
funny.  She giggled.
	His look of concern changed to a bemused smile,  "That 
must have been some dream.  A moment ago you were trembling 
and now you're giggling ... ?"
	"I ... I'm sorry.  It's just that ... well, so much has 
happened, and ... I guess I'm a little shell-shocked."
	"That's understandable.  You've been through a lot."
	(If he only knew!)
	"Is there anything that I can do?"
	That was 'her Clark,' all right.  She felt grounded again.  
"No, I'll be OK."  She reached over to the bedside table for a 
tissue and blew her nose.  
	Clark lay back down and waited for her.  
	She turned around and looked at him, and suddenly felt 
shy.  Why, she couldn't exactly say.  It wasn't him, exactly, was 
it just that she wasn't sure what to do next?  All her earlier, 
inchoate plans had dissolved, yet she did need a plan.  There 
were things she needed to know, that she had a right to know.  
Two years ago she might have screamed and raged at him; 
demanded and gotten an explanation, but that would certainly 
have hurt Clark and maybe irreparably damaged their 
relationship.  Now she cared for him so much that it was 
coloring her reactions.  She was feeling a lot of things, but 
mostly she was confused.  Until she could sort things out it 
seemed best to keep her own counsel.  A plan would come to 
her and in the meantime, she'd just have to wing it.  She smiled, 
and he grinned back at her.   
	"Are you sure you're OK?  You're acting a little 
strangely." 
	She moved over to lie down next to him, and put her 
head on his shoulder as she had done before.  This time, though, 
she put an arm across his chest and hugged him.  He responded 
by hugging her back. 
	"Do you want to tell me about it?  Whenever I had a 
bad dream as a child, my Mom or Dad let me talk about it.  They 
said it would help, and it usually did." 
	"No, that's OK, really.  I'm all right now." 
	 She lay there listening to his heart beat and his 
breathing, enjoying the feel of his arms around her.  He was 
from another planet yet he felt human, he felt like Clark.  He 
*was* still Clark, in spite of what she had just learned, and she 
did love him.  They had a *lot* of talking to do, but right now 
the quiet was nice -- and it felt so peaceful -- the quiet was just 
what she needed, she thought.  Her mind was still spinning, but 
at a slightly slower pace, and she hoped to be able to get a little 
more rest before the night was completely gone.  What a day!  
She had heard people speak of events that changed their lives 
but had never thought to have experienced such a profound 
change herself.  Yet here she was, after almost being killed and 
thinking that the man she loved had been killed, then finding 
out that he was still alive and finally learning that he was 
actually not even from this planet; she was wondering if 
*anybody* had ever had so momentous a day!  It's a good thing 
that I've got some peace and quiet so I can think. 
	So she was really surprised to find herself talking and 
telling Clark about Whitehurst holding her prisoner and all that 
had happened during that long and arduous day.  At first she 
would only say a few words and then stop, letting the quiet 
return to the room.  Clark just held her and listened.  Gradually, 
though, the words seem to come of their own accord, like water 
bubbling up from an underground stream, and she didn't try to 
stop them any longer or even try to arrange them into a coherent 
tale -- she just let them come.  The stream flowed and then 
ebbed and eventually stopped.  Clark kissed the top of her head 
and ran his hand lightly up and down her arm.  She sighed and 
rubbed her face further into his shoulder.  She could feel him 
smiling against her hair.  He was a good listener, he always had 
been.  Yes, she was glad that she'd decided to think a while 
before saying anything to him.  There had to be more to this 
than she knew, and she was willing to wait for the right time.  
Perhaps, she thought, Clark had been waiting for the right time 
to tell her, too, and with that the last of the tension left her.  
Now maybe they could get back to sleep.  She felt herself 
relaxing and then, her stomach *gurgled.*  It gurgled and 
growled and rumbled.  She was wide awake again and Clark was 
laughing. 
	"That's not funny!" 
	"Oh, yes, it is.  You should see your face!" 
	She looked at him for a moment and then started 
laughing herself.  Her stomach growled again, loudly, letting her 
know that it wanted immediate attention.  She clutched at it, 
trying to silence those ridiculous noises.  Clark rolled out of 
bed, still chuckling, and turned on the bedside lamp.   
	"I'll turn up the heat and fix us something." 
	"No, Clark, that's not necessary.  I'll be fine." 
	"I'm hungry, too.  Besides you need to eat something -- 
you hardly had anything all day yesterday." 
	Trust him to know that, she thought. 
	He went to the thermostat and adjusted one of the 
controls.  Lois heard the heat coming up.  Clark walked into the 
bathroom, came out with his bathrobe, then pulled a pair of 
thick socks out of his chest of drawers.  He brought them over to 
her and turned on the bedside lamp. 
	"Here, put this stuff on, so you don't get cold.  How 
does scrambled eggs sound?" 
	"Sounds wonderful, thank you."  
	"You're welcome."  
	She could hear him moving around in the kitchen as 
she pulled his socks up over her feet.  Then she stood up to put 
on the robe and found that it went almost to the floor and that 
she had to roll the sleeves up so she could see her hands.  I 
probably look pretty silly, she thought, but what the heck.  The 
robe was soft and the length would keep drafts off her legs.  She 
shuffled into the kitchen to find Clark busy cracking eggs into a 
bowl.  A frying pan was on the stove and he had a fire going 
under it.  He smiled at her when he saw her, but didn't say 
anything about her appearance.  
	"I feel like having some hot tea, too, and maybe some 
toast.  How about you?" 
	"Great!  Is there anything that I can do to help?" 
	"Sure.  How about if you set the table and then make 
the toast?" 
	"OK." 
	They'd been at each other's places often enough so that 
she didn't have to bother asking where the dishes were.  When 
the table was arranged to her satisfaction, she got the bread out 
and started on the toast, all the time keeping a covert eye on 
Clark while he simultaneously (it seemed) stirred the eggs and 
blended tea leaves, herbs and fresh mint together.  The first time 
that he'd offered this tea to her she'd been too angry to accept it.  
("It's a calming herbal blend, Lois.  The secret is the fresh mint."  
Boy!  Had she been furious with him.)  He'd made it several 
times for her since then, though, and knew that she liked it.   
	He had on only the T-shirt and shorts that he'd worn to 
bed.  They showed off his muscles quite nicely, but she knew 
she would have been freezing in a get-up like that.  Of course, 
he probably doesn't get cold, does he?  (And she'd gone to all 
that trouble to cover him up!)  She popped two more pieces of 
bread into the toaster.  Glancing over at Clark again she was 
trying to describe for herself the way that he moved, how he 
carried himself.  She had never really studied him before, he was 
so self-effacing and just so ... 'Clark' that she hadn't taken the 
time to really look at him.  Now that she was more aware of him 
and his ... other self, he was fun to watch.  His movements were 
so ... what?  Strong?  Graceful?  Agile?  He had the physical 
control of an athlete but without any overt display of strength.  
She couldn't really describe it, but why, oh why had she never 
noticed it before?   
	He pulled sugar, butter and jams out of their respective 
places and set them on the table.  She finished making the toast, 
put it on a plate and carried it to the table just as he was 
bringing over the eggs and the tea.  He served her first and then 
himself before putting the pan in the sink to soak.  Then they 
both dug into the food.  It tasted wonderful!  She finished all 
her eggs before he was half way done, and then had four pieces 
of toast.  Finally, she sat back in her chair, hugging a second 
cup of tea to her chest. 
	"Feeling better?" 
	"Mm-mm." 
	Clark chuckled, "I'll take that as a 'yes.' "  He began to 
gather up the plates, and when she made a move to help, he told 
her to sit and enjoy her tea.  He started washing the dishes and 
put some more water on to boil.  When the kettle whistled, he 
made a fresh pot of tea.  He looked over at her.  She was sitting 
with her forearms on the table and her hands around her teacup 
while she gazed into her own thoughts.  It had hurt him to hear 
about her ordeal, but he knew it had been important for her to 
talk about it.  It's funny how strong she looks now when you 
would think that she wouldn't, and how vulnerable she can look 
when she's trying to be strong. 
	She had been through a lot in the past year and had 
come through it well, he thought.  He admired her so much -- 
her toughness and her drive, the way that her mind could absorb 
information and then intuitively grasp a solution or see an 
opportunity.  She was much more creative that way than he was.  
"Brilliant" was how he'd described her to his parents after their 
first day of working together, and two years later he'd seen 
nothing to make him change that first assessment.  Of course, 
he'd also described her as "uncompromising" and "pig-headed," 
which she could be at times, but that didn't change how he felt 
about her.  He loved her with all his heart, and no matter how 
often she had exasperated or frightened him -- no matter how 
often she made him crazy he still didn't want to try and change 
her.  He might wish that she wouldn't take such wild chances, or 
jump in with both feet just when she should be checking the 
water level first, but he wouldn't want to alter a single one of the 
things that made her who she was.   
	I wonder if I will ever completely understand her, he 
thought.  Maybe not, but he was hoping to have a lifetime in 
which to try.  One thing he was sure of, he wouldn't be happy 
living without her. 
	He finished the dishes, dried his hands and brought the 
freshly-made tea over to the table. 
	"Lois?"  As softly as he said it, it still startled her.  He laid a 
hand on her arm, "I'm sorry."   
	He smiled at her and was rewarded by a smile in return. 
	"That's all right, I was just thinking." 
	"I know, you looked like you were about a million 
miles away.  Would you like some more tea?" 
	"Uh, sure, but only half a cup for me." 
	He poured tea for both of them.  "It's great having you 
here, Lois.  I wish the circumstances leading up to this hadn't 
been so awful, but I'm really glad that you are here now." 
	Lois smiled at him as she reached over to take his 
hand. "Oh, Clark, I feel the same way.  I was thinking a 
moment ago about some of the other times that we have had 
here; the movies and ball games we've watched together, the 
times you've let me stay when I felt threatened or scared, the 
meals we've shared.  I ... I feel good when I'm with you.  Being 
here, with you, is ... well, it seemed so natural somehow.  It ... 
feels different, now, though.  I feel like I know you and at the 
same time, I feel like I'm just getting to know you.  Does that 
make sense?" 
	"I think so.  A lot happened to both of us yesterday.  It 
makes sense that things would seem a bit strange at first." 
	"I guess so." 
	Clark wondered what else she was thinking.  It had 
thrilled him to hear her say all that about being with him, but 
she looked pensive yet.  Her hand was still in his and he brought 
it to his lips.  "A penny for your thoughts?" 
	She looked up at him.  "I have so many right now that 
I'd probably bankrupt you." 
	"I'll chance it." 
	How do I say this, she wondered.  Should I even say 
anything?  Maybe I should wait.  I'd really rather he tell me, I 
think.  This may not be the right time, or the right place.  Then -- 
Clark has probably had many of these same thoughts before, 
too.  That made her smile again, and she met his eyes. 
	"You're right Clark, a lot has happened.  We both 
almost lost each other yesterday, and we both finally admitted 
that we love each other.  I guess I'm wondering what happens 
next.  Where do we go from here?" 
	Clark took a deep breath.  "Whew!  Well, I ... I'd like 
to ... " 
	He hesitated, but she was nodding at him to go on, so -- 
	"I'd like for us to see a lot more of each other, to have a 
chance to really talk ... about *everything,* to spend time 
making plans for a future ... together." 
	She thought for a moment, looking serious and yet 
pleased at the same time.  "I'd like that, too, Clark.  We do need 
to talk.  We spend a lot of time together what with work and all, 
but then we talk about work.  Sometimes even when we're not 
working, we talk about work.  And if it's not work, then it's 
politics, or ball scores, or movies.  I think it would be nice to 
talk about ... us." 
	Clark was elated, *and* frightened.  He had wanted to 
make plans for the future with Lois, but he also knew that no 
real plans could be made as long as she was unaware of his ... of 
him being Superman as well as Clark.  When he finally did tell 
her, it would be 'opening night' without benefit of dress 
rehearsal, understudies or prompters.  He'd get exactly one shot 
at this.  He loved her so much!  What if he blew it?  
	She was watching his face and the emotions that 
played across it.  Happiness was there, certainly, but also 
apprehension.  He glanced up as if aware of her gaze and smiled 
ruefully at her. 
	"You're right, Lois, we haven't had a chance to talk 
about what is really important -- us and our relationship.  These 
past few months have been great, and I've loved all the times that 
we've had together.  As we've ... grown closer, though, I've 
wanted to tell you something."  He took a deep breath, "There 
are ... things ... about me that you need to know, that I've wanted 
to tell you for a long time."  He looked down at her hand where 
it still lay in his. "I just could never seem to find the right time, 
or place." 
	She wanted to hug herself -- she'd been right!  He had 
wanted to tell her!  Thank goodness she hadn't gone off the deep 
end! 
	Forgetting that she'd only wanted a half a cup of tea 
earlier, she reached for the tea pot and poured them both a full 
cup of tea. 
	"Well, why not tell me now?  It's three o'clock in the 
morning, things are quiet and we're not likely to be interrupted, 
unless ... you're sleepy, or don't feel like talking right now?" 
	"No, that's fine.  Yeah, uh ... sure, why not?" 
	He was mechanically stirring sugar into his tea and 
trying to pull himself together.  It's true that they could probably 
talk without interruptions, but never in his wildest dreams had 
he ever thought he'd be telling her his biggest secret in a venue 
like this: at three o'clock in the morning, after a harrowing day, 
when they were both in their night clothes! 
	"Come on," she said, "let's sit in the living room." 
	She picked up her tea cup and moved into the living 
area, turning on one of the lamps on the way.  He followed her, 
and sat down on the sofa, waiting for her.  She was turning on 
lamps and fetching a pillow from the armchair which she 
brought to the sofa with her.  She settled herself, arranging the 
pillow at her back.  They each sipped their tea for a moment, 
then she looked up at him expectantly, and suddenly he couldn't 
think of a thing to say. The next few minutes were so vital to his 
happiness that he didn't know where to start.  He put his cup 
down; he was afraid of dropping it.  
	A helpless look came into his face, and as she watched 
him, she realized that he was really scared about this.  Why was 
he so worried about it?  What did he expect her to do?  Was she 
that formidable, that unreachable?  Then she remembered what 
she had done when she'd first made the discovery, how she'd 
almost run out of the apartment in her night clothes.  Maybe, 
she admitted to herself, he had some *small* reason to be 
apprehensive.  Wanting to reassure him, she reached up to 
caress his cheek and then she kissed him lightly on the lips. 
"I do love you, Clark." 
	Not knowing that this was meant to reassure, he just 
felt that the stakes had been upped.  He almost groaned.  What 
if she turned from him when she'd heard what he had to tell her?  
How would he be able to stand it?  His voice trembled,  "I love you, 
too, Lois.  *Please* believe that.  There is nothing that I wouldn't 
do for you." 
	Her heart went out to him and all she could think of 
was that she loved him.  It didn't matter anymore who told 
whom.  She put her cup down, drew her legs up and turned 
towards him so she could hug him.  They held each other for a 
moment.  Then, releasing him, she took his hands in her own, 
	"I know that, Clark.  You've have shown me that over 
and over." 
	He caught his breath at the look in her eyes, at the 
glow in her face.  There used to be a look that she saved just for 
Superman, and he had longed for her to look at him, at Clark, 
that way.  This look, *this,* was even better than anything he 
had gotten as Superman!  
	"I'm sorry that I didn't always appreciate everything that 
you have done for me." 
	He started to protest, but she put a finger over his lips. 
	"I know that I haven't always been there for you ... " 
	"Yes, yo ... " 
	"Sh-h-h.  And I know that I haven't always listened to 
you when you have tried to talk me out of some 'wild' scheme," 
(that got a grin from him) "but I want you to know that even 
though I will probably still not let you talk me out of all of my 
'perfectly reasonable' plans, I do appreciate all that you have 
done for me.  You have been the truest friend that I have ever 
had.  I've said it once before, and I'll say it again; 'I have never 
before, nor will I ever again, meet anyone quite like you.'  You 
put it all on the line for me yesterday just as you have many, 
*many* times before.  You have saved all of us --the whole 
world, in fact -- and never asked for any recognition.  Why you 
do the things that you do, I don't know, but I plan to spend the 
rest of my life trying to sort you out, Clark Kent -- what makes 
you tick, and what is it about you that compels you to try and 
rescue someone when you know full well that the one thing that 
can ... kill you is in the hands of a madman ..." 
	He had listened to her in growing amazement.  She 
knew!  Lois knew that he was Superman!  His eyes searched her 
face, but all he saw there was love.  With a weird sort of noise 
between a sob and a cry, he grabbed her and held her.  He had 
tears in his eyes,  "How did you ... ?  When did you ... ?" 
	"Not long, only tonight in fact."  She pulled back from 
him a bit, and touched his cheek.  "I was awake much longer than 
you knew, and I had a chance to get a really good look at you.  
Your wounds, they're healing too quickly, and with your glasses 
off and most of the marks either faded or gone, well it was obvious." 
	Ruefully he rubbed his hand across the lower part of 
his face.  "I didn't even think of that." 
	"Of course not, you were too busy thinking about me." 
	He reached up and took off his glasses.  He looked 
down at them, "For as long as I can remember I've dreamt of being 
able to be with someone, someone with whom I could share ... 
all of me.  When I met you, I wanted it to be you, I prayed it 
would be you ...  I can hardly believe that you're here with me 
now, that you are finally in on my 'big secret', that you ... love ... 
me." 
	She took the glasses out of his hands and he looked up 
at her.  The tears in his eyes had spilled over and were running 
down his cheeks.  "I have loved you from the moment I first saw you, 
Lois.  I know it's not supposed to happen that way -- love at first 
sight -- but it did for me, and the longer I've known you the 
stronger my feelings for you have become.  At this moment, I 
cannot imagine my life without you in it." 
	Their faces were only inches apart.  They moved 
forward as of one accord, and their lips met in a sweet, 
tremulous kiss.  Then they held one another, pulling each other 
closer and closer.  This is what Clark had dreamt of for so 
long -- Lois in his arms, knowing who he was and loving him 
the way that he loved her.  Lois found herself crying, too, but 
with happiness this time.  Clark didn't want this moment to end.  
He could have held her forever, but he noticed that she was 
wiping her eyes on the back of her hand with rather 
unsatisfactory results.  So Clark, being the practical one at the 
moment, found the box of tissues and offered her one.  
	She blew her nose, again, and chuckled, "I've done 
more crying in the last twenty-four hours than ... " 
	She looked over at Clark.  He was blowing his nose, 
too.  A thought occurred to her, "How do you do that?  I mean, 
without blowing the tissue into atoms?" 
	Clark looked at her for a moment, then threw back his 
head and roared with laughter.  Lois was stunned!  Never in all 
the time she'd known him had he laughed like that.  She started 
to smile at the spectacle he was making of himself, but then she 
thought, I don't see what's so funny.  By this time Clark had 
managed to get a hold of himself, but the disgusted look on 
Lois's face almost set him off again.  It took a lot of super 
willpower to squelch the laughter that was just about to burble 
up inside him. 
	"I'm sorry, Lois," he said with a wobbly voice, "but I 
couldn't help myself." 
	"Well, I don't see what's so funny.  It's a perfectly 
logical question.  And you better get used to them, because I 
have lots -- squadrons of them, in fact!" 
	Clark was quiet for a moment as a more serious 
expression look came into his face.  He looked into Lois's eyes, 
"I wasn't trying to make fun of you, Lois, and you have 
a right to ask any questions that you want to.  In fact, I want you 
to know everything about me -- all that I've wanted to tell you 
since I first met you.  I don't want any more secrets between us, 
Lois."  Then he smiled, "But I reserve the right to surprise you 
from time to time." 
	"That's fine.  Just remember, that works both ways." 
	"OK." 
	Suddenly, she was very tired.  It had been a very big 
day, *and* night; too many emotions, too much to think about.  
She relaxed against Clark's shoulder and looked up at him.  He 
saw her trying to stifle a yawn. He pulled his arm out from under 
her head and put it around her, causing her to lay on his chest.  
Her eyes were so heavy -- she was falling asleep even as he 
moved to make her more comfortable.  He lifted her up to carry 
her back to the bed. 
	The movement roused her slightly, but she was too 
sleepy to make any protest.  He laid her down and gently 
removed the robe, then pulled the covers over her.  She looked 
so beautiful as she lay in his bed.  He sat beside her for a while 
just watching her sleep.  The events of the past few hours 
seemed unbelievable, yet here she was and she had said she 
loved him. 
	Finally he rose and began to move around the 
apartment putting things away and turning off lights.  He was 
tired still, but didn't feel like sleeping so he selected a book 
from his shelves and sat down in the easy chair to read for a 
while.  He hoped that the effects of this latest exposure to 
kryptonite wouldn't last too much longer.  His powers were only 
part way back, and he had this feeling of general unwellness.  
Oh, well,  Clark thought, in a few hours he'd be all the way back 
to his old self. 

* * * 

	He walked up and down for the umpteenth time, and 
blew air into his hands to warm them.  Bloody hell, but it was 
cold out here!  Why do I always end up meeting people in the 
coldest places in this miserable city?  He wanted to pass on his 
information and then get some place warm.  "Well, I'll give 'em 
five more minutes and then I'm outta here," he told himself.  He 
was seriously thinking about quittin' this outfit and headin' 
down to Florida.  He still had some contacts down there, one of 
his old buddies would find him somethin'.  He blew into his 
hands again.  At least a guy could get warm in bloody Florida. 
	He started his pacing again, walking to the end of the 
alley and muttering under his breath.  He turned to go back to 
the dumpster which was the assigned meeting spot, and almost 
walked smack into someone. 
	"Sweet Je --!" 
	"Quiet!  You idiot," said a low, menacing voice that he 
knew only too well.  He told himself that he was only the 
messenger, that none of this was his fault and therefore he had 
nothing to be afraid of.  Too bad no one had told his stomach. 
	"What do you have for me?" 
	"Whitehurst is dead, the police have the kryptonite."  
	He paused to see how this had been taken, but there 
was no exclamation of annoyance or surprise, no sound at all 
from his companion.   This unnerved him more than an outburst 
of anger would have done.  He wanted very badly to warm his 
hands again, but something told him that fidgeting would not be 
appreciated. "Kent showed up and rescued Lane.  They're both at 
his place now.  That's all I know." 
	"You're sure that was the entire message?" 
	"Yes ... Sir.  That's it, word for word.  I memorized it." 
	"Good.  That's all for now, then.  We'll be in touch.  If 
we should need you again." 
	He breathed a silent sigh of relief.  Yep, Florida was 
lookin' better all the time.  He turned to go, took two steps, 
stumbled and fell.  He hadn't felt the knife that had slid into his 
back, severing his spine and traveling onto his heart.  It was a 
thin blade, an assassin's blade and it had done it's work quickly 
and silently.  What blood there was was under his coat, very 
little escaped through the almost invisible slit in the fabric.  
Gloved hands moved to quickly arrange the dead man's limbs 
into the appearance of sleep, even putting some rags under the 
head for a pillow.  To the casual passerby, he would look like 
just another drunk sleeping it off.  

* * * 

	Lois turned and stretched leisurely in the warm bed.  
She wasn't ready to wake up yet, so she lay with her eyes closed 
enjoying a few, last, peaceful moments before she had to face 
what would surely be a rather unpleasant day.  She would have 
to go back to her apartment for some clothes, and she wasn't 
looking forward to seeing the mess that Whitehurst had made of 
her place.  There would also be a gauntlet of police, insurance 
people, and her brothers and sisters of the press.  At least Clark 
would be with her.  She opened her eyes, expecting to see him 
sleeping beside her, but he wasn't.  In fact, the sheets looked the 
way that they had when he'd gotten up during the night to fix 
her something to eat.  Had he not gone back to sleep then?  Or 
maybe he'd spent the rest of the night on the sofa.  He was such 
a chivalrous fellow, perhaps he'd felt it was better that way after 
their late night talk.  She leaned out over the edge of the bed to 
look around the wall into the kitchen area.  He wasn't there and 
she didn't hear any noises coming from the bathroom, so that 
left the living room.  He must have slept in there. 
	She got out of bed and crept into the kitchen expecting 
to see him sound asleep on the sofa, but he wasn't.  She went 
further into the room.  Perhaps he'd gone out for something; 
bagels, maybe? 
	The front door was slightly open.  Was that Clark's 
voice?  Who could he be talking to out on the landing at this 
hour of the morning?  The sound of his voice ceased and the 
door opened; the portable phone was in his hand -- oh, so that's 
what he was doing.  She saw him see her, saw the delight in his 
face ... 
	"Hi, how are you feeling this morning?  I didn't wake 
you did I?"  He closed the door and came down the steps towards 
her.  He looked as if he was going to hug her but at the last 
moment, he hesitated.  
	He really is too chivalrous at times, she 
thought and she moved forward to hug him as if she hadn't 
noticed his hesitation.  As she felt his arms go around her she 
thought, I'm in love with the world's biggest boy scout!  "No, you 
didn't wake me."  She pulled gently out of his embrace to look 
at him,  "Who were you talking to?" 
	"Well, I know that we have a big day ahead so I 
thought I'd get a jump on things ... " 
	"Don't remind me!  I was just thinking about it all 
myself.  The insurance people, Perry, the police ...  First though 
I need to get back into my apartment.  I'm not looking forward to 
it, but I need my purse, some clothes ..." She looked down at 
herself, "I feel positively grundgy." 
	"I called the station to leave a message for Henderson 
and they said he's planning on going by your place first thing 
and he'll meet us there.  He'll probably have some more 
questions for us." 
	Lois made a face and Clark laughed. "I also called 
Perry and told him that we'll be in as soon as we get through 
at your place." 
	She looked impressed. "Wow, I'm impressed, Clark.  
Thank you." 
	"You're welcome.  I wanted you to get as much sleep as 
you could.  I'd also like for you to stay here until your place is 
cleaned up." 
	"Oh, Clark that could take a while.  I don't want to be a 
bother.  Besides the insurance company will probably give me 
some money for a motel." 
	"First of all, you are *not* a bother, I like having you 
here.  Second, you wouldn't like staying in a motel.  Third, I 
wouldn't like you staying in a motel.  Fourth, I think you'd be 
safer here.  Fifth ... " 
	She laughed,  "OK, OK, you've convinced me, but only 
if you let me have the sofa." 
	"Well, you're not going to get your way on that either, 
because I've already thought it all out.  If it were just one night, 
that might work, but you're going to be here for a while and 
you'll have more privacy if you take the bedroom." 
	She started to protest, but he held up his hand to 
forestall her, "Not only that but I don't need as much sleep as you 
do.  If I got up in the middle of the night for any reason, and you 
were sleeping out here on the sofa, I'd wake you up." 
	She eyed him for a moment.  Was 'up for any reason' a 
euphemism for 'doing Superguy stuff?' "I supposed that you think 
you're pretty clever, Clark Kent." 
	"Yes," he said as he grinned that special Clark grin, "I 
do." 
	"I'm sure there's a flaw in your argument somewhere, 
but until I've had my coffee I'm at a disadvantage.  So, I'll 
concede -- for the moment -- but that doesn't mean that I've given 
up entirely." 
	He smiled and went to put the phone down and, as she 
watched him, she realized that he wasn't moving as easily as he 
had been last night, and was it her imagination or did he look a 
little pale?  She moved over to stand beside him and looked up 
at him. 
	"How are you this morning?  I noticed you didn't come 
back to bed -- couldn't you sleep?" 
	"I'll be fine.  I'm just not all the way back after being 
exposed to the kryptonite yesterday, that's all.  How about if I 
start breakfast while you shower?" 
	She wasn't entirely reassured, but she allowed herself 
to be distracted. "I would love a nice, hot shower, but I don't have 
anything clean to put on.  I'll just wait 'til we get to my 
apartment," but she didn't look too happy about that option. 
	"They may not let you shower there, you know, if they 
are still gathering evidence." 
	He saw the familiar mutinous look start up in her eyes. 
	"In fact, you'd better prepare yourself for the notion 
that they may want to see what you are taking out of your 
apartment before they'll let you have it." 
	She started to fume, but then realized that he was right.  
Her apartment was a crime scene now and there are rules about 
that sort of thing. 
	"Why don't we see what we can find around here for 
you to wear?  You'd be better off in something warmer anyway, 
it's cold out this morning." 
	He moved towards the bedroom and started looking 
through some of his old sweat shirts.  He pulled out one that 
boasted a Midwest State University logo on it and handed it to 
her. 
	"This should fit, it's kind of worn but it's soft and 
clean.  It's been in the drier so often that the sleeves come half 
way up my arms now." 
	She held it up in front of her. "This looks fine." 
	He went over to the window seat and opened one of the 
cabinets underneath it. 
	"My mom left a pair of pants here the last time that 
they visited.  I'm not sure about the size, but they might be OK 
just for a trip to your apartment," and he handed her a pair of 
black corduroy pants.  The waist looked a little big, and the legs 
a little short, but he was right that they'd do for a while.  
	"I keep forgetting to take them to her when I visit." 
	Visit?  Of, course, he could go to Kansas whenever he 
felt like it, couldn't he?  She shook her head in wonderment; all 
this was going to take some getting used to. 
	"I'll clean out these two drawers for you to put your 
stuff in, and get you my spare key." 
	She started to protest and then decided that that might 
seem ungrateful, so she just thanked him and got another smile 
in return.  He showed her where the towels were, and the 
shampoo, and left her to it. 

* * * 

	The shower felt wonderful and when she came out 
wearing her hodge-podge clothing, (including the tennis shoes 
that she'd been lent the night before) she could smell breakfast 
cooking.  He had shaved and changed into some casual slacks 
and a black, long-sleeve, knit pullover.  He hadn't bothered to 
put his glasses on yet, but had combed his hair into the 'Clark 
style.'  This made him look like a whole other person; a 
combination person -- 'Super-Clark?', 'Clark-man?'  Stop it, she 
told herself, sternly. 
	She moved on through the bedroom to the kitchen, 
carrying her soiled clothes and the borrowed coat.  The bed was 
made and the table was set -- he's such a tidy soul, she thought. 
	"You're just in time, everything's ready.  Do you want 
tea or coffee this morning?" 
	"Coffee, please.  Clark, do you have a bag I can put 
these dirty clothes in?" 
	"Sure," he squatted down and opened the cabinet under 
the sink.  He reached in and pulled out a grocery bag and 
handed it up to her.  "Will this do?" 
	"That's fine." 
	"You know you could leave those here," he said as he 
started to rise, "I'll have to do laundry ..." 
	He grabbed for the edge of the counter and put a hand 
to his head.  She dropped the clothes and the bag and hurried to 
his side. 
	"Clark, what's wrong?" 
	"I don't know.  I just got dizzy all of a sudden." 
	She helped him to sit down in one of the kitchen 
chairs, then crouched down next to him.  He had his eyes closed 
and was holding his head with his left hand.  She put her hand 
over his right one where it lay on his knee.  
	"Is it the kryptonite?" 
	"I don't know, Lois.  It doesn't feel quite the same. I'm 
not sure what it is." 
	She could hear a touch of fear in his voice. 
	"Well, Clark, you went through a lot yesterday -- the 
kryptonite, the beating, the water.  I heard that you had a 
concussion, too.  Maybe this is just a result of all that." 
	"I'm sure you're right.  Whatever it was, it's gone now." 
He looked at her, still crouched at his knee. "I'll be OK.  Let's 
have breakfast and get on over to your place." 
	"Are you sure?" 
	"Of course, besides Perry's probably pacing the floor 
already." 
	She laughed as she retrieved the bag and her clothes 
from the floor, "Yeah, I can hear him now, 'Where in the Sam Hill are 
those two?' "
	Clark laughed with her, but he was more concerned 
than he had let on to Lois.  Along with the dizziness there had 
been a momentary sharp pain that had coursed from his head to 
his feet and now he had a strange, metallic taste in his mouth.  
Kryptonite had never done that to him before.  Well, it was gone 
for now, and maybe it wouldn't come back.  All he could do was 
wait, and hope that it wouldn't. 
	Lois kept an eye on him while they ate.  He didn't look 
particularly ill -- maybe a little tired which wasn't surprising.  
She decided that she was going to look out for him today and 
see that he didn't try to do too much. 
	Just then he looked up and saw her watching him.  He 
smiled at her in a way that she had never seen before.  He had 
always had a nice smile, but now without his glasses on and 
with knowing that she loved him, the difference was amazing.  
Nothing held back, he'd said, no more secrets.  Like switching 
on a car's high beams, she thought, this is blinding.  They just 
looked at each other for a moment then laughed self-consciously 
before returning to their food. 
	When breakfast was over, they cleaned up the kitchen, 
and got ready to leave.  They had put on their coats and were 
about to walk out the door, when something occurred to Lois. 
"Wait, Clark, we can't go yet!" 
	"Why, what's up?" 
	"Your face, that's what." 
	He reached up to check that he had his glasses on, and 
then realized what she was trying to say. 
	"You're right.  I didn't think about it.  Even while I was 
shaving this morning." 
	He could see the question forming on her lips, 
	"You can watch me tomorrow.  What do we do right 
now?  I don't want to hide here for however many days it would 
take my face to heal under normal circumstances." 
	"Do you have any band-aids?" 
	"No." 
	"Of course you don't.  What would you need band-aids 
for?" 
	He grinned at her and shrugged apologetically. 
	"Well, do you have a drug store around here?  Would 
they be open this early?" 
	"Yes, and yes.  It's one block south, turn right, in 
middle of the block, and they open at 7.  I'll go get some, shall 
I?" 
	"No, you shall not.  *I* shall," she said with barely 
contained patience. 
	She could see that he was going to argue with her, 
"Listen, Clark, you can't show that pretty face of yours 
outside this door until we get you bandaged up.  You know that 
I'm right, so don't argue.  You'll have to give me some money 
because I don't have my purse with me, and besides, it's *your* 
face." 
	He was reluctant to let her go alone, yet she was right 
about not showing an unbandaged face outside his own door -- 
Clark Kent just would not heal that fast. 
	"You don't have to say it, Clark!  I'll be right back 
*and* I'll be careful." She took the money that he was holding 
out to her, gave him a quick kiss and headed out the door. 
	He waited only long enough for her to get to the third 
step before he was in the suit and hovering above his 
neighborhood.  It was something of an effort for him to get 
airborne, but after yesterday he wasn't going to take any chances -- 
he was not going to let Lois out of his sight.  He wouldn't 
have to stay up here long and he wasn't up very high.  He took a 
quick look around, but didn't notice anyone who shouldn't be in 
the area.  He watched Lois walk to the drug store and back.  As 
soon as she was safely in his building again, he was back in his 
apartment, de-suited and dressed in his street clothes.  She came 
through the front door and saw him sitting on the sofa, with the 
air of a man who had nothing better to do, but she wasn't fooled.  
Mmmm, two can play that game, mister. 
	She carried her purchases to the kitchen table and 
called him over. "Here, sit in this chair, take your glasses off 
and look at me." 
	He did as he was told and watched her as she dealt 
with the packages and the band-aid wrappers and the little red 
strings.  When she had a collection of them unwrapped she 
looked at him, studying his face in an abstracted way as a 
painter might a potential subject.  She applied the bandages 
carefully and gently (even though he told her that the wounds 
hadn't hurt since last night) then stood back to admire her 
handiwork.  She was thinking to herself and wondering if that 
was enough, or too much, when she caught his eye.  They both 
started chuckling, 
	"Well, Doc, what's the verdict?  Will the patient live?" 
	"Take two aspirins and call me in the morning." 
	"Ah, I see.  I can't wait to get the bill for this." 
	She glanced at him teasingly, "We'll have to work 
something out." 
	He reached for her, but she slapped at his hand and 
slipped away from him. 
	"Stop that!  We have to finish here!  Now, get serious!" 
	"Yes, Ma'am," he said, with pretended meekness. 
	She eyed him like a mother with a recalcitrant child, 
but forbore to say anything.  She was secretly enjoying this side 
of him, and discovering feelings inside herself as she responded 
to him.  This was new and exciting territory, but *one* of them 
had to stay on track.   
	"This looks pretty good.  I've covered the spots where 
the two worst scrapes were and the cut, so no one will know 
how much better they look.  I don't know what to do about the 
bruises, though, but they're pretty faint now so maybe no one 
will realize that they were even there.  What about the spot 
where your head was injured.  I think we ought to put a big, 
white, gauze bandage on it.  Maybe they'll be so busy looking at 
that, that they won't notice your face much.  Show me where you 
were hurt." 
	He wasn't too keen on wearing such a dubious badge of 
honor, but he could see that she had a point, so he indicated the 
spot on the left side of his head where the day before he had 
made contact with one of her door's locks.  She moved his hair 
back to expose the area that he had indicated and had to 
suppress a gasp.  This had been a fairly deep wound and even 
though it was healing fast, she could still get an idea of what it 
must have been like when it was new.  It looked painful and she 
hesitated to touch it.  Clark sensed her concern and looked up at 
her.   
	"It doesn't hurt anymore, Lois, really." 
	"Oh, Clark, I ... " 
	She bent down to hug him with sudden tears in her 
eyes.  He pulled her down onto his lap and held her. 
	"It's OK, Lois.  Please don't cry." 
	She sniffed, and went to stand up.  He released her, but 
still watched her.  She bent down and kissed him to reassure 
him.  "I'll be fine.  It just looks so awful that it brought it all 
back to me."  She sniffed again and then tried to conjure up a
 smile because he was still looking at her with concern.  "Now 
let's get you ready to face the world, shall we?" 

* * * 

	Lois and Clark arrived outside her building at about a 
quarter to eight.  As the taxi pulled up they could see several 
reporters hanging around outside.  Some were talking to the two 
uniformed police officers who were controlling the entrance, 
while others tried to interview the other occupants of the 
building. 
	"This will raise your stock with your fellow tenants," 
Clark said, dryly. 
	"Hmm, don't I know it." 
	The taxi came to a stop about the same time as the 
reporters realized who was arriving.  They all converged on the 
cab. 
	Lois looked at Clark and he took her hand 
reassuringly.  She squeezed his hand before releasing it, took a 
deep breath and then plunged into the fray.  She was polite to 
them, (for Lois) but firmly refused to answer their questions, 
saying that she couldn't make any statements at this time.  They 
had her boxed in, though, and when she tried to get past them to 
the steps, they just moved in closer.  She was feeling the 
beginnings of what she knew was an unreasonable panic, when 
suddenly Clark was there with her.  He smiled at the reporters 
and reiterated Lois's response and somehow they were at the 
door.  How he had done it, she wasn't quite sure.  The officers 
let them into the foyer and shut the door behind them.  Lois let 
out a lungful of air that she hadn't known she was holding onto. 
	She took Clark's arm and leaned against his shoulder, 
"Thanks." 
	"No problem.  You looked like you could use some 
help."  He guided her towards the elevator. 
	"I guess I'm still a bit shaky from yesterday.  I actually 
felt panic back there." 
	"I understand, don't worry about it.  You don't get over 
something awful like yesterday in one night.  Give it time."  He 
paused for a moment as they waited for the elevator.  "Lois, are 
you sure that you want to do this?  You know, you could tell me 
what you want and I'd get it for you.  You don't have to go back 
in there." 
	The elevator came, they got in and pushed the button 
for her floor. 
	"No, Clark, I'll be all right, really.  Besides, I've got to 
get my insurance stuff out, and since I'm not sure which drawer 
it's in, I'll have to do some looking." 
	"Don't you keep that kind of thing in a lock box at the 
bank?" 
	"Usually, yes, but I had to get to it for something else 
recently and I just haven't gotten around to putting it back.  A 
good thing, too, as it turns out, since I couldn't get into the bank 
on a Saturday anyway." 
	The elevator stopped on Lois's floor and they saw 
Inspector Henderson standing in the hallway talking to a couple 
of detectives.  He looked up as they approached and signaled to 
them to wait.  When the detectives moved away, Henderson 
came over to them.  He looked at Clark's bandages and shook 
his head,  "How are you feeling?" 
	"A little sore, but I'll live." 
	Henderson grunted in sympathy.  "How are you doing, 
Lois." 
	"Fine.  I'm just fine.  I just want to get this over with." 
	"Lois, it's not pretty in there.  Are you sure you want to 
go in?  It might make living there later on more difficult, you 
know." 
	Lois squared her shoulders, "I'll be fine.  Really.  Let's 
do it, OK?"  She marched on down the hall towards her 
apartment.  As Clark followed her he wished that he could 
shield her from things like this, but she would always do things 
the "Lois way."  Damn the torpedoes -- full speed ahead!  Her 
courage, her determination were just two of the things that he 
loved about her.  Even when she had scared the hell out of him 
with one of her headstrong escapades he could still find it in 
himself to admire the indomitable courage that she had.  Facing 
this wouldn't be easy for her, however.  He watched her as she 
sailed through the doorway and suddenly stopped on the 
threshold.  Henderson went on around her and into the 
apartment.  Clark came and stood next to her, to be ready in 
case she needed him. 
	There were three other people in the room; a police 
photographer who was packing up his equipment, one of the 
detectives that they had seen earlier in the hall, and another 
uniformed officer.  The other detective was nowhere in sight. 
	The mess really was rather appalling.  Everything had 
been left as the police had found it the night before except that 
Whitehurst's body had been removed and the windows had been 
boarded up.  Someone had turned on all the lights, since there 
was none to be had from the windows, and everything was 
glaringly displayed for them.  The draperies and their hardware 
were in heaps on the floor near the windows, the chair that 
Whitehurst had thrown at Clark lay on its back with one leg 
broken off, and bullet holes scarred the walls on either side of 
the boarded-up windows.  Most of the furniture and therefore 
the rugs had been rearranged by Whitehurst, presumably to give 
him better cover from police sniper fire. 
	The focal point, though, and the thing that 
magnetically drew the eye was the large, dark red stain that 
covered part of the wooden floor of the living room and a few of 
the kitchen floor tiles.  The walls in that part of the apartment 
were blood-splattered as was any furniture that had been near 
Whitehurst when he had been shot.  He had been hit three times 
(Henderson was saying); in the head, neck and arm, which 
explained the large amount of blood on the floor and elsewhere.  
The bucket of water -- now pinkish colored -- was there; the cup 
floating on the top, along with a few tiny remnants of the ice 
cubes.  A wet ring was fanning out onto the boards of the floor 
from the condensation dripping down the outside of the bucket.  
The severed pieces of the cord that Whitehurst had used to bind 
up Clark lay in a heap by the wood stove. 
	Lois had expected it to be bad, but the reality still 
staggered her.  Clark moved protectively to her side. 
	"Come on, let's go to your room and get your things." 
	She gulped rather hard, looked up at him with 
unseeing eyes and let him lead her away. 
	In her bedroom lay the cloths, towels and blankets that 
the EMTs had used to take care of Clark, but someone had put 
them in a pile near the wall, so that they weren't that bad to look 
at.  He guided her to the bed and helped her sit down, then sat 
next to her.  She looked at him wordlessly for a moment, then 
put her head on his shoulder.  She wasn't crying or making any 
kind of sound.  She was so still, in fact, that it worried him.. He 
couldn't think what to say to comfort or reassure her, so he just 
held her and stroked her and waited.  After a few minutes she 
seemed to come to herself and sat up. 
	"Thanks, Clark, I ... I'll be all right.  I just ... didn't 
know that it would be the ... the way that it is."  She took a deep 
breath and stood up,  "Let's do what we came for and get out of here." 
	He was all in favor of that -- he could think of a lot of 
other places he'd rather be as well.  They took off their coats and 
laid them on the bed.  
	"What can I do to help?" 
	"There's a suitcase on the floor at the back of the 
closet, can you get it for me?" 
	"Sure."  He found the suitcase and laid it on the foot 
of the bed, "Anything else?" 
	"Not right now.  Why don't you just keep me 
company?" 
	"I *think* I can handle that." 
	That made her smile.  Grateful for his company and 
feeling more secure, she got busy pulling things out of drawers 
or from the closet and laying them out on the bed.  Clark walked 
over to the window and stood looking down at the little bit of 
green that served the building as a back lawn.  Someone had had 
a small plot of garden in one corner and a few straggly tomato 
plants hung sadly from their stakes. 
	"Who had the garden?" 
	"A guy who lives on the third floor.  He's from South 
Carolina or Georgia or one of those states with a lot of farmers 
in it and I think he misses it, so he has this garden every year." 
	She turned around as she finished talking and saw 
Clark suddenly grab at the window sill with one hand while 
trying to hold his head with the other.  He staggered against the 
wall and then she was there beside him, holding him. 
	"Good god, Clark, what is it?  Is it like the last time?" 
	His brow was furrowed in pain and for a moment he 
couldn't answer her.  Then, just as suddenly as they had come 
the pain and the dizziness left him.  He felt his legs giving out, 
"I need to sit down," he gasped. 
	She helped him the three steps to the bed and he 
collapsed onto it.  She climbed on the bed next to him and 
grasped his hand, frightened by this sudden turn of events.  He 
looked so pale and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.  
She left him for a moment to get a damp face cloth.  When she 
returned she saw that he hadn't moved, but his color did seem to 
be a little better. 
	"Clark?" 
	He opened his eyes and tried to smile at her. 
	"Let me take your glasses off and bathe your face." 
	He submitted to her ministrations, closing his eyes and 
trying to relax.  He could feel his heart pounding, his back 
sweating and that awful, metallic taste was back in his mouth -- 
what was happening to him?  "Could I have a glass of water, 
please?" 
	"Sure, I'll be right back."  Lois left the cloth laying on 
his forehead and partly covering his eyes.  It felt really good.  
She returned with the water, followed by Henderson. 
	"You OK, Clark?" 
	"Yeah, Inspector ... I'll be fine.  I just got a little dizzy." 
	"You should go home, you know.  A concussion is 
nothing to fool around with." 
	"I will.  Lois and I have to stop in at the Planet to see 
Perry, then we're going back to my place.  I'll rest this 
afternoon."  I feel as if I could sleep for a week, he thought. 
	"Hmm-mm, well, can I do anything?" 
	"No, thank you, I'll be all right here until Lois is ready 
to go." 
	"OK.  Lois, when you have a minute, I have a couple of 
questions for you." 
	Lois looked hesitantly from Clark to Henderson and 
back again. 
	"I'm better now, Lois, really.  You go ahead." 
	"I'll be right with you, Henderson.  Let me make Clark 
more comfortable, first, though, OK?" 
	Henderson walked towards the kitchen, leaving them 
alone again. 
	"Can you sit up a bit, your glass of water is here." 
	She helped him hold it when she saw that the hand that 
reached for the glass was shaking.  He took a few sips and then 
she suggested that he lie back down, this time on one of the 
pillows.  That seemed like a really good idea to Clark.  He 
stretched out on the bed with a sigh and closed his eyes.  She 
pulled his shoes off and covered him with an afghan from the 
closet.  I don't want to lose you, Clark Kent, not when I've just 
found you -- the real you.  So don't you go dying on me, she 
thought savagely, just don't you do that.  Her throat felt tight, 
and tears were burning at the back of her eyes, but she wasn't 
going to cry and give Henderson something to speculate about. 
	It looked like Clark was going to go to sleep.  She 
leaned over him, listening to his breathing, then she smoothed 
the afghan over his shoulder and pushed his hair back off his 
forehead to check his temperature.  He felt a little warm, but not 
worryingly so.  I wish I knew what was going on, I wish I knew 
what to do.  She kissed him softly and went to find Henderson. 
 
* * * 
 
	The heavy metal doors clanged shut behind him one by 
one as he was led deeper and deeper into the prison.  The guards 
escorting the silent man seemed bored by their humdrum chore -- 
another lawyer on his way to see his client, no big deal. 
	They showed the impassive man into a small, 
unfriendly-looking interview room, and left him.  He looked out 
of place in these mean surroundings, and not because of his 
appearance.  It was due more to an air that he projected, an air of 
one who could (if he chose) command instant obedience, of one 
who knew what he wanted and usually got it.  He ignored what 
passed for chairs and a table in this institution, preferring to 
stand.  He neither fidgeted nor paced, merely stood, his hands at 
this sides, waiting. 
	After about five minutes he heard the sounds of 
approaching feet.  The two guards who had shown him into this 
room earlier now escorted another man in, an inmate. 
	"Knock when you're ready," they said succinctly to the 
'lawyer,' and left, leaving the two men facing each other across 
the slight expanse of the room. 
	They waited for the sounds of the footsteps to recede. 
	"Well," said the prisoner, "what have you to report?" 
	"The plan failed." 
	They gazed at one another in silence for a moment, 
before the prisoner again spoke, 
	"I see.  Perhaps it was inevitable -- he was the wrong 
tool for the job."  He made a tent of his fingers and looked at 
them thoughtfully. 
	"And the weak link that you spoke of ... ?" 
	"It's been taken care of." 
	"Good." 
	There was another silence between these two; equals 
when it came to inciting fear in their fellow man, but each one 
recognizing and even appreciating the abilities of the other. 
	"Well, it seems that we'll have to go to plan 2.  We 
don't have much time, so tell me all you know.  I need *all* the 
details." 
 
* * * 
 
	"Clark?  Clark?  Wake up, it's time to go." 
	He stirred a bit and then settled back to sleep.  Looks 
like this isn't going to be easy, she thought.  Lois had finished 
talking to Henderson, looked after her fish and plants, then 
completed her packing and now she was ready to go.  She didn't 
really want to wake up Clark, but she couldn't leave him here; 
the police wanted to seal up the apartment again. 
	She had spent about a half an hour with Henderson.  
He'd wanted to go over everything that Whitehurst had said or 
done in the approximately three hours between the time when he 
had first grabbed her until the police had begun their 
surveillance and taping of all that had gone on in this apartment 
yesterday.  She was a good witness; she observed and 
remembered things, she could place them in order and she kept 
her emotions at bay while telling what must have been a painful 
story for her to remember.  Henderson wished all his witness 
interviews would go so well.  Consequently they were finished 
very quickly.  She had returned to the bedroom to complete her 
packing.  Clark was sound asleep -- it looked as though he 
hadn't stirred at all.  She cautiously felt his forehead, and it 
seemed cooler.  That's good, she thought.  Maybe it *is* just the 
concussion and the fact that he was up half the night.  She 
realized that she had no idea how quickly he recovered from 
exposure to kryptonite, or even how much rest he usually 
needed.  There was so much that she needed to learn, she 
thought, as she moved quietly around the room, gathering all 
that she wanted to take and packing it away into various pieces 
of luggage. 
	Clark had been right about the police wanting to know 
what she was taking away from the apartment.  Henderson kept 
a cursory eye on her while she packed her clothes, but when she 
went back to the living room (studiously averting her eyes from 
the stain on the floor) he followed her with renewed interest.  
She explained that she was only looking for her renter's policy 
and other pertinent paperwork, and he made conciliatory noises 
and said it was just routine.  She "humphed" to his face, but 
acknowledged to herself that the man was just doing his job.  
Her things packed, she'd gone to the bathroom to change into 
something more suited to the office than a MSU sweatshirt -- no 
matter how comfortable that might be.  When she came back out 
again, she handed the tennis shoes and coat to Henderson with a 
request that he extend her thanks to whomever had loaned them 
to her.  He said that they belonged to a policewoman and that he 
would relay the message.  She called Perry to say that 
Henderson was through with them for now, that they were on 
their way in, then she'd gone to fetch Clark -- except now she 
couldn't seem to wake him up. 
	Henderson had followed her into the bedroom again 
and watched them with concern.  He really liked these two 
reporters.  Unlike some of the others in the city, they did their 
homework and didn't take what he'd said and twist it around to 
fit their ideas of what they thought he had said.  The three of 
them had an unofficial kind of reciprocal arrangement, but 
beyond that he liked them as people -- even Lois.  Well, maybe 
not when she had done her best to irritate him, but otherwise 
she was OK.  And Clark, well, Clark was just a decent guy -- the 
kind that you don't meet very often these days.  So he was 
genuinely worried when Lois couldn't rouse him right away. 
	"That's not a good sign when you can't wake up 
someone with a concussion.  Do you want me to call for help?" 
	"Let me try again, he may just be really tired.  He didn't 
get much sleep last night." 
	"I'm not surprised.  He had a pretty rough time of it." 
	Lois flinched at this reminder of yesterday. 
	"Sorry, Lois." 
	"That's OK, I just don't like thinking about it." 
	Lois sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her hand up 
and down Clark's arm. 
	"Clark?  It's time to get up now.  Perry is waiting for 
us." 
	He stirred again, with more purpose this time, and 
opened his eyes.  He stretched a little and looked around as 
though uncertain about where he was.  Lois talked to him again, 
"Clark?  Are you all right?" 
	He looked in her direction with confusion in his eyes, 
which quickly (to her relief) was replaced by recognition. 
"I'm ... fine." 
	"How are you feeling?" 
	"Better, I think.  I guess ... I just needed some more 
sleep." 
	"Well, do you feel like going to the Planet with me for 
a while?" 
	He moved to get up and she stood to give him more 
room. 
	"Sure, what time is it?  Perry must be fit to be tied by 
now." 
	Clark sat up and reached for his shoes, so he didn't see 
the relieved looks that Henderson and Lois exchanged. 
	"Oh, it's not that late.  I just talked to Perry and told 
him that he still has an exclusive coming.  He mentioned Elvis a 
couple of times, though, so the sooner we get there the better." 
	Clark slipped on his glasses and stood up cautiously, 
not knowing what to expect, but everything seemed to be in 
working order again.  He wasn't feeling quite as sanguine about 
the outlook, though, as he had been earlier this morning.  This 
last attack had been more severe than the first one -- he was 
dreading what might come next. 
	They all put their coats back on and Henderson offered 
to help carry Lois' bags to her car, an offer which she gladly 
accepted.  A temporary truce was called between the two of 
them since they both wanted Clark to take it easy.  As they 
walked towards the door, Clark thought of a question and took 
Henderson aside, 
	"Inspector ... ?" 
	"Yes?" 
	"Last night, just before Whitehurst was killed ..." 
	Clark looked around to be sure that Lois had gone into 
the hallway. 
	"Yeah ... ?" 
	"I know he pointed the gun right at me.  I saw the flash 
even though my eyes were closed.  What happened to the 
bullet?" 
	Henderson pointed to a hole in the brick wall about 
three inches above the floor beyond where Clark had been lying.  
They looked at each other for a moment.  Then Henderson said, 
	"I think you are a *very* lucky man." 
	Clark could only nod. 
	He joined Lois in the hall and they waited until 
Henderson had seen the apartment sealed again to his 
satisfaction.  The photographer had left earlier, but the rest of 
the group rode down in the elevator together; the officer 
(carrying the coat and shoes) and the detective getting off at the 
lobby level, while Henderson, Lois and Clark continued on to 
the parking garage.  Lois asked when the insurance people 
would be able to get in to make an estimate for repairs and 
Henderson wasn't sure.  They'd have to wait on the lab guys, to 
make sure they had everything they needed before any 
restoration work would be allowed to go forward.  Call me 
Monday, he said and I'll let you know.  Lois sighed, OK, sure.  
What else could she say?  She glanced up and saw Clark 
looking at her sympathetically and suddenly realized that she 
was really more worried about what was happening to him than 
she was about getting back into her apartment anyway.   
	With Henderson as an escort, they made it to Lois' Jeep 
unmolested by kidnappers, irate fellow-tenants or the ladies and 
gentlemen of the press.  They thanked him for his help and he 
said to call him if anything came up that he needed to know 
about and Clark assured him that they would.  Henderson 
cocked a knowing eye in Lois' direction, and she smiled sweetly 
and non-committally back.  As Henderson watched them drive 
away he mused over what attracted people to one another.  He'd 
never have picked those two out for each other, never in a 
million years. 
 
* * *  
 
	"Clark, are you sure you wouldn't like me to drop you 
off at your place, first?  I think I can take care of this story by 
myself and Perry would understand." 
	He had laid his head back against the seat's headrest 
and was looking out of the window, but at her suggestion he 
pulled his head up, "Lois, I appreciate your concern, really, but 
I feel better now.  What I'd rather talk about are the follow-ups 
we are going to focus on.  I, for one, would like to know how 
Whitehurst got his hands on that kryptonite." 
	She glanced over at him, uncertain about whether or 
not to try and make him go home. 
	"Besides, the sooner we find out where it came from, 
the sooner we'll know if there's more out there that I need to 
worry about." 
	She nodded her head. 
	"OK, you're right.  We have to find out where he got it 
from and if there's anymore of it laying around.  Maybe he paid 
for it with some of the money that he said he'd hidden away, so 
we probably had better try to check on how much he had and 
how he could have hidden it.  I'm also curious about where he 
was all those days when everyone and their brother was 
searching high and low for him and couldn't find him.  I think he 
had help in all this, which means there's at least one person out 
there who may try to get to that money.  And what about the 
other people that Whitehurst was planning to kill ... " 
	Clark listened to Lois making plans and was glad that 
she had something to think about besides his problem.  He 
agreed with her that Whitehurst must have had help from at least 
one person, since it would not have been possible for him to 
have moved freely around the city with a major manhunt on for 
him.  Clark had come to that conclusion early this morning, 
which was one of the reasons that he had insisted that she stay 
at his apartment -- and it was the main reason why he was going 
with her now.  He didn't know who the accomplice was, nor 
could he be certain that Lois was not still a target.  Until he 
knew otherwise, he was going to stay as close to her as he 
could. 
	During the rest of the way to the Daily Planet, they 
talked about the articles they would be writing that day and 
made plans for the direction they wanted to take on the follow-
ups.  This was the first time that Clark had heard about 'other 
people' that Whitehurst had also been after, so they speculated 
on who those people might be. 

* * *  
 
	Things were going along at their usual Saturday pace 
when Lois and Clark walked into the newsroom.  Perry was 
waiting for them, and looked very concerned when he saw 
Clark's bandaged face and Lois' tired one.
	"How are you two?"
	They looked at each other and Lois spoke for both of 
them, "We're doing ... OK.  Tired, but OK."
	"Well, uh ... all right.  Let's get to it, then.  Lois, I need 
the inside track from you.  Henderson doesn't want anything 
said about possible hidden money since the police want to try 
and track that down and they don't want anyone to know that 
they're on to it.  Everything else is fair game.  Clark, I'd like one 
of your personal angle pieces.  Do some background work on 
Whitehurst -- talk to some of the people that knew him, that 
kind of thing.  I'll save a sidebar for you."
	"Ok, Perry."
	"Sure thing, Chief."
	They sat down and got to work.  Lois kept a covert eye 
on Clark while she wrote, but he seemed to be managing all 
right.  He was back and forth from his desk to the files or the 
microfilm room.  He moved more slowly than usual but at least 
he wasn't having any more dizzy spells.  Maybe whatever was 
bothering him before had been alleviated by that nap he'd had at 
her place.  What she didn't know was that Clark was finding it 
all to be more of an effort than it had ever been before.  Every 
phone call, everything that he read required so much more 
concentration than he would have thought possible.  He was 
relieved when he finally finished his piece and was able to LAN 
it to Perry, who accepted it with a few revisions.  Now, he just 
had to wait for Lois.  He checked with her to see if she needed 
anything, but she said that she was fine and would be finished 
in about twenty minutes, so he wandered over to the racks that 
held the most recently published copies of the Daily Planet.  He 
picked up Friday's edition and sat down to look at it.  There was 
an extensive article on the fire that he had helped fight, 
including sidebars on the two men who had died that night.  
One of the men had been single, from out-of-state and had only 
lived in Metropolis for about a year, the other man was a 
Metropolis native, married with two children.  The helpless 
feeling that he had had on the night of the fire came back to him 
as he sat there reading.
	From inside his office, Perry could see both Clark 
reading in the break area and Lois working away at her 
computer.  They had both looked tired when they'd arrived at the 
Planet, but Lois seemed to have revived with the familiar 
surroundings and the stimulus of work.  Clark, on the other 
hand, was beginning to look really ill.  Concerned, Perry walked 
out of his office and went to stand by Lois's desk.  She was 
smiling at the computer screen and stretching -- sure signs that 
she was pleased with herself and her story.
	"You're just in time, Perry, I was getting ready to send 
this your way."
	"That's fine, Lois, you do that.  I, uh, I need to talk to 
you about something, too.  Come to my office in a couple of 
minutes, will you?"
	"Sure, Perry."
	She looked questioningly at him and he pointed 
towards Clark.  She had gotten involved in her writing and 
hadn't paid much attention to him for a while.  He certainly 
didn't look well.
	"I'll check on him, Chief."
	"Fine.  Uh, Lois?" he said to her as she started to head 
for Clark.
	"Yes?"
	"The story first, please?"
	"Oh, right, sure.  Sorry."
	She LAN'd her story to Perry, smiled at him sheepishly 
and then went to check on Clark.
	"How you doing, partner?"
	He looked up at her as she sat down at the table.
	"Pretty good, I guess."  He closed the paper and went 
to hang it back on the rack, "Are you ready to go?"
	"Almost, Perry wants to see me about something."
	He sat back down, "Oh, OK.  Does he need me?"
	"No, so you just relax -- it shouldn't be much longer.  
I'm looking forward to resting this afternoon, too."  She smiled 
at him and patted his shoulder before heading for Perry's office.  
	When she got there, he motioned for her to close the 
door.  "The story looks great, Lois."
	"Thanks, Perry.  We are planning on some follow up 
articles, too: where Whitehurst got the kryptonite from, where 
he was hiding out and where his money went to.  We'll put some 
feelers out, do some digging and keep you posted."
	"That sounds fine, Lois."  He paused for a moment, 
"Now tell me, how are you two doing?"  He looked in Clark's 
direction again.
	"Well, we didn't have an uninterrupted night.  I know I 
had nightmares and Clark had trouble sleeping.  Also, he's had a 
couple of dizzy spells this morning.  He says that it's nothing, 
and even Henderson attributed it to the concussion and the 
rough time Clark had yesterday, so I guess I shouldn't worry ..."
	"I see.  Well, it hasn't even been twenty-four hours, yet.  
Why don't you see about getting him home and making him take 
it easy for the rest of the day.  If things aren't better tomorrow, 
we may want to get him to a doctor.  How does that sound?"
	"You're right, Perry, he's probably just worn out."
	"I'm sure that's it.  Just in case, though, the offer to stay 
with Alice and me is still good.  Do you want to do that?  You 
know it might be a good idea, Lois, especially if Clark is feeling 
poorly ... "
	"No, that's OK, Perry.  I'm sure that everything will be 
fine."
	He opened the door for her and they walked out into 
the newsroom.  Clark stood up and came over to them.
	Perry beamed at his two reporters, "Good work, you 
two."  Then he pointed to each of them and said in his sternest, 
chief editor's voice: "Now get on out of here and I don't want to 
see either of you until Monday, you hear?"

	Lois was lucky enough to find a parking place almost 
right in front of Clark's building, which meant they wouldn't 
have to carry the bags very far.  He was looking pale again so 
she insisted on carrying most of them and he really couldn't give 
her an argument.  
	Once inside his apartment, she took charge of the 
situation and of him.  She helped him off with his coat and told 
him to rest on the sofa while she made lunch.  What would he 
like? -- a sandwich, soup?  He wasn't very hungry, but he 
thought a cup of tea might be help.  She went to fix his tea and 
find something for herself.  Touched and amused by this rarely 
seen side of Lois, he was also grateful for her presence.  She had 
shown herself to be a good friend, and now she was proving to 
be a valuable ally as well.  He took off his glasses and lay down 
on the sofa feeling more tired than he had ever thought it was 
possible to be.  This was more than kryptonite, it had to be.  
Was he losing his powers for good this time?  Had this last 
exposure been one too many?  Maybe I should call Mom and 
Dad, he thought, but what would I tell them?  They'd rush to 
Metropolis, but I might be all right by then anyway, and I would 
have worried them for nothing.  If only I could think -- if only I 
could decide what to do.
	In the kitchen Lois was heating up some soup for her 
own lunch while she made his tea.  She kept looking over in 
Clark's direction.  These problems he was experiencing were 
really worrying her.  She just wished she could be more of a 
help to him.  If she knew more about him, and kryptonite, and 
how he reacted to it ...  As it was, she felt helpless and that was 
a feeling that Lois really didn't care for.
	When the tea and the soup were ready she arranged 
them and a glass of soda on a tray, which she carried to the 
coffee table in the living room.  Clark had his eyes closed but 
opened them when he had heard her walk up.
	"Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?"
	"I really don't feel hungry."
	He moved to sit up and she propped him up with a 
couple of pillows at his back, then handed him the mug.
	"Thanks."  He started to sip at the hot liquid, but 
without much interest in the proceedings.  She sat on the coffee 
table, picked up the bowl of soup and ate a spoonful of it.
	"Does kryptonite always do this to you?"
	Clark rested the mug on the sofa next to him and 
shook his head, "Never.  It's never been like this before."
	"What do you think it is, then?"
	"I don't know, I can't imagine."
	She heard the despair in his voice, put the bowl down 
and reached over to touch his arm.  He patted her hand with his 
free one and made an effort to get control of himself, "I'm sure 
it's nothing, though.  It will probably be better tomorrow.  It's 
probably just temporary."
	Who are you trying to convince, she thought, you or 
me?  "Tell me what it's supposed to be like."
	He laid his head back against a pillow, the tea mug 
beside him, forgotten.  "There is pain, intense pain, in every part 
of my body -- all my muscles, joints, everything.  It's difficult to 
move, breathe or even think.  I get weaker and weaker, and if I 
can't get away from it ... it will kill me."
	She could tell that it was not easy for him to talk about 
this, but she felt that she had to know if she was to help him.  
She gently prodded him for more information, "When the 
kryptonite is taken away, though, does it usually take this long 
to recover?"
	"The rate of recovery seems to ... depend on the length 
of exposure and ... and how much I'm exposed to.  It ... it's been 
different each time."  
	He was visibly fading.  She took the mug out of his 
slack fingers and set it down on the tray, then bending over him 
and touching his cheek, she tried to rouse him enough to get 
him to the bed.  "Clark, come on.  Sack time for you, pal."
	"Huh?"
	"Come on now, you'll have to help me.  I can't carry 
you, big guy.  That's it, come on."
	Cajoling, encouraging and even pleading, she got him 
into the bedroom.  He moved like a sleepwalker and seemed to 
barely understand what she was saying to him.  She led him to 
the window seat and helped him to sit in the midday sunlight 
that was streaming in the windows.  Holding his shoulders and 
looking into his face, she tried to get him to focus on her, "You 
start to get undressed and I'll turn down the bed, OK?"
	"OK."
	She watched him for a moment, and it did look as 
though he had understood her because he started to take his 
shirt off, so she moved towards the bed.  When she'd gotten it 
ready for him, she looked up and saw him sitting with his shirt 
off and leaning back against the glass.  She went over, and knelt 
down to untie his shoes.  He didn't notice what she was doing 
until she had pulled them off his feet, then he roused himself a 
little and looked around, "The sun feels really good."
	He sounded very tired.  Lois put a hand on his 
shoulder and said tenderly, "Does it, Clark?"
	He nodded his head.  She looked at him closely and 
his color did look a little bit better, his eyes a touch more 
focused.  It had been speculated that his powers were solar 
induced, maybe the sun *was* helping him.
	"How about if you stretch out on the window seat 
then?  I can fix it for you, would you like that?"
	"I would, yes, thank you."
	"OK."
	He watched her as she removed the decorative pillows 
to make more room for him, and arranged a pillow from the bed 
with a soft blanket from the closet into a sort of sleeping bag on 
the cushions of the window seat.
	"All set."
	"Thank you, Lois ... I think I'll see about changing into 
something to sleep in."
	He said it so quietly.
	"Can you walk?  Do you need any help?"
	"I think I can manage."
	He got up carefully, and although he moved slowly, he 
did make it to the bathroom and back under his own power, 
which Lois found encouraging.  When he returned he had 
removed the band-aids from his face and he was wearing only 
sleeping shorts.  She was worried that he might get chilled, but 
he said he could feel more of the sun this way.  Once he was 
lying on the cushions, she covered him, leaving his shoulders 
and chest exposed to the sun and then sat next to him.  Her heart 
ached to see him like this, but she was trying to put a brave face 
on it for his sake.  "You're probably just tired from the 
kryptonite, and ... everything.  You get some rest now.  I'll be 
here if you need me."  She chuckled, "I've got the insurance guys 
to deal with -- wish I could sleep through that."
	Clark smiled tiredly, "That doesn't sound like much 
fun ... Lois?"  He put his hand out to reach for hers, 
	"Yes, Clark."
	"I ... I don't know what I would have done ... if you 
hadn't been here.  I ... "
	"I'm glad I'm here, too.  Go to sleep, now."
	He turned his face towards the sun and closed his eyes 
with a sigh, "I love you, Lois."
	Her heart felt constricted and she tightened her grip on 
his hand.  "I love you, too, Clark."
	She watched him until she was sure that he was 
sleeping, then tucked his now unresponsive hand under the 
blanket and lightly touched his forehead.  His temperature had 
gone up slightly again, and she frowned thoughtfully.  She 
didn't know what to do for him.  Maybe she should call 911 -- 
and say ... what?  Well, he's been exposed to kryptonite, but 
there may be some other problem, too.  Why would Clark Kent 
have been affected by kryptonite, Miss Lane?  Oh, you say this 
*is* Superman, then why isn't he in his Superman suit?  How 
did he come by these injuries?  Well, he's ...  She could see that 
this was all more complicated than she had realized at first.  
And, she thought, Clark has had to deal with this kind of thing 
all on his own before?  Well, not really all on his own; he'd had 
his parents.  Maybe she should call them, but then she might be 
scaring them for no reason.  Suppose it *was* just the 
kryptonite and the concussion?  Then, according to Clark, some 
rest should take care of it.  She watched him for a moment more, 
and, as she looked at him, she noticed that the scrapes didn't 
seemed to have healed any further since this morning -- and she 
wasn't sure what that meant, either.  Finally she sighed and 
decided to keep an eye on him, deferring any further decisions 
for a while.
	Lois fetched her bags from the bottom of the steps 
where she'd left them when they'd arrived at the apartment, and 
carried them into the bedroom.  She got busy unpacking her 
things and putting them away in the drawers that Clark had 
cleared for her that morning.  She felt pretty tired herself and 
thought it would be a good idea to get to bed early that night.  
When she had her stuff arranged, she picked out a pair of jeans 
to change into.  She was going to put on one of her own 
pullovers, when she spotted Clark's MSU sweatshirt and 
decided to put that back on instead.  Even with having shrunk 
some, it was still a little bit big on her, but it smelled like him 
when she moved in it and that was comforting.  Now that she 
was settled in and dressed she felt ready for anything.  She 
picked up the phone, her insurance papers, and her rolodex from 
work and took them with her to the kitchen; a few rounds with 
an insurance agent and an adjustor or two would be good 
therapy right about now.

* * *

	"Yes, Officer, I found him just as you see him here.  I 
felt for a pulse, but as soon as I realized that he was beyond 
human aid, I phoned for police assistance.  I haven't touched 
anything else."
	"OK, Father, thanks for your help.  We'll take it from 
here."
	"Excuse me, Officer, but it's 'Brother.' "
	"Brother?"
	"Yes, Brother Ray, actually.  You see, I have not been 
ordained into Holy Orders.  So, I am not a priest, I'm a brother."
	"Oh, sorry."
	"That's all right.  One other thing you might want to 
know, he died sometime after 11 o'clock."
	"How do you know that, Fa -- uh, Brother?"
	"I help staff a shelter that is about three blocks from 
here.  On cold nights we always go out looking for homeless 
people to invite them in to the spend the night in the shelter 
where it's warm.  Of course, there are always some who refuse, 
but many do decide to come back with us.  Well, last night at 
around 11 we went out one final time.  This is one of the alleys 
that I, myself, went into.  There was no one here then."
	The big, six-foot-two policeman looked down at the 
five-foot-five brother.
	"That's not safe, Brother.  You shouldn't be going 
down these dark alleys by yourself."
	"The people that I am trying to help aren't bad people, 
Officer, just in need of comforting and a friend.  They all know 
me; they know that anything that I have I will share with them.  
There is no need to rob me.  Thank you for your concern, 
though."
	"Hey, Dutch, come here, will ya?"
	He waved to acknowledge his partner and then turned 
back, "Well, thank you again, Brother.  We'll be in touch if 
we need to ask you anything more."
	"Certainly, Officer."  Brother Ray turned and walked off 
down the street in the direction of the shelter.  Officer Van Brock 
watched him for a moment and then went over to where his partner 
was crouching next to the corpse.
	"Whatja got, partner?"
	"Dutch, this guy didn't get drunk and freeze to death.  
He was murdered."

* * *

	Lois had spent a stimulating and profitable hour on the 
phone; making preparations for getting the repairs on her 
apartment started, calling a great number of people to put out 
feelers for possible leads or to let them know that she would be 
at a new number for a while and getting out the word to Bobby 
Bigmouth that she and Clark wanted to talk to him.  During this 
time, she had looked over in Clark's direction a number of times 
and he had seemed to be sleeping peacefully.  Maybe a few 
hours sleep *would* do the trick.
	She gathered up her papers and her rolodex and put 
them on the coffee table.  The soup -- congealed now -- the 
soda, and Clark's mug of tea were still on the tray.  She had 
forgotten all about them.  She carried the tray into the kitchen 
and decided to make herself a sandwich.  
	Then, with the sandwich and a new can of soda in 
hand, she sat on the sofa and clicked on the TV with the 
remote.  She found the news channel and settled down to catch 
up on things.  Wars, revolutions, uprisings, struggling new 
democracies and straggling financial markets made for 'great' 
lunchtime viewing, as the international portion of the news 
wound on.  
	Then the national news was on and finally the news 
from Metropolis.  Whitehurst's death got a fair amount of 
coverage.  They showed a small picture of her that had been 
taken the night that she'd won her last Kerth Award, and said 
that Whitehurst had held her captive for several hours, but that 
she'd been freed unharmed after Whitehurst had been killed by 
a police sharpshooter.  A "spokesperson" was credited with 
saying that the police were "looking into" the illegal activities 
of Whitehurst Securities.  Only a small mention was made of 
Clark's part in all this, so Henderson was still keeping some 
details quiet.  
	There was some city council news about legal 
wrangling between Metropolis and the county over who was 
responsible for repairing 3 older bridges in recently annexed 
areas.  Then a follow-up story on a big fire near the harbor two 
nights ago came on the screen.  The arson investigators were 
still sifting through the rubble, but there were a couple hot 
spots that they couldn't get into yet.  Arson, however, was 
suspected.  Fire Chief Mitchell was shown being interviewed 
by a reporter.  At the sound of Superman's name, Lois pricked 
up her ears.  With Mitchell's voice playing in the background, 
the screen showed some scenes from the night of the fire.  Lois 
watched fascinated as Superman -- no, Clark ... *her* Clark - 
scooped up water from the river with something that looked 
like a railroad car of some kind and then poured it over one 
section of the fire.  Then the newscaster was on again, saying 
that of the 10 men that Superman had managed to save, four 
had been released from the hospital, two were expected to be 
released in the next day or so and the remaining men were in 
intensive care being treated for damaged lungs.  Two men had 
perished on the night of the fire.
	So that's why he had looked so grim this morning at 
the office.  Poor Clark!  What a night he had had, and then to 
come home and have to face her being taken hostage and 
Whitehurst's tortures.  No wonder he was worn out!  She 
clicked off the TV and went to check on him.  He was still 
sleeping, very deeply.  He hadn't moved at all and she doubted 
if even a jet taking off from this room would be able to wake 
him up.  
She wasn't sure if this was a good sign or not.  When she 
checked his temperature, she found that it hadn't gone up much.  
The sun was moving across the sky, blotted out occasionally by 
one or another of a gathering number of clouds.  Still, he was 
getting a fair amount of sun time.
	She went back to the sofa, intending to rest for twenty 
minutes or so, but instead fell asleep for two hours, waking only 
because she had gotten chilled.  Shivery and groggy, she groped 
her way from the sofa, fumbled with the thermostat and turned 
the heat up -- something that they had neglected to do upon 
their return.  Then she passed through the living room and into 
the bathroom to splash some water on her face.  Two hours!  
How could she have slept for two hours!  Omigosh, Clark!  
What if he had needed her?  She quickly dried her face and 
hurried to the window seat.
	"Oh, no."  She didn't know if she had said these words 
out loud or not as she stood at the edge of the bedroom area.  Clark 
wasn't sleeping peacefully any more.  He moaned softly as he 
moved restlessly about on the cushions and he had managed to 
get almost completely out from under the blanket.  She went 
over to him and felt his forehead -- he was so hot!  He opened 
his eyes at her touch, but there was no recognition in them.  I've 
got to get this fever down!  
	She ran to the kitchen, frantically opening cabinets, 
looking for a bowl -- she couldn't remember where the damned 
bowls were!  Here's one!  She turned on the faucet and held a 
trembling hand under the flowing water.  The water should be 
tepid -- surely that was right.  Hadn't she heard that somewhere?  
Finally the temperature seemed right, she filled the bowl and 
carried it to the window seat, placing it on the floor.  She 
remembered from where he had gotten the towels for her that 
morning and ran to that cabinet, found a face cloth and ran back.  
Her hands shook as she soaked the cloth in the water and wrung 
it out.  Kneeling beside him, she placed it on his forehead, 
talking to him all the time, "It's going to be all right, Clark.  It's 
going to be all right."
	She could see that one cloth wouldn't be enough, so 
she ran to get another one.  She placed one on his forehead and 
used the other one to bathe his arms and chest.  When the cloths 
were no longer cool, she'd re-soak them and wring them out 
again.  Then the water in the bowl would get too warm and she 
would hurry to replace it with some that was cooler, but not too 
cool.  This became what to her seemed like an endless routine; 
bathe, soak, wring, bathe, soak, wring, replace the water ... so 
many times that she lost count.  Unnoticed by her the afternoon 
sun had been completely eclipsed by gathering clouds.  Caring 
for the man beside her consumed all her energies, all her 
attention -- she had none to spare for clouds that blocked out 
the sun and brought an early, afternoon-twilight.  
	Finally, the fever abated enough that Clark stopped his 
restless motions, settling into a deeper sleep once again.  She 
collapsed on the floor and leaned against the window seat 
resting her forehead against the cushions.  She felt as if she had 
been pummeled.  Now that she wasn't otherwise occupied, she 
became aware of a noise that hadn't been there earlier.  She 
looked up and saw that it was raining -- when had that started?  
She watched it unseeing for a moment, then roused herself to 
replace the blanket over Clark; covering him completely because 
it was much cooler now that the sun gone.  She carried the bowl 
and the cloths into the kitchen and brought paper towels back 
with her to mop the water up off the floor.  Settling herself on 
the floor next to the window seat again, she rested her cheek 
beside Clark's hand, and reached up to gently rub his arm.  Oh, 
Clark, what's happening to you, sweetheart?  Please get well.  
Please don't leave me.  Please don't lea ... 
	She woke up with a start.  What time is it?  Oh, ... it's 
all right.  I've only been asleep for a few minutes.  She checked 
on Clark, but he seemed to be holding his own, so she relaxed 
again.  This had to be the longest afternoon of her life.
	She tried to think ahead -- to focus on tomorrow when 
Clark would be better.  He *would* be better by tomorrow ... 
but, what if he weren't?  What if Clark couldn't be Superman 
anymore after this -- what if all this would take away his powers 
for good?  What would that be like for him?  She thought about 
how she would feel if she couldn't do what she loved anymore.  
Remembering how lost she had felt the time that she'd been 
placed on suspension from the 'Planet,' -- how depressed she 
had been.  She'd lost an anchor, a part of her life that she had 
thought *was* her whole life.  A sob rose in her throat as she 
realized that Clark would probably feel that way, too, and she 
sat there and held his hand and cried -- not for Metropolis' loss 
of a superhero, or for the loss of what she now knew had been a 
silly fantasy of hers, but for her dear friend's loss of a part of 
himself.

* * *

	"All right, Davis, show me what you've got."
	"Yes, sir."
	Henderson watched as the detective laid some lab 
reports, faxes and other documents on his desk.  Outside, a cold 
rain ran down the window of his office.
	"It's that dead guy that 'Dutch' and Kelly got called in 
on this morning.  Something about the MO clicked with me so I 
ran it through the computer and I was right, in fact it's bigger 
than I'd thought.  Last week another guy was found dead in a 
ditch just over the state line, same MO.  I called the sheriff's 
office there and they just faxed me a copy of the Path' report, 
etc.  It's an exact match to our guy, Inspector.  Now here's where 
it gets really good -- the FBI is looking for this killer, because 
he got an agent that way a little over a year ago in Chicago.  
Whoever this guy is, he gets around."
	Henderson read through the reports.
	"So, why these two, why kill them?"
	"We don't know, Inspector.  There's no connection 
between them that we can find -- yet.  The one from this 
morning had no ID on him, but his description matches that of a 
small-time criminal with about a half a dozen aliases who used 
to warm jail cells in Dade County, Florida -- I'm waiting on a 
positive ID to come through from the SBI down there.  What he 
was doing up here, we're not exactly sure.  We are still trying to 
trace his movements."
	Henderson grunted in recognition of the difficulty of 
that task, "And the other one?"
	Davis referred to his notes again.
	"No real criminal record, been picked up for D&D 
several times, that's all.  He had lived in Metropolis most of his 
life.  His family had moved here from the Midwest when he was 
a kid.  He'd had a good job as a building manager, until he 
discovered the booze that is.  For the past ten years or so he'd 
been moving down in the world.  The last known place of 
employment -- Metropolis Grand Hotel on the edge of Suicide 
Slum.  Supposedly, he was the janitor there."
	Henderson knew the place, of course -- the old Metro 
Grand.  What a fine lady she had been in her day.  Kings and 
presidents and high-profile gangsters had all stayed there.  Now, 
though, it was just a shell of a place.  You could rent rooms by 
the month, or by the hour -- it was all the same to the 
management of the Grand.
	"So what is an assassin of this caliber doing in my city, 
killing drunks and small-time crooks?"
	Davis shrugged his shoulders and waited.  Henderson 
seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.  The rain was coming 
down even harder.  "OK, I want a list of all the places where -- 
what was his name, oh yeah, Simms -- ever worked, right up to and 
including the Grand.  Also, I want to know everything that the 
Dade County police know about our John Doe, if it turns out 
that the match is positive.  Then let's get on the street and see if 
we can find anybody who may have seen them together.  There 
must be a connection, and I want us to find it before this 
assassin decides that he needs some more practice." 
	"On it, Inspector."  Davis headed for the door. 
	"Oh, and Davis ... ?" 
	"Yes, sir?" 
	"Let's go at this as discretely as possible.  We don't 
want to spook this guy, he's too quick with that knife.  And, 
keep me informed." 
	"Yes, sir!" 
 
* * * 
 
	Lois was dozing when the ambulance with its blaring 
siren zoomed past Clark's building.  Can't a person get a nap 
around here? 
	When it had seemed that Clark was going to continue 
resting comfortably, she had stretched out across the foot of the 
bed, pulled the edge of the quilt over herself and tried to relax.  
She hadn't meant to doze off, but the emotional strain of the last 
couple of days had taken a real toll on her physically, and she 
couldn't seem to stay completely awake.  It was pretty dark 
outside now, and she wondered what time it was, but not 
enough to go to the trouble of looking at her watch.  The rain 
was still coming down, just not as hard as it had been before 
dusk.  I probably should get up and turn on some lights, she 
thought, but she couldn't quite convince herself to move.  She 
could see Clark by the light of that neon sign anyway. 
	As she watched him, he began to show signs of waking 
up; stirring, stretching, yawning.  He started to look around and 
then suddenly sat straight up and clapped his hands over his 
ears. 
	"Ow!" 
	She didn't know that she could move that fast.  She 
rushed to the window seat and reached to comfort him. 
	"Clark!  Are you all right?" 
	He looked up at her, "Yes.  My ... uh, hearing just came 
back on-line, that's all.  I didn't mean to startle you." 
	"Back on-line?  You mean ... you're OK?  You've still 
got your powers?" 
	"I ... I guess so,"  he smiled, looked out the window 
intently for a few moments, testing some of his visual abilities 
and then back at her.  Smiling, he floated a few inches above the 
cushions.  Landing once more, he smiled even broader,  "Yes, 
everything seems to be working just fine.  How long have I been 
asleep?  It's dark out." 
	The relief was almost more than she could bear, "Oh, 
Clark!  You haven't been asleep, you've been sick!  You had a 
really high fever -- I was afraid ... I was afraid that I was going to 
lose you." 
	Her voice was trembling and she was trying very hard 
not to cry.  Now it was his turn to comfort her.  He moved closer 
and reached for her.  She felt his arms go around her and a 
shudder went through her as she remembered how close she had 
come to never feeling this again.
	"Lois, I'm sorry.  I had no idea ... I don't remember 
much ...  Could you tell me about it, please?  I want to try and 
understand what's been happening to me." 
	She struggled to regain her composure,  "All right." 
	She pulled gently out of his embrace and sat back on 
the window seat.  He faced her, sitting cross-legged, half 
covered by the blanket.  Neither one had thought to turn on a 
light and so they talked while the neon light shining through the 
rain on the windows made intricate patterns on their faces.  She 
told him of her -- of their -- ordeal and found that he had only 
hazy memories of all that had happened after the dizziness that 
he had suffered in her apartment and almost no memory at all of 
the events since they had arrived back at his place.  He asked her 
questions and apologized more than once for having -- however 
inadvertently -- put her through such a terrible afternoon.  When 
she was finished, he sat thoughtfully for a long time.  Finally, 
she reached out and took his hand.  
	He looked up, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you, 
I was just thinking.  Kryptonite has *never* had this kind of an 
effect on me before.  While I was fighting Whitehurst, it felt like 
all the other times that I have been exposed to it, and later when I 
regained consciousness at your apartment after the fight, some 
of my powers had been weakened just as on previous occasions.  
If it felt like kryptonite then, why did I have the sharp pains, the 
dizziness and that awful taste in my mouth hours later?" 
	"I don't know ... wait a minute, what pain?  What taste 
in your mouth?  You told me only about the dizziness ... " 
	"I didn't want to worry you." 
	"Worry me!!!  Worry me??  I have done nothing but 
worry!  What made you think that *telling me* would worry 
me?  *Not* knowing what's been going on has been worrying 
me half to death!!" 
	"Lois, I didn't know that it would be this bad.  If I'd 
known ..."
	She was off the window seat and pacing, "Clark Kent, 
how *dare* you!  How dare you not tell me all that was going 
on?  No more secrets you said, we're partners you said!  Well, 
you lied to me!" 
	Her voice had risen, as her anger (fueled by fear of 
loosing him and the overwhelming relief of finding out that he 
was all right) had escalated.  It had all been just *too much.*  
The tears were flowing now and she stumbled away from him, 
blinded as much by the pent up emotions as she was the tears.  
He was up off the cushions and trying to hold her. 
	"Let me go, Clark!" 
	"No.  You're going to hurt yourself.  You can't see 
where you're going." 
	"I can see just fine, thank you.  I can see a liar right 
now." She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her 
mouth.  Confronted by the expression on his face, her tears 
ceased abruptly.  "Oh, Clark, I ... " 
	"It's all right, Lois.  I understand you're upset and I'm 
sorry that I'm the cause of it.  I never meant to deceive you.  I 
really thought I was helping.  I guess I'm just not used to having 
such a ... formidable ally."  He had hoped to make her smile, 
but he wasn't successful.  "I am truly grateful for all that you did 
for me today.  I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't 
been here.  You probably saved my life.  I think we make a great 
team and I promise that I'll try not to forget that in the future." 
	He gave her a quick hug and then began to move 
around the apartment turning on the lights. 
	"Now we won't be bumping into each other.  Although, 
I wouldn't exactly mind bumping into you ... " 
	There!  He'd gotten her to smile -- even if it was a 
rather woebegone one. 
	She felt terrible about what she had just said.  She 
wanted to apologize, but couldn't seem to form the words.  
Instead she found herself trying match the lighter tone that he 
was using to ease the tension,  "You must be feeling better, 
because you're starting to tease me again." 
	He walked forward, leaned over and kissed her lightly 
on the cheek.  "I'm my old self again, thanks to you."  He seemed 
to suddenly realize that he was still wearing only his sleeping 
shorts, "I think I'll take a shower, get dressed and then we can 
see about fixing something for dinner." 
	He headed for the bedroom and she could hear him 
moving around, opening drawers and the closet door.  She went 
and sat on the sofa and put her head back.  She heard the 
bathroom door shut and the water come on, and she sat and 
thought about what had just happened.  *Why* did I have to fly 
off the handle like that?  Just this morning I promised myself I 
was going to take things easy, play it by ear, one step at a time -- 
and then I go and revert to my old tried-and-true methods; strike 
first, take no prisoners, shoot from the hip.  She sighed, grabbed 
one of the sofa pillows and punched it.  She felt so badly about 
what she had said to Clark.  At that moment she had meant to 
wound him and, boy! had she succeeded.  In her mind she saw 
again the hurt on his face.  He, on the other hand had probably 
really had the quixotic idea that not telling her everything was 
the best thing.  The events of the afternoon had scared the hell 
out of her, but that was no excuse for what she had done.  She 
brought the pillow up to her face and screamed into its muffling 
folds, then leaned her head back against the sofa once more.  
That felt better. 
	So ... he hadn't *lied* to her per se, he had just left out 
certain pertinent facts.  Which is exactly what he'd been doing 
from the moment that he'd met her, now that she thought about 
it.  When he does lie, he's not very good at it -- it's a wonder that 
he's succeeded at this for as long as he has.  She thought back to 
some of the lame, silly or really bizarre excuses that he had used 
to slip away from her.  He's probably able to pull it off because 
this farm-boy-comes-to-the-big-city act of his must be so 
ingrained by now as to be second nature to him.  Still, she 
wished she had noticed it sooner -- but why should she have?  
What would she have looked for?  Right from the start, he had 
been different from anyone she had ever met; ballroom dancing 
with Nigerian princesses, reading Chinese or giving her a dose 
of her own medicine with that godzilla doll business.  On one 
hand he had challenged her as no one else ever had, and on the 
other he was always just so ... so ... Clark-like that she hadn't 
seen all the other fascinating stuff waiting just below the 
surface. 
	She heard the water shut off in the bathroom.  So, what 
now, Lois?  Are we at plan A, B ... what?  Well, first of all -- an 
apology is in order and then ...   She honestly didn't know what 
might happen then.  Clark had been about to confide in her 
when she'd blown up at him, effectively cutting him off.  She 
had to find another way to cope.  All of this was too new and 
she felt that something fragile and precious was at stake.  She 
needed to get a handle on it soon, though.  Their relationship 
was changing and, if she valued it, she needed to change with it.  
She put the pillow back and smoothed its maligned surface with 
her hand.  Just take it one step at a time, Lois, she told herself as 
she got up and headed for the kitchen.  
	She was standing at the sink and moving dirty dishes 
around when he came into the room.  He was dressed in jeans, 
T-shirt and tennis shoes.  She still couldn't get over how different 
he looked without his glasses. 
	"Why don't you let me take care of those.  I can do it so 
fast that it's relatively painless." 
	She moved aside, but as he reached for the faucet she 
stopped him, "Clark, wait a minute, I ... I want to tell you 
something ... " 
	He turned towards her.  
	She took a deep breath, 	"I'm really sorry about what 
I said a while ago, and for losing my temper.  I don't know what 
got into me." 
	"Lois, it's all right.  I understand."  He moved forward 
and grasped her hands, "You have been through a lot in the last 
couple of days -- it's natural that you would have to blow off 
some steam." 
	"But I shouldn't blow up at you." 
	"What are friends for?" 
	"*Not* for that."  She held his hands a little tighter, "I 
hurt you and there's no excuse for that.  I'm sorry." 
	He dropped her hands so he could wrap his arms 
around her, "Apology accepted, and ... I love you." 
	"I love you, too." 
	They held each other for a long time, each thinking 
about how nice this was, how good it felt.  He kissed her 
forehead, and she kissed his cheek.  She ran her fingers through 
the hair at the back of his head and he rubbed his hands across 
her shoulders.  They kissed, and smiled at each other and kissed 
again.  They were both enjoying this, but neither one was ready 
to go any further yet; there was too much that still had to be 
said, everything was still too new.  The love was there -- the 
intimacy would come when they were ready.  They pulled apart 
without embarrassment.  He turned back to the sink and she 
went to restore some order to the window seat. 
	When she came back into the room, he had cleaned up 
everything and was looking through the cabinets for something 
to make for dinner.  "I haven't had a chance to go grocery 
shopping since I got back to Metropolis, so this may be something 
of a challenge." 
	"We could go out." 
	He shook his head, "The way it's coming down outside, 
this seems like a good evening to stay in by the fire." 
	"You don't have a fireplace." 
	"True, but I have you." 
	She laughed,  "Well, well, that's just about the nicest 
compliment that I've gotten in a long time." 
	"Hmm-mm, we'll have to see what we can do about 
that.  In the meantime, my dear, we have some pasta, various 
things in cans ... " he turned around and looked *at* the 
refrigerator, "some peas, spinach and ice cream in the freezer 
and carrots and a green pepper in the vegetable bin.  Except for 
the green pepper, and a couple of eggs, we've already eaten what 
my Mom had sent home with me.  Well, whatever else we have 
for dinner, at least we know that dessert is taken care of.  How 
about if we cook the pasta and heat up some vegetables to go 
with it?" 
	She discovered that she liked being called his 'dear' 
and watching him so casually using one of his powers in front 
of her.  It felt as though she should be pinching herself, 
however.  He was busy pulling out the pots, pans, knives and 
other things that he would need while she watched.  She'd seen 
him cooking before, of course, but that was before she knew he 
was Superman.  Somehow, she thought he'd do it differently 
now -- now that she was in on the secret. 
	"You don't just ... well, use your heat vision or 
something?" 
	"No, there are some things that I do quickly, but 
cooking happens to be one of the things that I like to do slowly.  
After a day of being the Clark Kent that everyone at the Planet 
has gotten used to and the super hero that everyone in 
Metropolis expects to see, it's nice to just come home and listen 
to music or mess around in the kitchen, ordinary, normal things 
like that.  After all, you wouldn't be able to really hear the music 
if you played it fast, would you?  Cooking is like that, too.  If I 
did it fast, I wouldn't be able to enjoy the smells, for example, or 
the different colors, or textures.  Some experiences just 
shouldn't be rushed." 
	'Some experiences just shouldn't be rushed.'  Mmm, 
like getting to know you, she thought, but she said, "How did 
you learn to cook?" 
	"I used to help my Mom in the kitchen when I was 
growing up -- at least, that's the way that I remember it.  You'll 
have to ask her about how much help I really was.  Speaking of 
Mom, I should call them.  They may have seen news reports 
about that Whitehurst business." 
	"I saw one this afternoon and your name was barely 
mentioned, so they probably aren't worried, if that's what you're 
thinking." 
	He was listening to the phone and nodded to 
acknowledge what she had said, "They're not home.  I'll call 
back later." 
	He put the phone down and came back to the kitchen.  
He got a couple of onions out, a bottle of cooking wine and 
some herbs. 
	"This is looking interesting.  Have you got a job for 
me?" 
	"Sure, we've got vegetables to cut, and we've got to 
start heating up the water for the pasta ... " 
	While she put water in a pot and put the pot on the 
stove, she thought about what he'd said, 'the Clark Kent that 
everyone at the Planet has gotten used to, the superhero that 
everyone expects to see.'  He hadn't sounded bitter when he'd 
said it, more matter-of-fact as though playing a part and hiding 
who he truly was were just a matter of routine.  It reminded her 
of some of her own childhood experiences when she'd try 
(usually unsuccessfully) to live up to her father's expectations.  
They had a lot in common, she mused, except that Clark had 
suppressed his natural abilities where she had felt compelled to 
strive beyond her own. 
	She picked up one of the knives and started cutting up 
the green pepper, "Clark?  What was it like for you growing up 
with super powers?" 
	"Well, I wasn't born with these abilities.  They came on 
gradually -- unexpectedly -- and it was usually scary at first.  I 
didn't know what was happening to me.  If it hadn't been for my 
parents, I don't know what I would have done.  They helped me 
see the good side of all of it, they encouraged me and never let 
me feel that I was strange or some kind of a freak because of it." 
	"Are they from Krypton, too, then?" 
	He smiled, "No, they're human -- two very 
extraordinary humans." 
	She thought some more while they worked on the rest 
of the vegetables. 
	"Why didn't you know that you were going to have 
these powers?" 
	"I didn't even know for sure where I'd come from until 
you and I first encountered Bureau 39.  Up until then, I wasn't 
sure whether I was some kind of experiment by our county, 
some other county, or even an alien from space." 
	A thought occurred to her.  She looked up at him, 
"The globe?" 
	"Yes, the globe.  It contained a message from my 
Kryptonian father.  He told me how he and my mother had 
worked day and night to make a little space ship for me that 
would carry me to safety when Krypton exploded.  The ship 
landed near Smallville, Kansas in May of 1966 and that's when 
Jonathan and Martha Kent found me."  He stopped and turned to 
Lois, "They took me in even though they had no idea where I'd 
come from.  They raised me and took care of me and loved me -- 
unconditionally."  He turned back to his work, and his voice was 
trembling a little now, "That meant everything to me, because 
when my ... talents ... began to show up, it would have been so 
easy to feel sorry for myself because of all that I had to give up, 
or to feel like a total outsider because I was growing up so 
differently from all the other kids.  Their love, their acceptance 
of me -- as I am -- was a wonderful gift."  He took a deep breath 
and let it go, then smiled at her.  She laid a sympathetic hand on 
his arm.  He looked back down at what they'd been doing, "Let's 
see, we've got everything cut up, so I guess we're ready to start 
cooking." 
	He already had the pan warming up, now he added a 
little bit of olive oil and then the onions and green pepper. 
	"Can you keep an eye on the water, and when it starts 
to boil, add the pasta?" 
	"Sure.  You don't mind me asking all these questions, 
do you?" 
	"Of course not.  No more secrets, remember?" 
	"OK.  Tell me some more about how you got your 
powers, then.  Did you just wake up with them one day?" 
	"No, it wasn't all at once.  They just appeared as I was 
growing up.  Suddenly I could see through things, or one day I'd 
fall down and wouldn't get hurt.  There would be months, or 
years even between the appearances of new ones.  I never knew