Krypton's Legacy

By Deadly Chakram <dwelf82@yahoo.com>

Rated: PG-13

Submitted: June 2016

Summary: With Krypton dying, Jor-El and his family escape to a
little planet called Earth. But even with all of Jor-El's
planning, he could not have anticipated what comes after.

Story Size: 87,281 words (486Kb as text)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make nothing. All characters, plot
points, and recognizable dialogue belong to DC Comics, Warner
Brothers, December 3rd Productions and anyone else with a stake
in the Superman Franchise. I don't own Batman or Oa either. They
are also the property of DC Comics.

Author's Note: This plot bunny was spawned by a discussion on
the Lois and Clark fanfiction message boards. It asked a simple
question -- what if Jor-El or Lara had come to Earth with the
infant Kal-El? This where my muse went with it.

***

"*Jor!*" came the desperate, pained cry.

It cut over the loud rumbling of the planet as it lurched and
trembled beneath every Kryptonian's feet. For long moments, the
planet shook violently. Walls cracked. Books tumbled off shelves.
Monitors flickered between research work and snowy static.
Instruments clattered to the floors, some breaking upon impact. A
glass filled with a sweet blue beverage danced off the cluttered
workstation and hit the floor, smashing into a thousand pieces
and sending the drink everywhere.

"Lara?" he called, trying to make himself heard over the clamor
of noise.

At last, the planet gave a final shuddering heave and then
quieted down, as though it had exhausted itself with the latest
series of quakes. Jor-El abandoned his grip on his workstation
and rushed to his wife's side.

"Is it...?" he asked, breathlessly.

"Soon," she replied, nodding. "It's starting."

Jor-El glanced around at the mess in his home. "It's ending,"
he said in a quiet tone. He shook his head. "The people..."

"They still won't listen, will they?" Lara asked, taking his
hand as he slunk down to sit on the floor beside the couch where
his wife lay, her hand on her swollen belly.

He shook his head again, this time sadly. "They're blind. They
can't see...or *refuse* to see...that this planet is dying. We
*must* leave before the core becomes too unstable."

"This is not your fault," she reminded him. "You've been
warning the council for years that this was going to happen. They
were the ones who chose to withhold the information from the
people, hoping that you were wrong, until it was too late and the
core began to become unstable."

"I know," he whispered. Then, "Lara, the colony ship leaves in
less than twelve hours, to search for a new home. Get on that
ship. Save yourself, and our son. Our people need him. One day,
he *will* be wed to Zara, and lead our people as their ruler.
Please."

But the woman shook her head. "No."

"Lara...think of the child! It took us so long to conceive him.
Please...don't stay. Don't make him lose his life. There is
nothing here. Only death."

"I'm not going without you."

"You know I have to stay. I have to make the people
realize..."

"It's too late for that!" Lara cut in. "They've sealed their
own fate. Don't throw your life away with theirs."

"I can't just..."

"Forget the people of Krypton, Jor! You've been warning them
for years. They've had their chance. Those who've listened will
be on that ship. Those who won't have had their chance. This
child *needs* his father."

Jor-El took a deep breath and let it out of his nose in a
controlled manner. It served to calm some of his anxiety. After a
long moment, he dipped his head in a nod.

"All right."

"Good. I've packed everything we'll need. All we need to do
is..."

Lara's voice cut off as her body spasmed with pain. She grasped
Jor-El's hand tightly and squeezed as the pain rolled over her.
Jor-El's features deepened into a frown. This should not be.
Their child could not be born now. He was not due to make his
appearance into the world for another three or four weeks.

Weeks that Krypton would not see, he knew now with certainty.

At last, the contraction seemed to abate. He wiped away a bead of
sweat from Lara's brow with his thumb.

"Are you okay?"

For a moment, she didn't answer. Then, finally, "I think so."

"Here," Jor-El said, straightening as he stood. "Let me get
you something to drink. Then we'll secure spots on the colony
ship."

"No time," Lara said, sudden panic in her voice. "He's
coming."

Jor-El's head snapped around to look at his wife. A dark, wet
stain was spreading on the couch beneath her.

"Oh, no," Jor-El whispered.

"It's too early," Lara said, echoing his thoughts.

He shook his head. "He'll be fine," he vowed.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I refuse to let anything bad happen," he said. "Just
try to relax. I'll call for the doctor."

Lara nodded. "Okay." She braced herself as another contraction
hit.

Jor-El went to the small wall panel and pressed one of the
buttons there. He waited for a response, impatiently tapping his
foot.

"Yin Shen," came the voice over the speaker. "What can I help
you with, Jor-El?"

"Lara's in labor," he said, forgoing the usual pleasantries.
"We need you."

There was a pause on the other end. "I'll be right there."

Jor-El didn't respond. He was already on the move, striding back
across the room to his wife. He put out his hand, helping her to
stand, then supported her as she shuffled her way out of the
room. Together, they left Jor-El's work space behind and made it
to the bedroom. Jor-El pulled back the sheets before Lara laid
down, then used them to cover her up to make her as comfortable
as possible.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"For what?"

"I never meant for our son to enter this world in this way. Too
early and amid too much chaos."

"Oh, Lara," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and
brushing his hand over her hair, soothing her. "You've done
nothing wrong."

"Maybe I have. I wanted a baby in the worst way. But maybe I've
condemned him to death before he can even be born. Our planet is
dying. Our people are facing homelessness at best, total
annihilation at worst. What kind of life can we give him?"
Desperation and an intense sadness suffused her words.

"The best we can," Jor-El answered in a quiet voice. "We
fought hard to have him and we'll fight just as hard, if not
harder, to give him the best life possible. Even if he spends his
whole life on the floating palace with his soon-to-be bride, it
will be a life, and a comfortable one at that."

"Promise?"

"I swear it. Rest now. The doctor is on his way, and you'll
need your strength for what's to come."

"I'll try."

Less than half an hour later, Yin arrived, a robotic assistant
lugging the doctor's instruments. Jor-El greeted both man and
machine at the door. Yin immediately apologized for the delay.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," he said as he followed Jor-El
through his home. "These last quakes seriously damaged the
hospital. It was difficult to get what I needed. It's actually a
good thing this baby will be delivered here."

Jor-El nodded. "The hospital is right on one of the major fault
lines," he said.

They reached the bedroom.

"Lara," Yin said, greeting her with a smile. "How are you
feeling?"

"Okay, so far," she said. "But the contractions are coming
stronger, if not yet closer together."

"Let me take a look at you," Yin said. "Jor?"

He looked to Lara.

"It's okay," Lara assured him. "I'll be fine."

Jor-El nodded. "I'll give you some privacy," he said, backing
toward the door.

He shut the door as he passed into the hallway, where he
proceeded to pace. Lara would be fine, he knew that in his heart.
But time was running out. Time to get onto the floating palace.
Time before Krypton's unstable core tore the planet to pieces. A
wry smile crossed his lips. His son, still unborn, was not only
impatient, but had the most incredible timing. It would make for
a great story, once the boy was older.

He stopped his pacing as the door to the bedroom reopened. Yin
stepped out.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

The doctor nodded. "Everything looks great. She's already
halfway there. The baby looks good. Still a little high, but so
far, everything is good."

Jor-El breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't realized he was
holding in. "I'm glad. Can we move her to the floating
palace?" he asked anxiously.

Yin shook his head. "I would not risk it. She may be lucky and
deliver quickly. I would not dare risk her being in the middle of
a transport when the time comes to push. You can go in to be with
her. She can have ice chips. But let her rest as much as
possible."

He nodded. "I will."

Yin smiled. "I know you will. Go on. Go to her."

"If you need anything..."

"I'll let you know."

Again, Jor-El nodded. He called for one of his robotic assistants
and instructed him to ensure that Yin's needs were met while the
doctor waited things out in the living room. Then he ducked back
into the bedroom. Lara lay awake, her strawberry blonde hair a
stark contrast against the dark blue, nearly black sheets. He
couldn't help but thinking that she looked so small there in the
overly large bed. Small and frightened, but also somehow glowing
with confidence as she waited to birth their son. He crossed the
room and pulled his favorite chair to the side of the bed. He sat
and took Lara's hand in his own as another contraction rocked
her.

"What can I do for you?" he asked when it finally subsided.

"Just be here," she said, closing her eyes briefly.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, using his other hand to
stroke her hair. "Sleep now."

She hesitated, but nodded. "All right."

She settled into the pillows and closed her eyes. Soon, she was
asleep, though Jor-El could tell from their long years together
that it was light and would be easily broken. He only hoped her
contractions would not rob her of the rest she needed. She'd
been awake half the night with him, trying to find some suitable
place for the floating palace to go so that a new Krypton could
be established. So far, it had been a frustratingly fruitless
search. The universe was too vast. And he had waited too long to
begin the search. He should never have wasted his time trying to
fix the problems Krypton had with its core.

He looked down at his wife's sleeping form. Should he call ahead
to the ship and ask them to wait? Did he dare jeopardize the
safety of those aboard? While it *was* possible for his son to be
born before the ship departed, what if Lara's labor lasted far
longer than the ship was currently willing to wait? Krypton would
truly die if those potential survivors perished. No, he could not
ask for them to put themselves in peril. Not when he had no idea
how long it would be before his son was born. Not when Zara, heir
to Krypton's throne, was on that ship.

All he could do, for the moment, was hope and pray that Lara
delivered the baby fast enough so that they could get on that
ship.

Although...

He considered moving Lara, now, while she was only in the first
stages of labor. He knew at least a thousand people had chosen to
be a part of the expedition to find a new home, likely more.
Doctors would be among them. Lara could labor and deliver safely
while aboard the ship, whether it remained docked or made its way
through space. True, Yin had a point that Lara could go into
labor in the midst of a move to the ship, but the risk of that
was small, wasn't it? She'd only just begun the birthing
process. He gently removed his hand from Lara's grasp, careful
not to wake her. He went to the wall panel and pressed a series
of buttons, in an attempt to contact the ship directly. There was
no answer.

His brow furrowed. He tried a different series of buttons, trying
to contact the palace itself, the one built of stone and crystal,
which stood gleaming in the center of the city where Jor-El
himself lived. Again, no one answered. Frantic, he tried the dock
where the ship was stationed.

"Hello," said a pleasant voice.

"Hello, this is Jor-El. I need to be connected with the floating
palace, right away, please."

"I'm sorry, Lord El. The ship has departed."

"Departed?" He had to work hard to keep his voice a low
whisper, in an effort not to wake Lara. "What do you mean,
*departed*?"

"They left," was the simple reply.

"How? When?"

"Just after the last of the bad quakes," said the voice on the
other end. At least the girl sounded truly apologetic, he
thought. "They said they could no longer wait, that it was
getting too dangerous."

"And no one thought to contact me?" he almost roared in
indignation.

"I'm sorry, my lord. I don't know anything about that, only
that the palace is gone," came the reply.

"Fools," Jor-El muttered under his breath, though he understood
their fear. Still, the quakes hadn't been bad enough to indicate
that the planet was going to die at that very moment. "Did
everyone make it aboard?"

He heard a clicking of computer keys as the woman checked. "Not
everyone. Most, though. I see a total of twelve hundred and
thirty two. Fifteen hundred and six were supposed to be
aboard."

It made Jor-El's heart glad to see that so many had escaped, yet
it made his heart bleed for those whose only chance at survival
had been jerked out of their grasp.

"Did they say anything about what their coordinates would be?"
It was a long shot, but he had to ask.

"I'm afraid not," came the reply after another short pause
while the owner of the voice checked.

Jor-El sighed. "I didn't think so. Thank you for your help."

"My pleasure, my lord."

Jor-El ended the call.

"Jor? Is something wrong?"

He turned back to where Lara lay. "The ship," he said,
swallowing around his despair. He could not -- would not -- lie
to her. "It's gone."

"Oh, no," Lara groaned. "What do we do now?"

"I'll have our own ship readied for departure," he replied,
decisively. "We'll go it alone, try to meet up with the mother
ship on our own. We *will* survive this, my love."

"How will we find them? They can be anywhere."

He shook his head as he thought. "We'll broadcast a constant
signal as we travel. I'm confident they'll find us. They'll be
looking for others who might still leave this planet. If
anything, they are sure to be looking for the future king of our
people."

"I hope so. Our ship...it's not exactly meant to traverse the
universe in." Though she tried to hide it, her worry showed
clearly enough in her voice.

"It will serve," Jor-El said, his own voice a promise.

He once again turned back to the wall panel. Pressing a button,
he ordered his household robotic staff to provision his ship as
best they could with all of the essentials they and the baby
would need. He had left instructions with them, when he'd first
realized that Krypton was living on borrowed time. Food and water
were of paramount importance, followed closely by the chips and
computers which housed all the research he'd done over the
course of his life, including that which he'd done, up to that
very moment, in looking for a new home for his people. Everything
else was far less important. The ship would keep them warm and
comfortable even in the cold endlessness of space. Changes of
clothes would be nice, but not the worst thing to leave behind.

Next, he commanded the robotic laboratory assistants who worked
alongside him to check over the ship and to make a few
adjustments to it, upgrading the computers and adding extra
shielding to protect them against the dangers of space travel.
Lara was right -- their ship was far more suited for quick trips
to neighboring planets and galaxies for diplomatic missions than
it was for indefinite travel. As a precaution, he had extra fuel
cells loaded aboard the craft.

Satisfied that they at least had a plan, he felt himself relax,
though only slightly. His son would soon be born into a dying
world. But at least he would live.

Jor-El smiled at his wife and went back to her side. "There.
Everything is in motion now. All you have to worry about is
becoming a mother."

Lara's hand instinctively went to her stomach. She rubbed it
lovingly. "After all this time, I can hardly wait to meet this
little boy."

Jor-El's hand covered hers as he smiled at her stomach. "Me
too. You hear that, Kal? Your mom and I are ready to meet you."

But the baby wasn't yet ready to meet his parents. For all his
rush to arrive weeks early, he kept Lara in labor well into the
day. And then, suddenly, his sense of urgency seemed to return
all at once. Lara's labor, stalled for several hours, took a
swift turn. She very quickly moved into the next phase of the
birthing process. The baby, tiny as he was, easily emerged from
her sweating and tired body after only four serious pushes.

Naked and screaming, the son of Jor-El made his debut known.
Jor-El could only stare in wonder as Yin cleaned the newborn and
checked him over. The boy was so tiny and so delicate that Jor-El
could scarcely believe it -- just five pounds, but tall for a
newborn. Yin swaddled the baby before handing him over to Lara,
and the new mother held him close, openly weeping for joy.

"He's perfect," she said, her eyes never leaving the boy.

"Yes, he is," Yin agreed. "I'm happy to say that he's small,
but he's completely healthy. His lungs sound perfect,
thankfully. I'd feared that, born so prematurely, he might have
difficulty breathing on his own. But he seems to be absolutely
fine. Congratulations."

"Thank you," they both replied with one voice.

"I will let myself out," Yin said, smiling at the new family.

Jor-El looked up at his old friend, though it was an effort to
tear his eyes from the sleeping form of his son. He wondered if
the man would deliver any more children before the planet died.
He knew, with certainty, that he would never see the man again,
save for past the veil of death. Yin staunchly believed that
Krypton could still be saved, despite the years of work and
research that Jor-El and others had done on the planet's core.
He would die along with the millions more who either did not have
the means to escape, or refused to, as Yin did.

"Goodbye, my friend," he whispered after Yin's retreating
form. Then, to his son, "Welcome to the world, my little Kal."

The planet, however, remained restless, blind to the peaceful
moment being shared between Krypton's newest family. It groaned
and bucked as a fresh series of quakes rocked it. Lara clutched
the baby to her breast fearfully, while Jor-El wrapped his arms
around both, as if he could ward off any danger with that simple
act. For at least ten minutes, the planet's unrest continued
while Kal screamed in terror.

"We need to go," Lara said when it was finally over. She looked
down at her son's face, tears glistening in her eyes. "Oh, Kal.
It's okay. Mommy's here. Ssh, baby. It's all right. I'm
here." She looked at her husband as she gently rocked and
bounced the newborn. "Oh, Jor. I've been dreaming about this my
whole life -- holding my baby for the first time. But I never
imagined it would be like this. We can't stay. We need to leave.
The quakes are getting worse."

Jor-El sighed. "I agree. But first, you need rest."

Lara shook her head. "I can't...we can't afford to wait. I've
got this feeling, deep inside. If we don't leave soon, we won't
be able to."

"I know," Jor-El admitted. "All of the data that I've been
collecting on the quakes...they keep getting worse. But stay here
and feed Kal. I need some time to finish installing a few things
on our ship. An upgrade to the heat shields. The hyperlight
drive. It shouldn't take me long."

"All right," Lara relented. "But hurry, please."

Jor-El smiled at his wife. "I promise."

Kal squeaked his displeasure at not being fed yet. Lara rocked
him and spoke in a low tone for a moment before shrugging her top
down to allow her son to nurse. For a moment, Jor-El watched,
beaming with pride, before rushing off to finish the final
preparations. Lara was right. He could sense it, even without the
ever more dire data that his computers kept collecting on
Krypton's impending demise. There was no time to lose.

He worked as quickly as he dared, every passing second weighing
more heavily on him than the last. Several times, he had to force
himself to stop and take a breath to calm his shaking hands. He
could not afford any mistakes. His family's survival depended on
his competence. Still, even with those small delays, all was soon
ready. He tore his way through his home, making his way back to
his wife and child. Lara had Kal on her shoulder and was rubbing
his back. As Jor-El reached the bed, the baby loosed a tiny
belch, then yawned and closed his eyes once more.

"It's time," he said simply.

Lara handed Kal over to him as she tried to stand. She winced in
pain as she moved. Jor-El reached down and helped her out of the
bed, offering his arm for her to hold and lean on. She did so,
offering him a grateful smile. Together, they made slow, but
steady progress through their home. Lara stopped for a moment
outside of Kal's nursery -- a room he was destined to never use.
The door was slightly ajar and she pushed it open all the way to
gaze inside. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Jor-El saw it
and wiped it away with his thumb before planting a kiss on the
top of her head.

"He'll never get to use any of this," she said in sad
realization. To Jor-El, it sounded as if the enormity of the
situation was finally hitting her.

"No, but, when we link up with the others, we will make an even
better room for him," he promised her. He knew it wasn't quite
the answer Lara wanted, but he too felt the overwhelming sadness
of leaving behind the home they had made together, and all the
dreams they'd once had about raising their family in that same
home.

A mild tremor shook the house. They braced themselves as best
they could. Luckily, it did not last long and they were soon at
the door. Just outside, their ship lay in wait for them. Again,
they both hesitated, giving their home one last look, trying to
remember every detail. Then, with a sigh and a silent look from
one to the other, they exited their home for the last time. Once
they were in the ship, Lara secured Kal in the specialized pod
that Jor-El had installed. It would keep him completely safe and
allow him to sleep in comfort during their travels.

Jor-El and Lara strapped themselves in and the ship roared into
life. Jor-El pressed a series of buttons and the ship began to
rise into the air, just as the most violent quake yet rocked the
planet. Cracks appeared in the ground, right where the ship had
rested only moments before. Dust rose into the air. The sky shone
blood red with the setting sun. As the ship rose higher into the
air, the shaking of the planet became less and less noticeable.
Jor-El watched out of the window as the ship finally cleared the
atmosphere and entered into the vast, cold reaches of space. He
adjusted the temperature inside the ship, making it warmer,
mostly for the sake of Kal. He was aware that, as a premature
baby, Kal would need help keeping his body temperature where it
needed to be. Then he brought his gaze back to the window.

Krypton hung motionless against the blackness of the universe,
distant, cold, and alone. And yet, it looked peaceful and silent.
For long moments, Jor-El watched as his home grew inexorably
smaller as the ship put it behind them.

Then, in a violent explosion of light, Krypton died.

Pieces of the planet flew out in every direction, doomed to spend
eternity zooming through the universe. Tears pooled in Jor-El's
eyes as he looked away, and one or two slipped down his cheeks.
All those poor souls, lost forever. The close call it had been
for he himself to escape with his family. The loss of his world
and sudden homelessness. All of it weighed heavily on his mind. A
quick glance at Lara showed him that she felt the same way.

Kal cried as the ship sped away. Bits of Krypton, now
radioactively charged by the blast of its death, hitched a ride
in its wake, unbeknownst to the occupants of the ship. Some
larger chunks hit the ship and bounced off the metal sides. It
sounded like they had created small dents in the ship. Jor-El had
known that was a possibility. After all, the ship was barely more
than a recreational vehicle, meant for trips to Krypton's
nearest interstellar neighbors, not for voyages across the
entirety of space. He only hoped the ship would last until they
could find the rest of their people.

Static flickered across the monitors as debris from the explosion
continued to pelt the ship. The shockwave of the blast caught up
to them and sent them hurdling through space. Jor-El lost control
of the vehicle until, at last, the wave passed them and the ship
was able to settle once more. But some of the monitors continued
to stay offline.

"Why haven't those computers come back?" Lara asked over her
shoulder as she went to check on Kal. In a moment, she returned
with him in her arms, swaddled in a deep blue blanket, the mark
of their house stitched into the soft fabric.

"I'm not sure. Could be interference from the shockwave that
needs to work itself out. Could be damage from the debris. Either
way, I'll see what I can do to fix them. Don't worry about
them. Luckily, they are the least important ones right now. Here,
let's start scanning for any messages from the mother ship."

He pressed two buttons on the control panel and twisted a knob.
Then he sat back and allowed the computer to scan for radio waves
that matched the unique signature for the floating palace. He
wondered, for a moment, what direction they should travel in. But
the truth was, there was no telling which way the mother ship may
have gone. He turned the autopilot on and turned his attention to
his son. Lara saw him looking at the boy and handed him over to
his father.

Jor-El took the child into his arms and, for the first time,
really got to study the boy's features. He could see so much of
himself in Kal already, though the infant had a lot more growing
to do. Early as he'd been born, he still had some filling out to
do. Jor-El could cradle Kal's entire head in one hand. But he
was strong! A tiny hand wriggled out of the loose swaddle and
blindly grabbed Jor-El's pinky finger, gripping it with a
strength the man hadn't thought possible for so young a child.

He was all at once a fragile, yet strong newborn. Jor-El had no
doubts that he would grow to be an impressive man. A man who
Jor-El would teach to be a true and compassionate leader, so that
their people, the tattered remnants of their society, would
flourish, no matter where they might make their new home. He
would ensure that Kal would be a worthy match for the infant
princess he was to wed.

"My little Kal," Jor-El whispered to the now calm and sleeping
child. "My pride and joy. You don't know it, but your mother
and I have waited a long time to meet you. And we love you, son.
So, so much."

Kal took no notice of his father's words, and, instead, slept
on, peaceful and unaware of how traumatic the day had been.

***

Days turned into weeks. There was no sign of the mother ship. The
computers picked up nothing, remaining traitorously silent. Food
and fuel reserves steadily declined. Jor-El and Lara grew more
nervous by the day. Soon, Jor-El turned his attention to looking
for a hospitable place to refuel and resupply their ship, so that
they could comfortably continue their mission to be reunited with
the rest of Krypton's survivors.

Day by day, Kal grew. His weight increased. His body filled out.
He got longer. His strength grew. His eyes focused and before
long, he rewarded his parents with a huge lopsided smile. He did
not laugh, but they could see him trying to figure out how to do
so. He began to hold his head up and took interest in the
isolated world around him.

Despite all that had happened, it was the happiest time in Jor-El
and Lara's life together. Though they had enjoyed their marriage
for many years, it had always been missing a child. And now that
Kal was finally there, in their arms, they could not have been
more thrilled. Jor-El had never seen Lara's eyes sparkle quite
so brightly before. Her smile had never been so wide. And he
himself had never laughed so much in his life as he did now, at
each and every moment spent with his son.

Life was good.

"Lara," Jor-El said late one night as Kal slumbered. "I think
I found a place to land."

"Land?" she asked, half asleep in her chair.

He nodded. "A planet well suited to our needs. A place where
we'll be able to breathe the air, eat the food, drink the water.
I'm not sure if they possess the fuel we need, but, if anything,
I should be able to rig up some new system to meet our needs.
Besides, it's our food and water reserves that I'm the most
worried about at the moment."

"I am too," she said, waking a bit more fully. "How long?"

"A few more days," he said. Then he sighed. "Two months. Two
months and not a single shred of evidence that the mother ship is
out there."

"You don't think...?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "They are out there, alive
and well. I'm sure of it. Something must have happened to their
transmitter, or maybe they are just too far away for us to pick
up anything."

"So...what do we do?"

"I don't know. I'll check over the outside receiver once we
land on this new planet...Earth, the inhabitants call it. I'll
try to boost its power. Maybe it just isn't strong enough to
detect a signal."

"What do we know about this...Earth?" Lara asked, looking at
the details listed on the computer.

"From what I can tell, the inhabitants of the planet are good
people, if not primitive in terms of their technology, when
compared to our own people. But the vast majority seem to be good
people, living their lives as peacefully as they can. My plan is
to land here," he said, pointing to the screen and enlarging the
area selected, "in a land called America. I believe we may have
our best chance of finding what we need there. It seems to be a
land of prosperity."

"That is good," she agreed. She studied more of the photos that
popped up on the screen. "The people...they look exactly like
us."

"Another reason why I've chosen this planet," Jor-El agreed.
"No need to scare the people of Earth with tales of people from
other planets landing on their own. We can, I hope, stay as
inconspicuous as possible -- be in and out before anyone is the
wiser. Then we can continue our search for the mother ship,
though, I admit, finding them is only going to become all the
more difficult, with how much time has already passed."

"I know," Lara said with a sigh. "Unless...unless we make a
life on Earth."

"I don't know, my love. While the planet is similar enough to
our home world, Earth's sun is yellow, not red. How that may
affect us, over a long stretch of time, I cannot be certain. But
we can try. For Kal's sake, we will try."

***

Hours turned into days before the ship entered into the Milky Way
galaxy, making as swift a course as possible for Earth. Jor-El
and Lara spent their time playing with and fawning over their
son, as well as learning as much as they could about the planet.
Tinkering with what scraps he had aboard the vessel, Jor-El
created two translator devices for Lara and himself, which would
not only translate the languages of Earth to Kryptonian, but
would transmit what they said in the native tongue of those they
might speak to. True, the design was crude, but the units would
suffice for their needs. And, if all went as Jor-El hoped, there
would be no need for them to interact with the people of Earth.

They were half a day from their destination when the attack came.
Interstellar pirates happened upon their ship. Shots were fired
at the family's ship, causing severe damage to the vehicle.
Jor-El fought hard to keep control, maneuvering as best he could
to stay out of the pirates' reach. He knew the markings on the
other vehicle. Pentharks. Cannibalistic beings who roamed the
entire universe, never settling in one spot. Making it to Earth
was their only chance. The oxygen-rich atmosphere of the planet
would be fatally toxic to their attackers.

Another blast hit the ship as it entered into the Earth's
atmosphere. All of the instruments went blank or filled with
static. The control panel smoked. What little control Jor-El had
managed to keep from the first attack was now totally lost. The
ship went into a free-fall, hurtling toward the planet's surface
at a terrifying rate. Flames engulfed the outside of the ship and
Jor-El sent up a prayer to Rao that the heat shielding would
hold. If it didn't, they would be incinerated in seconds. The
ship picked up even more speed and the ground rushed up to meet
them. Jor-El wrestled with the manual control to deploy a twin
set of parachutes to slow them, but by the time he got it to
work, it was too late for them to do much good.

With Kal already secured in his specialized cradle, Jor-El and
Lara strapped in and braced themselves for impact. But nothing
could have prepared them for the actual shock of hitting the
ground, even with the emergency chutes deployed. Dirt and grass
erupted into the air as they touched down, creating a long scar
in the ground as they slid to a stop. Metal crunched and bent at
the impact. Kal, awoken by the jolting crash, screamed in terror.
Jor-El and Lara, despite their safety restraints, felt every
injury caused by the sheer force of the landing and objects that
had torn loose from the inside of the ship which became airborne
and pelted them.

When, at last, the ship came to a final screeching halt, Jor-El
unfastened his restraints. Drawing a breath hurt. He suspected
cracked or even broken ribs. Warm, sticky blood rolled down his
head and body from a number of wounds. Looking at Lara, he
suspected the same with her. She rose slowly out of her seat and
immediately made her way to Kal. His cradle had come loose and
damaged in the crash, but the baby was, thankfully, unharmed.

She picked him up and cuddled him close, wincing with pain as she
pressed him to her chest. Still scared, he continued to wail,
even though Lara rocked and whispered soothingly in his ear.
Eventually, though, he cried himself back to an exhausted sleep.

"We need to get out of here," Lara said, not looking up from
her son. "Someone had to have seen that."

"I agree," Jor-El said, though it pained him to say so. They
were both hurt and needed time to assess the damage to themselves
and their ship.

He helped her exit the battered vehicle, his arm around her body
as much as he dared. They leaned on one another, taking strength
and aid from the other. Leaving everything behind, they emerged
out in a quiet field. Jor-El craned his neck to look at the sky.

Night.

A deep blue-black sky with a billion distant points of starlight
arranged in strange patterns that the man had never seen before.
*Alien*, was the word that came to mind. He'd hoped to arrive
during the daylight hours, to experience for himself how strange
and new the rays of a yellow sun would be. Would it warm his
skin, the way his native red sun had? How odd would it be, to
look up into the sky and see it awash in blue, as opposed to the
pinks of his home? Was his recent research correct, when it
suggested that this sun might react with his Kryptonian genetics
to give him powers?

A cool, comfortable breeze swept over the nearly silent field.
Frogs and crickets, hidden in the blades of grass, were the only
sound, aside from the crackling of fire. Behind Jor-El, the heat
of the flames that had once licked the sides of his ship was
already starting to die. He took a deep breath, as deep as he
dared with his aching ribs, and savored the new scents that his
nostrils inhaled. Rich soil. Thick grass, springy beneath his
feet. Even the wind smelled differently than it had on Krypton,
though it was not unpleasant, just foreign.

Then, in the distance, shouting, and what Jor-El could only
assume, from his research, was the baying of hounds. Someone had
obviously witnessed the ship's descent, as the voices were
growing closer.

"Come," he said to his wife. "We need to find a safe place."

Lara nodded and clutched Kal closer. "That way," she said,
pointing.

Jor-El nodded in turn. He had no idea why his wife had chosen
that direction, but he was never one to argue with her. He simply
followed her lead, urging them both to move as fast as they
could, even though it pushed them past the point of pain. Every
breath hurt. Every movement sent shockwaves of agony throughout
their battered bodies. They cut across the field to the road,
where they would not leave any footprints in the hard-packed dirt
as evidence of their passing. Soon, the sound of voices grew ever
more distant, as did the barking of the dogs.

"They must have found the ship," Jor-El said, mostly to
himself.

It was the only thing, he reasoned, that would distract any
pursuers. He wasn't even sure why he felt so afraid of whoever
was behind them. Instinct fueled him, propelling him forward. He
had to get his family to safety. That was of paramount
importance.

Before long, the empty fields gave way to farmland, with neat
little houses dotting the landscape. Lara ignored the houses for
a time, before she finally began to lag behind, her remaining
energy almost completely spent. She tugged on Jor-El's sleeve to
get his attention.

"I can't go on much further," she said, gasping for breath.

"Okay," he said, stopping and take stock of their
surroundings.

They were at the very edge of one of the farmsteads, practically
at the front gate leading up to the house. A shed stood to one
side, silent and dark. But lights blazed merrily in the house's
windows, beacons of warmth and hope in the darkness. Some of the
windows were open, allowing the night breeze in.

Behind them, the sound of dogs grew closer once more. Jor-El
worriedly looked from side to side, trying to find a safe place
to lay low and wait for the threat to his family to pass. The
shed, he decided. Limping, the young family made their way to the
shed, careful not to make any noise. But the door was locked.

"The house?" Lara asked in a whisper.

Jor-El frowned. There was no way to tell if they could trust the
occupants.

"For Kal's sake," she pressed. "He's shivering."

Jor-El looked at the infant in her arms. As Lara had said, the
baby was shaking and trying to nuzzle in closer to his mother,
even in his sleep. He whimpered once. Jor-El had no defense
against that. He nodded and looked back toward the house.

"Okay," he relented. "Just until the danger has passed."

He helped his wife and child to the porch. Now a car's engine
could be heard, faint, but steadily moving closer. Lara collapsed
onto the wooden floor as soon as they reached the door. In the
pools of light coming from beyond the windows, he could see now
that Lara's injuries were worse than he'd feared. She was
having difficulty breathing and blood oozed from dozens of
wounds.

"I'll draw whoever is behind us as far away as I can," he
said, stooping to kiss her lips. "I'll double back once the
area is clear. I don't want them to know you are here, in case
their intentions in following us are less than noble."

"But Jor..." she protested.

"I wish I could stay," he murmured. "But I can't take that
risk. I promise, I will be back for you both as soon as I can.
Keep Kal safe."

"I will."

"I love you," he said, cradling her head and kissing her brow.
He took his son in his arms and kissed his cheek. "And I love
you, my son."

For several heartbeats, he held his son and stared at his perfect
features. Then he gave him one more kiss and placed him back in
Lara's arms. Again, his kissed his wife's lips. Then he pulled
away and hurriedly shambled away from the house.

***

Once alone, Lara knocked on the door, forcing herself to gather
enough energy to rap her knuckles against the outer glass storm
door. She fought to stay awake as she waited for someone to
answer the door. A moment later, she heard the shuffling of
footsteps within the house before the door opened. A kindly man
answered, confusion quickly melting into concern when he saw
her.

"Martha!" he cried over his shoulder, before bending down to
assist Lara. "My God, what happened to you?"

"What is it, Jonathan?" came a female voice, though the owner
was momentarily out of Lara's view.

"A woman," he replied. "She looks to be hurt pretty badly."

He hooked her under the armpits and helped her to stand, ever
mindful of the child she held in her arms.

"Oh, my, " the woman, Martha, said, catching sight of Lara as
Jonathan helped her stand. "Come in. Jonathan, get her to the
couch."

Martha raced ahead. By the time the kind farmer got her to the
couch, Lara could see that it had been set up like a bed, pillows
on one end and a quilted blanket thrown over the back of it,
presumably to help warm her and the baby. Jonathan eased her down
onto the couch and Lara gratefully sank into the cushions, though
she never loosened her tight hold on her son.

"Call Doctor McSwiggan," Martha instructed as she held a glass
of water out toward Lara.

Lara accepted the drink and drained the glass in six large gulps.
Tears stung her eyes as the cold liquid hit her parched throat.

"I'm Martha," the woman said, by way of introduction. "Martha
Kent. That's my husband, Jonathan."

"Lara," she wheezed out after a few long moments of indecision.
"And Kal."

"What happened to you?"

"Accident." It was all she could manage to get out.

"Well, don't worry, we'll get you patched up in no time."

"Please...no."

"Oh, honey, you're in bad shape."

"Can't. Too risky. My husband will be back soon. He'll take
care of things."

"Tim's on his way," Jonathan announced as he reentered the
room.

Terror ran through Lara. Though she knew she looked just like an
Earthling, she could not be sure her body worked the same way as
theirs. True, they had the same parts -- hearts and lungs and the
like, but how could she be sure that this human doctor would not
be able to determine that she and her baby were not of Earth?

"Need to go," she said, trying to push herself back into a
sitting position.

"I'm sorry," Martha said, sympathy in her voice. "But I'm
not sure that's possible. You and your boy need to rest up and
heal. Let me get you something to eat."

Before Lara could decline, the woman was already sweeping out of
the room. Heaviness weighed on Lara and her eyes closed of their
own volition. She could not prevent herself from dozing while Kal
slept on her chest. It was nice, she admitted to herself before
sleep claimed her, to enjoy a simple comfort like the soft
cushions of the couch. Sure, the ship she and her husband had
traveled in had had a plush bed, but after the trauma of the
night, to be warm and safe -- at least, she *hoped* she and Kal
were safe for the moment -- was a great relief. It would likely
be the last bit of comfort she would experience.

She was dying.

She knew it, deep down inside. Her wounds were too grievous.
There was not much to be done. Her life forces were waning as
steadily as the blood which still flowed from the deepest of her
wounds. If not for Kal, she doubted that she would still be
alive. It was only for him that she kept pressing on. His safety.
His chance at life.

"Here," Martha said gently, sitting down on the coffee table.

Lara opened her eyes to see the woman holding a steaming bowl of
soup. She tried to sit up, but she was in too much pain.

"Easy now," Martha cautioned. "Here, let me hold your baby."

Reluctantly, Lara handed Kal over. Martha was right. She *did*
need to eat, if only to fuel her long enough to see Kal happily
and safely in Jor-El's arms once more. Martha took the baby and
Lara took the soup and gratefully ate. But her eyes never left
Kal. Martha held the boy gently and bounced him a little as she
walked around the living room with him. When the boy made a
fussing sound, she smiled down on him and shushed him.

"Hush now, sweet boy," she cooed at him as the baby settled
down once more.

There was a knock at the door and Jonathan went to answer it.
When he returned, he was trailed by a tall, thin man with a
serious demeanor. Jonathan quickly made the introductions and
explained how they'd found Lara on their doorstep. Though Lara
protested, the man checked her over, patching up the worst of her
wounds as best he could, cleaning them with some kind of stinging
liquid with an astringent odor, sewing shut the most gaping ones,
and taping white gauze over the rest, applying pressure as he
worked to stem the flow of her blood.

Then he turned his attention to Kal. Lara watched, wide-eyed and
fearful, as the doctor inspected her son for evidence of injury.
Finding none, he handed back the boy. Then he exited the room,
motioning for Jonathan and Martha to follow him.

"I'm afraid the outlook isn't great," Lara could just barely
hear him say. "She's lost a lot of blood. We need to get her to
the hospital. I've done what I can, but, without better
equipment and blood to transfuse..." his voice trailed off.

"Just tell us what you need from us," Jonathan said. "Whatever
it is to get her the help she needs."

*Lara,* the voice of Jor-El cut into her thoughts, blocking out
all else. *Lara, are you safe?*

*Yes,* she replied, back over their telepathic link. *For the
moment. Where are you?*

*Still running. They are getting closer. *He sounded terrified.

*Jor...I am afraid. My time grows short.*

*No, Lara. Fight! For us. For Kal. You are the strongest person I
know. You must fight now, to be with your family. You must...*

His voice cut off suddenly. Through the telepathic link, she
could hear men shouting and dogs howling. A shot rang out and
suddenly, the link was gone.

*Jor?* she cried out to him, trying to establish a new link and
failing. *JOR???*

But he was gone, lost to her. Tears slipped from her eyes as she
cried aloud, her sob shattering the silence of the living room.
In an instant, Martha and Jonathan were there, the doctor once
again on their heels.

"He's gone," she murmured to herself. "He's gone. Oh, Jor.
Jor. Jor."

"Honey? What's wrong?" Martha said, kneeling by the couch.

"He's gone." She felt completely numb. "My husband."

"Take it easy," Martha tried to soothe, but Lara was past the
point of being comforted. Her heart was broken and her wounds
were catching up to her. Her tenuous grip on life was slipping
rapidly now.

"Take the boy," she urged the other woman. "Take my Kal. Be
good to him. Please. Love him. I'm so sorry, Kal. I'm sorry.
I'm so..."

With that, she felt the last of her life force slip away.
Blackness took her and she breathed her last.

***

"Oh my God," Jonathan said, as Kal slid from his mother's
arms.

Martha grabbed the baby, who woke and began to frantically cry.
She tried to soothe him as Tim checked Lara for signs of life. He
shook his head as he tried to find a pulse, and found none. He
checked for breath and failed to find that as well. He attempted
CPR, but the woman was gone.

"I'm sorry," he said, when he finally stopped trying to revive
her, some ten minutes later. "She's gone."

He set the woman's wrist down again, as he'd been checking once
more for a pulse. As he did so, his fingertips brushed against
the delicate bracelet that Lara had been wearing. He studied it
for a moment. He rubbed his finger over it once more.

"Stunning," he commented. Then, "What's this?"

A red light had begun to slowly flicker on it. Tim peered at it
quizzically.

"What on Earth?" he said again.

The pinpoint of light expanded. Tim pulled his hand away from the
woman's wrist, a crease of worry furrowing his brow. He was not
a moment too soon. Lara's body began to shimmer, fade, and then,
simply ceased to be. Within moments, it was as if the woman had
never been there. Kal was the only evidence that Lara had ever
existed.

"What in the name of..." Jonathan stammered.

Martha shook her head. "I don't understand...Oh, it's okay,
baby. I'm here." She tried, in vain, to shush Kal.

"What do we do?" Jonathan asked, slumping onto the far end of
the couch, away from where Lara's petite frame had rested.

For a long moment, no one answered. Then, as if waking from a
dream, Tim spoke.

"Nothing," he said. "We do nothing."

"Nothing?" Martha repeated. "A woman just died."

Tim nodded. "And vanished without a trace. Look, if we say
anything, we all get in trouble. A reported death without a body?
How is that going to look? No one will believe the truth."

"But...the baby," Martha argued.

"I know," the doctor sighed. "But maybe...maybe we say that
you found him, alone, on your doorstep. You called me to give the
infant a checkup. What you choose to do after that is up to
you."

"What do you mean, what we choose to do?" Jonathan asked.

Tim shrugged. "That woman obviously asked you to care for her
boy. And I know you two haven't been able to have a child of
your own. Maybe this boy was meant to come to you. My sister
works with adoption cases. I could get you in touch with her. Or,
if that's not something you're interested in, then we need to
contact the Sheriff and get this child to an agency."

"I, uh..." Jonathan said, appearing to be lost for words.

A harsh knock rapped at the door. Martha, still holding a
screaming Kal, went to answer it. Opening the front door, she was
greeted by three men, dressed in suits. One held out an
identification card in a leather wallet, not unlike a police
officer. But his attire told her that he was not with any law
enforcement agency.

"Good evening, ma'am," he said.

"Can I help you?" Martha asked as a chill raced up her spine.

"I hope so. I'm General Burton Newcomb. I'd like to ask you a
few questions."

Martha shifted the baby on her hip as she leaned against the
doorframe. It was clear that the men on her porch expected to be
invited in, but somehow, every instinct she had was telling her
not to let them in. There was something about the men that she
didn't quite like, though she could not pinpoint what it was.

"Sure," she forced herself to say as pleasantly as possible.

The men shifted their weight on their feet, uncomfortable, it
seemed, with being forced to stand out on the porch as opposed to
being invited in to sit on a couch or at a table. Their leader
cleared his throat, but Martha stood her ground.

"Well, we were wondering, have you seen anyone around tonight?
Anyone...out of the ordinary? Or anything else at all strange?"

"Strange...? No. Just you," she said, pointedly.

"Are both of the cars in the driveway yours?" the man asked,
ignoring the jab.

"No, one is the local doctor's. He's here looking after our
son."

The words rolled smoothly, naturally off her tongue. She hadn't
gotten the chance to even consider Doctor McSwiggan's proposal
-- that she and Jonathan adopt the now orphaned boy, though they
were in the midst of looking over the information packets for
several adoption agencies. But she knew now, without a doubt,
that she wanted to be the baby's mother more than anything.

For his part, the infant certainly *did* appear to have something
wrong. He was still crying, his face red and puffy from the
effort. Tears streaked his cheeks. Hiccups punctuated his
screams. He looked, as far as Martha could tell, like a normal,
colicky baby. She placed a kiss on his forehead and tried to calm
him. He did, a little, his screams turning into whimpers.

"Your son, right," the man said, disinterestedly.

"Clark," Jonathan said, coming up behind Martha.

That surprised her. Not only was Jonathan going along with her
ruse to protect the baby, but he had so much conviction in that
one word. *Clark.* The name they had dreamed about giving their
son someday, back before all of their hopes and dreams of
becoming parents had been shattered. But now, Jonathan was giving
that name to the precious little boy in his wife's arms.

*Clark*.

Yes. It fit the boy perfectly. *Clark.* Their son, just as soon
as the doctor's sister could get them the paperwork that they
needed. *Clark.* The answer to every one of Martha's prayers.

*Clark.*

"You're sure no one has been around?" General Newcomb
pressed.

"We're certain," Jonathan said. "We've been up all night
with our boy. We would have noticed anything out of the
ordinary."

"If you see anything..." The man let his voice trail off as he
produced a business card from the breast pocket of his jacket.

"I'll be sure to let you know. Now, if you excuse us..."

"I appreciate your time. Goodnight."

"Night," Jonathan said, through gritted teeth. Martha could
tell her husband's patience was just about worn through.

He closed the door perhaps a little more forcefully than he
needed to, just as soon as the men inclined their heads in
acknowledgement that the conversation was over. Immediately, he
crinkled the business card in his hand and tossed it in the
wicker garbage pail in the living room. He took the baby from
Martha's arms and smiled down as the infant shoved his tiny
hands into his mouth.

"So, Clark? What do you think? You want to be our son?" he
asked.

The boy smiled around his knuckles and laughed.

"I thought so," Jonathan said, as he kissed Clark's forehead.
"Your new mom and I will keep you safe, I promise. Sleep now.
You're home, little boy. You're home and we love you
already."

***

Clark thrived in his new home. It seemed, some days, that he grew
right before Jonathan and Martha's eyes. Day by day, he appeared
to learn more and more about his new home. He took to the new
environment easily, never fearful of the unfamiliar surroundings
or strange people who now cared for him, though it did seem that
he looked for his biological parents for some time in the
beginning. But even that passed and the Kents became his entire
world.

He was forever smiling at his new parents, rewarding everything
that they did for him -- a diaper change, a bottle, a bath. And
once he learned to laugh, that first night with them, he did not
stop. "The world's happiest baby," Martha called him. It did
not escape her, the irony of that statement. She knew, deep in
her heart, that her son was not of Earth. It was the only thing
that made any sense. No wreck was ever found, though Lara had
said she'd been injured in an accident. Only a strange,
unexplained scar in Schuster's Field had ever been discovered.
And the way Lara's body had vanished after her death --
technology like that did not exist on Earth.

But those were not only the big indicators of how unique Clark
truly was. There were also a hundred little things that set him
apart from normal babies. As the time went on, Clark began to
show signs of invulnerability. The normal bumps and cuts of
infancy and childhood simply did not appear. Clark could roll
into anything, stumble and trip, scratch his fingernails against
his soft baby skin, all without being injured. At first, Martha
barely noticed that anything was different about Clark. Then,
gradually, she became aware that he never seemed to get a diaper
rash, which plagued all of the babies that her friends had. It
was odd, she thought, but mostly she was grateful that Clark
didn't need to suffer the discomfort brought about by such an
irritation. Then, one night, as she went to cut his fingernails,
she slipped and the clippers hit his skin. She braced herself for
the inevitable scream, but it never came. She checked the finger
in question, expecting to see blood, and found none. Not even a
nick was visible.

From then on, she kept a sharp eye on what injuries Clark should
have sustained, and didn't. Soon enough, a pattern emerged, one
that perplexed the Kents at first. Sometimes, Clark was hurt and
sometimes, he was not. A little more careful thinking revealed
that on the days that were heavily overcast or stormy, Clark
could be injured the same as any ordinary child. And on bright,
sunny days, nothing could harm him, though, little by little he
seemed to grow invulnerable even on days where sunshine was
scarce, until he never suffered another cut or bruise.

There were other things too, as Clark grew out of babyhood and
into his childhood. As a preteen, he grew fast and strong, more
so than any other person on Earth. And that was the least of what
set him apart. Other abilities manifested as well. The ability to
x-ray right through objects. Powerful hearing -- so much so that,
prior to Clark getting a handle on it, the neighbor's sneeze
down the road became crippling to him. Sight that went well
beyond that of normal men.

"What's happening to me?" Clark asked miserably one morning
when he was thirteen. He'd just broken the kitchen table by
placing down his mug of hot chocolate too hard, even though he
hadn't used any abnormal amount of strength.

"I don't know," Jonathan said, shaking his head.

"I'm a freak," Clark lamented.

"No, honey," Martha said, leading Clark into the living room
and sitting on the couch next to him. "You aren't."

"Yes, I am!"

"You're just...a very special little boy," Martha said,
squeezing his shoulder.

Clark shrugged out of her touch. "Special is just another word
for freak. I don't like what's happening to me. I'm *afraid*
of myself. I mean, what if that hadn't been the table? What if
I'd been handing the mug to you or Dad? What if I'd hurt
you?"

"But you didn't," Jonathan said.

"I know. But what if I *had*? The table isn't the first thing
that I've broken. I just don't get it. How am I able to do this
stuff?"

"Son..."

"Yeah, Dad?"

"I'm not...I'm not really sure how to say this."

"What is it? Do I have some disease or something? Am I dying?
Was I given some sort of experimental drug as a baby that made me
this way?" A world of self-derision was in his lowered voice.

"Martha?" Jonathan asked, looking for help.

She sighed. "Clark, the truth is, we haven't told you the whole
truth about yourself," she began. "Your father and I...we
thought it for the best, though we always knew that the day would
come when we'd have to come clean."

"Come clean? About what?"

"Well...we've always been honest with you, with the fact that
we adopted you," she answered cautiously.

Clark nodded. "You said that you found me on your doorstep one
night and that Doc McSwiggan's sister helped you finalize the
paperwork so that I could be your son."

Martha nodded in turn. "That's right. But...that's only half
the story. We always knew, somehow, that we'd need to tell you
the full story. We just...we wanted to wait, until you were old
enough to handle the truth. It looks like that time is now."

"I don't understand. What else can there be?"

Martha took a breath and let it out slowly, steadying herself.
"You weren't alone when we found you. You were with your
mother...your biological mother."

"My...?" he seemed unable to finish. He gulped and tried again.
"My mother?"

Martha nodded and sighed. "Yes."

"What happened to her? She just left me here, to be raised by
someone else? How could she leave?" The words came spilling out
of Clark's mouth in rush. He seemed lost in his own thoughts,
then flushed as he realized what he'd said. "I mean...I'm
sorry. You know you guys are my parents. And you know I love you.
I couldn't ask for a better family. But...how could anyone walk
away from their kid? How could she leave me?"

"Clark," Martha said, putting her hand on his back and looking
at Jonathan for the strength to go on. He gave her an encouraging
nod. "She didn't leave you. She...she was hurt, badly. Some
sort of accident, she'd said. Your father and I were sitting
here, in the living room, that night. He was reading the paper
and I was in the middle of a book when we heard knocking at the
door. When we opened it, we found your mother on the porch,
slumped against the house, holding you in her arms."

"So...you really *did* find me on your doorstep?" Clark
managed, not looking up from the floor.

Martha smiled. "We did."

"What happened?" he asked, his voice low and tremulous.

"We helped her into the house, got her fed and comfortable.
Doctor McSwiggan did what he could, but...it was too late.
Lara...that was her name...she'd lost so much blood. Too much.
Later on, Tim thought that she'd had some internal bleeding, as
well as her external wounds. Before we could even call for an
ambulance, she..." Martha swallowed, hard. "She passed away."

"She's dead?" Clark asked, looking up, his face troubled.

Martha nodded. "I'm so sorry, Clark."

"Before she died, she asked us to take care of you," Jonathan
put in. "You were her main concern."

"So...? That's why you adopted me? Because my mother asked you
to?" She watched as Clark's heart broke as he imagined himself
to be some kind of burden or obligation to the Kents.

"Of course not!" Martha said, trying not to show how his words
had stung her, though she knew he couldn't possibly mean them.
"We fell in love with you as soon as we saw you. When your
mother passed...there was no way I was going to give you up. As
much as I wish you could have known your biological parents,
I've always felt like it was meant to be, that she showed up on
our doorstep. That somehow, you were always meant to be our son.
It didn't matter to us how that happened. You were ours, the
answer to every prayer we'd ever prayed."

"What about my father?" Clark asked in a small voice.

"Lara said, just before he died, that he was gone. And no one
ever came looking for you, so we assume he was killed in whatever
accident she'd been injured in."

Clark swallowed back either a reply or a sob -- Martha couldn't
quite tell what it had been intended as. For a couple of minutes,
he was silent. Martha and Jonathan both gave him as much time as
he needed, to process all that he'd just learned.

"Wh...what does that have to do with how fre...how abnormal I
am?" he finally asked.

"Well..." Martha began, searching for the right way to word
things.

"When Lara died, her body...vanished," Jonathan supplied.

"Vanished? What do you mean, vanished?"

"Just...vanished. One minute she was there, the next, she was
fading away, literally. Until, finally, she was gone. Body,
clothing, jewelry, everything. Like she'd never even been there.
You were the only evidence that she'd been in our house."

"So, you're saying...?" he asked, confused.

"We think," Jonathan continued, "or rather, we believe that
you and she were not exactly...from this planet."

"As in, aliens?" Clark asked, incredulous.

"Not the word I would use," Jonathan said.

"Alien," Clark said, stronger this time. He thought for a
moment. "Did she say anything else? Anything that made you think
that we're not human?"

"Clark Jerome Kent, you are more human than anyone that I
know!" Martha exclaimed.

"No," Jonathan admitted. "In fact, she was hesitant to say
much of anything. All we know for certain is that her name was
Lara, and that she called you Kal."

"Kal?"

Jonathan nodded. "When we adopted you, your mother and I thought
it best that we change your name. The night we found you -- and I
personally believe that is the night you landed -- some strange
government men came knocking on our door, asking questions about
if we'd seen anyone around. We were afraid for you and had no
idea how much they might have known about you and your family. So
we didn't dare use the name you'd been given at birth."

Clark sighed. "I guess that makes sense. But all of this still
doesn't explain what happened earlier. Uh, with the table."

"Clark, from the moment you came into our lives, we've noticed
certain things that have set you apart from everyone else on this
planet. We think that your abilities are the result of your
unique heritage -- the fact that you weren't born on this
planet. We've noticed that the sun seems to fuel these
abilities, these powers," Martha said. "It's...well...it's
reinforced our suspicions about your origins."

"I guess...I guess that makes sense. I've always felt better
when I'm in the sunlight than when I'm not. But I always
thought everyone was like that. I just...even knowing this
now...what good does it do me? I'm a monster. I'm always
afraid. Afraid that if I sit down too fast, I'll demolish a
chair. Afraid that, one day, someone is going to notice how many
pencils I go through at school, because I keep pulverizing them
into dust when I concentrate too hard. Afraid that, if I run into
someone playing football in the school yard, I'll seriously hurt
them. Every second of every day is terrifying because I don't
know what to do or how to control myself. I try, but it's so
hard, to keep in mind what I can do, constantly. What am I
supposed to do?"

Jonathan sighed. "Work at it, I suppose. Work on your control
until it becomes a natural part of who you are. Remember how we
worked on your hearing abilities?"

Clark nodded. "Well, sure, but that took months. And I still
sometimes hear things I shouldn't be able to, when I'm not
actively trying to. This...strength thing..." he let his voice
trail off as he shrugged helplessly. "Why me?" he whispered
quietly.

"Clark, you know that I believe we all have God-given abilities.
We may not understand them at first, but at some point, we'll
always find a way to use them to make the world a better
place."

"A better place? How, when I destroy half the things I come in
contact with?"

Jonathan shook his head. "I don't know yet. But I do know one
thing. You won't have this problem forever. Even if this
increase in your strength continues, even if you become the
strongest man on Earth, eventually you *will* be able to control
it, as naturally as breathing."

"I'm not so sure," Clark said miserably.

"We believe in you, Clark," Martha said.

"At least someone does," he sighed.

Martha's heart was broken for her little boy. He was always so
optimistic, so full of a fierce love for life. Now though, he
sounded so small and lost and utterly depressed. An intense fear
marred his features, mixed with his sadness. She wanted to
comfort him. Never before had she so desperately wanted to hold
him close and make his world better. But she knew that there was
nothing she could do. This was one time when Clark would have to
work things out for himself. She could be there to love him and
encourage him, but in the end, that was all she could do.

Nothing in her life had ever been more difficult.

"Oh, Clark," she finally said, putting her arms around his
slumped shoulders. "Have faith. Your father is right. I don't
know what may be in store for you, in the future. But there is
one thing I *do* know. Whatever it is, it's big. And, given your
uniqueness, you'll be the only one who can handle it. In the
meantime, we'll work as hard as we can to get these
abilities...these powers of yours under control. Okay?"

Clark took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay."

***

Crickets chirruped in the night beyond the windows of Clark's
room. A warm breeze blew in, stirring the freshly washed white
curtains. Sleepless, Clark lay back on his bed, stretched to his
full length, his hands behind his head. He inhaled deeply, taking
in the familiar scents of his world. The lavender scent of the
laundry detergent his mother had used on the curtains. The cedar
of his dresser. Rain-washed earth, still damp, from a brief
afternoon storm. The residual smell of the fried chicken cutlets
his mother had cooked for dinner. The musty leather of the
football his high school team had bestowed upon him for winning
the last game of the year.

All things that would soon be lost to him, once the summer waned
and fall whisked him off to college. All things that distinctly
smelled of home. Home and safety and acceptance and comfort.

Clark sighed. It wasn't that he felt unready for college life.
If anything, he was more than ready for the academic and athletic
challenges that awaited him. But, at the same time, he wasn't
ready to leave home. Out there, in college, he would be exposed
to all sorts of new people and situations. And, while he was
confident in his control over his powers, as he now came to think
of his abilities, he was still nervous. What if he slipped up
somehow, and people realized that there was more to him than met
the eye? Ever since finding out what had really happened on the
night he'd come to be the Kents' son, he'd feared that the men
who'd shown up that night would somehow find him, capture him,
and, in his parents' words, "dissect him like a frog."

Still, the opportunity to get out a little and see the world was
exciting and enticing. He'd known from an early age that he
wanted to be a journalist. And not just any journalist, working
for a small paper like the Smallville Post, but one who covered
huge stories anywhere they might occur. Leaving behind his
childhood home would be bitter, but the promise of his future had
too strong a hold to allow him to stay put.

"Besides," he whispered to himself in the dark, "it's not
like I can't ever come home."

He smiled. Of all the strange and typically terrifying powers
that had gradually emerged over his teenage and pre-teen years,
his ability to fly was his favorite. The last to manifest, it had
never frightened him, only thrilled him. When he flew, he felt
oddly complete and at peace.

He floated off his bed now and maneuvered himself out his window.
Rising to the highest point of the farmhouse's roof, he finally
settled down and looked up into the clear night sky. The moon was
dark that night, hidden in shadow as it cycled through its
various phases. Clark didn't mind. The moon wasn't what he
wanted to look at anyway. It was the stars.

For a long time, he simply stared upwards, his eyes tracing the
familiar patterns of the constellations that he'd learned as a
child. He wondered if his birth planet was out there somewhere,
within the scope of his sight. He knew now that his parents'
guess had to be right. He had to have come from a distant planet.
No one else on Earth had the abilities he did. No other
explanation made any sense.

Still, knowing even that basic truth about himself, he had
questions. What was his birth planet called? Why had his mother
left it? Had she gone alone, taking just her infant son? Had his
father made the journey as well? Why had he been brought to
Earth? Had his mother fled the planet in fear? Had she simply
been exploring the universe and crash landed? Did everyone on his
birth planet have powers like he did?

The not knowing ate away at him, every time he allowed himself to
think on the topic.

More questions swirled in his mind. What had his parents looked
like? The Kents had given him the best description they could of
the woman, Lara, who had brought him to their front porch. But
Clark still wondered. Were there parts of him that resembled her?
The shape of his eyes, for example. Or the way he smiled. Or his
nose. And what of his father? He knew absolutely nothing of the
man who had sired him. Had he been tall? Short? Had Clark gotten
his thick, black hair from him? What had the man done for a
living? Had he enjoyed writing, as Clark did?

Mostly, he wondered what they might have been like. Had they been
as warm and open as the Kents? Had they been as loving? What
would they have thought about him, now that he was grown and
ready to head out into the world? Would they have been proud of
the man he'd become, thus far? If they could know of his life
with Jonathan and Martha, would they have approved of how that
life had played out? He thought he could say with some degree of
certainty that they would have.

Simply put, the Kents were the greatest parents Clark could have
ever wished for. Ever patient, they had guided him through the
scariest and most challenging moments of his life. Ever
optimistic, they had given him the support and encouragement that
he'd needed, especially as each of his powers had manifested, or
he'd had a particularly rough day at school. He'd had a lot of
those lately. With graduation only two weeks away, he and his
girlfriend, Lana Lang, had had a bad break-up.

She'd wanted Clark to attend the same college she would be in
the fall. But Clark had no intention of going to the same
college. Its journalism program was laughable, at best. And
besides, they didn't have a football team. Clark needed a school
with both -- a solid academic program and a strong sports
program. The only reason why he was able to attend the school he
wanted was because they'd offered him a full scholarship,
including room and board, so long as he played ball for them.

Lana had spent the entire year pestering him about applying to
her school. He had done his best to evade the subject, but it had
often been the cause of fights between them. But with graduation
looming, the fights had become more and more frequent and
intense. Then, there was the fact that Lana had been pressuring
him for other things as well. If he refused to attend college
with her, she had argued, then he'd better show his commitment
to her. For several months, she'd hinted at what kind of
engagement rings she liked. Finally having had enough of Lana's
attempts to bully him around, and being far from ready to promise
himself in marriage to anyone, Clark had stood up for himself,
and ended their relationship.

He thought he'd have a rougher time, ending the two year long
relationship. He'd thought he'd be heartbroken. But, the truth
was, he felt nothing but relief. Pure, unadulterated relief.

He hadn't realized, before the break-up, how tiring being
Lana's boyfriend could be. How demanding she could be. How
manipulative. He counted himself lucky now, for his extraordinary
speed and nearly flawless mind, which helped him balance the
otherwise overwhelming demands of school, football practice,
helping with the farm, and dating Lana. Still, breaking up with
her had been hard on him. One of the things that made him feel
connected to the world, like a normal young man, had been dating
a beautiful girl. But he knew now, with one hundred percent
certainty, that there never could have been a future with her.

He thought back to the conversation that had ended their
relationship.

"Clarkie," she had whined to him, while they'd been at her
house, studying for their upcoming history test.

"Yeah?" he had responded, still rereading the final passages of
the chapter they were to be tested on.

"How serious are you, about this whole journalism thing? I mean,
it *is* just a fad, isn't it?"

"Pretty serious," he had answered, still distracted.

"Clark!" she had said, her voice suddenly growing sharp. "Pay
attention to me!"

Clark had sighed and closed his textbook. "What?" he had
asked.

"This journalism thing. When are you going to grow up and
realize that it's so beneath you? You can be anything you want
to be. A lawyer or...a doctor." Her eyes had lit up at the
thought. "Yeah, a doctor. Better, even. A surgeon. A plastic
surgeon," she had rambled on, lost in her own thoughts and
steamrolling right over Clark's attempts to get a word in
edgewise. "One who works on celebrities and all those rich
people out in California. Yeah," she had continued, her voice
going dreamy. "We'd be rich, live in a huge mansion, have a
couple of kids. What do you think?"

"What do I think?" Clark had said, incredulous, shaking his
head. "What do I think? I think I'll stick with being a
reporter."

"But Clarkie..."

"No buts, Lana," he'd said, his ire rising. "I'm not
interested in being a surgeon or a lawyer, or a restaurant owner,
or whatever else you might suggest. I want to make a difference
in this world. And the best way I know how to do that is by being
an investigative reporter, like I've always dreamed about."

"So, you've always dreamed about being dirt poor? Come on,
Clarkie. Don't tell me you* like* living a mediocre life."

"There is *nothing* mediocre about my life," he'd shot back,
pushing the textbook away and getting up from where he'd been
laying on his stomach on the floor.

"Right. Farm life is *so* glamorous. Don't you want to do more
with your life?"

"Yes," he'd said, trying to get his point across. "I want to
help people. That's why I'm going to be a journalist."

"But don't you want to make me happy?" she'd said, thrusting
out her lower lip in a pout and twisting a lock of her hair
around her finger.

"Your happiness?" he'd said, fighting back his laughter.
"What about *mine*, Lana?"

"If you gave it a shot, you might find that you could be happy
doing something where you'll actually make money!"

"Look, Lana, enough is enough. You've been pestering me about
this since Christmas. It wasn't funny then, when I thought you
were trying to joke around. It's downright obnoxious now."

"I was never joking about it," she'd said, crossing her arms
before her chest. "If you want to make me happy, you'll drop
this stupid idea of being a reporter and do something *useful*
with your life."

Clark's fists had clenched and the muscle in his jaw had ticked.
"That's it!" he'd finally said. "I've had enough, Lana!
I'm sick and tired of you trying to manipulate me away from what
makes *me* happy."

"I don't think you even *know* what makes you happy," she'd
shot back. "You're completely lost. I mean, we've been dating,
what, two years? And you *still* haven't made a move to try to
get me into bed."

"What?" he'd sputtered. "Is that what this is about? The fact
that I've tried to be a decent guy?"

"Don't pull that gentleman act on me, Clarkie. For God's sake,
even the *janitor* has tried to get into my pants!"

"What do you want from me, Lana?" he'd asked, exasperated.

"I want you to give up on your stupid idea of being a
reporter."

"No," he'd said, his voice grown hard and brooking no
argument. "You know what, Lana? I'm done. No...*we're*
done."

"Done? What do you mean, *done*?" she'd demanded to know.

"*Done*," he'd repeated, picking up his books and shoving them
in his backpack. "I am not your punching bag *or* your boyfriend
any longer."

"But, Clarkie, what about our future?" She'd done her best to
sound like a wounded victim, but Clark wasn't having any of it.

"There is *no* future," he'd said firmly. "We're through.
You'll go off to college and meet new people and study whatever
it is that you want to. I'll go off to a different school and
onto a different life."

"What about our wedding plans?"

"There *never were* any wedding plans!" he'd said, slinging
the bag onto his back, working hard to control his anger. "Those
only existed in your own head!"

"Don't you love me?" she'd tried, making puppy dog eyes at
him.

"Goodbye, Lana," he'd said, ignoring the question and moving
passed her and gaining the door.

To his eternal surprise, he was out of the house before he heard
her attempting to follow and calling to him. By then, it was too
late. Clark was far enough to pretend not to hear her. As soon as
he could, he'd ducked out of sight behind the town library and
took to the sky. He'd flown straight home, with as much speed as
he'd dared, not wanting to break the sound barrier and cause
talk in town.

Now, looking up at the stars, Clark felt free. He was still
plagued by guilt at how things had ended between Lana and
himself, but he was relieved that it was, in fact, over. He
wondered too, if there was anyone out there in the world who
would be a good match for him. Someone who would treat him right
and not want to use him for what they thought he could do for
them. Someone who he would feel comfortable enough with to trust
with the secret part of his life -- the things he never, ever
allowed anyone else to know.

Someone he could love and build a future with.

"There has to be someone," he whispered to himself. "And I'll
find her."

***

"Clark!" Martha called as she weaved her way through the crowds
of proud parents, siblings, and significant others.

"Over here, Mom," he called, waving to her.

She reached his side and hugged him tightly. "Oh, honey, your
dad and I are so proud of you!"

"Thanks, Mom," he said, blushing a little.

He swiped the dangling tassel of his black graduation cap and
gown away and out of his eyes. In one hand, he clutched the
rolled up, faux diploma which took the place of the real one
which would be mailed to his home, once the college had a chance
to print them all off after double checking that each graduate
had met their requirements.

"Magna Cum Laude," Jonathan said, finally maneuvering his way
to where his wife and son stood, amid the swirling sea of people.
He shook his head. "I'm so proud, son. Not that I ever doubted
you. And that was some valedictorian speech." He gave Clark a
proud smile and clasped him on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Dad. You really liked it?"

"I did," he confirmed with a nod.

Clark smiled. The truth was, he'd spent weeks trying to figure
out what to say in his speech. There was so much he wanted to
say, but he knew that his best bet was to keep it short, sweet,
and as relatable as possible to as much of his audience as he
could. So, for weeks, he'd scribbled notes, ideas, and little
sayings on a pad of paper that he kept constantly in his
backpack, hoping for the proper inspiration. By the time he'd
decided on exactly what he'd wanted to say, he'd only had a
week left to write it up, edit it, and practice it before his
dorm room mirror.

In the end though, he'd been happy with it. He'd only hoped
that everyone else had enjoyed his speech.

"Why don't we get out of here?" Martha suggested as the crowds
began to thin.

"Good idea," Clark said. "If we want to get dinner, we'd
better get going soon anyway. There aren't too many places to
eat around here, so they are going to get packed, fast."

Of course, he could always fly them all someplace for their
dinner. Italy, or France, if they wanted. But Clark didn't want
to. It was his last chance to soak up the atmosphere associated
with college life. He wanted to hear the rowdy clusters of
students and family all out celebrating their graduation. He
wanted to see the groups of friends laughing together for the
last time before they were forced out into the real world.

The real world.

Clark sighed. He'd be looking for a job within a few days, once
he and his parents packed up the car and drove back home to
Smallville. Again, he could have flown some of his things home in
the small hours of the night, but that felt somehow like he was
cheating himself of his last true college experience -- like
he'd be neglecting to close the final chapter of this stage of
his life.

He looked forward to getting out into the world, and for the
opportunity to finally pursue his dreams. He imagined that he
would find a job with a well-respected and world renowned
newspaper. He dreamed about finding leads nobody else could find.
He looked forward, even, to stakeouts, if it meant cracking a
case no one else could. He envisioned crime lords locked away,
dirty politicians exposed, and drug rings busted because of his
efforts. He was meant for that life, he knew it, deep down in his
bones.

Still, the idea of leaving the comfort of college was somewhat
daunting. All his life, he'd been a student. He'd had a strict
regiment of classes, homework -- sometimes achieved with a little
help from his incredible speed -- and football practice and
games, not to mention the school newspaper and his duties as a
resident assistant in his dorm building. Now, faced with shaking
up his entire life, he had to admit he was a little scared. Once
again, he was going to have to leave home. He didn't want to
work for a small time paper, like they had in Smallville. He knew
he was going to have to live in a major city, if not a completely
different country.

It would be an exciting adventure, but it also slightly terrified
Clark.

He wondered about where he might live. New York? Los Angeles?
Chicago? Who might he meet? Was there someone out there, waiting
to meet *him*? Though Clark had gone on the occasional date
during his years in college, none of the women had been right for
him. Something was always "off" about them. Who had been polite
enough in classes, but who'd shown a mean side when out of the
public eye. Who had only been using him as a meal ticket, when
they'd had a boyfriend in a different university. Who had wanted
to date him only because of his academic prowess, expecting him
to do their advanced calculus work for them. And one young woman
who had been gorgeous, but who'd had absolutely nothing in
common with Clark. The final straw had come when she'd told him
that she had no interest in reading, at all.

Clark could only hope that, wherever fate led him, he would find
the woman of his dreams. Tall or short, thin or heavy, he didn't
care. All that really mattered was who she would be on the
inside. Her mind. Her heart. Her personality. He hoped too, that
he would recognize her when he found her. So far, his track
record wasn't so great. Though he had tried to patch things up
with Lana so they could be friends again, she had refused to
speak with him. The last he had heard of her, she was dating an
older guy, already out of college and who was in medical school
to become a neurosurgeon. Clark had no ill will toward her, and
wished her the best, but was, all the same, infinitely relieved
that he was no longer the object of her affections.

"So," Martha said, as they finally were seated at the most
popular Italian restaurant in town. "Have you thought about
where you might apply for a job?"

Clark nodded. "I have. I've sent out a bunch of resumes in the
last couple of months, but so far I haven't gotten any bites."

"Did anyone say why they've...?" She paused, looking for the
right words, perhaps.

"Why they've rejected me?" Clark asked with a grin. "No.
It's been mainly just form letters. You know. 'Thanks for
applying but we have no openings at this time' kind of
responses."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Why didn't you say anything before?"

Clark shrugged. "It didn't seem like that big of a deal. I'll
find something. I guess, maybe I set my sights a little too high,
sending to the New York Times and the like. Maybe I should lower
my standards, but I can't shake this...I don't
know...hesitation to get stuck at some small paper. Yeah, the
experience would be good, but I can't help but to feel like it
won't make that much difference, in the long run, when I reapply
to those other, bigger papers."

"So..." Jonathan hedged, trying, it seemed, to figure out where
Clark would go from there.

"So...I guess, for now, I go home and keep applying to places.
One of the nice things is, I can fly out for interviews on a
moment's notice, if need be." He lowered his voice and
grinned.

That made his parents laugh. "True," Jonathan said, still
chuckling.

"Well, we're glad to have you home, for as long as you want to
stay," Martha put in as the waiter came and set glasses of ice
water down before them.

"Thanks," Clark said. "It'll be good to be home again, even
if just for a bit."

That was the truth. He'd missed the familiar comfort of the tidy
farmhouse where he'd grown up. He'd flown home whenever he
could, to see his parents and eat a home cooked meal. But
spending a few sporadic hours here and there hadn't been the
same as really being home. He was ever conscious of how long
he'd been gone, where he might have to land in order not to be
seen, the questions his roommates might ask about where he'd
been -- especially if he missed having dinner with them or showed
up late for a movie night. He hated lying to them -- it was
against how he'd been raised. So instead, he gave them vague
answers that seemed to satisfy them enough to keep them from
prying deeper.

Home.

He hadn't realized before now how much he'd missed the place,
now that he was hours away from moving out of his dorm room and
heading back to the farmlands of his youth. He missed the scent
of the freshly tilled earth, the smell of rain on the crops, the
way the summer sun seemed to bathe everything in a golden glow.
He missed swimming in the quarry with his childhood friends,
climbing up to the roof of the house to study the stars, how
everyone in town knew each other and always warmly greeted each
other.

And yet, even without moving back, he was deeply aware that he'd
outgrown the place. Smallville was a wonderful place. But it was
too small and he had grown too large for it. It wasn't his
powers that had set him apart from everyone else there. It was
more of a deep, personal need to explore the world. A longing, as
he thought of it, to find the place where he was most needed,
could do the most good with his investigative abilities. And
despite his love of and for Smallville, that wasn't the place
where he needed to be.

***

Clark tore open the envelope and scanned the words on the paper,
his heart sinking. *Of course* it was another rejection letter.
If it the paper had wanted him to come and interview with him,
they would have called. Clark sighed.

"Batting a thousand," he muttered to himself as he crumpled the
impersonal form letter into a tight ball. With a careful burst of
his heat vision, he incinerated the thing and watched the ashes
waft slowly down to the floor. "What am I doing wrong?" he
wondered aloud.

Pounce, one of the cats who helped keep the Kents' barn
mouse-free, yawned and stretched his body to soak up the patch of
warm sunlight that came in through the open doors. Clark knelt
and scratched the tabby behind his gray ears, eliciting an
immediate purr. It made Clark smile a little. But only a little.

The summer had come and was now nearly gone again. And still he
had yet to receive a job offer. Or an interview, for that matter.
He sighed and kicked at a piece of stray straw. He'd really
thought that he'd have a full time job by now. Maybe it was time
to lower his sights. Maybe it was time to start applying to
smaller, less well known papers. He knew the Smallville Post was
always open to freelancers. He could start there, make
connections if he could, and continue to keep his eyes and ears
open for work at other papers.

"I guess I'll talk to Greg on Monday," he said to himself or
to the cat, he wasn't quite sure.

But saying the words aloud made it seem more real, somehow. He
needed that, at the moment, even if the cat was his only witness.
Jonathan and Martha had gone into town for the afternoon to
celebrate their anniversary. Clark had respectfully bowed out of
their invitation to join them, wanting to give them some private
time together. He wasn't much in the mood for celebrating
either, not with the recent string of rejection letters he'd
gotten. They had been a blow to his normally optimistic ego.

"Yeah," he continued quietly, standing up from petting the now
sleeping cat. "Monday."

***

"Last one in is a rotten egg!"

With a tremendous splash, the group of boys all ran toward the
edge of the rock. One by one, they each did a cannonball into the
cold water of the old quarry's lake. The once serene surface of
the water erupted and boiled as each body churned it up as the
boys jumped in and began to splash around.

"So much for a quiet day at the old swimming hole," Tommy said
as Clark and his friends approached the water's edge.

Clark shrugged. "I'm not turning back."

"Me neither," Tommy said, though his voice had lost a lot of
the enthusiasm it had held when he'd called Clark to say that
everyone was going swimming. "It's the hottest day of the
summer. I think we *all* need a swim."

"Can we go all the way over to the far side?" Keith asked.
"*Away* from the cannonballs?"

"I agree with Keith," Josh said.

"I don't have a problem with that," Clark said, shrugging.

Together, they all trudged to the far side of the lake, then
carefully arranged everything they'd brought with them --
folding chairs, coolers, and whatever personal items they'd each
brought. Clark opened up the battered, but sturdy, old chaise
lounge chair he'd brought, then stripped out of his shirt and
stuffed it into the small duffel bag he'd taken with him. He sat
and wiggled out of the sandals he was wearing, then pulled out
his towel from the bag and draped it over the back of the lounge
chair.

"This is great," he finally said, smiling and taking everything
in. "Getting the old group back together, coming back down to
the quarry. When was the last time we did this? The summer after
high school?"

"Yeah," Keith confirmed. "The weekend before you headed off to
college."

"That's right," Clark said, nodding in remembrance. "I had to
go a little earlier to start with the football stuff."

"Now look at us," Josh said, gesturing widely. "Out of college
and moving on with our lives."

"Yeah," Clark said, nodding, though his heart sank.

He'd managed to sell a few freelance articles to the Smallville
Post, but his plans to make connections wasn't moving fast
enough for his taste. Of course, he'd only been working with
them for three whole weeks, but considering his extraordinary
speed, it seemed like forever since he'd first joined the paper.
He was restless, plain and simple. He felt like he was stuck in
place, waiting for his life to start while he watched everyone
else's lives take off. Josh, for example, was headed to medical
school to become a pediatrician. Tommy was in the midst of
studying for the LSATs. Keith had recently gotten engaged to
Chelsea, whom he'd been dating since their freshman year of high
school. Even Rachel was planning on following her father's
footsteps and was in training to become part of the local police
department.

"What's the matter, Clark?" Rachel asked, picking up on his
subtle sigh.

"Nothing," he said, unwilling to get into things.

He liked Rachel a great deal, but as a friend only, whereas he
knew that she had been lusting after him since their elementary
school days. But even with their long history together, Clark had
never been comfortable showing any sort of vulnerability in front
of her. He never had, not with any of his friends, not with any
of his girlfriends. It wasn't a macho thing, born out of the
knowledge that he was the strongest man on the planet. It was a
very deep and personal thing, born out of mostly fear, he knew.
He was simply too afraid to let anyone get to know the real him
-- his unique abilities, his alien heritage.

"Clark..." she pressed.

"Really, it's nothing," he said, a bit more forcefully. "Just
lost in my own thoughts, okay?"

"*Help!*"

The scream pierced Clark's mind like a lance. With his super
hearing, it was louder than it should have been, though the echo
off the surrounding rocks hurt his ears. Without a conscious
thought to do so, he whipped his head around to appraise the
situation. He knew, from the desperate tone, that the cry for
help hadn't been one of the kids fooling around. Something
really *was* wrong. Telescoping in on the opposite side of the
lake, he could see some of the kids waving their arms above their
heads, trying to get someone's attention.

"*Help!*" came the call again. "Please, somebody help us!"

Without even stopping to take off his glasses, Clark launched
himself into the water. Using all of his strength, he began
swimming. Stroke after powerful stroke brought him ever closer to
the group of screaming kids, but he felt like he was going too
slowly. Every second seemed too precious, and the distance
wasn't closing fast enough. Breaking a personal rule he'd had
to never use his abilities in public, he allowed himself to
employ a burst of his super speed. In seconds, he'd covered the
rest of the distance.

"What happened?" he asked as he reached the side of the boy
who'd been pleading for help.

"Robby," he said, by way of explanation.

"What?" Clark prodded. "What about Robby?"

"I didn't mean it. Honest."

"What happened?" Clark asked again, lightly gripping the boy's
shoulders while he treaded water.

"We were pushing each other around for fun. I accidentally
pushed him too hard. He fell off the rocks, but I think he hit
his head. He went under and didn't come up. We've tried to get
him, but it's too deep."

"Go," Clark commanded him. "Up to the old guardhouse. There's
a payphone there. Call an ambulance."

He didn't wait for a response. He took a deep breath and dived
down. He frantically began swimming toward the rocky bottom of
the quarry's lake. It was true that he could hold his breath for
a good twenty minutes, but he knew Robby wasn't that lucky.
Every second counted, and too many had already passed. As soon as
Clark was beneath the water's surface, he once again loosened
the restraint he held on his speed and shot to the bottom of the
lake.

He began scanning, and was thankful for his better than average
ability to see in dark places. The lakebed was deep and housed in
shadows. But Clark was finally able to see the boy in question.
He sent up a silent prayer of thanks, grateful he'd given that
section of the bottom a second check. He'd nearly missed the
unmoving body, dressed all in dark blues as he was.

Clark made a beeline for the boy and easily lifted his body.
Robby was limp and unresponsive in his arms. Clark tucked him
under one arm, then, with a swift push from his feet, used the
uneven lakebed to propel himself upwards. Up, up, up he went, now
flying through the water, rather than swimming. It was easier,
with his one arm full and his dense molecular structure, which
wanted to pull him down to the bottom and keep him there.

Seconds passed, each one like a physical weight on Clark's
shoulders. And, while he tried to will himself not to panic, to
know that he had everything under control, he was nervous. More
than nervous, if he were to be perfectly honest. Robby had been
underwater a long time. But, at last, Clark's head broke the
water's surface. He gasped for breath, more to maintain his
facade of normalcy than for need, and began to half swim, half
drag Robby to the shoreline, which, thankfully, was not all that
far away.

"Come on," he murmured to the unconscious boy in his arms as he
finally reached the water's edge.

Here he was able to stand and reach the bottom. He gathered Robby
in both of his arms and walked him to the shore. He carefully
laid Robby down on the hot gray stone and checked for signs of
life. There was a weak pulse, but no signs of breathing. Clark
shifted his position as he knelt on the ground and began to
administer CPR.

"Come on. Come on," he repeated as he cycled through chest
compressions and attempts to blow air into the twelve-year-old's
lungs. "Come on, breathe for me."

After a small eternity, Robby stirred, tried to gasp, and vomited
up water. Clark helped him to pull himself into a sitting
position, and held the boy as he finally did suck in a shaking
breath. Relief washed over Clark. He could feel the tension
slipping from his body with every cough and shuddering breath
Robby took. He patted the boy's back lightly.

"It's okay," Clark said, as Robby continued to choke and gasp
for enough air. "Take it easy. You're okay."

"What happened?" Keith asked as Clark's friends raced over to
where he sat on the ground with Robby.

"He hit his head and sank to the bottom," Clark said
distractedly, as he watched the boy spit up more water.

"That must have been some adrenaline rush," Josh put in.

"What?" Clark asked, a little confused.

"You dove in and swam the distance in a minute, maybe less. And
then, when you went under," he shook his head before continuing,
"if you got all the way to the bottom, then you must have been
swimming for your life. I don't think you were under for more
than two minutes."

*Great,* Clark lamented. *Way to blow your cover, stupid.*

"Yeah, I guess it was," he said instead, shrugging off the
apparently fantastic speed the rescue had taken place with. "I
wasn't really paying attention. I'm just glad he's safe." He
nodded in Robby's direction.

In the distance, he heard the wail of a siren growing closer.
Apparently he hadn't been the only one to move quickly. The
other kids had made record time in making it to the guardhouse to
call for help, it seemed. At least, he *hoped* that the siren
he'd heard was for them. After ten more minutes, the ambulance
came bouncing down the gravel roadway. As soon as it came to a
crunching stop, the rear doors burst open and two paramedics
jumped out. They hit the ground running, making it to Robby's
side in less than a minute.

Clark stepped back, letting the professionals take over. Robby
still wasn't talking, so his friends filled in as much
information as they could while the paramedics started to assess
the boy. Clark added what little he knew as well, starting from
hearing a change in the kids' screams all the way up to getting
Robby to finally take a breath. After Robby was stabilized and
the ambulance was on its way to the hospital, Clark and his
friends went back to their own little area where their belongings
still sat.

"I think I'm going to head home," Clark said, picking up his
shirt and pulling it over his slowly drying body.

"How come?" Rachel asked.

"I, uh...this whole thing...I'm a little shaken, that's all. I
mean, someone almost died here today. I'm not exactly in the
mood to stay around," he deflected.

In truth, his unease ran deeper than that. Josh might try to
explain away Clark's enhanced speed as an adrenaline rush, but
Clark knew his friends. They would discuss the rescue, asking him
questions, and somewhere along the way, something wouldn't make
sense to them. And Clark could not afford any suspicions to be
placed on him. Not when he'd spent most of his life worried that
someone would discover that there was more to him than met the
eye, and that it would result in him being captured and dissected
like a frog. Although, he had to admit, now that he was grown and
knew his strength and speed, he doubted that anything or anyone
could hold him against his will. But it was definitely not
something he wanted to test either.

"I'm sorry, guys," he apologized to them all.

"Hey, no problem," Keith said. "You need a ride?"

Clark shook his head, sending water droplets in every direction.
"Thanks, but no. You guys should enjoy yourselves. Besides, I
think a nice long walk might be just what I need."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. I'll catch up with you guys some other time.
Okay?"

"All right, man."

Clark quickly repacked his things and set off down the road, out
of the quarry. He could feel the tension in his body rising, the
more he thought about the events of the afternoon. In fact, he
could feel his hands beginning to shake, but it was just too
difficult to stop thinking about what had happened. He took
several deep, cleansing breaths as he walked, attempting to
funnel out his nervousness with every exhalation. Before long, he
found that he'd subconsciously quickened his pace as he headed
home, until he was running, then running at super speed.

The speed was freeing, even though the fear of discovery was
still fresh in his mind. It simply felt good to be himself, now
that he was completely alone out in the fields of his childhood.
He only stopped when he reached home.

"Back so soon?" Jonathan asked, barely looking up for the
day's paper as he sipped a glass of cold lemonade.

"I'm afraid so," Clark said, leaning his chair against the
weathered farmhouse once he'd ascended the porch steps.

Jonathan put the paper down, a concerned expression on his face.

"What is it, son?"

Clark sat in one of the wicker chairs, looking across at his
parents.

"Something..." he paused and swallowed hard. "Something
happened."

"What?" Martha asked.

"Down at the quarry. Some boys were swimming at the far end of
the lake from where we were. One of them fell in and drowned."

"Oh no," Martha said, her face falling in grief.

"Nothing like that, Mom," Clark said, folding his hands on his
lap and looking down. "I swam over and saved him."

Haltingly, he told them the whole story, starting with his
arrival at the quarry with his friends and ending with finding
himself speeding home at top velocity. Throughout the telling, he
kept his head bowed, ashamed of how careless he'd been with
using his powers. He couldn't meet their eyes. After all they
had sacrificed for him, had done to help train him to keep his
powers under control and out of the public eye, he'd failed
them. In one miserable moment, he'd blown his cover and
potentially put them all in danger.

"I'm sorry," he said at the end of his tale. "I know I messed
up."

"Messed up?" Martha asked, incredulous.

"Son, we've never been prouder of you," Jonathan jumped in.

"Proud? But...I slipped up. Used my abilities and raised some
eyebrows. What if...what if word gets out? And you know it will.
It's a small town. I can't just fade into the background and
watch as the mysterious rescuer is never found. There are too
many witnesses. Everyone knows it was me."

"Well, like your friend said, it can easily be chalked up to an
adrenaline rush," Martha said. "Like when a mother lifts a car
to save her baby."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Trust me," Martha said. "The important thing is, you saved
that kid's life. And *that's* what everyone will be talking
about. Not how fast you swam over, or how deep you had to dive to
get him."

"I hope so," he said, though he knew his words couldn't
conceal his skepticism.

"The important thing is, how do you feel about all this?"
Jonathan asked.

"Scared," Clark admitted. "I mean, my whole life, I've been
hiding what I can do. Now, I might have blown everything."

"And?" Jonathan prodded, sensing, perhaps, that there was more
to Clark's feelings.

"And...elated," he finally confessed. "I never thought these
powers would be good for anything, except for personal use...like
when I used to fly home for dinner sometimes while I was away at
school. But using them today for the benefit of someone else? It
was the greatest feeling in the world. Maybe you guys were right.
Maybe I really do have these abilities for a reason. Oh, I'm not
saying that I want to parade around as Clark Kent, super weirdo,
but I just can't help feeling like I was meant to be there
today, to save that kid."

Jonathan and Martha smiled as Clark talked, seeing his face widen
out into a smile as he talked. He couldn't help it. Despite his
lingering terror of being discovered for what he really was, his
heart was swollen with pride and happiness. He'd used his powers
for good. Robby was alive because of him. His powers, and the
split-second decision to employ them, had made the difference
between life and death.

He knew he could never risk doing that again. But for the moment,
he basked in the knowledge that his strange, sometimes
frightening, powers had managed to accomplish some good in the
world.

***

Restless.

The word fit Clark like it had been invented solely to describe
how he felt. He paced the floor of his studio apartment in Paris,
sighing heavily as a thunderstorm raged out beyond his windows.
He'd been there for three months and, already, he was itching to
move on. It just wasn't the right fit for him. The food was
amazing. And most of the people he'd met had been nice, even
tolerating his less than stellar accent when he spoke in French.

But it wasn't home.

Clark reached the far wall and placed his arm against it, then
laid his forehead in the crook of his elbow. He sighed again,
torn. Should he move on? Should he risk giving up the staff job
he'd gotten with one of the local papers? And if he did leave,
where would he go? He'd been so many places already, and none
had quelled the wanderlust in his heart. Should he stay? Should
he force himself to settle down and make a life here, in this
city? Would he -- could he -- eventually learn to be happy here?

"No," he whispered to himself.

He could never be happy here. There was something lacking.
Something Clark couldn't quite put his finger one.

"Homesick," he uttered to himself.

He pushed himself away from the wall and dropped heavily onto his
worn and beaten couch. Homesick. It hadn't occurred to him in
quite that way before. But it rang true nonetheless. Homesick. He
knew he wasn't looking for an excuse to return to Smallville. He
needed to find where he truly belonged.

"It's not possible, is it?" he asked the empty air around him.
"To miss a place I've never been to?"

Even as he voiced the question, he knew the answer. Yes, it *was*
possible. He ached for home -- a place he hadn't yet found, but
somehow missed terribly. But where? Where was his home? It
certainly wasn't here, in France. It hadn't been in Guam, or
China, or Australia either. Japan hadn't been it. Neither had
Borneo or Norway, or any place else that Clark had spent any
amount of time in.

Lonely.

That was his life. Lonely and empty. While it was true that he
was thankful for the editors that had hired him so far, and had
loved the work he'd done, he felt completely unfulfilled. His
work thus far, while it had been interesting, hadn't done much
to change the world or the lives of the people involved. Puff
pieces, mostly, if he were to be honest. But it was more than
that. It was an emptiness in his heart.

All his life, he'd wanted to be normal. To fit in and have
friends. As he'd grown, though, he'd learned that, although he
had friends -- some of whom he considered as close as family --
he would never truly be normal. He'd wanted a job, like everyone
else. It was true that he'd worked for several papers already,
but most of it had been freelance, not the steady job he'd
always dreamed of. But most of all, he wanted to find his soul
mate, the one woman he could love and be completely and totally
honest with. The person he could finally let down his guard
around and carry no secrets with. And when he did find that one,
special woman, he wanted to marry her and start a family of his
own with her.

But at the moment, he felt like that was something that might
never happen. He'd been all over the globe, visited most of the
major cities. He'd even been in some of the worst areas of the
planet, covering stories and trying to help people. He'd seen
hundreds of thousands of women in those travels. And not one of
them had appealed to him enough to make him ask them out on a
date, or to lure him into giving that city a chance to become his
home.

"Maybe what I'm looking for doesn't exist," he lamented
softly. He paused a moment, then sighed. "I really *must* be in
bad shape," he mused. "I'm sitting here talking to myself."

He sighed again and fidgeted in his seat. He looked around his
tiny, though comfortable, apartment. It was pretty sparsely
furnished, but it serviced his, admittedly few, needs. He'd even
forgone getting a bed. The couch was long enough to stretch out
on to sleep if he wanted. But half the time he just skipped even
that and simply floated. It was so right, so natural to him, to
defy gravity like that, that he had no problem doing it in his
sleep.

All in all, he wouldn't miss the place. It was totally
unremarkable in any way. He didn't even have a decent view to
enjoy -- just a blackened brick back wall of a music store to
stare at. At least it concealed him from prying eyes, which was
one of the reasons why he wasn't afraid to do things like float
in his sleep or boil a cup of tea water with his heat vision
instead of a teapot.

"It's time to move on," he said. "But...where? Where do I
go?"

That was a question that was not so easily answered. He hated
uprooting himself all the time. He just wanted to find where he
belonged and stay there for the rest of his life. He wanted
permanence in his life. He hated his spotty work record. He
despised his month-to-month rental agreements. He was tired of
changing what language he needed to speak on what felt like a
weekly basis.

He stood and crossed to the small table near the window. He
picked up the newspapers there. Whenever he could, he picked up
as many papers from as many different places as he could from the
local newsstand. Today's assortment began with the Daily Planet,
one of Clark's favorite papers, now that he was out in the
world. At the time when he'd left home, four years prior, none
of the stores in Smallville had really carried it. Now he simply
stared at the logo, a globe with a ring around it.

"The Daily Planet," he said, standing in place, eyes still
fixed on the distinctive logo. "That's it!"

He dropped the papers on the table and began to pack his meager
belongings. As soon as night fell, he would be on his way.

***

Clark hovered, hidden in the heavy, rain-laden clouds above
Metropolis, looking for a place to land. He scanned carefully, as
he always did, before choosing a spot behind a donut shop. It was
perfect. Abandoned and with no windows for prying eyes to peek
out of, it would offer him total cover. He flew down to it with
all speed, ensuring that no wandering eyes would see his
descent.

Keeping a casual stride, he ducked out of the alley and onto the
sidewalk. At this late hour of the night, though, there were
virtually no people there to see him emerge out of the darkness.
He shrugged down into his jacket. The cold water droplets didn't
bother him much -- the cold never did -- but it was a little
uncomfortable as the water slid down his skin, wet his clothing,
and matted his hair down.

Still, there was something about the city, even at night, that
felt inviting and comfortable. Clark couldn't place his finger
on what it was. Perhaps it was that, even as late as it was, the
city never slept. Just two blocks over and Clark left the quiet
place where he'd landed and found himself amid a bustling hub of
activity. People rushed from place to place or strolled
hand-in-hand with the one they loved. Taxis raced down the
streets and irate drivers honked angrily as others cut them off.
Lights turned the night into day.

And gleaming in the center of it all -- The Daily Planet
building, the ring around the globe glowing an enticing and
soothing electric blue.

Clark stared at the logo for a good long moment, soaking up the
feeling of being so close to his dream job. The more he'd
thought about the paper, the greater his need to work for it had
become.

"Tomorrow," he said to himself, the word carrying all his
conviction, as if it could ensure him a position with the paper.

Tomorrow indeed. He'd managed to secure an interview with the
editor, a Perry White by name. Clark was excited and impatient
for the interview. But, he had to admit, he was a little nervous
too, as he always was before interviewing. And now, it was worse,
because he'd never before wanted a job so badly. Only one thing
was certain. Tomorrow, he would be ready. He would do his best to
secure a job with the paper.

***

"Mr. White, thanks for seeing me," Clark said as he shook hands
with the grizzled old editor of The Daily Planet. "I appreciate
it, especially on such short notice."

"Well, Professor Carlton gave his highest recommendation of you.
Ah, I haven't seen him in years. How is the old goat?"

Clark smiled. He already liked the man, gruff demeanor and all.
"He's great, last I talked to him. It's been a few years since
I last got the chance to sit down with him, face to face."

The editor smiled. "He's a good man. Cheats like a son of a gun
at poker, but he's a good man."

"Can't say I've had the privilege of playing cards with him,"
Clark said, the same smile crossing his lips.

"Well, come on. Let's see what you've got," the man
encouraged Clark.

Clark opened his old, but neatly kept, briefcase. He reached in
and grabbed a copy of his resume and handed it over before taking
out a stack of news articles he'd written. Mr. White pored over
the resume, humming to himself now and again.

"Quite the ah...assortment of papers," he noted.

Clark nodded. He'd known that his spotty work record could be a
problem. "I moved around quite a bit," he confessed. "Most of
those positions were as a freelancer. It was great, and I loved
the experience, but I kept hoping and looking for something more
permanent."

"And if I were to hire you? How could I be assured that you'd
stick around?" Mr. White asked skeptically.

"I know it doesn't look great," Clark confessed. "But I can
promise that, if I were to work for this paper, I would never
want to leave it. It's been my dream since childhood to work for
a major newspaper such as this. The Daily Planet is one of the
most respected papers in the world. What more could anyone ask
for?"

The editor cracked another smile. Apparently, Clark's answer had
pleased him.

"Let me see those articles," he said after a moment, and Clark
dutifully handed them over. But as the man rifled through them,
his face fell further and further. "These articles..." he
started.

Clark nodded. "I know they're mostly puff pieces," he began as
Mr. White paused.

"Mostly? There's not a single hard hitting story here, son."

"I know I lack some experience..."

"Some? Look here, Kent, work like this...I just don't have a
use for it. No offense, that is."

"Mr. White, if you just give me a chance, I can and *will* prove
to you that I can hold my own with your top reporter."

"Perry!" interrupted an extremely agitated voice.

"Lois, honey, I'm in the middle of something here," the editor
said as a woman came bursting into the room. To Clark, he
muttered, "Speak of the devil, there's my top reporter now."

Clark automatically stood as the newcomer came barreling in. It
was just who he was, thanks to the way his parents had raised
him. He turned to see who had interrupted his job interview,
which, admittedly, wasn't going well and found himself face to
face with the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He tried not
to stare but found it hard to pull his gaze from her. For her
part, she seemed oblivious to the fact that he was standing
there.

"A beauty pageant?" she complained. "A *beauty pageant?*" she
repeated, more forcefully this time, and beginning to pace.
"Have I done something wrong, Chief? Perhaps you hated the way I
busted open that story on the car theft ring? Or maybe you were
offended by the Kerth I won for my coverage of the Presidential
campaign. Oh, no, I got it. It was the series of articles I wrote
on those headless corpses last year when that serial killer was
loose. Because there can be no other reasons that I can think of
why you're assigning such...such...*trash* to me."

"Lydia's out this week," Mr. White said by way of explanation.
"I need someone to cover it."

"Find somebody else," she said, crossing her arms over her
chest but finally coming to a halt. "Because I'm not doing
it."

"You will, and you'll do it well."

"Perry, you *know* how I feel about the disgusting meat market
mentality of these things. Turning women into nothing but sex
objects. I won't cover it, Chief. There has to be someone else
who can cover it. I'll do anything else, but not this one."

Mr. White let loose a long sigh, exhaling noisily through his
nose. "Lois," he began in a warning tone.

Lois, in turn, gave him what looked to Clark to be a triumphant
look, like she already knew that she'd won the battle. Clark
rocked back on his heels, uncomfortable as the two stared each
other down. With a start, the editor seemed to remember that
Clark was still in the room.

"We'll discuss this later," he said at last. "I'm in the
middle of something here." He gestured to Clark.

"Oh, sorry. I'll just wait over here," she said, backing up a
step to lean against the wall. "So you don't forget."

Mr. White sighed again. "Clark Kent...Lois Lane," he said as an
introduction.

"Lois...Lane?" Clark asked, his eyes going wide.

This was simply too good to be true. He'd been following Lois
Lane's stories for a long time. She was, by far, one of the most
talented writers he'd seen in any of the numerous papers he'd
read. He'd never imagined that she could be so beautiful as well
as so talented. Now, more than ever, Clark was desperate to
secure a position at the paper.

"I...uh..." he stammered for a moment. "I'm honored to meet
you." He stuck out his hand in greeting.

"Oh, well...thanks," she said, a bit awkwardly. But she shook
his hand nonetheless, almost causing Clark to literally float
right there.

"Anyway, son, I'm sorry," the editor said, turning his gaze
back to Clark. "I just can't use you right now."

"Please," Clark said, aware that his voice had taken on a
pleading tone. "I'll do anything you ask. I'll...I'll..." he
scrambled for something -- anything -- that could help him make
his case. "Work for a month...for free," he blurted out before
he was even aware of what he was saying.

"I'm sorry," Mr. White repeated.

"Two months," Clark said, readily upping the ante. "I'll work
for two months, completely free. If I haven't proven myself at
the end of that time, I'll leave. Just please...give me a
chance. I mean, what harm can come from that? It's a win-win."

"I don't know..." Mr. White hesitated.

"Please. I know what my resume must look like to you. But every
reporter has to start somewhere, right? We don't all start out
covering the hardest hitting stories. I just need a chance. I'll
prove to you that I'm better than this," he said, gesturing to
the stack of worthless articles.

"Well..." Mr. White said, now sounding like he was possibly
considering Clark's proposal.

"I'll even take the pageant," he offered, "if you have no one
else to cover it."

"Typical," Lois muttered under her breath.

Clark gave her a smile. "Hey, I'm with you on this. I might be
male, but I see these kinds of things the way you do. The same
goes for the Mr. Universe type of competitions. But if taking a
puff piece like the pageant can help me prove myself, I'll do
it."

"You've got yourself a deal, Kent," Mr. White said. "I'll
let you intern for two months. But if you don't show me that
you're up to the Planet's standards, you'll be out of here
faster than you can say 'great shades of Elvis,' got it?"

"Got it," Clark said with a smile, shaking the editor's hand.
"Trust me, you won't regret this decision."

"I better not. Now, then, the pageant is tomorrow at the
Metropolis Arena, ten sharp, got it? Oh and Lois?"

"Yes, Chief?"

"You still working on that drug bust story?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I was just about to start it when I got your
little note on my desk."

"Take Kent with you."

"What?" she sputtered.

"You said you'd do anything if I reassigned the beauty pageant
story. I reassigned it. Now you get to take Kent here under your
wing and teach him the ropes. Got it?"

"You can't be serious!" she argued.

"I am," the older man said, his face betraying no amusement.
"You're the best reporter I've got. And he should learn from
the best."

"But Perry!"

"No 'but Perry' this time, Lois."

"Chief! The First Mercantile Bank is being robbed. It's a
hostage situation," came a new voice as a young man stuck his
head in through the doorway.

"I'm on it," Lois said before the boss could answer. Then,
yelling after the young man, "Jimmy! Get your camera. You're
coming with me."

"With us," Clark corrected her as she dashed through the door.
Before he could follow though, he turned and shook the editor's
hand. "Thank you, again, for the opportunity. I won't let you
down, I swear it." Then he was jogging out of the office and
into the bullpen, hot on Lois' heels.

When they reached the elevator, the door was opening, letting out
just one person. Lois, Clark, and Jimmy got into the car and Lois
pressed the ground floor button. Lois turned her gaze on Clark
and her face clouded with anger.

"Let's get something straight, Kemp."

"Kent," he gently corrected her. "Clark Kent."

"Whatever. I'm in charge. I'm the star reporter here. You're
just here through Perry's good graces. You will defer to me, got
it?"

"Got it," Clark said. "You're the one on top."

Lois rolled her eyes.

"Well, I, for one, am glad to have you with us," the
photographer said. "Nice to meet you. I'm Jimmy Olsen. Mind if
I call you CK?"

Clark smiled and shook Jimmy's hand. "Be my guest."

"Cool," Jimmy said with a smile as he loaded a fresh roll of
film into his camera.

The bank wasn't too far from the paper. Lois, Clark, and Jimmy
were able half walk, half run there. They had to jockey for a
position, as a wide area around the bank had been cordoned off by
the police already. Still, they managed to maneuver themselves
into a space where they could just see inside the building. Clark
could see the robber holding a gun to a pregnant woman's head.
The woman looked to be near hysterics, but doing an admirable job
of holding it at bay. Still, Clark could see the way she shook
and the unshed tears in her eyes as he telescoped his vision in.

It made his heart ache to see anyone in that kind of situation,
but seeing that the hostage was a heavily pregnant woman was
almost more than he could bear. He had to do something. There was
simply no way he could just stand back and watch whatever events
were about to unfold. Not while two lives hung in the balance --
the woman and her unborn child.

A police officer was trying to talk the man down, attempting to
keep the woman safe, but the robber wasn't being swayed. He sent
a couple of bullets out through the plate glass windows. Shards
of glass went flying and people screamed. One of the bullets hit
one of the other officers, striking him in the center of his
Kevlar vest. The force of the impact staggered the man, but Clark
was relieved to see that he was unhurt.

Still, the broken windows were exactly the opportunity Clark had
been looking for. He subtly inched his glasses down and focused
his vision on the gun in the man's hand, which was sliding back
to its former position at the woman's temple. Using some of his
heat vision, he began to make the gun hot. He very carefully
controlled how much heat he applied, making the weapon heat up
enough to make the man drop it, but not so hot that it scalded
his skin. With a yelp of pain, the robber dropped the gun. The
police sprang into action and made the arrest while the woman
that had been held hostage was checked over by the waiting
paramedics.

Clark smiled to himself as he pushed his glasses back up. Ever
since that first rescue, when he'd saved that drowned boy in the
quarry lake years before, he'd known that he needed to find ways
to help people. It felt so good, so right, so natural to use his
powers to save people when he could. The problem was how to do it
without exposing the fact that he had powers and that he wasn't
exactly human.

"Incredible," Lois breathed as the robber tossed aside his
weapon. "I wonder what made him do that?"

"What?" Clark asked, feigning ignorance.

"Drop the gun like that."

"Maybe he couldn't take the heat anymore," Clark offered.

"The heat?" Lois gave him a sideways look.

"You know...'the heat was on' him from the police," he
scrambled, covering his earlier slip in word choice.

"Oh," was all she said. Then, "Stay here. I'm going to see if
I can grab an interview or two."

"No way," Clark said firmly. "I'm going with you."

"I'm warning you, rookie. Stay out of my way," she said, and
there was no missing the anger in her voice.

Before he could retort, she stormed off as best she could, half
slipping through the crowd and half forcing a path to open up.
Clark took his time, apologizing as he jostled his way out of the
crowd. Already, Lois was talking to one of the police officers on
the scene, her pen practically flying as she jotted down notes
and quotes for the story. Clark hesitated a moment, then made the
split-second decision to see if the woman who'd been held
hostage would talk to him, now that the paramedics had checked
her over.

To his surprise, she agreed to speak with him once he introduced
himself. As tactfully as he could, Clark interviewed her,
producing a notepad and pen from the breast pocket of his suit
jacket. He didn't really need to take notes -- his mind was
almost flawless -- but it looked natural and helped him blend in
like a normal person. When he was done, he thanked the woman and
rejoined Lois, who'd just finished with the police officer
she'd been grilling for details.

"I wonder if the hostage will talk to me," Lois wondered aloud,
though Clark could tell she was mostly talking to herself.

"Already done," he said proudly, holding his notepad up for
Lois to view.

He face darkened. "You...*what?* I specifically told you to
wait, Kent. *I'm* the one in charge, remember?"

"I know," he said diplomatically. "But I figured we could
cover more ground if I pitched in. Not to mention that I have my
career on the line. I *need* to prove myself to Mr. White.
Besides," he said, gesturing, "she's already leaving."

Lois huffed but said nothing.

"Take a look at my notes, if you'd like," he offered.

For a moment, Lois didn't move and didn't say a word. Then,
wordlessly, she took the proffered notes and perused them. After
a moment, she nodded.

"There might be something we can use in that," she admitted
gruffly, handing back the notepad. "Come on. If we hurry, the
article can make it into the evening edition."

She walked away without another word. Clark smiled to himself.
Since the moment he'd met Lois that morning, he'd promised
himself that he would do whatever it would take to win Lois over,
not only as a friend, but possibly as a girlfriend as well. It
was odd, he thought. He'd never believed in the concept of
"love at first sight" before. But as soon as he'd laid eyes on
Lois, he'd become a believer.

Within the hour, they had the first draft of their story written.
At least, Clark thought of it as their story. Lois, on the other
hand, thought of it as solely *her* story. But, after some gentle
prodding from Clark -- and the interview notes he'd taken -- she
allowed him some input on the story. She even -- begrudgingly --
added his name to the byline, after he'd given enough
suggestions and provided enough choice quotes from the woman
who'd been held hostage. On his own, he quickly typed out a
sidebar article, including all of the details from the interview
he'd conducted on his own that he and Lois hadn't been able to
include in the main article.

"Great stuff, kids," Perry praised them as he strolled past
their desks on his way back from the vending machine. He bit into
the candy bar he'd bought.

"Thanks, Chief," Lois said.

"Nice work on that sidebar piece, Kent."

Clark smiled. "Thank you, sir."

Mr. White waved the air before him, as if to dismiss Clark's
words. "None of that Mr. White or sir stuff. Perry or Chief, if
you don't mind."

"Okay...Chief," Clark said.

Perry smiled. "Good man. Now then, you keep on giving me
articles like that, and you might just find that you have a
future here after all."

"Count on it, Chief," Clark said, his heart swelling with hope
and pride.

"Now then, that said, there's no time for resting on our
laurels. Back to work."

Perry's voice was gruff, but there was no mistaking the
affection in his voice, in particular, toward Lois. Clark could
tell, even only having known the two for a few short hours, that
there was a strong bond between them. It was clear that Lois
looked up to the editor, and his pride in her was unmistakable.
It made Clark absurdly happy to see that.

*He cares,* he thought to himself. *He genuinely cares about his
employees. He respects them as much as they respect him. This is
what was missing at all of those other papers -- what I knew was
lacking but couldn't put my finger on. It's no wonder why he's
able to maintain such high standards for his paper. I already
love it here. Everything I've been missing in my life is here.
Especially Lois. She's smart as well as beautiful, feisty and
fierce. She's everything I've been looking for in a woman. It
sounds crazy -- I mean, I barely even know her. But...I'm
certain that I want to know her better...and that I want her to
get to know me too. But how to start? She doesn't trust me. She
barely tolerates me. But...whatever it takes, I'll find a way to
change the way she looks at me.*

"Lunch?" Clark offered a little while later, as the clock
inched past the noon mark.

Lois hesitated and Clark could see that she was unsure if she
wanted to spend any additional time with the lowly intern she'd
been saddled with. But after a second, she nodded and poured the
rest of her cold coffee on the half-dead aloe plant on her desk.

"There's a pizza place a few blocks over," she said.

"Sounds great," he said, genuinely meaning it.

Though he had to be careful with his money, now that he had
committed himself to two months of unpaid work with no guarantee
of a job afterward, the idea of a hot, gooey slice of pizza
sounded heavenly. Even better, he'd be getting to spend some
time with Lois. And that, alone, would be worth every penny.

"I'm buying," he continued, almost before he realized he was
speaking.

Lois arched an eyebrow. "You? Mr. Unpaid Intern?"

He wanted to make a retort, but found himself drawing a blank.
"Please?" he simply asked instead.

"Fine," Lois said, as though she were doing him a favor.

"Great," Clark said. "Lead on."

It didn't take long before they were at the tiny, nearly
hole-in-the-wall pizza shop. They squeezed into the last two
seats at the counter and bit into their slices as soon as they
were served to them. Clark took a minute to really savor the
flavor before swallowing. It really *was* very good.

"Lois?" he ventured after several minutes of silence had
lapsed.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she said before taking a sip of her cream soda.

"Did I do the right thing today? Offering to work for free? I
mean, you know Perry far better than I do."

For the first time, Lois gave him a half smile. "It was gutsy,
I'll give you that. I've never seen anyone do that before.
But...yeah, I think you did the right thing, if you want to work
for the paper. Perry...he's...how can I put this? He's one of
those guys who isn't easily impressed. He admires when people
take initiative and refuse to back down from getting what they
want. Unless you went out and tracked down a story for him, there
was probably nothing better that you could have said or done to
change his mind than what you did today. With Perry, boldness is
one of the best assets a person can have."

Clark breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Let me ask you something."

"Sure. It's only fair."

"Why? Why give up two months without pay for no guarantee of
getting the job?"

"Because," Clark said, shrugging, "this is my dream. And I'm
willing to do whatever it takes to attain that dream. Besides, I
didn't really plan on making that offer," he admitted. "It
sort of just came out in the heat of the moment." He rubbed his
neck as he felt a flush creep up it. "It's probably a good
thing he agreed to two months and didn't let me offer up a year
or something."

Lois nodded as though she understood where he was coming from and
checked her watch. "Come on. We've got a few interviews to do
before the end of the day." She sounded annoyed.

"Look, Lois, I'm sorry. I hope you understand that. I'm not
looking to take credit for all the stories that you've already
begun investigating. You can keep my name off the articles if you
want, just do me a favor and at least make sure that Perry knows
I contributed. I know you don't owe me anything, but I swear,
I'll do my best to earn at least that."

For the first time, Lois smiled. "You know something? You
surprise me."

Clark felt his optimism perk up a bit. "How?"

"Most guys I've worked with -- even some women -- haven't
exactly been shy of using me to get what they want. They haven't
shied away from claiming undue credit, if not completely stealing
the credit, for what they haven't earned."

"What?" Clark asked, his restored happiness instantly replaced
by concern and a sense of heartache for Lois. "Are you
serious?"

She nodded and sighed. "There have been times...as much as I've
tried to prevent it...where my partner at the time has stolen my
work. The last time, the guy even won an award with the story
*I'd* written. He didn't even have the decency to thank me in
his speech. At least Perry fired him."

"I'm so sorry," Clark said, his heart hurting for her. "But,
I swear, I'm *not* that kind of guy. I work hard and earn
whatever credit I take. But, at least I understand now why you
hate having a partner...even one who's an unpaid intern."

"I appreciate that," was all she seemed able to say as she
stood and threw out the paper plate, used napkins, and empty soda
bottle she'd used.

By the end of the day, a contented tiredness had settled over
Clark. He and Lois nailed down five interviews and managed to
finish up two of the stories they were working on. A third had
been started, but put aside in favor of making Perry's edits to
the ones they had completed and submitted to him. Clark stretched
at his computer desk and switched off the power button. It was
time to call it quits for the day. He stood, stretched again, and
walked across the way to Lois' desk.

"Goodnight, Lois," he said as she powered her computer down.

"Goodnight, Clark. We've got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.
I'll pick you up at nine, okay? Where are you staying?"

Clark shook his head. "I can't. I've got the beauty pageant at
ten, remember? And I'm staying at the Hotel Apollo."

Lois' face scrunched up in revulsion. "Oh, gross!"

"What?"

"The Hotel Apollo. Philomena just did an expose on that place.
Mold in the walls, several bedbug infestations in the last three
years, asbestos in the pipes. My advice? Find a new place before
it lands you in the hospital."

Clark shuddered. Sure, he didn't have to worry about those
things affecting him, but the very thought of the things Lois had
mentioned gave him the creeps. He knew the place was shabby and
in desperate need of repair when he checked in the night before,
but the price had been right and he'd been to five other hotels
before finding one with a vacancy. He'd been too preoccupied
with thoughts of his interview at the Planet to give the place a
once-over with his enhanced senses.

"Thanks for the head's up. I'm looking for a more permanent
place. You don't happen to know of anything, do you?"

"Not off hand. Ask John tomorrow. He's our classified guy."

"Great, thanks. Well, I'll see you tomorrow after the
pageant."

"Right. Enjoy the meat market," she said disdainfully.

Clark shook his head as he turned and headed for the elevators.
As much as he hated that he was, once again, covering a puff
piece instead of hard news, he vowed to knock the article out of
the park. And, as things stood, he wasn't even bent on changing
Perry's mind about his writing abilities.

More than anything, he wanted to impress Lois.

***

At six o'clock at night, sharp, Clark finally stepped foot in
the bullpen of the Daily Planet. As he exited the elevator, he
felt like he could finally breathe. It was a complete relief to
be in the newsroom. Chaos still reigned there, as people rushed
around the room, spoke into phones, and typed at furious paces.
In a few short hours, Clark knew from his experience the day
before, the place would be more subdued as the night shift took
over and the day shift slowly made their way home.

Deep in thought as he began to mentally draft his story, he made
his way through the bullpen to his desk. He sat heavily and
leaned back in his computer chair. For a minute, he closed his
eyes as he ordered his thoughts. He was so focused on the task at
hand that he never heard the click of Lois' heels on the tile
floor as she approached him.

"How was the pageant?" she asked.

Clark's eyes sprang open. "Brutal."

"Nice try. I'm not buying it. It's every man's dream to cover
that."

He shook his head. "Not mine. I'm more interested in the *real*
news, Lois, the same as you. I was only there in the interest of
securing my job."

"For someone who claims to not be interested in that sort of
thing, you sure are getting in late," she said, baiting him.
"Those things are usually over by the early afternoon."

"For someone who claims to not to be interested in that sort of
thing, you sure do seem to know a lot about it," he countered
with a lopsided grin, baiting her right back.

"You aren't the first partner I've been paired with who has
been sent to cover the event," she replied with a smug smile.
"None of them has ever gotten back so late."

Clark couldn't help but to smile, even as he shook his head.
"That may be the case, but they had a ton of technical
difficulties. The speakers died in the beginning, the spotlight
blew halfway through, hair and makeup artists fell behind...it
was a mess."

"Really?"

"Really." Clark sighed. "The mishaps put everyone on edge.
Security got amped up. It took forever to nail down a interview
with the winners. Perry is going to be mad that it took so long.
I can feel it."

"Kent! Where in blue blazes is that article?"

"Speaking of," Lois muttered.

"Coming, Chief," Clark replied. "I just got in. There
were...multiple issues. You'll understand when you read my
article."

"You've got an hour before I need to get out of here to have
dinner with my wife," the gruff older man replied as he came to
a stop beside Clark's desk.

"Anniversary, right?" Lois asked.

Perry nodded. "Thirty-seven years."

"Congratulations," Lois and Clark both replied, their voices
nearly one.

"Thank you." He gestured for Lois and Clark to resume working.

Clark nodded and switched his computer on. Lois wandered back to
her desk. Clark fidgeted with a pencil while he waited for the
computer to boot up. He knew he should be feeling lucky. Any
red-blooded, straight male should have been thrilled to have
spent the afternoon ogling the seemingly endless stream of
gorgeous women which had graced the stage at the pageant. But all
throughout the event, Clark had found that his mind kept straying
back to Lois. He'd wondered what she was up to. What stories she
might be writing. Had she finally cornered that City Hall
official who kept avoiding her attempts to interview him?

But mostly, he found himself comparing the women on stage to
Lois, only to find that they couldn't hold a candle to her.
Piercing blue eyes looked dull compared to the chocolate in
Lois' eyes. Carefully applied layers of makeup looked cakey and
heavy compared to Lois' more minimalist approach. High pitched,
deliberately cutesy voices were as nails on a chalk board,
compared to the natural and real tones Lois used.

Being at the pageant had hammered home one point to Clark.

He finally knew what it was to be in love.

***

"Morning, Lois," Clark said cheerfully, a full week of work now
securely under his belt. Lois didn't answer as she tapped away
at her computer. "Morning, Clark," he answered himself, when
she remained mute.

"Mmm," was the only reply he got out of her.

"Must be something interesting on that screen," he said.

"Mmm."

"Care to share with your partner?"

"Hmm?"

"Oh look! A Double Fudge Crunch Bar!" he said.

Instantly, Lois' head snapped up. "What?"

Clark chuckled. "What's so interesting that you're ignoring
your partner?"

"We are *not* partners," she said in a huff. For the last week,
she'd been saying the same thing.

"Perry seems to think we are," he said in reply, a smile on his
face. "And you know what? I'm inclined to go with his line of
thinking."

"No. I don't do the whole partner thing anymore," Lois said.
"I've already explained this to you. There is you. There is me.
There is no us. I'm simply...mentoring you until you either earn
your job here or Perry decides to send you on your way."

"Keep telling yourself that," Clark said pleasantly.

But deep down, Lois' rebuffs hurt. He knew she wasn't
purposefully trying to hurt him. At least, not in the way it
hurt. He knew that her refusal to accept him, willingly, as a
partner, or even an equal coworker, was more of a defensive
tactic than anything else. It wasn't -- he *hoped* -- born out
of a dislike of him personally. Still, he'd thought that over
the past week he would have proven himself to her -- not only as
a serious and competent journalist, but as a genuinely nice guy
who wanted to befriend her.

Lois merely rolled her eyes at him.

"So, what do we have going on today?" Clark asked, allowing her
to take the lead.

She hesitated a moment before answering. "Horseback riding."

That took Clark off guard. But, never one to miss an opportunity
to trade some friendly banter, he quickly replied, "Why, Lois!
Are you asking me out on a date?"

She rolled her eyes again, but there was a hint of a smile there.
Perhaps his efforts to befriend her weren't being wasted. "You
wish, Idaho."

"Kansas," he reflexively corrected, though gently.

"Whatever," she threw back, a little more harshly than he'd
anticipated. "I got a lead that there may be some animal abuse
going on at the Golden Horseshoe stables. You in?"

Clark nodded. "Absolutely. But...I thought there was no us," he
teased.

"There isn't. I just figure that your farm roots might come in
handy. Unless, that is, you didn't have animals?"

"It just so happens that I did. When I was a kid, I had my own
horse, Bolt. My dad thought it would be a good idea to expand the
farm to include some animals. For a while, it was great. Then he
threw his back out a couple of years later. We had to sell the
animals just to make ends meet and keep food on the table. They
were just too expensive to keep."

"You had to give up your horse?" Lois asked, sounding
surprised.

Clark shrugged. "It wasn't a big deal."

"That's got to be hard on a kid, giving up a pet."

"I loved that horse," Clark admitted, lowering his voice just a
little. It felt a little strange to be opening up to Lois like
this, but at the same moment, it felt right. "But I loved my
family more. It wasn't so difficult to say goodbye to Bolt
knowing why I had to do it."

"So...can I count on you to keep your eyes peeled for anything
that looks suspicious? The most experience I have with animals is
with fish and my late grandmother's hamster, back in the day."

Clark chuckled, then turned serious. "You can trust me with
everything and anything."

"Good. Let's go."

***

The trip to the Golden Horseshoe stables turned out worse than
Clark had wanted it to be. He'd hoped that the suspected abuse
would turn out to be nothing more than someone seeing villains
where none were to be had. Instead, he'd found dirty stalls with
rotting straw, oats that were beginning to grow mold, and
evidence of rat droppings. A few of the horses looked underweight
to his eye as well. More than one looked on the verge of death.
All of it made his heart quietly break as he and Lois discreetly
took stock of everything, as they posed as a couple looking to
buy one of the available horses, Firebrand. Lois took photos with
a disposable camera when she could, but Clark was disappointed
with how many she was able to take. He distracted the stable
owner, Big Hank, as much as possible, trying to give Lois an
opportunity to snoop around as much as she could, while
attempting to catch the man in a confession about the environment
the horses were being kept in.

All in all, Clark left the stables with a heavy heart.

"Hey," Lois prodded, as she drove her Jeep back to the Planet.
"Are you okay? You haven't said two words in the last hour."

Clark shook his head. "That was...one of the most disgusting and
unhealthy environments I've seen animals kept in," he finally
said. "I'm glad we called the ASPCA on them, but I can't help
but to hurt for those horses, having to continue to live in that
filth until they can get out there and evaluate the situation."

"We did the best we could," Lois said, her voice soft as well.

Clark looked over and could see lines of pain written in her
features. What they'd seen had affected her deeply as well, it
appeared. No, it was more than just hurt over the poor conditions
the animals had been subjected to. There was something else
there, Clark could see at his second glance.

"What is it?" he asked in near whisper. "What's wrong?"

For several minutes, Lois didn't answer, and kept her eyes
studiously trained on the road before them. Then, finally, "I
can't believe the conditions there." She sighed. "Every year,
when I was a kid, my Girl Scout troop would go to those same
stables and spend the day riding the horses and having a picnic
out in one of the clearings along the nature trail. Seeing it in
such disrepair now...it's like seeing part of my own childhood
crumbling at the seams. It used to be such a clean, wonderful
place. And now..." she sighed and didn't finish her sentence.

"I'm sorry, Lois," Clark said, resisting the urge to reach out
and touch her shoulder in a comforting manner.

"Well, at least we can help those horses get some justice,"
Lois said, brushing off Clark's tender tone. "That's a
start."

"And we will," Clark vowed.

***

*Ring!*

Clark groaned as the phone rang and shattered his otherwise
peaceful sleep.

*Ring! Ring! Ring!*

The phone seemed to become almost more insistent as Clark
attempted to block out the noise and return to dreamland. When
that failed, he groggily opened his eyes. It was still dark in
his shabby hotel room. The red digits on the bedside clock told
him that the sun would soon be peeking over the horizon. He
picked up the phone, cutting it off in mid-ring.

"Hello?" he croaked out, his voice thick with sleep and his
tongue dry from lying for some time with his mouth open.

"Clark?"

"Lois?" Instantly, he snapped to attention. "What's wrong?"

"Oh...nothing," she said, her voice fumbling a bit. "Just
thought you might like to know that the Golden Horseshoe has been
permanently shut down, the owners are facing jail time, and the
horses are all in the ASPCA's hands." Clark could not miss the
triumph in her tone.

"What? When? That's fantastic!" Clark said, allowing himself
to match her level of excitement.

"Two hours ago. I just got a call about it myself from Officer
McGuire."

"Congratulations," Clark said, wishing he could be with her, to
see the smile on her face and possibly manage to share a
victorious hug with her.

"You too," Lois said, still sounding like she was riding the
high that came from seeing justice served. "I mean, you *did*
help with the investigation."

"Thanks, Lois," Clark replied, a little surprised at how easily
she was sharing the credit with him.

"I'll be by to pick you up so we can get the story written.
Twenty minutes okay with you?"

"Yeah, sure," Clark said, nodding though she couldn't see it.

"Okay. See you then." Without another word, she hung up.

Clark pulled the phone from his ear and looked at it for a
moment, smiling, before he hung it up again. Over the past couple
of days, he'd felt like he was making some progress in cracking
Lois' tough outer shell. He wouldn't say that she considered
him a friend, but at least she seemed to be becoming more
accepting of the fact that they were partners.

Standing, Clark stretched, then stripped out of the clothes he'd
been sleeping in. He took a quick shower, and was half dressed
when he heard the first knock on his door. He finished buckling
his belt and answered it. Lois was behind the door, and Clark
thought he saw her eyes widen a bit as he came into her view.

"Hi," he said. "Come on in."

"Hi, yourself," she replied, but she did enter the room. "I
said twenty minutes. I thought you'd be nak...ready," she
corrected herself.

"Sorry. I had to take a shower. Let me just grab a shirt."

He turned, but he could still feel her eyes on his back as he
pulled on his shirt, buttoned it, and tucked it into his pants.
With deft hands, he pulled a tie out of the closest and put it
on, tying it as he turned back to Lois.

"I can't believe you're still living in this dump." She was
trying to make small talk, he knew.

The Palace was certainly cleaner than the Hotel Apollo had been,
but it was still shabby with furniture so worn that a person
could easily feel the springs threatening to poke through.

Clark shrugged, allowing her change the subject from her near
slip up. "I'm still looking for a place. Actually, I'm seeing
one this afternoon around lunchtime."

Lois eyed him for a moment, taking in his now fully clothed
appearance. "Where?"

"Some place on Clinton. I have the address at the office."

"Clinton?" she asked. "344 Clinton?"

Clark nodded. "That sounds about right."

"That's been on the market for months. My sister looked at it
two months ago when she was thinking about moving here. She said
it was a total dump, like a bomb had gone off inside the
apartment."

"Maybe the landlord has made some repairs?" Clark tried.

"Doubtful," she said scornfully.

"Well, it can't hurt to look at it," Clark said as he locked
the hotel room door behind them as they left. "Besides, I grew
up on a farm. My parents and I were always fixing things, so
I've learned to be at least a little handy. It might not be so
bad. Did you happen to see the apartment, when your sister looked
at it?"

"No," she admitted after a moment. Then, changing the subject,
"I could go for a breakfast burrito."

"Sounds like a good idea," Clark said, once more deferring to
her lead in the conversation. "Marty's?"

Lois nodded. "I love Marty's," she said, referring to the
small deli a couple of blocks from the Daily Planet. She and
Clark had ordered sandwiches from the place a few times already.

"Okay then," Clark said, giving her a grin. "Come on, I'm
buying."

"You're always buying," Lois observed. Was it Clark's
imagination, or did she sound a little concerned about that? "I
mean, with you being unpaid right now..." She let her voice
trail off.

Clark shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal, Lois. A couple of
breakfast burritos here, a few coffees there aren't going to
make or break me. Besides, I don't plan on working for free for
much longer." He gave her his biggest smile.

The two reached the crosswalk and waited for the light to change.
Clark rocked on the balls of his feet. As always, he could
scarcely believe his good luck. He was in one of the biggest,
busiest cities in America. He was employed, for the moment, with
one of the most prestigious papers in the world. He was partnered
with one of the most talented journalists he'd ever had the
pleasure of reading. And, although he had to hide it, he was in
love with that same woman, the person he worked with, day in and
day out.

"Yeah, but now you're looking at apartments," Lois argued.

"It's fine, Lois. Trust me."

Truth be told, he *was* in need of a paycheck. As it was, the
hotel charges and footing the bill for his and Lois' meals *was*
putting a drain on his meager savings account. He'd taken to not
eating at all unless he was with Lois or could fly back to Kansas
to have a meal with his folks. It didn't bother him. He didn't
specifically need to eat, though he liked to. The only reason why
he was even bothering with the hotel and not flying back to his
parents' farmhouse at night to sleep was because he needed to
establish himself in the city. He needed an address, even one as
feeble as a hotel room, to keep away unwanted questions. Plus,
there were times when Lois had offered to pick him up on the way
to work.

He wasn't going broke by any means, but he *did* want to be able
to maintain a comfortable living.

The light finally changed and they began to cross. They were in
the middle of the street when Clark's sensitive hearing picked
up something.

*Help! Somebody! Anybody! Watch out! The brakes are gone! I
can't stop!*

Clark's head jerked to the right. A truck was weaving in and out
of traffic. He could just see glimpses of *Benny's Fish Market*
on the side of the vehicle. Frantically, the driver was blaring
his horn, trying his best to alert people to his situation. With
his enhanced hearing, Clark could hear the man pumping his
brakes, but to no avail. Then, mercifully, he heard the engine
click off as the man turned the key, but he was coming too fast
and the thought had come to him to cut the truck's power too
late. Anyone caught in the truck's path was in serious trouble.

"Lois!" Clark cried, giving her a shove forward in an effort to
get her out of the way in time. He only hoped that he wasn't
going to be too late to protect her.

"Hey! Watch it, Farmboy!" Lois said in an irritated manner as
Clark pushed her out of harm's way, her body jerking forward.

Clark braced himself for impact as he turned toward the oncoming
vehicle. The truck struck him full in the chest as he brought his
hands up, as if to ward off the blow. He dug in his heels as the
truck pushed him backwards, but between his strength and the
natural loss of power from the now silent engine, the delivery
truck slowed and stopped. Before he could fully stop the vehicle,
Clark allowed himself to fly backwards onto the pavement.

Shocked gasps and screams surrounded him throughout the ordeal.
Chief among them, he heard Lois calling his name in horror. He
let his head hit the asphalt in an attempt to look like a normal
man and he heard the back of his jacket shredding as he dragged
along the ground for a foot or two. When he came to a stop, he
just lay there as if in a daze.

"Clark?" Lois cried out, rushing to his side. She immediately
dropped to her knees and checked him for signs of injury.
"Clark? Can you hear me?"

Clark groaned and rolled his head from side to side, as if
starting to come to. He let his eyes flutter open. Lois'
concerned face immediately filled his entire field of vision. She
smiled tenderly at him when she realized he was awake.

"Clark? Are you hurt?" she asked.

"I think...I think I'm okay," he said, pushing himself up to
sit.

"Don't move. Let me call an ambulance," she said, trying to
get him to lay still.

Clark reveled at the feel of her warm hand on his chest. But he
didn't allow her to stop him from getting up. He stood and
brushed off his clothing, taking stock of the rips and tears in
his suit. His jacket was a complete loss. Not even his mother's
impressive sewing skills could salvage the mess that it was. The
back looked like a tiger had mauled it and the elbows had simply
ceased to exist. He groaned. It wasn't an overly expensive suit
by any stretch, but he had liked it.

"I'm okay," he repeated, still assessing the damage to his
clothing. "My suit, however, has seen better days."

The driver of the truck, apparently still in shock but starting
to come around, hopped out of his vehicle. He didn't bother to
close the door behind him. It remained open, the rusty hinges
squeaking as they moved. The driver himself was a tall, thin
black man, dressed in neatly pressed jeans and a matching shirt.
He shook his head, as if in disbelief of what had happened, then
made his way to Clark.

"Hey, are you okay, man?" He sounded really worried to Clark's
ears.

"I'm fine," Clark said in a friendly tone.

"I'm so sorry. The brakes went out. I couldn't stop. I
tried."

"I'm sure you did," Clark replied, clasping the man's
shoulder in a gesture of comfort and acceptance. "Are *you*
okay?"

The man looked shocked. "*Me?* I'm fine. My heart's racing and
my mind's a mess, but I'm not hurt, I mean."

Clark smiled and chuckled a little. "I can imagine."

"You going to call the cops?" the man wanted to know, sounding
scared.

Clark opened his mouth to speak, but, before he could say a word,
sirens filled the air. Moments later, several police cars arrived
on the scene, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Clark sighed.
He wanted nothing more than to vanish into the crowd, especially
as an ambulance pulled up. The paramedics would want to examine
him. Would they be suspicious of him when they found not a
scratch on him? Before he could attempt to merge with the crowd,
however, one of the paramedics took him gently by the arm and led
him off to the truck to be looked over.

With a sigh, Clark submitted himself to their check, trying his
best not to become too impatient or annoyed with them. After all,
they were just trying to do their jobs. He couldn't fault them
for wanting to do it well, or for being concerned for someone
who'd been hit by a truck. He did try to politely brush off
their concerns, to no avail, until they were completely satisfied
that he wasn't in immediate danger of dying on the spot.

Then it was time for the police to take his statement. Before
they could speak to him though, he managed to get a private word
in with Lois.

"Lois?" he asked, as he led her off to one side.

"Clark...I can't believe..." she looked more in shock than the
driver of the truck had been.

"I know," he said, gently cutting her off. "Listen, there
isn't much you can do here. I have to give my statement...it
might be a while, depending on how things go. Why don't you go
on ahead? I can meet you at the Planet. Besides, I'm going to
have to go back to the hotel and change." He gestured helplessly
at his clothing. Then he pulled out his wallet and gave Lois a
twenty dollar bill. "Here. I promised you breakfast. I don't
want to make you wait."

"No, Clark."

"Don't worry about it. Just get me a number eleven combo,
okay?"

"I'll get you your breakfast," Lois said with a smug smile.
"But you aren't going to be the one buying. In fact, you
aren't buying lunch or dinner either today."

"Lo-is," he began to argue.

Lois pressed the crisp twenty dollar bill back into his palm.
"No arguments. I refuse to let you pay. Go. Do what you need to
do. I'll let Perry know that you'll be running a little
late."

Clark opened his mouth to argue, but Lois was already moving
away. And one of the officers was already approaching him, pad
and pen already out and ready for Clark's version of the story.
Clark recognized Julius Corzone from one of his previous
investigations with Lois, not three days past. He gave the man a
friendly smile before they got down to business.

Not much later, Clark finally was able to duck back to his hotel
room and change. He wound up completely swapping his wardrobe,
none of his clean jackets matching his pants, shirt, or tie. To
be fair, he changed at super speed, not wanting Lois to have to
wait too long for him. Still, he couldn't join up with her at
work too quickly, lest she ask questions he didn't want to
answer. Luckily, his hotel wasn't too far from work, and he was
able to walk the distance, at a normal, human speed, in just
under thirty minutes.

"A gift for the writing gods," Clark said, walking up behind
Lois and plopping a small notepad on her desk.

Lois jumped a little. Apparently, she'd been completely unaware
of his presence. That made Clark feel a little guilty. He hadn't
meant to scare her. He'd merely walked behind her desk to avoid
the mail cart which had been parked right in the middle of the
aisle between his desk and Lois'.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's not polite to sneak up
on people?" Lois said as she brushed off her surprise at
Clark's appearance. Then, seeing the notepad, "What's this?"

"Story notes. For you," he said, clarifying.

"Story notes?"

He nodded. "From the accident. There were a couple of things
that came up after you left. So...here you go."

"You're giving me your notes?" she asked, incredulous.

"I can't exactly write the story myself," he said, brushing it
off like it was no big deal. "I'm a bit too close to it,
remember?"

"Still..."

"It's no big deal, really."

"It's not 'no big deal,' Clark. You're handing me a story on
a silver platter," Lois argued. "Most reporters would be doing
the exact opposite."

"A story I can't write," he reminded her gently. "Lois,
please. Just take the notes and write the story. I'm not the
kind of guy who steals stories."

"Then you're unlike any reporter I've ever known," she
replied, if not a slight bit skeptically.

"Trust me, Lois, I've unlike *anyone* you've ever met," Clark
said with a smile.

"We'll see about that," she said with a playful grin. "Go,
eat your breakfast."

Clark nodded and grabbed the breakfast burrito and coffee from
his desk. Quickly crossing the bullpen, he warmed them in the
microwave in the break area, then returned to his desk. He was
just biting into the southwestern style egg burrito when Perry
stopped by his desk. Clark swallowed and frowned, unhappy with
the lack of hot sauce. He reached for one of the packets Lois had
left for him.

"Morning, Chief," he said cheerfully as he squeezed three
entire packets onto his breakfast.

"Morning, Kent. Whoa, that's a lot of hot sauce. Careful or
you'll burn your insides quicker than you can say 'blue suede
shoes.'"

Clark chuckled. "I'm tougher than I look, Chief. My dad's
spicy chili makes the term 'five alarm' sound tame."

"Speaking of being tougher than you look, Lois told me what
happened earlier. You okay, son?" He gently put a fatherly hand
on Clark's shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine. My suit's a goner, but luckily that was the
only damage."

"Mmm," the editor hummed in agreement. "She also mentioned
that. Uh, the suit that is. She suggested that I assign you a
locker, to keep some spare duds in. Not that either of us
anticipate anything like this again, that is."

"A locker?" Clark asked.

Lois nodded. "I find it's helpful to keep a change of clothes
on hand. You never know when you might need them. A stakeout pops
up and you can't get home to grab something to wear. Or you have
to go undercover and your work attire's just going to make you
stand out like a sore thumb."

A light bulb went off in Clark's head at the suggestion. A
change of clothes. That could solve his problems, just not in the
way Lois was thinking. For a while now, he'd been toying with
the idea of finding some way to use his abilities to help save
people. He wanted to help, he really did.

*No,* he thought with a sudden realization. *I *need* to help.*

As though written into his very DNA, the need to help those in
trouble was there -- had always been there. Would always be
there, if he was any judge. He'd often wondered if it was
something that actually *was* part of his genetic makeup, or if
it was the result of a lifetime of having his parents as shining
examples of how a person should be.

*Maybe both,* he thought. *All I know for sure is that I need to
be free to help people, without drawing attention to the fact
that Clark Kent is more than he appears to be.*

"That sounds like a great idea," he said aloud. "I just hope I
won't need any more changes for completely ruined suits. Thanks,
Perry. And thank you, Lois."

Perry handed him a small silver key. "Here you go, son. Number
one fifty-nine."

Clark pocketed the key, planning on adding it to his keychain
when he had a free moment. He nodded his thanks again.

"Now that that's taken care of, I'll let you two get back to
work. I want you two to head down to the wharf. Three bodies were
found there this morning, right about daybreak, by a jogger. All
were tied up and shot, execution style, from what I've
gathered."

"We're on it," Clark said enthusiastically.

He was more than eager to shift the focus off of himself and the
accident. But first things were first. He took another bite of
his breakfast burrito, wanting to finish it while it was still
hot from the microwave. Although he could always heat it with his
eyes again, should it grow cold, he didn't want to. He'd
already drawn enough attention to himself for the day, if not the
month.

"Take your time," Lois said, when she saw him trying to hurry
up and finish his breakfast. "I want to get the accident story
off to Perry before we head out. If the crime scene was found at
dawn, the police and the bodies will be long gone by now.
There's no rush."

His mouth full, Clark could answer with no more than a nod. Lois
nodded in acknowledgement and went back to typing. Clark watched
her while he ate, slowing down his chewing speed as he did so. It
was incredible to him, just having the privilege of watching Lois
work.

*Everything about her is incredible,* his inner voice whispered
with awe. *Her mind. Her beauty. Her passion.* His inner voice
sighed. *Clark, when you fall for someone, you sure do fall
hard,* he acknowledged.

"Ready?" she asked him not long after.

"Ready," he confirmed, standing from his chair and tossing his
empty coffee cup in the wastepaper basket at his feet.

"Then let's go catch some criminals," Lois said, giving him a
grin. To Clark's surprise, she grabbed his arm almost
affectionately. "That is, of course, if you're feeling up to
it."

"I told you, Lois, I'm totally fine. The paramedics gave me a
clean bill of health as well. Come on, let's talk to whoever's
in charge of the police investigation."

***

Clark let out a low whistle as he took in the apartment at 344
Clinton. Lois had warned him that her sister had said the place
had been in bad shape. But he hadn't expected this level of
filth and brokenness. It looked like a tornado, hurricane,
earthquake, and bomb had all hit the place at the exact same
time. Still...Clark couldn't deny that the place had potential.
It was one of the more spacious apartments he'd seen so far.
Plus, the terrace was perfectly isolated and hidden from view. He
could use it as a place to take off and land when he needed to
fly. He wasn't having too many issues finding deserted alleyways
so far, but it would make things much simpler if he always had at
least one reliable place to utilize.

 "Ugh!" Lois said as she side-stepped a sheet of newspaper on
the floor. It was stained with some unidentifiable brown smear.
"This place is disgusting!"

"Oh, it needs a little cleaning," Larry, the landlord said,
munching on a buttered bagel. "That's all."

"That's all?" Lois repeated, incredulous. "A little cleaning?
This place should be *condemned*."

Clark rolled his eyes, thankful that Lois had her back to him.
Taking advantage of the fact that the two were focused on each
other and not him, he slid his glasses down just enough to peek
over the lenses. Pretending to give the place a cursory look, he
scanned the entire apartment, top to bottom, with his x-ray
vision. When he was done, he pushed the frames back up his nose.
Remarkably, he'd found nothing amiss -- no evidence of vermin,
no mold, and what appeared to be a very sturdy construction.

"You're over-reacting," the landlord was arguing with Lois.

"I don't think so. In fact, I might just have to write up an
article on this place and the slumlord land owner."

"*Slumlord?*" the man half-roared. "Now wait just a second!"

"Well, what do you call a man who keeps apartments in this
condition?" Lois folded her arms before her chest in a defiant
manner.

"I've been trying to get the previous owners to pay for a
cleaning service," Larry tried to explain.

"How much?" Clark cut in.

"For the cleaning service? All the ones I've gotten quotes for
are over a grand."

Clark shook his head. "I meant for the apartment."

"Clark!" Lois scolded. "You aren't seriously considering
renting out *this*," she gestured wildly at the entire
apartment, "the gateway to hell."

"How much?" Clark asked again, this time a little louder, to
show Lois that he was, indeed, serious.

"A grand a month," Larry replied.

"A thousand dollars?" Clark asked in disbelief. He shook his
head. "No way."

"You're out of your mind," Lois said, though Clark wasn't
sure if that was aimed at him, Larry, or both of them.

"A place this size, this close to midtown...?" The portly
landlord shrugged and let his voice trail off.

"It's also in pretty bad disrepair," Clark pointed out. He
lifted the broken top of the newel post at the bottom of the
stairs in the living room to drive home that same point.

"I really can't go any lower," the man said.

"Oh please," Lois said. "Listen up. I happen to know that
you've been running the same 'for rent' ad in the Daily Planet
for the last three months. Don't even bother trying to deny
it," she said as Larry opened his mouth to argue. "You need a
tenant. And for some God-forsaken reason, Clark here seems to be
willing to take the place. Lower your price."

"I really can't."

"I'll do the cleaning and repair work myself," Clark said.

Larry looked skeptical. "You?"

Clark smiled and shrugged off the near-insult. "I'm pretty
handy."

"Well...I guess I could take fifty bucks off the rent," Larry
said as he considered Clark's proposal.

"Fifty bucks? That's all?" Lois looked and sounded annoyed.
"Come on, Clark. This place isn't worth it. At least this visit
wasn't a total loss. We'll get a story out of it, if nothing
else."

She tugged on Clark's arm to get him to follow her. Clark
hesitated, undecided if he should go with her or if he could
commit to the place. Despite its ramshackle state now, he knew he
could turn it into a wonderful place to live, given enough time
and effort. He could make it his home. Still, the price was steep
and would leave him almost completely strapped for cash until
Perry decided to hire him as a full employee.

*I wonder...* he thought as he stepped forward to follow Lois.

He was almost at the door when Larry called out to him. "Wait,
Mr. Kent."

Clark turned back, wondering if his bluff had worked. "Yes?"

"How about I knock a hundred off? Nine hundred a month and the
place is yours."

"Eight-fifty," Lois immediately countered. She arched her
eyebrow in a dare for him to haggle with her.

"Eight seventy-five," Larry said. "My final offer."

"I'll take it," Clark said before Lois could argue further and
perhaps cost him the apartment. He extended a hand to shake on
the deal, which Larry accepted. "When can I move in?"

"As soon as the check clears."

Clark nodded. "I'll drop it off tomorrow before I head to
work."

"Welcome to the building, Mr. Kent."

***

"I can't believe you actually rented out that pig-sty," Lois
huffed as they sat together back in the bullpen of the Daily
Planet, hours later.

They were in the conference room, working on the story Perry had
given them. A stack of papers stood before them -- all of the
research Jimmy had managed to find for them as they followed what
few leads they had on the execution-style murders. A pattern had
emerged as they sifted through all of the gathered information.
For the past five years, on the same date, the same type of
murders had been committed, with all of the victims matching the
same general profiles.

"It's really not that bad," he insisted.

"I'll bet it's just crawling with vermin," Lois argued. "In
fact, it probably has roaches the size of poodles."

"It wasn't," he assured her.

"How do you know?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "You barely
looked at the place before agreeing to it."

"Something the size of a poodle is pretty hard to miss," he
said, winking at her just a bit. "It...just looked clean...that
way," he said when her eyebrow failed to fall back into its
normal spot. "Besides...why do you care what apartment I
rent?"

"I just think it's a shame that the landlord has had that
apartment up for rent for three whole months and hasn't bothered
to do anything about the condition that it's in. He's either
completely lazy or a total cheapskate. In any case, he doesn't
seem like the world's greatest landlord."

"I admit that he *should* have done something with the place,"
Clark said. "But, I don't know. There's something about the
place that sort of...feels right to me." He yawned a bit and
stretched his arms above his head briefly. He picked up a print
out, studied it for a moment, then placed it back on the long
conference table again with a sigh. "Have you found anything
with your stack of research?"

Lois ' sigh matched Clark's. "Nothing yet." Her stomach
growled, loudly enough to cause her face to flush in
embarrassment.

"Do you want to call it a night?" Clark asked. "Get some
dinner and start fresh in the morning?"

Lois hesitated before answering. In the short time Clark had
known her, he'd come to learn some basic truths about her. Chief
among them was her drive. She was a woman who hated leaving loose
ends, a person who loathed to give up on things, even for a short
time to gain a clearer head and better perspective. But in the
end, she nodded.

"It might be for the best. It's getting late. I doubt we'll
hear back from any of those messages we left."

"Okay," Clark said, standing and arching his back to loosen a
kink that had formed from sitting in the same position for so
long. "Dinner?"

Throwing a glance over to the wall clock, Lois nodded again.
"Sure."

"Where?" Clark asked, straightening up their work and tucking
it under his arm to bring to his desk for safe keeping.

Lois went to her desk and scrawled a quick note. She handed it to
Clark, who glanced down at it. It was an address.

"What...?" he asked.

"That's my apartment," she explained. "Give me..." She
paused, thinking. "An hour?"

"Lois, you don't need to have me over. We can just go grab a
burger or something."

"No, no. I want to. I just need to run a couple of errands.
Okay?"

"Better than okay," he assured her.

"Great. See you later."

"Later."

Clark watched her hurriedly pull her jacket on and rush off
through the bullpen. He couldn't help the smile that started to
curl his lips. Lois had just invited him to her apartment. He had
no illusions about her intentions. Knowing Lois, it really would
just be about eating dinner together. But still, it made his
heart glad. If she was inviting him into her home, it meant that
she was beginning to accept him as more than a work partner. It
meant that they were paving the way toward a friendship.

*That didn't take as long as I'd feared, *he thought to
himself, feeling a sense of happiness seep through his entire
body.

"Kent? You leaving?" Perry asked as Clark passed him in the
break area while on his way to the elevators.

"Yeah. I, uh, I'm having dinner with a friend," Clark said,
slowing his pace and stopping for a moment.

"Lois?" Perry guessed.

"Actually, yes. How did you...?"

"I've seen the way you two interact," the editor said, cutting
him off with a knowing wink. "A word of advice, son. Lois is a
bit like...well...a bucking bronco."

"I'm not sure that I follow you, Chief," Clark said, rubbing
the back of his neck and scratching his ear. "A bucking
bronco?"

"Wild. Dangerous. Thrilling to be sure. But chances are, you're
going to get thrown from the saddle and trampled over."

"I don't know about that, Perry," Clark replied, unconvinced.

"Trust me, Clark. You go after her, you're liable to get your
heart torn right out of your chest and stomped on. I've seen it
happen before. She doesn't mean to do it, but she sure can be a
heartbreaker."

"Things are a little different with me," Clark said, feeling
confident. "I'm not your average guy."

Perry chuckled and shook his head. "Then I wish you luck.
You'll need it."

"We're only friends," Clark tried to assure his boss.

"Oh, I know that. But, like I said, I've seen the way you look
at her. You've already got it bad for her, don't you?"

"I'm not sure I want to answer that, especially when I'm only
an intern," Clark replied cagily.

Perry nearly roared a laugh. "Fair enough. Say no more. Good
luck tonight."

Clark grinned as Perry patted his shoulder. "Night, Chief. See
you tomorrow."

***

An hour later, exactly, Clark knocked on Lois' door, now dressed
in a freshly pressed pair of jeans and soft brown sweater. In one
arm, he carried a small brown paper bag -- just a modest bottle
of red wine nestled in the crook of his elbow. He heard movement
within the apartment, then the sound of five locks being opened.

"Just a second," Lois' voice called from within as she
worked.

A moment later, the door opened. Clark smiled at her.

"Hi, Lois."

"Hi, Clark. Wow, right on time. Come on in. Don't mind the
place. I haven't had much time to clean lately, what with the
way work has been and everything."

"What?" Clark asked, looking around. "Your place looks
fantastic."

It was the truth. Everything looked spotless as he swept his gaze
around the room. Not even a single rogue sweater lay on a chair
or on the back of the couch. The only thing Clark could see that
Lois might have been referring to was several stacks of folders
and papers on her coffee table, alongside her closed laptop. He
didn't doubt that it was research for one or more of her solo
stories.

"Thanks," Lois said.

"Here, this is for you." He handed her the bottle of wine. "I
wasn't sure what we are having for dinner, but I figured red
goes with a lot. Although, now that I think about it, I'm not
even sure if bringing wine was even appropriate, given the
circumstances."

"It's fine," she assured him in a soft tone. "Thank you."

"So...what *are* we having?" Clark asked.

"Italian. I remembered that you liked that place we ordered from
last week, Spoto's." She moved off into the kitchen as Clark
closed the door to the apartment. He followed her as she
continued to talk. "You raved about the shrimp scampi, so..."
Her voice trailed off as she gestured to the small table in her
kitchen, where their dinner sat, awaiting them.

"Looks great," he said.

"Anyway," Lois continued as she popped the cork on the bottle
of wine Clark had bought, "I thought it was best if I got food
out somewhere." She poured two glasses of the heady wine and sat
as Clark took his own seat. "I'm not much of a cook. I would
have hated to have killed you with my cooking the very same night
that you risked your life to save mine."

"Lois, we've been over this," Clark said, accepting the wine
glass she held out to him. He took a sip, savored it, then
continued. "It was no big deal."

"That's where you're wrong," Lois said in a quiet voice.
"Clark...what you did today...no one has ever done that for me
before. Risked their life for me. Saved my life. Until today,
it's always just been me on my own, caring for me, looking out
for myself. But you...you took a real chance, doing what you did.
You could have been seriously hurt or even killed." Her voice
took on a reverent, almost awed quality.

"Lois, I was never really...I mean," he said, catching himself
before he could slip up. "I didn't really think about it. I
just saw you in the truck's pathway and acted. I couldn't let
you get hurt, even if it meant that *I* would be the one to take
the hit."

"See? That's exactly what I mean," Lois said, her voice still
low and grateful sounding. "It was probably the most selfless
thing I've ever witnessed. And then, to top it all off, you
handed me your story notes on a silver platter, asking for
nothing in return. Like I said, I've never had that happen
before. I just wanted to say thank you."

"You're welcome," Clark replied, smiling. "How about a toast?
To life and new friendships," he said, clinking his glass
against the side of hers.

"To new friends," Lois agreed.

"In any event, the food is fantastic," Clark said after taking
a few forkfuls of the shrimp scampi. "Thanks for picking it
up."

"Any time."

The phone began to ring. Lois excused herself, then stood and
crossed the kitchen to the closest headset, which was mounted to
the wall.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Dan. You what? Bermuda? I see. For how long?
Uh-huh. No, no, I'm not disappointed. No, I totally understand.
You need to do what you need to do. No, that's okay. No, don't
call me, I'll call you. Uh-huh, right. Bye."

She hung up with a sigh, then went back to her seat to pick at
what remained of her lasagna.

"Everything okay?" Clark asked, concerned.

"Yeah," she answered distractedly.

"Boyfriend?" Clark asked.

Lois shook her head. "Not quite. We went out a few times but
never really became a couple. But he was supposed to accompany me
to the White Orchid Ball next Friday night."

"White Orchid?"

Lois nodded. "Every year Lex Luthor hosts his White Orchid Ball.
It's sort of a huge charity event. Anyone who's anyone attends.
It's a great place to rub elbows with the rich and famous. It's
actually how I've nailed down some of my interviews."

"Lex Luthor? Isn't he the third richest man on the planet?"

"One and the same," Lois confirmed.

"And you have tickets to this ball?" Clark asked. "How?"

"Simple. I'm with the press."

Clark thought about it. "Well, yeah, of course that makes
sense," he said, more for his own benefit than Lois'. "What's
the point of throwing a party if you can't show the rest of the
world what you're up to?"

"Anyway, Dan was going to go with me but now his job's got him
on assignment in Bermuda for the next month, if not longer. Some
DEA thing that he's not allowed to discuss."

"Yikes. Sorry."

"It's not a big deal. I just hate going to these things alone,
as much as I wind up working during them." She took another bite
of her meal before speaking again. "You wouldn't happen to have
a tuxedo, would you?"

"I could rent one," he answered, just as casually as she had
asked the question.

"Would you want to go with me?"

"Like a date?" he teased.

"Like a partner and colleague," she replied, though Clark
couldn't miss the small smile tugging at the corners of her
mouth.

"I'd love to go with you," he said sincerely.

Again, that soft, almost shy smile crossed Lois' features. Clark
loved those moments -- when the otherwise hard-bitten newswoman
faded away and left the real, human woman exposed. And Clark was
absolutely enamored with the real Lois Lane -- the one who loved
cream sodas and who fearlessly ate hotdogs from even the shadier
street vendors, the one who tucked her hair behind her ears like
a shy schoolgirl when she was not quite at ease, the one who
could be roused to anger so easily by the injustices she saw
around her.

"Thanks, Clark."

"Actually, thank *you* for even asking me. But, well...I'd like
it if it was more along the lines of a date," he admitted. His
cheeks immediately flushed as he realized what he was saying.

Lois shook her head. "Don't fall for me, Farmboy. I don't have
the time. Or the desire to have yet another wrecked relationship
under my belt."

"It may already be too late," Clark said, casting his eyes
downward to study what was left of his shrimp scampi. "And no
one says it will be a disaster."

"Clark, look. You're a nice enough guy and all but...I'm just
not sure I want to get involved. Especially with a coworker."

"I know, you have a...history, with dating coworkers," Clark
said, swirling some of the remaining angel hair pasta around on
his plate. "But, if you gave me a chance, you'd find out that
I'm not like the guys you've gone out with so far."

She seemed to think that over. "That's for sure. You proved
that today."

"Give me a chance?" It almost sounded like a plea to him. "I
mean, you *do* owe it to me," he joked.

Lois laughed deeply, her eyes sparkling with her amusement.
"Pretty bold, for an unpaid intern."

Clark chuckled in return. "Only for a few more weeks. Then I'll
be a full employee."

"I hope so," Lois confessed in a softer tone.

"Really?" It took him by surprise.

"Really," she said, nodding. "You're a good reporter, Clark.
I wouldn't have guessed it when you first came into the Planet,
but I've met shockingly few reporters with your skills and
dedication. And I know I didn't act like it when you first
started. I'm sorry."

"Well, thank you, Lois. That really does mean a lot to me."

"But, we'll never get your position secured if we don't nail
down the person responsible for those murders."

"We'll get them," he assured her.

"You sound pretty confident."

"I am."

"How come?"

"Because," he said nonchalantly, with a slight shrug, "we're
Lane and Kent."

***

"Just a minute!" Clark called out as someone knocked on the
door.

He finished washing his hands and dried them on a dishtowel. As
he trotted through the living room on his way to the door, he
grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it on. Just before he reached the
door, he stuck his glasses back on his face. Opening the door, he
was surprised to see Lois standing on his doorstep, a bag of what
smelled like tacos in her hand.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi. Come on in."

Lois nodded and entered his new apartment, then stopped dead in
her tracks as she looked around. Her mouth opened into a small O.
She looked to Clark, confused.

"How...?"

"How, what?"

"This place," she clarified. "I saw it not five days ago and
it looked like a nuclear waste dump. And now...well, look at
it."

Clark blushed a bit. He hadn't expected company so soon. If he
had, he wouldn't have cleaned the place at super speed. Starting
with his bathroom, he'd given the entire place a deep cleaning
over the last few nights, making sure to dedicate enough time,
even with his speed, to make the place sparkle and shine, and to
get rid of the odd odors that had lingered behind when the
previous tenants had vacated the place. Now he only hoped Lois
wouldn't get too suspicious, especially since he'd even given
the walls a fresh coat of paint to hide the places where the old
coat had been cracked and peeling.

"You must have had a lot of help," Lois observed.

"Some," Clark said in a non-committal tone. The way he saw it,
his super speed *had* been his help. "Sorry that I don't have
much furniture yet." He felt bizarrely ashamed of his paper
plates, plastic spoons, and lack of furniture. In fact, the only
thing he'd been able to buy yet had been a new and plush couch,
which, for the moment, also doubled as his bed. "Once I start
making a paycheck, I'll be able to completely furnish the
place," he explained.

"Well, whatever help you had, it looks great. I barely recognize
the place. And I no longer feel like I need a tetanus shot by
stepping foot in here."

Clark chuckled. "Thanks. I'm glad it passes your inspection."
He took the bag of food from her, brought it to his kitchen, and
set it out on the paper plates he had stashed in one of the
cupboards. "So, what brings you by?"

She shrugged as he passed her a plate. "I was in the
neighborhood and figured I'd see how things were going with your
place. Besides, Taco Loco is one of my favorite taco places and I
thought you might be hungry."

"I was. Thanks." He bit into one of the tacos she'd gotten for
him. "Next time though, let me get the tacos. I promise that
they will blow your mind."

"You're on, Farmboy," she said with a grin.

***

Clark nervously knocked on Lois' apartment door. When she
didn't answer right away, he rocked on the balls of his feet,
blowing out a controlled, cleansing breath. Lois didn't
intimidate him in the least. But, he would be escorting her to
the White Orchid Ball that night. And while he wanted to view the
event as a date, Lois didn't. It literally made his heart ache
with desire.

After a few moments, he knocked again. This time, he heard
shuffling behind the door.

"Just a minute!"

Locks unlatched. The doorknob turned. And then, suddenly, the
door swung open to reveal Lois standing there in a tastefully low
cut red gown, a modest slit up one thigh. She held matching pumps
in one hand. A single teardrop shaped ruby hung about her throat,
surrounded by white diamonds that glinted like stars. But even
those could not compare to the sparkle in her eyes as she caught
sight of him.

"Lois," Clark finally choked out, completely floored by how
gorgeous she looked. "You look...wow! Fantastic," he managed.
He shook his head. "I mean, you always look nice but...would you
be offended if I called you stunning?"

"I certainly would not," she said, stifling a giggle. "And you
look very handsome in your tux," she offered in return. She
patted his lapel, brushing a small piece of fuzz from it, making
Clark's heart miss a beat.

"Here," Clark said when he found his voice again. It was a
struggle for him not to listen to her heartbeat, to see if he was
affecting her the way she was him. He held out a small plastic
box. "I picked this up for you."

"What is it?" Lois asked, moving a step closer to peek into the
box.

Clark opened the lid and pulled out the single flower within. "I
thought it was only appropriate that you should wear a white
orchid to the White Orchid Ball."

"Clark, it's beautiful," Lois said in admiration of the white
flower. It had just the faintest splashes of purple in the very
center. "Would you pin it on me?"

"Absolutely," he said.

Expertly, he pulled the straight pin from the base of the stem
and closed the distance between himself and Lois. With her so
close, he thought that surely his hands would tremble. But
somehow, they remained steady as he held the flower above her
left breast and fastened it to her dress with the pin.

"There," he announced. "Perfect."

"You're something else, Clark," Lois said after a moment as
she stooped to put her shoes on.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked playfully, leaning
his hip against the couch.

Lois smirked at him. "It means...you constantly surprise me. I
guess I'm still not used to having a friend like you."

"What kind of friend is that?" He needed to know how she viewed
him.

"A best friend," she said in a solemn voice so low that he
almost missed it.

He smiled warmly. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not
used to having a best friend quite like you either. I feel
like...I don't know. Like I've gotten closer with you in a
month or so than I've been with the people I've known all my
life."

"We make a good team, don't we?" Lois asked, standing back up
to her full height.

"The best," Clark agreed.

***

Less than an hour later, Clark found himself in the penthouse
suite at Lex Tower, surrounded by a sea of wealthy and famous
people, as well as key members of the media. He stuck with Lois,
taking her lead as she greeted those she had met before, allowing
her to make the introductions. Jimmy and Perry were there as
well, which put Clark more at ease. It was comforting to see some
familiar faces there. For a time, Clark stood speaking with Jimmy
as the two men sipped exquisite and rare wines. It seemed that
Lex Luthor spared no expense when he threw parties.

"There's Lex Luthor now," Lois whispered into Clark's ear
after a while. The faint breeze created by her words sent a jolt
of electricity through his body. "He doesn't give interviews to
the press."

"Let me guess," Clark said, not taking his eyes off the man, as
the billionaire greeted the mayor and his wife. "You intend on
changing that."

"Not only changing it, but being the first one he gives an
interview to," Lois confirmed. "Come on. Let's go over."

Clark set down his wine glass and followed Lois across the
marble, mosaic floor.

"Lex Luthor," Lois called out when she was no more than five
feet away from the party's host. "You haven't returned my
calls."

"And you are?"

"Lois Lane. Daily Planet," she said. "This is Clark Kent. My
writing partner."

"Ah, yes. It's good to meet you, Miss Lane, Mr. Kent." The
billionaire extended a hand. "I apologize for not returning your
calls sooner, Miss Lane."

Clark shook the man's hand. Luthor had a strong, firm grip. But
something in his eyes betrayed the friendly smile on his face. It
was there and gone in less than a second, but Clark had seen it
nonetheless. It made the short hairs at the base of his neck
stand on end.

"I'd like to interview you," Lois said, getting right to the
point. Clark had to hide his smile at her directness.

"Well, Miss Lane, as I am sure you are aware, I don't give
interviews," Luthor replied with cool nonchalance.

"I know. I'd like to change that."

To Clark's surprise, the billionaire laughed. "I admire your
dedication, Miss Lane."

"Lois, please."

"Lois. And you may call me Lex."

"Lex."

Clark had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"So, Lex, is your wife here this evening?" Lois inquired.

Luthor shook his head. "Sadly, no. Some family business called
her away. A sick uncle."

"Sorry to hear that," Clark put in, almost before he realized
he was speaking.

"Yes," Luthor said, nearly dismissing him. "I nearly
rescheduled this soiree, but Laura would not hear of it."

"She sounds like an amazing woman," Lois said, though Clark
could detect a little disappointment hidden in her voice. It was
clear to him that she'd planned on speaking to the wife if
Luthor didn't come around to her way of thinking.

"She is," Luthor agreed.

"But back to the topic at hand," Lois said, smiling sweetly.
"There must be some part of you that would like the world to
know the man behind the mystery."

"Is that what I am? A mystery?" Luthor asked, returning an
amused look.

"Well, there *is* relatively little that's known about you,"
Clark answered for Lois. He caught the side scowl that she shot
him.

"And for a reason," Luthor replied. "I rather enjoy my
privacy."

"No doubt," Clark said, putting his hands into his pockets as
he spoke. "But you must be aware that there *are* certain rumors
out there about you and how you've accumulated such wealth. An
interview, especially with a paper was well-respected as the
Planet, could lay many of those rumors to rest. After all, Lois
*is* the best there is."

The last part, at least, changed Lois' annoyed look into one of
gratitude. But Luthor looked less than convinced.

"If I change my mind, you'll be the first one I contact," he
said amiably, yet firmly enough to let it be known that the topic
of conversation was now closed. "If you'll excuse me, there is
someone I must speak with." With that, he shook their hands
again, then melted away into the crowd.

 "Well," Lois said, more to herself than Clark, "that could
have gone better."

"At least you got to talk to him, maybe even make him second
guess his no-interview policy."

"I'll believe it when I see it," she grumbled.

"Come on," Clark said, lightly laying a hand on her shoulder.
"Let's just enjoy the rest of the night, okay?"

Lois huffed but eventually relented. "Maybe you're right."

"Would you care to dance?" Clark asked as the music changed
from some upbeat tune he didn't know to the softer, slower tones
of "The Way You Look Tonight."

She looked uncertain, but was, perhaps, reassured by the other
couples who began to migrate toward the center of the room and
dance together. "I'd like that."

Clark led her to the cluster of couples in the middle of the
room, then held her close. His heart began to hammer in his chest
at the close contact. He'd hoped, but never truly believed, he
would have the chance to hold Lois in such an intimate position.
She felt so good there, in his arms. So right. So natural, like
it had always been meant to be.

*Soul mate*, his mind whispered at him.

He wondered if Lois felt the connection as well, for after a
moment, she laid her head against his chest and sighed
contentedly. He tightened his arms around her ever so gently as
they swayed to the music. Softly, he sighed in happiness as
well.

"Clark?"

"Hmm?"

"This is really nice," she said after a minute.

"It is," he affirmed.

"Where'd you learn to dance like this?"

"From a Nigerian Princess," he said, shrugging it off like it
was no big deal.

"Really?"

"Really."

"You must have some incredible stories from traveling," she
said after a pause.

"I guess. The truth is, I feel like my greatest adventure so far
has been living in Metropolis and working with you."

"Clark..."

"I know," he said, gently cutting her off. "You're interested
in friendship only. I get it. But it doesn't make what I said
any less true."

"You're a sweet guy, Clark."

"Thanks."

"And I think...is it too late to change my mind?"

"About what?"

"About tonight," Lois clarified. "About your offer."

Clark was thunderstruck. Was Lois asking him what he thought he
was asking? He cleared his suddenly too-dry throat before
speaking.

"To make this...a date?" he asked, very carefully, half afraid
he'd misunderstood her.

Against him, Lois nodded her head. "I just feel like...tonight
has been so perfect so far. It hasn't felt like a work
obligation, the way it always does. Having you here...it's felt
like a date ever since you knocked on my door a few hours ago. I
know, I'm crazy."

"No, Lois, you're not crazy. Believe me, nothing would make me
happier than to consider tonight our first date."

"First date? Feeling confident, are you?" she teased him.

"Confident enough to do this," he said, bending his neck and
capturing Lois' lips in a kiss before she could make a retort.

Stars exploded before Clark's eyes as his lips met hers. His
already racing heart felt as though it might burst right through
his chest. For the first time in his life, the world around him
-- all the lights, colors, smells, sounds, and distractions --
simply ceased to be. He was encased in an invisible bubble with
Lois, where the real world couldn't touch them, couldn't
distract them, couldn't pull them apart. It was as if all of his
senses were seared away in that moment, leaving only his ability
to feel the softness of Lois' lips and the way that she squeezed
his body, ever so slightly, as she responded to his kiss.

When they broke, the world seemed to come crashing back around
Clark, the magical spell of their moment broken as the contact
between their lips was severed. It had only lasted a second, and
hadn't been a deep kiss, but Clark felt his life had been
profoundly altered in that moment.

"Wow," Lois breathed, even as Clark brought his head away from
hers.

"You said it," he agreed, well aware of the dreamy tone his
voice had taken.

***

A little while later, as the party was in full swing, Lois and
Clark found themselves separated. Perry found Clark and pulled
him off to one side, near the open bar but well out of the way of
other people.

"I saw what happened before," the editor said gruffly.

"What?" Clark asked.

"Don't play dumb with me. I saw you and Lois share a kiss."

"Oh. That." He blushed.

"Yes, that. Clark, son, I don't mind telling you that I don't
have a hard-and-fast rule about coworkers dating. It's happened
before in my newsroom. But Lois...Lois is very special to me.
Almost like a daughter, you might say. And, well, that makes me
very protective of her."

"I see," Clark said, shyly stuffing his hands into his pockets
and rocking back onto his heels. "But, I'm not messing around,
Chief. I'm not trying to hurt her. I care about her, deeply,
even though we've only known each other a short time."

"Good. See to it that it stays that way, with you not doing
anything to hurt her."

"You have my word," Clark vowed. Then, scanning the crowd,
"Say, Chief? Have you actually *seen* Lois in the last twenty
minutes?"

Perry stopped for a moment, scratching his chin as he thought.
"Come to think of it, no. Have you, Jimmy?"

Jimmy broke off his conversation with an attractive enough
redhead to answer. "Sorry, Chief, no. But I've been a little
preoccupied. Oh, and CK? Congrats, man. I saw those smooth moves
of yours."

"Uh, thanks," Clark said, decidedly uncomfortable with his and
Lois' kiss being the topic of discussion. "I'd better go look
for her. Excuse me."

He found her snooping around in what appeared to be Lex Luthor's
private office. Clark hurriedly shut the door behind him as he
entered.

"Lois!" he whispered, so as not to be heard by anyone but her.

She still jumped a little at his voice. Her back had been toward
the door, so she hadn't seen him enter.

"Clark! You startled me."

"I'm sorry. But what are you doing in here?"

"Looking for something."

"Apparently," he shot back, unable to suppress the small vein
of sarcasm in his comment. "What, exactly, are you looking
for?"

"I don't know," she said, blushing a little.

Clark rolled his eyes. "Lo-is!"

"I need to find something -- anything -- that can give me a leg
up in nailing down an interview," she whispered back. "Help
me."

"Lois, getting caught rifling through the man's personal items
is guaranteed to *not* land you an interview."

"If you help, we can get done faster and get out of here, which
gives us less of a chance to be caught," she shot back as she
opened one of the drawers to his desk.

She pulled out a stack of file folders and fanned them out on the
wide mahogany desk. Clark glanced at them but saw nothing of
note. Plans for the new LexMart down by the docks. Contracts for
LNN workers. A bill of sale for his newest yacht. Something
called Project Blue. Plans for a new cruise line, set to start
sailing three years in the future.

"There's nothing here," Clark whispered as he gave in and
helped Lois dig through Luthor's private files.

"I guess you're right," she admitted after a few more moments
of searching. She put everything back neatly. "I'm sorry,
Clark."

He shook his head. "Don't be. I love how you dive right in to
things...even if maybe you shouldn't." He offered her a crooked
smile. "You want to go back and join the rest of the party?"

"I suppose," Lois said, sounding less than enthusiastic.

"What? What's the matter?" he asked, putting an arm
protectively across her shoulders.

"It's just so..." she gestured as she spoke, "nice and quiet
here."

"Yes, it is." Luthor's voice was coldly neutral sounding.
"And also very private."

"I...uh...sorry, Lex," Lois said, having the sense to at least
sound abashed, even if she might not be feeling it. "Clark and I
just needed a minute alone, out of the party, to catch our
breath. You throw such elaborate soirees, Lex. We didn't realize
this was your office."

"Thank you. But now, I really must insist that we move back to
the affair at hand." He eyed them coolly.

Silently, Lois and Clark exited the study. Lex trailed behind
them. Clark heard, rather than saw, him lock the door to the
study behind him, clearly trying to prevent a second intrusion of
his privacy.

"Sorry, Lois," Clark said as they attempted to melt back into
the crowd by joining in on another slow dance. "I wish I could
have helped you get whatever you needed."

"It's fine," she said. "All it means is that I'll have to
work even harder, and, when I *do* get that interview, it will be
all the better, and the victory all the sweeter. For now, though?
Another dance?"

Clark didn't respond other than to hug her even closer to his
chest and start to sway. He was in heaven. In roughly a month,
he'd attained some of the biggest, most important goals of his
life -- a permanent home, a job -- unpaid as it was for the time
being -- at the Daily Planet, and Lois Lane, the only woman in
his entire life that he had ever loved. Happy could not
adequately express how he felt.

For a second, his feet lifted right off the floor and he had to
remind himself to stay rooted to the marble beneath the soles of
his feet.

*Careful, Clark,* he warned himself. *No one can know. Not even
Lois. Not yet.*

***

"Mom! Dad! What are you guys doing here? I thought I was coming
out to pick you guys up?" Clark said as he opened the door to
his apartment.

"We made good time and landed early. We figured we'd just grab
a cab and save you the trip," Jonathan said, wrapping his son in
a hug. "How are you, son?"

"I'm good, Dad. Really good," Clark said, ushering his parents
into the living room. "I know I haven't been here long but
Metropolis is fantastic. For the first time, I feel like I might
have found what I'm looking for."

"A place to call home," Jonathan said soberly.

"Well...yeah. I know it's hard for you guys to hear me call
someplace other than the farm home, but...I feel like, somehow, I
belong here. Like I'm meant to be here."

"I'm glad for you, Clark," Martha said, putting her purse down
on the couch before embracing Clark tightly. 'It's good to see
you."

"You too, Mom. So, what do you think of the place?" He gestured
broadly. He'd done a bit of furniture shopping and decorating in
the couple of weeks he'd had the apartment.

His mother took a long moment to take in the apartment. She
finally smiled.

"It's you," she declared. "I love it."

"Really?"

"Really," she confirmed. "It looks fantastic. I can tell
you're really happy here."

"I am," Clark said, retrieving their luggage from the landing
and moving it into his bedroom. He set the suitcases on the
floor. "I just hope I get to stay put this time."

"Oh, Clark, you didn't..." his father nearly pleaded.

"No. I haven't jeopardized my identity. Not here. But if Perry
doesn't approve of my work...if he doesn't hire me...I'm not
going to be able to stay."

"He will," Jonathan said with certainty.

"I hope so. I've been giving it my all, no matter what kind of
story gets thrown my way." He checked his watch. "Actually,
I'm due for my evaluation today. I should get going. You guys
will be okay here?" He gave them an extra set of keys, just in
case.

"Here? Who said we're staying here? Your mother is chomping at
the bit to get out shopping." Jonathan smiled at Martha, a laugh
perched on his lips and dancing in his eyes.

Clark chuckled. "I figured as much. That's why I had the keys
made."

"Go, and good luck," Martha said, kissing his cheek before
waving him off to the door.

"Thanks. I'll bring home something for dinner," he promised.

"Only if you let me cook tomorrow," Martha said.

Clark's mouth was already watering for a good, home-cooked meal.
"Agreed."

***

"Kent? Step into my office, would you?" Perry asked as Clark
passed him by in the break area as he went to make two mugs of
coffee -- one for himself and one for Lois.

"Sure, Chief. I just have to make this delivery," he said,
lifting Lois' mug and nodding in her general direction.

"Ah, a wise move," Perry joked back. "What's the old
expression?"

"Happy partner, happy life?" Clark suggested.

That made the Chief laugh. "Something like that. How's
everything going with her?"

Clark kept his eyes trained on the milk he was adding to both of
their mugs. "Good. I mean, I think it's good."

"You two make a good team."

"Yeah, I think so."

"And your, ah, personal partnership?"

Clark paled. "You know? Uh, that it's been more than just the
White Orchid Ball a couple of weeks ago?"

"Kent, let me tell you something. Nothing happens in this
newsroom that I don't know about. I wouldn't be much of an
editor-in-chief if I wasn't completely on the ball."

"Good point." Clark carefully measured out sugar into each mug.
He sighed, uncomfortable with talking about his personal life
with his boss, even if Perry already felt more like a
father-figure than a true boss. "Things are going pretty well, I
think. We haven't been out much but...for me..."

Perry smiled and put his hands up in a "stop" position. He,
like Clark, gazed out in Lois' direction. "Say no more. I know
the feeling. Felt the same way after I first started dating
Alice."

Clark nodded. "I still can't believe it sometimes."

"Son, I've been married for a long, long time and I *still*
can't believe that Alice chose me, out of all the other men out
there. I don't understand it but I sure don't question it."

"Yeah," Clark agreed, unsure of what else he could say.

"Go. Bring her that coffee while it's still hot. But you come
right to my office afterwards, got it?"

"Got it, Chief."

"Good man."

Clark didn't wait for Perry to say another word. He picked up
both cups and made his way back through the newsroom. It occurred
to him how familiar the bullpen was to him now. Never before had
he felt this comfortable at his place of employment. Never before
had he felt like a natural part of any newsroom. Everything about
the Planet seemed to pulse in his very veins.

*Please*, he begged the universe, *please let me get this job.*

"Clark, hi," Lois said, barely glancing up from the furious
typing she was doing.

"Hey. That must be some story you're working on." He placed
the mug on her desk. "My humble offering."

Lois threw a look over to see what he was talking about. "Oh,
great! Thanks! I could use a good cup of coffee."

"I thought so. So, what are you working on?"

"Shooting down by the docks. Drug fueled, from the report Wolfe
sent over."

Clark nodded. "Ah."

"Pull up a chair."

"Can't. Perry wants to see me."

Lois took a sip of her coffee, her eyes sliding shut in bliss at
the hot caffeine. "What for?"

"Well, I can only assume he's going to give me his verdict. My
'unpaid internship' status expires today."

Lois swallowed involuntarily and winced at the heat. "Already?
Wow! Nervous?"

"A little," he confided.

"Want a little moral support when you go in?"

"I wish I could. But I think it's better if I go in alone," he
said with gratitude.

"Okay, well, I'll be here," she said, awkwardly, as though not
sure how to gracefully remain at her desk. "Actually, I found
some interesting dirt on Lex Luthor I wanted to talk to you
about. Nothing concrete yet, but it *does* make me raise an
eyebrow."

"Sounds good and thanks. Well, here goes..."

"Good luck," she called after him as he started off.

The walk to Perry's office had never seemed so quick or so very,
very long. He knew he was perhaps being a little ridiculous.
After all, he'd poured his heart and soul into the work he'd
done while at the Planet. On the other hand, he'd poured his
heart and soul into his work, and if he learned that it wasn't
good enough, he knew he'd be crushed beyond repair. He wasn't
even sure he'd be able to continue in the journalism field if
Perry White chose not to hire him.

He reached the door to Perry's office and knocked on the
doorframe. Perry looked up from his work, editing some of the
articles Clark's co-workers had produced.

"Oh, Clark, come in. Shut the door, would you?"

Clark wordlessly complied. For a moment, he just stood there,
feeling almost at a loss, until he finally settled down on the
plaid couch Perry kept in his office.

"So..." Perry began.

"So..." Clark nervously repeated.

"So, your trial run is up today."

Clark nodded. "Yes."

"Tell me, how did you enjoy it?" Perry asked, knocking Clark
off guard.

"I loved it," Clark said honestly. "I've never worked in such
a great environment before. It's been...kind of like a home for
me."

Perry nodded thoughtfully. "Well...uh...I'm glad. I've enjoyed
having you with us. But, uh, I'm afraid I'm going to need that
temporary press pass I gave you back."

Clark's heart sank and he felt suddenly queasy, as though the
world had lurched into a too-fast spin unexpectedly. He blindly
reached for his wallet and pulled out the pass. He forced
himself, through sheer willpower, to maintain a neutral face as
he handed it to Perry.

"Well, thanks for the opportunity," Clark said. "I really did
find it a pleasure to work for you."

"Now hold up just a second," Perry said as Clark started to
rise from the couch. Clark sat back down. "I needed the
temporary pass back so I can give you this." He handed Clark a
laminated rectangle of plastic. "That's your permanent pass.
Welcome to the Daily Planet, son." His face cracked into a wide
smile.

Clark's heart skipped a beat. "What? You're...you're
serious?" It sounded stupid to his ears but he simply couldn't
believe what he'd heard.

"You've proven yourself to be worthy of the paper. I don't
know what the other editors you worked for thought, but I know
I'd be a fool to let you go. Unless, of course, you don't want
the position?" He cracked another smile, letting Clark know he
was teasing.

"I don't know, Chief," he replied playfully. "I mean, it's a
tough decision. Working for a world class paper or something like
the Dirt Digger..." He shrugged. "I guess I'd have to
say...I'll take you up on your generous offer to join the
Planet."

Perry chuckled. "Good man."

"Um...about my partnership with Lois..."

"Right. You know, when I first teamed her up with you, I really
only intended it to be just long enough to get your feet wet.
After all, there's no one better you could hope to learn from.
But I've changed my mind. I think it's for the best if I keep
you two as permanent partners. Oh, I'll send you solo from time
to time, but for the most part, the writing team of Lane and Kent
can't be beat."

"That's great," Clark said with a grin.

"Now, this all comes with the stipulation that everything
remains professional between you, now that you two are an
item."

"Believe me, Perry, I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize either
my personal or professional relationships with Lois. Or my
employment here."

"Good. That's what I like to hear. I've lost good reporting
teams before due to dating. And none were half so good as you and
Lois have been so far."

"You have my word," Clark vowed.

"Good. Now, go get your partner and find something to fill in
the blank spaces of my paper."

"No problem," Clark replied with a grin. "And thanks, Chief.
You don't know what this means to me."

"Don't thank me. *You* did all the work. Including making me
think twice about sending you away when you initially came in
here."

Clark nodded once in acknowledgement, then left his boss'
office, gently shutting the door behind him as he left. He fought
hard not to float through the bullpen in his euphoria. His heart
was soaring. Somehow, in the span of two months, he'd secured
some of the biggest goals he had in his life. He'd found the one
place in all the world where he truly felt like he belonged. He
had a great apartment -- a place where he felt relaxed, as
opposed to the constant feeling of anxiety and wanderlust during
his days abroad. He'd found his dream woman, the other half of
his yearning heart. Though they hadn't known each other long, he
felt like his soul was complete when he was with her. And now,
he'd secured his dream job.

*Soon,* he thought to himself. *Maybe soon I'll be able to
finally start using my powers in a better capacity to help
people. I'll talk to Mom about my idea tonight.*

"Hey, how'd it go?" Lois asked as he approached. Her rapid
fire typing had ceased, and she appeared to be leisurely checking
though the emails in her inbox.

"Perry...took my press pass," Clark said, deciding to have a
little fun with her.

"What? Is he insane? You're a good reporter. How can he let you
leave? I'm going to go right in there and give him a piece of my
mind. I thought he was smarter than this. The very idea of
letting you go. *Especially* after seeing what you can do."

"Whoa, whoa, Lois, calm down," Clark said, raising his hands
before him, trying to break off the sudden rambling rant she'd
launched into.

"Calm down? *Calm down?* When Perry just gave the boot to the
only partner I could ever stand to work with? Are you nuts?"

"Lois, I never said Perry fired me. Or...opted not to take me
on, I guess is the better way to describe it. He took the
temporary pass and gave me a permanent one. You're stuck with me
as a partner for the foreseeable future." He grinned as her
mouth hung open, whatever new rant she'd been brewing dying out
on her tongue before it could be born.

"Oh, Clark! That's fantastic news!" she exclaimed, rising to
give him a quick squeeze of a hug. "Congratulations. You've
earned it."

"Thanks, Lois. You helped me earn it. I hope you know that."

"Well, that's a given," she teased. "We should celebrate.
Dinner tonight?"

"I wish I could, but my parents flew in this morning," he said
regretfully. Dinner with Lois sounded wonderful.

"Tomorrow then?"

Clark smiled apologetically. "Mom's already committed to
cooking something."

"Okay, well, a rain-check then," she compromised.

"Sounds good. So...you're okay with having me for a partner?"
he teased.

"So long as you pull your weight," she teased back with a
indifferent shrug.

Clark chuckled. "I think I can keep up with you."

"Good, because Lois Lane slows down for no one."

"I believe it," Clark said, slipping behind his own desk and
sitting down. He picked up his coffee, which had cooled somewhat,
and took a sip. It was still passable, without needing a burst of
his heat vision. "Well, now that I'm still going to be around
here for a while, what's on the agenda for the day, partner?"

***

"Congratulations, son! I knew you could do it," Jonathan said,
toasting Clark with his glass of iced tea.

"Thanks, Dad," Clark said with a bob of his head. He sliced a
lemon into wedges, threw two into his ice water, then drank.
"Sorry I got in so late. That rash of jewelry store robberies
got a little more complicated than Lois and I had planned on.
I'm almost certain Intergang is at the source of it all."

His father gave a grunt of acknowledgement around a mouthful of
stuffed shells that Clark had brought home with him from one of
the local Italian places. He'd initially planned on getting
something more exotic, but when he'd called home during a brief
break, his mother had mentioned a desire to eat from one of the
local restaurants.

"I just can't prove it," Clark continued. "Yet."

"I'm sure you, of all people, can find a lead...somewhere,"
Jonathan said, his voice heavier than usual with the unspoken
reference to Clark's powers.

"Believe me, I've been looking," Clark said, digging in to his
penne ala vodka with chicken. "Whoever is doing it -- Intergang
or not -- they've been covering their tracks really well."

Martha gave him a conspiratorial smile. "Not for much longer.
Not with you and Lois on the case."

"I hope so. I want to find out who's behind this so I can help
get them behind bars where they belong so badly."

"You always did take a special pleasure in helping people,"
Martha replied.

Clark nodded. "I was raised really well," he grinned. "It's
always killed me inside that I have to hide my powers. I could do
so much good with them, if only I didn't have to be afraid of
exposing myself as something other than a regular human being."
He looked down at his pasta as though contemplating the sauce.

"I know," Jonathan said, reaching over to rest a hand on
Clark's shoulder. "I wish you had the freedom to fly right
through the center of the city without anyone batting an eye. But
you know what would happen."

Clark sighed. "Yeah. I'd expose myself to lunatic scientists
who'd want to dissect me or run batteries of tests on me or..."
His voice trailed off as he shrugged. "But...what if? What if I
*could* just fly through the center of the city? What if *no one
knew* that it was Clark Kent flying around out there?"

"Why wouldn't they know it was you?" Martha asked.

"Maybe...maybe I'm in disguise," he replied, swallowing hard.
Now that he'd said it, it sounded ridiculous to his own ears.

"A disguise?" Martha raised her eyebrows questioningly. "What
kind of a disguise?"

"I don't know. Something far off from who I am. Something that
no one will ever suspect would belong to a regular Joe...a mild
mannered reporter, if you will."

"Sounds risky," Jonathan said.

"While I agree, did you have anything specific in mind?" Martha
asked.

"I'm not sure. Something...unreal. Something...bright.
Something that won't hinder me or slow me down when I'm flying
at top speed to someone who needs help."

"Aerodynamic, got it," Martha said. "Spandex might work."

"That might be a little *too* aerodynamic," Clark said,
embarrassed already to think of how form-fitting Spandex would
be.

"Nonsense. When every second counts, you'll be glad of it."
She ate a mouthful of her chicken piccata. "Any particular
colors in mind? I'm thinking something maybe in red. Maybe blue.
Or black."

Clark shook his head. "Not black. I don't want it to look like
I'm trying to hide anything. And not white either."

"Of course not. The dirt and blood stains would be a bear to
keep trying to get out, if you plan on helping people in
trouble," Martha scoffed lightly.

"I need something distracting. Something that will make it
impossible for people to imagine the guy in the costume wearing
anything else. Kind of like...remember the old cartoons I used to
watch? In every episode, the main character would wear the same
thing, so it was hard to imagine them suddenly wearing a
different outfit." He was more thinking out loud than anything
else.

But Martha seemed intrigued. "Something cartoonish could work,"
she mused. "I'll swing by one of those big craft stores
tomorrow and pick up some material."

"I'll fly home and get your sewing machine," Clark
volunteered.

"Thanks, honey. That will help a lot."

Clark shook his head. "No, thank *you*. For not laughing in my
face about this idea."

"There's nothing to laugh at, son," Jonathan said. "You know
we'll back you up one hundred percent, no matter what."

"Thanks, Dad."

***

"How's that one fit?" Martha called in the direction of
Clark's bedroom. She was bent over the sewing machine, carefully
fitting material together.

"The size is right, but the design...uh..."

"Well, for Heaven's sake let me see," she called back.

Clark stepped around the privacy screen he'd picked up during
his travels through Japan. His cheeks flooded with heat in his
imagined embarrassment.

"It's not quite my style," he said about the leopard print
monstrosity he was currently wearing. "I'm trying to become
someone new, I'm not trying to become Tarzan."

"That's not what you said when you were six," Jonathan said
with a laugh, looking up from the television news. "You
practiced that yell for the longest time."

Clark chuckled. "Yeah. I was so disappointed I didn't have a
jungle with vines to swing through. I always wanted to 'fly'
like he did."

"And now look at you."

"Flying for real," Clark finished for him. "Anyway, Mom?"

She gave him a thumbs down. "Try this one." She handed him
something that looked like it was out of a fifties sci-fi movie,
all metallic blue and silver.

Clark dutifully pulled the new costume on, but quickly decided
against it. Judging from his parents' reactions, they were even
less of a fan than he was.

"No," was all his mother said.

Two days passed in this fashion. Martha worked on costumes during
the day when she could, or in the early evenings as Clark tried
on some of her finished creations. Everyone was starting to get
disheartened, even though they all agreed that none of the
finished prototypes were right for what Clark was trying to do.

"Maybe this was a stupid idea," Clark called from the kitchen,
during a break in costume changes, as Martha finished a few seams
to her latest attempt. He used his heat vision to heat a cookie
sheet full of frozen mozzarella sticks. "Maybe there is no
'perfect look' for what I'm trying to accomplish. Maybe
cartoonish was the wrong way to look at this."

He deftly picked up the scalding sticks with his bare fingers,
portioning them out onto plates before heating up the frozen
packet of sauce that had come with the snacks. He took them into
the living room and settled on the couch next to his father, who
was engrossed in an old war movie.

"Careful, they're really hot," he cautioned, before biting
into one himself.

"We're getting closer," Martha argued. "I felt like we're
just about there." She finished the last of the stitches.
"Here, try this one on. Last one tonight, I promise."

Clark sighed tiredly. "Okay," he relented after a minute.

He found himself eating more slowly, however, in an effort to put
off trying on yet other potential failure. He was even getting to
the point where he was second guessing his idea to create any
kind of character whatsoever. Maybe he could just find ways to
help from the shadows, like he'd done all over the world.

Martha got up from the sewing machine that had taken over
Clark's dining room table. She stretched and moved to the
armchair, retrieving the plate of mozzarella sticks Clark had
left there for her. She picked one up and blew on it to cool it
before taking a bite. Clark could see she was anxious to see if
he would like her newest costume attempt and felt guilty for
eating so slowly. He finished the last stick and went to retrieve
the freshly sewn material from its place, draped over the back of
a chair.

"Well?" Martha called a few minutes later, after he'd changed
into it at super speed and stood taking in the new look as he
stared at his reflection in the full length mirror in his
bedroom.

"I'm not sure," Clark replied.

He could almost hear his mother's silent exasperation.

"Is it the look?" she asked.

"The look? No. The look is fine. It's easily the best one
you've made, but..."

"But what?"

"But, seeing it on -- even one this good -- I'm not sure I can
actually go out in public in this," he said, stepping out into
the living room. "Well?" he asked as his parents both stopped
to appraise the new look.

"Oh, honey, I think we found the look," Martha said.

"It's a bit...revealing," Clark said uncomfortably.

"I was thinking of adding a cape. It'll give you some coverage
in the back, plus it will look absolutely majestic, especially
when you fly."

"I'm not really looking for majestic," Clark mumbled
uncomfortably.

"Nonsense. You want to stand out from the crowd, right? A cape
will brand you as someone...new and interesting and unique,"
Martha said.

"Won't the flying take care of that?" Clark asked weakly.

"Clark, your mother is right. If you really want to go through
with this, an outfit like that will do the job," Jonathan
offered. "It's just missing something."

"Modesty?" Clark offered in a limp attempt at humor.

"A symbol. Something to announce to the world who you are,"
Jonathan said. "Martha?" he asked after a slight, thoughtful
pause. "Do you remember the S?"

"How could I ever forget?" she asked quietly.

"The S?" Clark asked.

Jonathan nodded. "The night you became our son, your biological
mother was wearing this stylized S on her clothing. You had the
same S on the clothes and blanket you were in. I don't know what
it meant, but it was clearly some identifier."

Clark nodded. "Can you sketch it?" he asked as Martha went back
to the sewing machine.

"Mmm-hmm," Jonathan said as he picked up the pad of paper and
pen Clark kept near his phone. He quickly sketched the symbol for
Clark. "It's a bit rough, but you get the drift," he said.

Clark took the drawing and looked at it. It felt oddly "right"
to him. He was drawn to it in some inexplicable way. He couldn't
begin to guess at the meaning behind the S, but it was a piece of
his mysterious past. He nodded slowly.

"You're right. It's exactly what this suit needs."

***

"Clark! Open up! I know you have to be home!"

Clark groaned and rolled off the couch as he woke. He was so
groggy that he actually hit the floor, where he normally would
have caught himself. Still, the impact did serve a purpose. It
helped to force him into full wakefulness.

"Clark?!"

"Coming," he called back, nearly forgetting his glasses as he
headed for the door. At the last second, he remembered them and
put them on. "Lois? What are you doing here at..." He checked
the living room clock. "Five-thirty in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep well. I've been thinking about all those
businesses being pushed out. The mom-and-pop shops?"

"Yeah?" Clark asked, losing the battle to a mighty yawn.

"Clark?" Martha called, stepping into the living room, tying
her robe tighter. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, Mom. Everything's fine," he replied as Jonathan stepped
up behind Martha. "Mom, Dad, this is Lois, my partner at the
Planet. And, well, the woman I've been seeing."

"Oh, God, I forgot you said your parents were staying with
you," Lois said, blushing. She tucked a sweaty strand of hair
back behind her ear. "I'm so sorry. First I barge in here at
this hour, then I don't even look presentable." She gestured to
her jogging clothes. "Hi, I'm Lois."

She shook hands with Jonathan and Martha as the introductions
were made. Since everyone was already up, and since Lois and
Clark had to be at the Planet by eight anyway, the Kents fixed
breakfast. Clark hadn't had such a feast in a long while. Eggs,
bacon, toast, fruit, sausage, bagels, coffee, hash browns, and
freshly squeezed orange juice all materialized on the table as
Lois excitedly filled Clark in on the thoughts that had
interrupted her sleep and which had brought her to his doorstep
so early in the morning. For his part, Clark found himself
growing excited about Lois' theory as well, and could scarcely
wait to get to work so that they could dive into their research.
He was nearly certain they would soon be able to pin things on
Luthor.

Still, he was glad of the fact that he didn't need as much sleep
as a normal person. He'd been up pretty late working on the
costume Martha had designed earlier in the evening. Together,
they'd fine-tuned the vibrant blue and red suit, giving it a few
highlights of yellow and adding the S that was somehow bound to
him. They'd toyed around with where it would go, ultimately
deciding on the chest and the back of the cape. The final product
hung now in his closet, waiting for him to gather the courage to
actually use it.

"Okay, I need to shower and get ready for work," Lois said as
she finished her second cup of coffee. "I'll meet you at the
Planet?"

"Okay," Clark said, nodding.

"Thanks for the breakfast, Mister and Missus Kent," she said.
"It was delicious. And it was really great meeting you. Again,
I'm so, so sorry for waking everyone up this morning."

"We're used to being up with the chickens," Jonathan smiled.
He took another sip from his mug.

"Maybe, but you're on vacation here," Lois protested.

"Oh, honey, don't worry about it," Martha said. "And please,
you can call us Jonathan and Martha," she reminded Lois.

"We're glad we got to meet you," Jonathan added. "We've
heard so much about you from Clark, so it was nice to be able to
put a face to the name."

"He talks a lot about you too," Lois replied. "I've never met
a son so proud of his parents before."

"Why don't you come by again tonight?" Martha offered.
"Jonathan's going to be cooking up some steaks and I'm baking
an apple pie."

"Sounds delicious. I'll be there," Lois said, grinning, and,
from what Clark could see, practically salivating at the thought
of a home cooked meal. Even after just a couple of months of
knowing her, he knew her diet consisted, for the vast majority,
of take-out.

"Thanks, Mom, Dad," Clark said.

"I really should head out," Lois said, throwing a glance to the
clock. "I'd jog back, but I'm not sure that's possible after
such a hearty breakfast. And getting a cab at this hour...See you
later, Clark?"

"See you later," he confirmed.

Lois collected her belongings and headed out, leaving Clark
behind with his parents. Already, he missed her. Somehow, even
though his parents sat across the table from him, he felt
incredibly lonely, as he did whenever he was separated from
Lois.

"Does she always make a habit of visiting you at odd hours?"
Jonathan finally joked, breaking the fragile silence of the
apartment.

Clark chuckled. "That was a first."

His father grinned and chuckled in response. "She's wonderful,
Clark."

"She really is," Martha agreed.

Clark felt himself blush. "Yeah, well, we've only been out a
couple of times. But she makes me so happy. For the first time, I
can see a future with a woman."

"But...?" Jonathan prodded, sensing Clark's hesitation.

"But...well...it almost feels too good to be true, you know? I
find a place where I can finally fit in. I land my dream job. And
now I've managed to start dating my dream woman. I can't help
but feel like...I don't know. Like something's bound to give,
you know? Like something's going to come along and take this all
away from me." Clark sighed and drained the last of his coffee.
"I'm over-thinking this, aren't I?"

"Maybe just a bit," his mother grinned at him, patting his
shoulder.

"I just...what happens, if things get serious between us? She's
going to have to know about me. *All* about me. What then? What
if she can't handle the fact that I'm...not from here?"

"If she loves you, it won't matter," Jonathan assured him.

"I don't know if that's true, Dad. This isn't like some bad
habit I have or some personality quirk that can be overlooked.
I'm...for all intents and purposes...a different...species," he
lamented.

"Clark!" Martha admonished.

"It's the truth, Mom! You and Dad both said that I'm not..."

"Clark, listen to me," Martha said firmly. "It doesn't matter
where you came from. What matters is who you are -- one of the
best people I know. And, if Lois can't appreciate that..." She
shrugged, letting her voice trail off so Clark could fill in the
rest on his own.

"I don't know if I can handle a rejection from her," he said
quietly.

"Look, son," Jonathan said. Clark looked over to his father.
"It's not something you need to worry about yet. Let her get to
know you for you, not for your powers or your unique background.
If and when the time comes when she finds out or needs to know,
well, you can worry about crossing that bridge then. Until then,
she'll get to know the real you. And my guess? She'll care
about you too much to be bothered by your differences."

"I hope so, Dad. I hope so."

***

"Lois? CK? Perry wants you," Teddy said as he passed by, making
a beeline for the darkroom.

"Thanks," Clark said, nodding at the older photographer.

Lois huffed in annoyance as she clicked the 'save' icon on her
computer. She and Clark had been probably minutes from finishing
their article. She pushed away from the desk, letting her chair
roll back a few inches before standing. Clark stood from his own
chair and wheeled it back over to his own desk. He stretched a
little, feeling a release of tension as a few things popped in
his back. It felt good and he couldn't stop a small smile from
crossing his lips. Without a word, he and Lois made their way to
Perry's office.

"Chief?" Clark asked as he knocked on the door frame, sticking
his head in through the open doorway. "You wanted us?"

"Yeah, come on in, you two."

"What's up?" Clark asked.

"Come in, close the door," Perry said, waving them in.

The lights were low in his office. A bottle of aspirin stood
open, next to a half-full glass of ice water. His head was in his
hands and, despite the low lighting, Clark could see the pallor
of Perry's skin.

They did as they were told, with Clark gently shutting the door
behind them. "Something the matter, Chief?"

"You could say that. Ever had a headache so bad you wanted to
die?"

Lois winced. "Once or twice."

Clark grabbed a pad of paper from Perry's desk and jotted a few
quick notes. "If the aspirin doesn't work, try these," he
said, putting the pad back down.

"What are they?" Perry asked.

"Just some home remedies I've heard people swear by in my
travels."

Perry grunted an acknowledgement.

"What's up, Chief?" Clark asked, cutting right to the chase.
The sooner they knew what Perry needed them to do, the sooner
they could leave him be to hopefully feel a little better.

"I've got an assignment for you two. High priority."

"What is it?" Lois asked, turning serious.

"The mayor's daughter is missing."

"What?" Lois and Clark both said together.

Perry nodded, steepling his fingers together. He looked troubled.
"From what I gather, he took the family on a weekend camping
trip, you know, before the weather turns too cold. The first
night, the little girl must have wandered off. Her grandmother
and the family dog are missing too. It's been twenty-four hours
now since they were reported as missing. There's a search party
forming up at the campgrounds. I want you two to cover it. Take
Jimmy with you."

Clark could see that Lois was both horrified at the thought of
the missing child and older woman, but also less than enthused
about covering such a "soft" news story. But his pulse had
skyrocketed. A child lost in the woods in even the balmy late
September they were enjoying would be at great risk --
dehydration, hunger, hypothermia when the overnight temperatures
plunged.

Now would be the perfect time to unveil the still-unnamed
character he and Martha had created.

For months, he'd debated about bringing the Spandex clad hero to
life. For months, he'd always found his courage fleeing him when
he made ready to introduce the alien to the world. He knew in his
heart that there would never be any going back from that. Once
the world met his alter-ego, he could never make the people
forget that a super-powered alien lived amongst them. Even if he
made only one rescue as the caped avatar of his powers, the world
would always remember, and maybe even search for the hero.

There would be no putting that cat back into the bag, once it got
out.

But now Clark was suddenly filled with resolve. He felt neither
eager nor apprehensive about exposing his super side to the
world. He felt oddly calm and very sure of himself.

"We're on it, Chief," he said, conviction in his voice.

"We'll check in with you later," Lois promised.

Perry didn't respond with anything more than a gruff noise of
acknowledgement in his throat. Lois and Clark left his office
without another word, making a beeline for their desks.

"Jimmy, grab your bag," Clark said as he approached the younger
man. "We have an assignment. Perry wants you with us." He
picked up his light jacket and shrugged into it while shutting
his computer down.

Jimmy grabbed the camera bag from the floor. He reached into a
drawer and threw a handful of extra rolls of film into the bag.
He often joked about his tendency to travel like a "pack mule,"
but Clark had yet to see the young photographer ever be
unprepared in any way, shape, or form.

"What's the assignment?" he asked, slinging the bag over one
shoulder.

"We'll explain in the car," Lois said, digging her car keys
out from her purse. "Come on."

***

It took nearly two hours to get to the campgrounds, between
construction on the road, the light traffic, and the location of
the place. Lois cursed under her breath most of the way. The trip
should have taken a little over an hour. Clark felt sorry for all
the roadwork crews they passed. Had Lois possessed heat vision,
they would have been nothing more than piles of smoldering ash.
But, finally, they pulled off the main road, the Jeep bouncing
down the rutted dirt road to the grass-covered parking area. The
place was almost completely filled with cars. Clark could only
assume they belonged to people who were helping with the search
party. Judging from the knots of people standing around, he
thought he was probably right.

"There," he said, pointing out an empty space where the Jeep
would fit.

Lois expertly pulled the vehicle into the spot and threw it into
park. "Let's do this," she said with conviction in her voice.

Clark mentally smiled to himself. As soon as Perry had mentioned
that a child was missing, Lois' entire outlook on the assignment
had changed. She was determined to help find the missing seven
year old. He retained his silence though, and climbed out of the
car.

The three walked over to the nearest group of people, ready to
aid in the search, but also ready to take statements and gather
their information for their article. Jimmy hung back just a
little, snapping photos of the people who were slowly getting
themselves organized. The very air crackled with expectancy and
an eagerness to get started. Clark felt his muscles growing taut
with anticipation as he mentally tried to figure out how and when
he could best slip away, unseen, to take on the role of the
Spandex clothed character he'd created.

*I really should have thought up a name for him,* he thought to
himself in a wry manner, as he craned his neck this way and that,
trying to take in all of the details of the scene.

He jotted some notes down in his notebook, more for Lois'
benefit than for himself. He tried to stretch out his hearing, to
see if he could pinpoint a direction to start his search, but
there were too many bodies around and far too much noise. Voices,
heartbeats, coughing, the barking of search dogs, new vehicles
bumping their slow way into the parking area all deafened him.
There was no way he could get a lock on the missing child's
location -- or that of the dog or grandmother. He sighed to
himself.

"What's the matter?" Lois asked, picking up on his sigh.

"Nothing," he said, shrugging. "Just anxious to get underway.
Every minute we spend mulling around here, that little girl is in
danger."

Lois nodded in response, her mouth twisting into a frown. "I
know."

Clark craned his head to the heavens, squinting against the
brilliant sunlight. He could smell a storm brewing. He only hoped
the search party found those who were missing before the storm
could break.

As if in reply to their concerns, the Chief of Police climbed up
on a broken stump of some long dead and toppled oak tree. He held
a bullhorn in one hand to address the crowd with, giving them
instructions on how they were to carry out the search. Several
other officers handed out sheets of paper to everyone gathered --
a simple, one page description of those missing, complete with
photos. Clark took the paper looked it over.

Lena -- sixty-four years old, salt-and-pepper hair, blue eyes,
and the beginning stages of dementia. Last seen wearing a heavy
red sweat suit. Katie -- seven years old, blonde with green eyes,
last seen wearing pink fleece pajamas featuring several Disney
princesses. Link -- ten years old, German Shepherd mix with
markings that were reminiscent of a Doberman, approximately fifty
pounds, red collar with his identifying information on a bone
shaped tag.

Clark instantly committed the information and images to memory.

*I'll find you*, he swore to them in his mind. *If it's the
last thing I do, I'll find you and bring you home.*

"Clark?"

"Huh?" he asked, pulled from his inner thoughts by Lois'
voice.

"Which team did you want to join?" she asked, her tone
indicating that she'd asked him more than once.

"I think we should split up," he said, coming to a sudden
decision.

He had to get away from Lois if he had any chance at all of
changing into his other persona. It was the only way he stood a
chance of being able to get away from everyone without being
noticed.

"It's the best way we can cover the most ground," he quickly
added. "The three of us can each go in a different direction.
That way, when everyone is found, we have a good chance of at
least one of us being there to witness it first hand and get all
the facts."

"Good point," Jimmy said, checking his camera and slipping the
strap around his neck. "I'm with CK on this one. In fact," he
added, throwing a glance around, "I'll cover that group over
there."

Lois followed his gaze and cracked a half-smile. "You mean the
group with the hot brunette in the teal windbreaker?"

Jimmy blushed in response.

"Thought so," Lois said, her smile widening a little. "Go on.
But *try* to focus on the story?"

"You got it," he said with a mock salute before heading toward
the group in question.

"I'll take that group," Clark said, nodding toward the knot of
people being lead by a young man in a red plaid jacket. "See you
later?"

"So long as you don't get lost out there," she teased.

"Ha!" Clark mock-laughed. "I should be warning *you* not to
get lost, little Miss City Girl."

"I had my Girl Scout badge in navigation while you were still
learning how to plant corn, Farm Boy," she replied, her eyes
twinkling in amusement.

She didn't give him a chance to respond before walking off.
Clark watched her go for a minute, then strode over to the search
group he'd selected. He pretended not to notice as two or three
college-aged women looked him over. His mind was solely on the
task at hand. It was a relief when they finally started moving,
the group spreading out as much as possible while maintaining
sight lines with each other. Clark purposefully hung back as much
as he could while careful not to draw attention to himself.
Eventually, he worked himself as far back as he could, then
dashed off deeper into the woods, faster than any human eye could
follow.

When he was far enough away from everyone, he spun into the
costume his mother had painstakingly put together for him. The
Spandex was tight against his body. It felt both snug like a
comforting hug and like it exposed him to the world. Once again,
he wished he'd given this new identity an *actual* identity,
complete with a name, but it was too late to contemplate that
now. With another careful glance around, he took to the sky.

Once he was high enough, he allowed himself to simply hover. Up
above the trees, he finally had some space to stretch out his
enhanced senses. He reached out with his hearing, hoping to find
a child's voice. He traded his normal vision for his x-ray
vision, and scanned right through the trees and other thick
foliage. He set off at a hurried, but restrained, pace, flying in
ever-widening circles. Below him, he could hear the progress of
those on foot as they called out for the missing child,
grandmother, and dog.

He soon left the search party far behind. The rushing of a
waterfall grabbed his attention, as it drowned out all other
sounds with its thundering spill of water. He had only his sight
to go on now. Above him, the sunlight dimmed as dark clouds began
to roll in. Thunder rumbled in the far distance, but Clark knew
that it wouldn't be too much longer before the rain would start.
His heart sank and his stomach knotted. He *had* to find them
before the storm and its deadly chill could break.

*Please,* he pleaded with the universe. *Let me find them.*

Not ten minutes later, his heart skipped a beat. A flash of
movement on the ground near the base of the waterfall. He pulled
out of his x-ray vision and telescoped his vision in. It was the
dog! Clark swiftly pulled into a landing, carefully landing
behind a screen of bushes so as not to startle the creature.
Cautiously, he stepped out into the canine's field of vision.

"Hey, boy," he called in a soft voice. "Hey there, Link. It's
okay, I won't hurt you."

He stretched his hand out before him, trying to offer his scent
to the animal. Link paused and looked at him, his intelligent
eyes seeming to size up Clark, as though he were deciding whether
or not to trust this strange new, not-quite-human person.

"It's okay," Clark repeated in a soothing tone. "I want to
help."

Link studied him for another moment as Clark inched his way
closer. Then, suddenly, Link barked at him. Not in warning. Not
as a threat. Not playfully. It was a bark that sounded almost
pleading. Link whined and pranced around, appearing to want to
get Clark's attention.

"Okay, boy. I'm here. Take me to them," Clark said, daring to
give up his cautious approach of the dog. "Please, take me to
them."

Of course, he knew that, given enough time, he'd find the people
he was looking for. But it didn't hurt to get whatever help he
could. Link barked again, took five steps away from Clark, then
turned and barked at him again.

"Right behind you, Link," he assured the dog.

As if satisfied by Clark's assurance, Link bounced away through
the underbrush, Clark hot on his heels. Half a mile away, he came
to a small clearing. Relief washed over him as he saw the missing
girl and her grandmother, huddled together to ward off the chill
that was slowly creeping over the woods as the storm closed in.
The grandmother was asleep -- Clark could tell from her even
breathing and steadily beating heart. The girl looked up at him
with wide eyes. She clutched a dirty Cabbage Patch doll in her
arms.

"Katie?" Clark called softly.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" she replied in a
quavering voice.

"I'm a friend," he responded automatically. "There's a whole
search party looking for you and your grandmother. Link too," he
added, giving the dog a grateful pat on the head.

"How'd you find us?" the girl asked, not moving from her
spot.

"Link brought me to you. He's a good dog."

"Yeah," she agreed warily.

"Are you hurt?" Clark asked.

"No. Hungry. And cold."

"I'll bet," Clark said, kneeling down on the ground, to seem
less imposing to the young child. "If you come with me, I'll
bring you back to your mom and dad," he promised. "They've
been looking everywhere for you."

"Mommy? Daddy?" the girl asked.

Clark nodded. But the girl continued to stare at him with
wide-eyed, unmasked fear. Clark nodded toward her grandmother.

"Is your grandmother okay?"

She shook her head. "Nonna's sick. She's coughing a lot."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Can you wake her up for me? I need to
talk to her."

The girl nodded and shook her grandmother gently. The older woman
roused slowly, coughing as she sat up. Her eyes, Clark could see,
looked glazed and her brow was beaded with sweat from a fever. He
fought the natural impulse to frown and instead, maintained a
neutral expression for the sake of the child.

"Who? What?" Lena asked, confusion suffusing every part of her
words.

"It's okay. I'm here to help," Clark told her.

"Help? Why do we need help?" she replied.

Clark realized the woman wasn't in her right mind. He recalled
that she'd been diagnosed with dementia. That complicated
things. He'd hoped that she'd be experiencing a period of
clarity when he found her. He quickly ran through his options in
his mind.

"Lena? You've gotten lost in the woods. I'm here to help you
get home. Can you stay here with Katie while I go get your
son?"

"Eddie? You know my Eddie?" she asked.

"Not quite," Clark said with a friendly smile. Then, turning to
Katie, "Katie? I'm going to go get your mom and dad. Can you
stay here and keep your grandmother company?"

Katie nodded mutely, still regarding him with a healthy dose of
"stranger danger."

"Okay," Clark said with a smile. "I'll be right back. I
promise."

Slowly, so as not to scare the child or the woman, Clark rose
into the air. He only allowed himself to move quickly once he was
above the treetops. Then he bolted away, streaking toward the
search party, which had closed some of the distance between the
parking lot and the place where Clark had found the missing child
and grandmother. He slowed a bit as he angled into a landing,
directly before the mayor and his wife.

"What the hell?" the mayor, Edward Lombardo, exclaimed in alarm
and surprise as Clark touched down.

"Mr. Mayor," Clark said, inclining his head in respect.
"Please, don't be alarmed. I found your daughter and mother.
Your dog too," he added.

"Where are they?" Edward asked, taking a threatening step
toward Clark. "What have you done with them? If you've hurt
them, I swear to God..."

"I haven't done anything," Clark said, cutting him off, his
hands up in a gesture of pacification. "I heard about the search
party for them and decided to help. I found them, thanks to your
dog. I can bring you to them, if you'll allow me. They aren't
far. Just about a mile and a half from here."

"What are you trying to pull?" Edward asked, his voice dripping
with mistrust.

"Nothing," Clark said sincerely. "I just want to reunite you
with your daughter and mother. Please, let me help you." He knew
it sounded a little like pleading, but it didn't matter. Getting
everyone to safety was the only thing that mattered.

Edward hesitated until his wife, Dana, spoke up.

"For crying out loud, Eddie! If you won't go, I will."

"No, no. I'll go. Stay here, where I'll know you're safe,"
he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking her in
the eyes. Then, to Clark, "Okay, take me to them...ah..."

"I'm just a friend," Clark said. "It's faster if we fly. Do
you mind?"

"Fly?"

"Well, *I'll* do the flying. All you have to do is let me carry
you," Clark said with a slight smile.

Again, indecision hung in the air, until a low, far rumble of
thunder threatened the storm to come.

"All right," the mayor conceded, though he sounded nervous.

He allowed Clark to scoop him up in his arms. Clark quickly
ascended into the sky, which was growing cloudier. He heard the
gasps, comments, explicative language, and sounds of awes from
the group of people the mayor and his wife had been with. In
particular, he heard Lois' voice as she commented to herself on
the bizarre scenario that had just played out before her waking
eyes. He tried not to smile.

She hadn't recognized him. At least, she didn't appear to
have.

A weight lifted from his shoulders. If Lois didn't recognize
him, what chance did anyone else have of connecting the reporter
and the superhero? None, to his mind.

Clark sped away to the clearing where he'd left Lena and Katie.
The two were still there, and Clark let out a breath of relief
over that. He landed swiftly and let the mayor out of his arms.
As soon as Edward's feet hit the ground, he was running to his
daughter, hugging and kissing her.

"Katie! Oh my God! Katie! Are you okay? We were so worried about
you. What happened? Did that man hurt you?" He reminded Clark of
the rapid-fire way Lois often spit out questions when upset or
nervous.

"I'm okay, Daddy. Nonna left the camp at night, even though you
told us not to go out alone. I went with her. I tried to get her
to go back, but she wouldn't until it was too late and I
couldn't find the way back. Link found us, but Nonna was tired
and went to sleep under a tree. We couldn't get back. He found
us and said he would help," she added, pointing at Clark, no
longer with fear in her eyes, but gratitude.

Edward turned to Clark. "I don't know who you are, but thank
you," he said in a hoarse whisper, as thankful tears rolled down
his cheeks. "If it wasn't for you..."

"I'm just glad I could help," Clark cut in gently.

"Who are you?" the mayor pressed again.

"He said he's a friend," Katie said, wiggling out of her
father's embrace.

"That he is," Edward agreed.

A low rumble got their attention. Clark looked at the sky, trying
to judge how long they had before the storm would reach them. The
weather system seemed to be moving slowly, but Clark didn't want
to risk it.

"I can fly you back," he offered.

The mayor nodded. "I think that's for the best. Take my mother
first. I'll wait here with Katie."

Clark nodded and moved toward the older woman. Gently, he took
her in his arms. She smiled weakly and coughed as she
automatically put her arms around his neck. Clark rose into the
air and swiftly ferried her to the rest of the search party.

"Thank you, young man. It's been a long time since anyone's
swept me off my feet," she mused as he set her down on solid
ground again.

He smiled at her. "It was my pleasure," he assured her.

Then he was off again, making three more trips -- once with
Katie, once with the dog, and finally bringing the mayor to the
waiting group of people. He noted with relief that paramedics
were checking over Lena and Katie, and that someone had given
them sandwiches to eat, hot chocolate to drink, and warm blankets
to wear draped over their shoulders.

He noted too, how everyone stared at him. He couldn't blame
them. Between the eye-catching, distracting costume he wore, and
the fact that he could fly, he was something the world had never
seen before. Some feigned common politeness and tried not to
stare openly. Most didn't bother with the courtesy and openly
ogled at him. While it made him self-conscious and be fearful
that he'd be recognized, he didn't mind the staring much. He'd
learned something important that morning.

He loved being the caped hero.

This trial run of publicly using his abilities in full view of
other people had gone exceedingly well. He loved being able to
swoop in and help. He loved not having to hide his powers. He
loved the feeling that he got inside from knowing that he helped
save lives and reunite a family. There was no doubt in his mind.
Showing up as the unnamed hero was not a one-time event. This new
alter-ego was now an indelible part of what made up Clark Kent.

Questions flew at him as the little girl and her grandmother were
carefully checked over. He tried to answer them as best he could,
but the impromptu press conference soon became an overwhelming
assault of questions.

"Who are you?"

"Where are you from?"

"What does the S mean?"

"How can you fly?"

"How'd you find the missing people?"

Clark did his best, though he was always aware of what Lois and
Jimmy were doing. He knew that, at any moment, they could realize
that Clark was missing. A sense of urgency filled him, and he
apologized to the crowd as he retreated from the scene, flying up
into the heavy clouds and speeding away, just enough to cause a
sonic boom. Then he circled back, a bit more slowly, and came
into a landing behind three maple trees growing cheek-by-jowl.
Most people had their backs to the trees, still looking up into
the sky where the benevolent stranger had risen into the
heavens.

"Clark? Where have you been?" Lois asked, as he approached
her.

"What do you mean?" he asked innocently. "I've been here."
Technically speaking, he wasn't lying.

 "No, you weren't. I was just looking for you," she argued.

"Lois, relax," Jimmy interjected. "Maybe nature gave CK a call
that he just couldn't put off."

"Oh, gross," Lois complained. "Men!" She began to stalk off.
"Get some reactions from the people about that flying guy, would
you?" she called over her shoulder. "I want to be out of here
before it starts raining."

As Jimmy moved off to snap a few final photographs of the scene,
Clark grinned to himself. Oh yes, this new hero was here to
stay.

***

"Listen up, folks!" Perry commanded as he paced the conference
room. The idle chatter died immediately. "That's better. Okay,
let's get straight to it, shall we? Two weeks ago, a man *flew
around* the woods outside of Metropolis and found the mayor's
missing daughter and mother. Two whole weeks ago. Two full weeks
without us getting one, single interview or even a measly quote.
Two entire weeks where that same man has made multiple other
rescues around Metropolis, let alone the world. Does anyone
*else* see the problem here?"

"It's not like we haven't been trying," Lois protested.
"Superman's not exactly easy to track down."

*Superman*.

The name still felt weird to Clark. It seemed somehow pompous, to
think of himself as a "super" anything, even if his powers did
fit the word. Granted, it had been Lois who'd been the one to
brand the mysterious rescuer as "Superman," but it was still
unsettling to hear the name on a daily basis. Although, he had to
admit, the world's reaction to Superman had been nothing short
of welcoming and loving. Oh, sure, there were small pockets of
people who were fearful of the alien amongst them. Clark
couldn't blame them for their worry in the least. He supposed he
might be uneasy too, if he'd seen someone with such outrageous
abilities. To be honest, he'd been afraid of *himself* back when
his powers had first manifested.

"Oh, well now, that should sell lots of papers," Perry said. He
spread his hands as if displaying the paper's headlines. "Daily
Planet *tries* to track down Superman. Superman remains elusive.
Read the exclusive here! Blank pages inside where Superman's
interview ought to be."

"Maybe he's shy," Jimmy suggested.

"Shy? And wearing that outfit?" Cat Grant purred dreamily.
"Not a chance."

"Maybe he's afraid of being found," Clark offered. "Maybe all
of this is a bit...I don't know...overwhelming."

"Please," Lois said, giving him a patented eye-roll. "He *had*
to have known what a sensation his appearance would be."

"I'd hate to agree," Cat said, "but I agree. They don't call
them tights for nothing."

"All I know is, I want to track him down for my own reasons,"
Betty said with a smirk. Laughter rippled through the rest of the
conference room.

"Not if I find him first," Cat swore.

"Please," Clark heard Lois mutter under her breath.

"Okay, okay, let's get back on track," Perry ordered. "We
need to get to work. What would draw Superman out, so that we
have a chance to talk to him?"

"A rescue," Allison offered.

"Yeah, great, only he's made a few other rescues since he first
appeared and still hasn't stuck around long enough to talk to
the press," Marco countered.

"Well, what do *you* suggest?" Allison retorted. "Shining a
big light into the sky to signal him?"

Marco just huffed, but didn't otherwise respond.

"Maybe we ought to dangle Lois out a window or something," Jeff
teased. "It seems like this Superman guy is constantly showing
up on stories she's reporting on."

"That's not funny, Jeff," Lois growled before Clark could.
"Maybe I ought to bloody your nose enough to require Superman to
come whisk you off to the hospital."

"Enough!" Perry roared. When the room settled back down a bit,
he nodded. "Better. Now, I want everyone on this, day and night,
until Superman and the Daily Planet are synonymous, got it?"

"Perry!" Lois cried out. "That's not fair! I found him, he
should be mine to follow up with. That's always been the
rule."

"Uh, I was there too," Clark gently reminded her.

She waved him off -- Mad Dog Lane on the scent of a big story.
"Yeah, sure, whatever. The point is, no one else should be on
this one."

Perry shook his head. "A story like this is too huge and
important. The typical rules don't apply. Someone get out there
and *get me Superman! *Meeting adjourned."

"Ugh, I can't believe this!" Lois muttered angrily as the
conference room emptied. "Superman should be *mine.*"

"Ours," Clark reflexively corrected.

Lois sighed. "I guess. It's just...this is the kind of story
I've waited my entire life for. Something so huge, so important
that I'll finally have a shot at the Pulitzer." She sighed
again. "I guess...ugh!" she growled. "I'm being selfish.
You've probably dreamed about the Pulitzer too."

Clark shrugged as he stood. "It would be nice," he admitted,
"but it's never really been a priority for me. What we do
everyday -- helping people, putting bad people in prison -- this
is what my dream has always been."

*Being Superman helps too,* his mind whispered.

Lois rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Goody two-shoes," she
joked.

"Blame my parents," he retorted with a smile as they left the
conference room.

***

"Ready to leave?" Clark asked, stretching and trying to
suppress a yawn. A few joints in his back and shoulders popped,
bringing a sense of relief.

Lois shook her head. "I've got to stay and finish this
article," she said, gesturing to her computer monitor. Though
they were partners, they did still have their own occasional solo
articles.

"I can stay, if you'd like," he offered.

She shook her head again. "Go home. There's no reason why we
both need to hang around here. I'll call you later tonight,
okay?"

"Okay," he hesitantly agreed. "Can I at least bring you back
some dinner or something?"

"No, but thanks. I'll probably just order some take-out in a
bit."

"Are you sure?" he pressed.

"Yeah. I'm good. I've done the same thing a hundred times
before."

"Okay. I'll talk to you later." He crossed the aisle and gave
her a quick kiss on the lips.

She smiled as she pulled out of the kiss. "Goodnight, Clark."

"Night, Lois."

He hated leaving her like that, but he always knew enough not to
press the issue. Lois was used to doing things her way. And,
though they were dating now, he knew that she still needed time
to adjust to having someone there who cared so much about her
that he'd willingly sacrifice his entire night just to sit next
to her while she worked. A call for help caught his attention,
however, making it much easier for him to leave the bullpen.

It wound up being a short rescue -- just putting a stop to a
mugging a few blocks over from the Planet. He took the young
victim to the hospital to have a gash on his arm stitched closed
-- a gift from the mugger just as Clark made his appearance --
and dropped the mugger off at the local police station. Three
more rescues kept him busy for the next hour, all of them
thankfully devoid of fatalities. Then, while still in the suit,
he flew back to the Planet to check on Lois with his x-ray
vision. She was still there, typing away, an open carton of
Chinese food sitting next to her. He watched as she grabbed her
chopsticks, pulled out a few lo mein noodles, ate them, then
stuck the chopsticks upright in the container.

Clark took a deep breath, trying to make up his mind. Two days
had passed since Perry had tasked everyone with snagging the
Superman exclusive. Two days of an internal debate. Should he
take the leap and break his silence to the press? Or should he
keep his silence in order to try and protect his true identity?
Ultimately, his father had persuaded him to give an interview.

"It's safer, Clark," Jonathan had told him the night before,
when Clark had flown home for dinner. "The longer you refuse to
speak, the more people are going to speculate. And the longer
they do that, the more misinformation about you will circulate.
Misinformation can lead to a lot of fear that make take you years
to overcome. If you want the public's trust, you have to be
transparent with them. Or, well, as transparent as possible."

The talk with his father had reinforced everything that Clark had
already known on a deeper level. Still, it had been good to have
his instincts reaffirmed. Of course, it hadn't even been a
question who would be the one to get the interview. Lois was the
only person he trusted with Superman's press debut.

He flew down and let himself in through the large window of the
bullpen, so quietly that no one noticed. Not that many people
were left at this time of the night. Just Lois, Perry --
engrossed in singing along with WLEX-radio's "Non-Stop Elvis
Hour," and a few members of the janitorial staff. He landed next
to Lois' desk with a whoosh, startling her out of whatever she
was writing on her computer.

"Hello, Lois," he greeted her with a smile.

"Superman!" she gasped, hastily trying to swallow down a bite
of the rice she'd just put into her mouth when he'd arrived.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner," he
apologized. It was true enough. He'd known she was eating, but
he also hadn't wanted her to be left waiting, even if she
didn't know he was en route to give her the interview she
sought. "I can come back, if you'd like."

"Oh, no, please stay," she said quickly, as though in a rush to
convince him to stay before he could fly off. "I was just
picking, really."

Clark gave her an encouraging smile. "Well, if you're
sure..."

"Oh, I am," she rushed to assure him. "Egg roll?" she
offered.

Clark chuckled. "Thank you, no."

"Oh...do you not, uh, eat?" she asked with a blush.

"I don't need to, but I like to," he clarified. "In fact, I
enjoy most foods. But, uh, not egg rolls." He smiled.

Lois smiled shyly. "So, uh, what can I do for you?" she asked,
tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her right ear.

"Well," Clark said, fighting down his nervousness, "I was
thinking...people are going to want to know about me -- who I am,
what I stand for. I've just been sort of...wrapped up...in
rescues lately that I haven't really thought about speaking to
the press. But I need to. I want *you* to tell the world about
me, Lois."

"You...you know my name?" she asked, star-struck incredulity in
her voice and shining in her eyes.

Clark smiled again. He'd used her name in greeting her, of
course, but he guessed it hadn't registered with her until now
that he knew who she was. "Of course I do, Lois. I've been
following your work for a very long time now. That's why I trust
you to tell my story."

"You...read my work?"

"All the time. I've always been very impressed with your
ability to get to the truth."

"Really?" Clark could tell she was working overtime to keep the
appearance of calmness.

"Really," he assured her. "It's why I know you'll do my
interview justice."

"You have my word on that," she swore. "So, uh, would you like
to take a seat?"

He nodded once. "That would be good."

He turned and took the seat from his own desk, realizing
belatedly what he'd done. But Lois didn't seem to notice.
Feeling even more uneasy, he sat, mindful not to look like his
normal self at all. Lois, in the meantime, had pulled up a blank
document on her computer.

"Mind if I take notes?" she asked.

He gestured to the computer. "Be my guest."

"Okay." She smiled -- that brilliant, completely disarming
smile that Clark had no defense at all against. "Before we
start, I just want to say thank you for trusting me with your
story."

He smiled. "So, what is it that you want to know?"

"Everything."

***

When the interview hit the newsstands the next morning, Lois was
hailed as a hero. Even Cat had to give her some respect. Lois had
managed to do what every other reporter in the world had failed
to do -- she'd broken Superman's media silence and presented to
the world exactly who the mysterious new hero was. Everyone
wanted to know how she'd managed to score the biggest story of
the decade, and Clark had to give her credit when she'd admitted
-- well, maybe *boasted* a little -- that Superman had
specifically sought her out for his formal introduction.

Watching her chatting with a few of their co-workers that
morning, smiling from ear to ear, Clark felt good. *He'd*
managed to give Lois such great joy. That was what mattered most
to him. Lois' happiness. He just wished he could tell Lois about
himself. Having to hide who he was from the world was easy.
Hiding from Lois was excruciating.

*Not now*, he reminded himself.

Lois had been practically salivating over Superman the night
before. He didn't think he'd endangered his relationship with
Lois as Clark, but tiny seeds of doubt had taken root anyway. If
she knew that he pretended to be Superman in his spare time,
would she love him for his powers? Or would she be able to see
past that to the man he truly was? The man he was working hard to
show her that she was. He couldn't risk wrecking the only good
relationship he'd ever had in his life.

*You'll wreck it eventually. You can't keep her in the dark
forever. And, let's face it, it'll be better if you tell her
and she doesn't have to figure it out on her own.*

He sighed.

"Everything okay, Clark?"

"Huh? Oh," Clark said, coming out of his thoughts. "I'm fine,
Chief. Just got a little lost in thought."

"You know something, son? I've known Lois since she was a
college kid looking for an internship. I don't think I've ever
seen her this happy before," Perry said, never taking his eyes
off Lois.

"This Superman thing sure has her excited, huh?" Clark replied,
stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, yeah, sure. But that wasn't what I was talking about. I
had my reservations about having two of my reporters dating. But
I have to admit, you've done her a world of good in the short
time you two have been together."

"You think so?" Clark asked, brightening a bit. "I mean, I
haven't done anything...I don't know...special or anything."

"Trust me," Perry said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Oh,
uh, by the way, nice work on cracking the rash of car thefts. I
just finished going over your article."

"Thanks, Chief. It feels good to have those suspected Intergang
members behind bars. I just wish I could figure out who the head
of the organization is, so Lois and I could make sure he or she
goes to jail too."

"Knowing you two? You'll figure it out sooner or later," Perry
assured him. "I know you haven't been here all that long, but
I'd be lying if I didn't admit that you two are the best damn
reporters I've ever seen."

"That means a lot to me, Perry."

Perry nodded and wandered off toward the break area, making a
beeline for the bagels and coffeemaker. Lois approached, filling
the space Perry had just vacated.

"Incredible article," Clark praised her.

"Oh, thanks," she replied, grinning. "I can't believe you
missed it. It was amazing. It was like he knew that Perry was on
our cases to get the interview. I'm still kind of in shock that,
out of all the reporters in the world, he picked *me* to be the
one to tell his story."

"I don't find it hard to believe at all," Clark said, leading
the way back to her desk.

"Really?"

"Lois, why would he go to anyone else? You're the best, right?
Why would he want the second best to, well, introduce him to the
world?"

She grinned. "You know what? You're absolutely right," she
said with a laugh.

"Of course I am," he shot back playfully. "In all seriousness,
Lois, Superman would have been an idiot to ask anyone else to
handle the interview. I know that, if I were relying on someone
else to tell the world about me, you'd be the only one I'd want
to do it."

"You're just saying that because I'm going out with you," she
teased.

"No," he said with a serious shake of his head. "It's not.
Lois, I've been following your career since probably when you
first started as a full reporter. No matter where in the world
I've been -- and you know I've traveled a lot since college
graduation -- I've always been able to find a copy of the Planet
and read your work."

"You know, Superman said he follows my work too," Lois mused.

"Then he's a smart man," Clark replied.

"Maybe," she answered with a shrug. "So, what's on your
agenda for the day?" She sat down at her desk and moved her
mouse just a bit to get out of screensaver mode.

"A few smaller articles that Perry asked me to crank out. The
MPD's graduation ceremony, a birthday party for Esther Williams,
Metropolis' oldest resident, and a piece about adopted men and
woman meeting their birth parents."

She nodded dismissively. "I did that one four years ago. High
expectations, crushing disappointment, resentment, the whole nine
yards." Boredom rang in her voice.

"Not always," Clark countered. "Sometimes they turn out well,
these meetings."

"I don't know. If I'd been adopted, I don't think I'd want
to meet my birth parents. I mean, if they didn't want me in
their life, why should I want them in mine?"

"What if they had a really good reason for giving you up?"
Clark asked. "Like a debilitating illness or they were living in
poverty and couldn't provide for you or maybe they were just so
young that there was no way they were ready to raise a child?"

The hurt in his voice must have broken through his efforts to
bury it. Lois' look softened.

"Hey, did I say something wrong?" she asked, reaching for him.

"It's nothing," he said.

She lifted his chin to force him to look at her. "It's not
nothing, Clark. Tell me."

He sighed. "Okay. It's not a big deal, okay, but, well, I'm
adopted. And I wish I had the option to decide if I wanted to try
to find my birth parents."

"Why don't you?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
"I could help you. I know a guy who has connections..."

"No, Lois," he interrupted her. "Thanks, but no."

"Why not?"

"I wasn't adopted through the system. No one contacted my
parents and said 'hey, want to adopt my baby?' I was a
foundling, left on my parents' doorstep. We have good reason to
believe that my birth parents are both dead."

"Oh, God, Clark! I'm so sorry," she gasped.

He shook his head. "I'm not. I have the greatest parents I
could hope for. I've long since come to terms with the fact that
my parents will forever be a mystery. Anyway, I was thinking we
could go for Mexican food tonight."

"Nice topic switch, Farm Boy," Lois grinned. "But I'd only go
for it if it's Aztec Temple."

"You've got yourself a deal," Clark said, his grin
broadening.

***

Two months passed from Superman's initial debut, when he'd
brought home the mayor's lost mother and daughter. The world
embraced their hero. Even those who'd initially been wary of the
super-powered being had come around. Most people loved the man in
blue. Oh, sure, there were still those who fretted about the
alien in their midst and those whose criminal activities made
them outright hate him. But they were now few and far between.

Clark felt fantastic about his alter ego.

It was like a natural high, each time he made an otherwise
impossible rescue.

He worried only about how his role as Superman was affecting his
relationship with Lois. Too often, he had to dash out on her with
a flimsy excuse or none at all, when someone called for his aid.
And Lois, for her part, though Clark could tell that she still
liked him, became more and more intrigued with the Man of Steel.
Clark couldn't blame her for that. He supposed Superman would be
attractive -- who wouldn't be drawn to a man who could make your
every whim a reality? Especially when that man befriended her
while her boyfriend often appeared to run away, even in the midst
of a serious conversation.

He had also belatedly realized that he'd allowed Superman to
become too close a friend to Lois. He was cordial to all members
of the press of course, but Lois was different. She alone was
allowed into Superman's inner circle. She alone was allowed to
be a true friend. And Clark knew, without a doubt, that she
prided herself on that status and that it only fanned the flames
of the crush she had on him.

When he let himself think about the fact that he'd complicated
his relationship with Lois, even inadvertently, it made him feel
sick to his stomach. But telling her his secret so early on in
their friendship and relationship terrified him even more.

Superman and the Daily Planet became synonymous, just as Perry
had wanted. It wasn't even a conscious effort on Clark's part.
It had everything to do with the exclusives Lois and Clark
snagged, thanks to Clark's inside information, and how close
he'd allowed Lois and the superhero to become. Of course, it
only made Perry expect even better articles from all of the
Planet's staff. They had a reputation to maintain, after all.
Clark didn't mind in the least. He loved the challenge and
appreciated that Perry trusted him on the important stories --
something no other editor had ever done before.

Clark loved the new routine of his life. Solving cases at work
with Lois. Saving lives as often as he could as Superman. Taking
Lois out on dates and learning all there was about her. It seemed
like nothing could break the perfection he'd finally achieved.

He should have known it was too good to last.

"Everyone, stop what you're doing!" a strange man declared one
afternoon, just as Lois and Clark were settling back down at
their desks after a lovely lunch date.

Clark looked up from his computer monitor to see armed men in
military fatigues taking up positions around the newsroom. His
heart leapt up into his throat and his stomach tightened into
knots. He swiftly scanned the room.

*No escape*, he thought. *No way to get Superman in here.*

"What in the name of Sam Hill is going on here?" Perry roared
as he stormed out of his office. "Who the hell do you think you
are, disrupting my newsroom?" he demanded.

"Jason Trask," a man said, stepping forward. It was the man
who'd ordered the bullpen to a halt. "Bureau Thirty-Nine. I
have a warrant issued by Federal Court." He raised his voice.
"Everyone back away from your desks, hands where I can see
them."

"Now wait just a cotton-picking minute," Perry demanded. "You
can't just barge in here and disrupt my entire newsroom like
this." He stabbed his finger violently in the direction of the
bullpen.

"If you have a problem, you can take it up with Washington,"
Trask said dismissively. With a sharp hand signal, he sent
several of his men to secure the room. "Moore, Schwartz, the
computers," he ordered.

"I'm not following," Perry continued. "What, exactly, are you
here for?"

"Superman."

"Superman?" Perry repeated, scoffing. "You'd do better
looking for him at some disaster or another."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Trask asked. "I *know* he's not
here right now. But I also know the Daily Planet seems to be
bosom buddies with that alien creature. Smart money says that at
least one of you has a way of contacting him. In particular, a
reporting team consisting of Lois Lane and Clark Kent."

"Lois and Clark?" Perry asked. "What do they have to do with
anything?"

"They have *everything* to do with things. Every time
Superman's in the area, *they* get the exclusive, don't they?
Come on, you're the editor here. Didn't it ever occur to you
that it's not natural for two people to consistently stumble
across the story?"

"My reporters are the best," Perry countered gruffly. "They
work their butts off to get the story."

"*Wrong!*" Trask snapped. "They *must* have a connection to
Superman. Somehow, they know his every move."

*Oh, God,* Clark mentally groaned as his stomach churned in fear.
*This nutcase wants Lois and me.*

"Oh, Miss Lane! Oh, Mister Kent! Come out, come out, wherever
you are!" Trask taunted.

*We need to get out of here. But...how?* he wondered, desperately
scanning the room for some way to slip away unnoticed.

*Trapped.*

Clark started to feel his heart rate picking up speed. Beads of
nervous perspiration

began to gather on his forehead. He felt his body flush cold with
fear. He tried to force himself to remain calm and unaffected and
put on the mask of detachment that Superman was famous for. There
was no way he was going to give these strangers any reason to
suspect him of any kind of close relationship to the Man of
Steel.

*Relax, Clark,* his inner voice tried to tell him. *They don't
know anything. They can't. Play it cool and they'll leave you
alone.*

He swallowed hard and took a steadying breath, hoping that his
inner voice was right. He attempted to force his pulse to slow,
but his efforts were in vain. He looked to Lois. She didn't look
nervous. She looked livid.

*That's my Lois,* he thought with a mental grin at her
feistiness.

"Come with us," two burly men said as they each grabbed Lois
and Clark by an arm.

"Hey! Hands off, you human wall!" Lois demanded as she jerked
her arm out of the man's hands.

Clark shot her a look that she either didn't see or ignored. She
*was* right about one thing though. The man who was escorting her
*did* sort of resemble a wall with his huge body.

"Perry! You can't let them do this to us!" she called out.

"Don't you worry, Lois. I'll get this straightened up faster
than you can say 'blue suede shoes,'" Perry tried to assure
her. Clark only hoped that was true.

They were dragged off to Perry's office and left alone, with the
"human wall" -- as Lois had so aptly named him -- standing
guard, ensuring that they would not escape. Once inside, Lois
turned to Clark.

"Lunatics! What do they want with us?"

"You heard them. They think we can contact Superman for them,"
Clark replied bitterly, his mind still churning as fast as he
could fly.

"What do you think they want with him?"

Clark frowned. "I'm sure it's nothing good. Did you see the
weapons on them?"

Lois nodded. "Yeah." She shuddered a little. "I don't get it.
Why not just call for help to attract his attention?"

"Insurance," Clark said simply. "Or, at least, they think so.
They think we have some way of making sure he'll show up."

"I wonder what will happen if he does," Lois mused, staring out
to the bullpen.

"I worry about what will happen if he *doesn't*," Clark
confided, knowing that Superman couldn't possibly make an
appearance.

"He'll show," Lois said confidently.

"I wouldn't count on it, Lois," Clark cautioned. "I mean,
it's a big world. He could be anywhere."

Lois huffed in annoyance and crossed her arms as she threw
herself down onto Perry's plaid couch. "Why Superman? Why
now?" she mused aloud, more to herself than to Clark, judging by
the sound of her voice. "He's been around for what? Two months
already?"

"I wish I knew," Clark replied, sitting down next to her. "All
I know is, I don't like it. No one with good intentions would
storm the Planet armed to the teeth. Superman is in danger."

"Hey, you two," Perry said, slipping into his office and
closing the door behind him.

"Perry, what's going on?" Lois demanded. "Who are these guys?
What do they want? Why Clark and me?"

Perry waved his hands in a gesture of pacification. "I talked to
that Trask fellow. They just want to talk to you about
Superman...ask you some questions and the like. Said it's a
matter of national security."

"What?! Are they afraid he might accidentally do some good deeds
or something? Maybe do some charity work or save some more lives
or something? Stop a war or two? Pluck a little girl's cat out
of a tree? Come on, Perry! You *can't* believe Superman's some
kind of threat!" Lois fumed.

"No, I don't," Perry said evenly. "That's why I told them to
shove their warrant where the sun don't shine. But, I made a
phone call to his superior officer. I hate to say it, but it
looks like they're legit. My hands are tied. I'm sorry."

Clark sighed. "Don't be, Perry. Things happen. Did they say
what they wanted to ask us?"

"No," their boss said, shaking his head. "Their lips are
tighter than Fort Knox's security."

Clark dragged a hand through his hair in nervousness. "So...what
now?"

"I really hate to say it, but I'd let them ask you whatever it
is they want to ask. The warrant is real. They'll either make
you talk here or in prison, son."

Clark's heart sank. Perry was right. If their orders were real,
he wouldn't have a choice but to do whatever it was that was
demanded of him. At least if he cooperated here and now, he could
control some of the interrogation. So why was every fiber of his
being screaming for him to run for his life?

"They, uh, want your computers too," Perry said, clearing his
throat.

"Perry! You can't let them! I have private stuff on my
computer," Lois protested.

"Don't you back up your hard drive externally?" Clark asked,
surprised by Lois' outburst.

"Of course I do! I'm not stupid. But I have really personal
stuff on the computer's internal hard drive anyway. Notes for my
novel are on there!"

"Your...novel?" This was a new revelation for Clark.

"Never mind about it now," Lois snapped angrily. "This is a
total invasion of our privacy!"

"I agree, but what can we do?" Clark asked miserably, sending
up a prayer of thanks that he had nothing incriminating about
Superman on his computer.

"Nothing at all," Trask said, entering the office. "Come with
me."

"Where?" Lois asked, ice in her voice.

"I'm afraid that's confidential. But have no fear, Miss Lane.
You'll be returned, safe and sound, once we're done with our
conversation. Benson, Rockwell. Escort these two reporters to our
vehicle, would you?"

Wordlessly, the two men complied. Lois and Clark were both taken
by the arm and guided out of Perry's office, through the
bullpen, and out of the building. They were ushered into the back
of a military style vehicle and driven to the Metropolis airport,
where they were loaded onto a military aircraft. Once aboard,
Trask rejoined them.

"Where are you taking us?" Lois demanded again.

"Just a little trip. No big deal," Trask replied, as casually
as if he'd taken them down to the corner deli. "We're just
going to head out to our facility, to ensure the complete and
utter privacy of our conversation."

"We could have done that in the conference room," Lois
complained.

"Every wall has ears, Miss Lane."

"What is it, exactly, is it that you want?" Clark asked. "What
do you think we can do for you, in regards to Superman? What is
it that you're after?"

Trask took a long, deep breath and exhaled it slowly through his
nose, as if contemplating answering Clark's question. Finally,
he met Clark's hard stare.

"Information, Mr. Kent," Trask said in a quiet, menacing
voice.

"Information about *what?*" Clark pressed.

"I need to know everything you know about Superman."

"What makes you think we know anything?" Lois replied. "Yeah,
sure, we've covered his activities in Metropolis, but reporters
all over the world have been doing the same thing."

Trask didn't answer. One of his men, Colton, by the name Clark
could see in the man's nametag, came up and whispered quietly
and swiftly into Trask's ear. Clark used his super hearing to
try and listen in, but what he heard was ambiguous at best and he
was unsuccessful in learning anything of value. Trask, for his
part, only nodded in approval.

The flight was long, every second amplified exponentially by Lois
and Clark's worry. Tension filled the air like an unseen poison,
weighing down their hearts and tongues. When he could, Clark
scanned through the windowless plane's body, hoping to find
identifying landmarks to give him some sort of direction. But
Trask's vigil over them rarely broke, and Clark had a hard time
discreetly using his abilities. He was, however, certain, by the
time they landed, that they'd been flown to Nevada. He guessed,
from the brief glimpses of the outside world that he'd been able
to sneak, and from his memories of flying over America, that they
were in the top secret area known best as Area Fifty-One. Of
course, he couldn't be sure. He usually didn't fly near the
place. The rumors of it being a government facility dealing with
alien life forms and technology made the short hairs on the back
of his neck stand at attention.

Yes, he was certain now, as he saw a few distinctive landmarks.
They were, indeed, in Area Fifty-One.

That, more than anything that had happened so far, chilled him to
his very core.

"This way," Trask dictated as they disembarked from the
aircraft.

He led them through a simple metal door that was embedded into
the very stone of the desert. Beyond, air conditioning cut
through the day's warmth and the world outside was forgotten in
a tangle of man-made metal passages, tile floors, stairs, and
machinery. It felt as though they'd entered a hidden city as
they descended further down into the underground bunker.

"Here we are," Trask said at last. He gestured to two doors
next to each other. Each was slightly ajar, exposing the tiny
rooms beyond the threshold. "Miss Lane, you get door number one.
Mister Kent, door number two."

"What do you think you're..." Clark started to ask, just
before one of their armed guards shoved him through the open
door, closing and locking it once they were both in the room.

"Sit," the guard commanded.

Fuming, and wishing he could just burst out of the room in a show
of his extraordinary strength, Clark did as he was told.

*Bide your time,* he reminded himself. *Find out what these
people want before you do anything rash.*

"What is all this?" he asked instead, motioning to the wires
and computers and electrodes that were laid out on the room's
only table.

"Just standard polygraph equipment," the guard, Rockwell, said
as he began to hook Clark up to the machines.

"You can't do this," Clark tried to reason. "Lois and I have
done nothing wrong..."

"Enough!" snapped Rockwell. "You'll get to talk soon
enough." He touched a couple of fingers to his weapon in an
unspoken threat.

Time wore endlessly on in that miniscule, windowless, clock-free
room. Clark stretched out his hearing to try and learn more about
the compound he and Lois were in. All around him, he heard voices
-- some casually chatting about sports games or favorite
television shows, some issuing commands that meant nothing to
him, some whistling tunes as they went about their assigned
tasks. He heard nothing of any help to him, so he tried to focus
on Lois. But he was too late. He heard the scrape of a chair as
Trask stood and left the room, and Lois swearing at the man under
her breath.

A moment later, Trask appeared in Clark's own room. He took a
seat next to Rockwell, across the table from Clark.

"This is a polygraph machine," he explained. "It's very
important that we get to the truth here. I'm going to ask you
two questions to begin with. You will answer in the affirmative
for both. We do this to calibrate the machine. Any questions?"

"Why?" Clark asked, growing nervous, despite his best efforts
to remain calm. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because we believe that Superman may pose a threat to not only
the United States, but to the very world. Now...is your name
Clark Kent? Remember to answer 'yes.'"

The cold, emotionless way in which Trask spoke sent a shiver down
Clark's spine.

"Yes," he answered.

Trask watched the machine's read-out for a moment, then nodded.

"Are you also Superman? Again, remember that we are looking for
a 'yes' answer."

Clark took a deep breath. "Yes."

Trask frowned. "That didn't read as a lie."

Rockwell checked the machine. "Must be a glitch. Let's try it
again," he said, fiddling with a dial.

"Again, are you Superman?"

"Yes," Clark answered, slyly blowing the machine's needle so
that it read out as a lie.

"There, it's working again," Rockwell said, sitting back a
little in his chair.

Trask eyed him coldly. "Good. Now, Mister Kent," he said,
turning his expressionless gaze back to Clark. "You and Miss
Lane seem to have extraordinary luck in grabbing Superman
stories. Tell me, does he contact you in advance and tell you
where to be?"

"No," Clark replied honestly.

"Can you contact him?"

"You mean like call him on the phone, or send him an email or
something?" Clark asked, buying himself some time.

"In any way possible. Phone, email, telepathy, homing pigeon,
*anything.*"

"No," he answered, knowing that wasn't really the truth and
watching as the needle swayed in response.

"Is Superman an alien?"

Clark took a steadying breath. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Trask arched an eyebrow as he repeated Clark's word.

"I don't know his history, past what he's already told the
press. All I know for sure is that he can do things no one else
can," Clark responded, feeling an emptiness in his heart over
his still-mysterious origins.

"Do you think he is here to cause harm to human beings?"

"No," Clark instantly answered. "I've seen him do too much
good."

"Could all of his good deeds be no more than a front? A way to
lull us into a false sense of security?"

"No." Another easy to answer truth.

"Do you believe there are more like him out there in the
world?" Trask asked.

"I don't know."

*I wish I did,* he added sadly in his mind, though he'd long ago
come to terms with the idea of being the only one like him in all
the world.

"Do you consider him a friend?" Trask asked.

"Yes," Clark had to answer honestly. "I mean, I guess so.
He's always been nice enough to me. He's a friend to everyone,
except, maybe criminals."

And so the line of questioning continued, until even the
questions that Clark could answer with complete honesty made him
jittery in nervousness. Finally, he was given a reprieve as Trask
called for an end to the polygraph test. Clark breathed a sigh of
relief as the electrodes and wires were removed from his body.

"And now Lois and I are free to leave?" he half-asked,
half-demanded.

Trask looked up from the polygraph's read-out. "Not quite yet.
I'm afraid I have a few matters to attend to before anyone goes
back to Metropolis. I have a man waiting outside, who will escort
you and Miss Lane to an area where you can wait while I set some
things in order."

"You're imprisoning us," Clark guessed.

"Oh, I wouldn't put it that way. Not exactly. More like putting
you in holding. You see, Mister Kent," he said, leaning in
threateningly, "I don't believe you've told me the whole truth
about Superman. You know something. I don't know what, but I'm
going to find out. I can promise you that." His voice was low
and menacing.

"And Lois?" Clark shot back. "Why are you keeping her here? Or
do you think she morphs into Superman in her spare time?" He had
to bite back the rest of the words on his tongue. Belatedly,
he'd realized that Trask might just be crazy enough to believe
such a crazy notion.

"I can't very well send back one nosey, obnoxious reporter
without her partner, now can I?" Trask cracked a farce of a
smile and spread his hands on the table. "No, she'd just try to
stir up the media. Better if she stays here with us until I get
the answers I'm looking for."

"*What* answers, Trask?" Clark said, exasperated. "We've told
you what we know about Superman. What more do you want?"

"I want him here, now." Trask said, his voice like the hiss of
a venomous snake.

"For what purpose?"

"That is classified information."

Clark wanted to scream in his frustration. He felt like he was
going in circles with Trask. He wondered if he'd be at least
able to use his powers to break out of Bureau Thirty-Nine's
compound once he was put into holding. With any luck, he would be
able to change into Superman and make it look like the hero had
tracked Lois and Clark to the desert, only to break them free of
their imprisonment. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be brought
into the hallway, where an armed man he hadn't yet seen stood
waiting for him.

Braxton, the man's ID badge read.

From the other room, a different man brought Lois out. Clark
recognized Benson, the other man who, with Rockwell, had forced
them to leave the Daily Planet. Benson passed Lois off to Braxton
wordlessly, then spoke to Trask.

"Sir? The boss wants to see you, sir," Benson informed him.

Trask nodded. "On my way. Thank you, Benson." Then, to Braxton,
"You know where to go."

Braxton cracked a partial, menacing smile. "Sure do."

He marched them through the underground complex. Clark tried to
keep up with the twists and turns, but his mind was racing too
fast to be able to concentrate much. He was too busy trying think
of some way to get Lois out of this mess, even if he couldn't
get himself out. True, Lois was Superman's closest friend in the
short time the hero had been around, but there was nothing she
could tell Trask. She knew nothing of any real value to offer the
man, but Clark was terrified that Trask was insane enough to hurt
her anyway -- either because he didn't believe her innocence, or
in a twisted attempt to draw Superman in for whatever nefarious
purpose he had.

Lois.

He *had* to save her.

It was all his fault she was a part of their current situation.
It was his duty to get her safely out of Trask's reach. He loved
her too much to even *think* about what would happen if Lois got
hurt or killed in Trask's deranged attempt to get to Superman.

"Down this hall," Braxton said after a while.

"Over my dead body," Lois shot back, shoving the man in a vain
attempt to get free.

Braxton grabbed Lois and threw her violently against the opposite
wall. Clark heard the air whoosh out of her lungs. Braxton raised
his gun.

"Trask needs you alive, but he never stated what condition of
'alive' you have to be in," Braxton said as he took aim.

"Don't," Clark said, fear in his voice, his hands before him
as if they alone could form a shield that could protect Lois.
They could, of course, but neither Lois nor Braxton knew that. He
stepped before her, acting as a shield, no longer concerned for
his own safety or that of his secret. "Put the gun down."

"Clark, what are you doing?" Lois asked, her own fear rising as
Clark stepped directly in front of her.

Clark ignored her and kept his eyes on the man before him. "You
don't want to do this."

As if in response, Braxton fired his weapon. The bullet bounced
harmlessly off Clark as he shifted his body to further block
Lois. The man looked at him in surprise. But the look of shock on
his face swiftly turned into a scowl.

"Son of a..." he swore at Clark while slipping a different
sidearm from his belt. "You're one of them alien freaks too!"

Clark heard Lois' gasp as he dove for the man's weapon. But
Braxton got one shot off. That was all it took. Clark cried out
as the bullet tore through his flesh, searing it with an inferno
of pain like he'd never imagined possible. The shock of the
wound ripped through his body along with the unexpected lance of
agony. He hit the floor hard and tried to cradle his injured
shoulder. Blood pumped out through the ragged hole in his flesh
and he tried to stem the flow of it, only to jerk his hand back
as a fresh stab of lightning skewered his body.

"Clark!"

Through a fog of pain, where time seemed to stand still and the
world faded away to nothing but the bullet hole in his torso, he
heard Lois screaming.

He tried to reassure her, but his tongue felt leaden. His entire
being felt like the life was pouring out of his body, faster than
his blood could spill. The world around him grew dim around the
edges before becoming mere pinpricks of harsh fluorescent
lighting. Breathing hurt. Thinking was torture. Closing his eyes
against the pain brought fresh agony.

*So, this is what pain is like.*

It was more of a concept in his mind -- a single, glaring thought
-- than anything he consciously thought.

*At least Lois wasn't hit*.

Again, it wasn't so much a conscious thought as a searing moment
of knowledge.

"Clark? Oh, God! What did you do to him?"

"Lo..." was all he managed to get out.

He was dimly aware of Braxton grabbing Lois and shoving her
through the closest cell door. He thought he may have seen
another person in that same cell, but his vision was too poor by
then to know for sure.

"Clark! Hold on! I'll figure something out!" Lois called as
Braxton grabbed him under the armpits and began dragging him down
the hall.

Finally, darkness took him and he knew no more.

***

Inside the now cramped little cell, Jor-El watched the human
woman as she fretted over her friend's departure. Oh, but how he
hated sharing his prison cell with such a creature! Humans had
been nothing but trouble and a source of heartache over the
years. How long had it been? Twenty years? Thirty? Too long. Too
long being stuck on this miserable, unworthy little rock of a
planet. Too long being at the mercy of the pathetic little
life-forms that populated this rough, unrefined world.

"What are they doing to him?" Lois wondered aloud for the
hundred time as she paced the small, single room cell she'd been
roughly shoved into.

Jor-El declined to answer. He'd already tried to calm her down
and been unsuccessful -- an action that had been more for his
benefit than for hers, as he'd grown weary of her incessant
babbling. The fact was, as much as he could try to reassure the
young woman before him, his own mind was a wreck with worry for
the young man. A young man who, like Jor-El, seemed to be
impervious to ordinary bullets. A young man who, like Jor-El, had
been helpless against the special guns and green bullets all of
the members of Bureau Thirty-Nine kept on them at all times.

His son.

It had to be.

Kal.

Still alive after all these years, and grown into a handsome
young man. A man who Jor-El could see himself in. A man who
reflected the best parts of Lara.

"Come on, come on," Lois muttered under her breath, her foot
tapping impatiently as she leaned against the door, straining for
a glimpse of something or telltale sound that would prove to her
that Clark was still alive. She whirled on Jor-El. "Why isn't
he back yet?"

"How should I know?" Jor-El replied, a little more harshly than
he'd intended. God, this Earth-woman was already grating on his
last nerve!

"You seem to know these people," Lois shot back.

"Yes, unfortunately I do," Jor-El spit out. "But open your
eyes, woman! If you think these people are friends of mine,
you're sorely mistaken. I'm no less their prisoner than you
are."

That appeared to give her pause. She looked around, sighed, then
dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor. She sighed heavily a
second time, leaning against the cold cinderblock wall.

"I guess you're right. I'm sorry. I'm just so worried about
Clark," she said after a few minutes.

"I am too," Jor-El finally admitted with a sigh.

Lois gave him a funny look. "You? Why?"

"I just...am. You're right about one thing -- I know these
people. I've been their prisoner for...I'm not even sure how
long anymore. The days and years all blend together nowadays."
He kept his answer purposefully evasive. How could he possibly
trust an Earthling with the suspicion that her friend was his
son? Although, she *had* to realize that her friend was no mere
human.

"Why you?" Lois asked, seemingly more to herself than to
Jor-El. "They want us to get to Superman...but why keep you
here?"

Jor-El opted to ignore the question. How could he possibly
explain it, even if he wanted to tell this annoying young woman
his story?

"Move it, alien scum!" came the gruff voice of a man.

Lois got up with lightning speed and went to the cell door,
peering out between the bars of cold steel. Jor-El rose from his
seat on the rough cot as well. He could just see as Lionel Watson
came around the corner, shoving a worn and sick looking Clark
before him. Jor-El could see the heavy shackles on Clark's
wrists and ankles, which made the young man shuffle clumsily. But
that wasn't the only reason why Clark seemed to be having
trouble even standing. Jor-El knew only too well that any member
of the Bureau who was having direct contact with a prisoner they
suspected of being Kryptonian -- so far, the only ones being
Jor-El and now his son -- always carried a piece of glowing green
stone on them, as a precaution.

Proximity to the stone and the exertion of walking was killing
Kal.

"Watson!" Jor-El called out, pleading. "Put it away, please!
He can't harm you! You know that!"

"Shut up," came the growled response. "Move it, alien!" he
said again, directing a kick at the back of Clark's knees.

Clark stumbled and fell. Even Lois could see that his skin was
ashen and his breathing labored, and Jor-El heard the sharp
intake of her breath as Clark fell. A sheen of sweat shone on
Clark's brow and his eyes were full of pain. He grunted as he
made contact with the floor. A cough escaped him. Watson rolled
his eyes and grabbed Clark by the elbow, jerking him roughly to
his feet. It was only by sheer luck that Clark's shoulder
didn't dislocate in the process. Clark stood for a moment,
unsteadily, looking for all the world like he was about to pass
out. Then he bravely started to move, his eyes fixed on Lois, as
though she was the only thing in the world that existed.

"Come on, Clark," Lois called to him in an encouraging voice.
"You can make it." Shooting a dagger-look at Watson, she swore
at him. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I
promise you, you're going to pay for whatever it is that you did
to my friend."

Clark weakly shook his head at her, as if to discourage her, but
the scowl on Lois' face never left.

"Watson! Put it away! He can't hurt you," Jor-El called out
again. His voice cracked through his own Kryptonite sickness.
"You're killing him!"

"Quiet! Or I'll give you a dose of it too," Watson vowed.

Agonizing moments passed until Clark finally reached the cell.
Jor-El instinctively put a hand to Lois' shoulder, gently urging
her back. He didn't care if Watson struck her, as he was prone
to do to those too slow or stupid to get out of his way. All he
wanted was access to the son he'd lost a lifetime ago.

"Put him in here, please," Jor-El requested, realizing that it
sounded like the plea that it was and feeling beads of sweat
sprouting on his brow as the Kryptonite came closer.

"What's it to you, freak?" Watson asked.

"Nothing," Jor-El lied. "But, let's face it, I'm familiar
with the sickness he's got," he added vaguely. "I doubt Trask
wants him dead or he wouldn't be here now."

"Fine. It's all the same to me if you all rot together or
alone." He shrugged and addressed Clark. "Get in," Watson
said, unlocking the shackles that had weighed Clark down. "The
boss is going to want to talk to you later. *All of you.* Enjoy
your stay," he sneered, delivering a savage blow to Clark's
back.

"Clark!" Lois called out, horrified.

Clark lost his balance and pitched forward. Before Lois could
react, Jor-El was there, his arms ready to receive his son, just
as they had on the night the boy had been born, back in another
world, light-years away. Clark loosed a soft cry as he collided
with the older man, a cry that was muffled by the other's shirt.
Watson only watched for a moment before shutting the cell door
again. The lock closed with a harsh clang, followed by the click
of Watson's boot heels on the tile floor as he retreated back to
his other duties.

"Here," Jor-El soothed Clark, as he helped him onto the bed,
ignoring his own Kryptonite sickness and weakness.

Clark didn't reply. He only curled into a fetal position, too
hurt and sick to do anything else.

"Clark," Lois said, her voice cracking with withheld panic.
"Oh, God. What did they do to you?"

She climbed up onto the bed next to him, pushing past Jor-El,
despite an attempt by Jor-El to get her to back up. Gently, she
sat down, crossed her legs, and coaxed Clark's head into her
lap. She stroked his hair, feeling the dampness there from his
sweat and the feverishness of his brow. When he didn't protest,
she looked down at his bare chest, where he'd been hit by the
bullet. A large, sloppily placed bandage was there.

"What did they do?" she asked again.

"Took...bullet...stitched..." he managed weakly, against the
residual pain in his body.

Lois let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God," she murmured. "I
was so worried about you."

Clark managed a weak smile. "Take...more than...that to...get
rid of me."

"I was worried as well," Jor-El said, stepping forward, already
recovered from his brief exposure to the poisonous meteorite.
"How are you feeling?"

"Who are you?" Clark asked, small amount of his energy
returning, now that Watson and that accursed green rock were
gone.

"My name is Jor-El," he said. "And, unless I'm mistaken, you
are Kal-El. My son."

Clark knew that felt Lois felt his body stiffen slightly at the
mention of his name -- a name his parents had told him his mother
had called him. But all he could do was nod. After all, as he saw
it, his cover was already blown and he didn't have the energy
yet to even begin to pretend that he was anything more than
simply just Clark Kent.

"Yes," he whispered, awestruck by the fact that he was meeting
his biological father -- a man he'd long ago presumed to be
dead.

"Clark?" Lois asked. He could hear confusion and anger in her
voice as the truth began to dawn on her. "I know you're hurt
right now. But what are you saying?"

"Lois, I'm sorry. I never meant to lie to you," he began,
trying to push himself up to look at her, but failing as his arms
turned to mush. "The truth is, I *am* Clark Kent. But that's
not the name I was given at birth. My name...the one my birth
parents gave me...is Kal-El."

"Kal-El?" she asked. "But Superman's name is..." She cut
herself off sharply. "*You!*" she exclaimed, righteous anger
tainting her voice as she pulled away from him. "You're
Superman?! All this time and you've been lying to me!" He could
see her fighting the urge to slap him.

At least she had the decency to hiss out her words in a lowered
tone, he mused darkly. Not that it mattered. Word had probably
already spread through Bureau Thirty-Nine's compound.

"I had to! When I decided to become Superman, I knew that no one
could ever find out that the untouchable hero was nothing more
than a farm boy reporter in a ridiculous costume. My life
depended on it. So did the lives of everyone I care about. You.
Jimmy. Perry. My parents. *Especially *my parents. I knew
Superman would make a *lot* of enemies, and that anyone
associated with him would become a target. I'm sorry, Lois. I
thought what I did was for the best. I wanted so much to protect
you." He was proud that managed it to say it all with only
minimal pauses to catch his breath with his still aching lungs.

"You could have told me!" she replied back, still furious.
"Did you think I was going to run to print the story of how
Clark Kent and Superman are the same person? Did you think so
little of me? How could you lie to me, every day?"

"I think the world of you, Lois," he said in a soft tone. "You
have to know that by now. You're my best friend and the woman
I've fallen in love with. I can't imagine my life without you
in it. I've wanted to tell you. I just...how could I? You don't
just order a pizza and casually mention 'Oh, by the way, I'm an
alien and masquerade as Superman in my spare time' while you
slip a movie into the VCR."

"So you thought it was better to keep me in the dark? That it
was okay to keep something this huge from me?" Her anger now
held a healthy amount of hurt in it. He could see unshed tears
brimming in her eyes, threatening to fall at any moment, and it
broke his heart.

"Of course not," he said, his voice going even softer somehow.
"I knew I had to tell you, if I had any chance to trying to make
a life with you. But I was afraid. Afraid that the idea of being
with an alien would turn you away. Afraid that you'd only want
to continue being with me *because* of my powers. Lois, no one in
the world knows about me, except for my folks. Telling anyone,
even you, or maybe even *especially* you, is terrifying on a
primal level. It makes me vulnerable in a way that I can't even
describe."

Lois didn't answer right away, appearing to think over what
he'd said, while Jor-El remained respectfully silent, watching
the exchange. Finally, she nodded firmly, as if shoving aside her
anger and hurt. "Okay," she said. "Right now, we need to focus
on getting out of here."

"How?" Clark asked, leaning against the wall, finally able to
push himself up to sit. He fought down a lingering bout of nausea
before continuing.

"How? You're *Superman,*" Lois said, as if it was the most
obvious thing in all the world. "You bend the bars or melt them
with your eyes or something." She gestured to the bars which
imprisoned them.

"I...can't," Clark replied, hanging his head in shame.

"What do you mean? Of course you can. I've seen you do it
numerous times already," she argued. "And these *people,*" she
said, spitting the word out as though annoyed to have to
acknowledge the members of Bureau Thirty-Nine as human beings,
"seem to already know about your secret. So there's nothing to
hide, right?"

"I mean...I *can't*." Clark tried to will her to see how
serious he was. "Whatever they shot me with...my powers are
gone, Lois."

"Gone? *Gone?* What do you mean, *gone?*" she asked, her voice
pitching higher in her panic.

"I mean, right now, I'm nothing more than a regular guy, Lois.
Believe me, I've been trying. I can't fly, I have no heat
vision, I can barely even sit up on my own," he tried to
explain. "I've never been this weak before in my entire life. I
don't understand it." He looked to Jor-El for an explanation.
"What did they do to me?"

"Kryptonite," the other man replied. "Fragments of our home
world, Krypton. I believe they became radioactive when our planet
exploded. Some must have been pulled along in the wake of our
ship as we escaped the planet's demise. All I'm sure of is that
it makes us sick. I believe, given enough exposure to it, it can
kill us. All it takes is being in the same proximity of the rock.
They don't even need to shoot us, though they all carry bullets
made of the stuff, as a precaution. That's what they shot you
with." He moved forward to sit on the edge of the cot, though
the movement was deliberate, as if gauging how close Clark would
allow him.

*Krypton.*

For the first time in his life, Clark had a name for the place
where he'd been born.

"You didn't seem to be affected," Lois observed. "If they all
carry the stuff like you say, and if you're like Clark..."

"Kryptonian," Jor-El cut in.

"Right. Kryptonian. If you and Clark are
both...Kryptonian...then shouldn't you have been suffering
too?"

"I was," Jor-El said, barely sparing a glance in her direction.
"But, over the years, my recovery time has improved. In the
beginning, I, like Kal, took much longer before the sickness wore
off." He dared to touch Clark's arm, hesitating as if he feared
Clark would melt away into mist at the slightest contact. "How
are you feeling, my son?"

Clark fought the knee-jerk reaction to flinch at the phrase "my
son." He'd dreamed all his life what it would be like to meet
the people who'd given him life, but to hear a stranger call him
"son" felt wrong on every level. Jonathan and Martha Kent were
his parents. They were the ones who'd always referred to him as
their son.

"A little better," Clark replied. "Weak, but at least the pain
is gone."

Jor-El nodded. "Good."

"How long can I expect my powers to be gone?" Clark asked,
eyeing the bars of their prison again.

He didn't want to broach more private matters at the moment. He
didn't want to deal with his conflicting emotions yet -- the
curiosity he had over who this man was, the awkwardness of their
non-existent relationship, the need to know why Jor-El had left
his mother to die in the Kents' living room, the need to know
why he'd never come to claim his son.

 Jor-El tried to hide the fact that he was crushed over Clark's
determination to stick to impersonal topics. But Clark saw the
fleeting look of hurt that crossed his features anyway. A stab of
guilt tore through his heart, but he knew that, if they got away
from Bureau Thirty-Nine, they could both find time to ask all the
questions he knew they both had to have. In the privacy of his
own apartment, he could sort through his feelings and get to know
the man whose DNA he shared.

Jor-El shook his head reluctantly. "They won't."

Clark's face fell along with his heart. His powers were a part
of him. Without them, he felt like the shell of a man. How could
that part of himself just be gone?

"What?" he asked in a whisper, the word sticking in his
throat.

"Without sunlight, they won't come back," Jor-El clarified.
"I learned that long ago. So did the Bureau. Which is why I've
been caged down here, a long way from the yellow sun of this
world for too many years to count."

"How?" Lois asked. She'd yet to vacate her seat at the head of
the cot. "How did they know?"

Jor-El sighed. "It's a long story."

"Please. It's important," Clark pressed.

"I should start at the beginning. You need to understand
everything, Kal."

"Clark," he gently corrected. "I'm sorry. I know I'm Kal to
you, but I've always gone by Clark." He almost regretted his
words as he saw Jor-El's saddened expression, but it was enough
for Clark to keep track of two identities from day to day. He
couldn't handle a third right now.

"Clark," Jor-El obliged. "When you were born, our planet,
Krypton, was on the threshold of death. Your mother and I escaped
with you with only moments to spare. There had been another ship
-- a floating palace -- filled with other refugees, but before we
could board, your mother, Lara, went into labor and the palace
left. I believe they must have gotten spooked by one of the
larger quakes and made a snap decision to leave before they had
scheduled to depart. We took our own ship and planned on meeting
up with the others, but we were unable to contact them to
coordinate a rendezvous. Our ship wound up taking damage as we
searched for the palace and we had to make an emergency landing,
here on Earth. Lara and I were injured -- she worse than I. We
were pursued -- the Bureau had somehow witnessed our crash
landing. I drew them away from her and you, hoping to double back
once I'd shaken off our pursuers. That was the last time I ever
saw or heard from her. Our telepathic connection was severed that
very night. You were too young for me to link to you. The ability
doesn't manifest until the onset of puberty, and besides, these
walls are shielded, preventing anyone from using telepathy
anyway...a stolen technology from another race, believe me. In
any case, I had to assume the worst."

"She died," Clark confirmed for him. "My parents always told
me that they did what they could for her, when she showed up on
their doorstep. Even the doctor they called to the house
couldn't do anything for her. She was too badly injured. When
she died, they said that she...vanished, making them suspect that
there was something...different about the two of us. I'm so
sorry."

Jor-El nodded as a look of fresh grief washed over his features.
Clark could imagine how heartbreaking it would be to have his
worst fears confirmed, even after so many years.

"I had prayed that I was wrong," he sighed. "Not too long
after I left you and your mother at some small farmhouse, the
Bureau caught up with me and I was captured," he continued. "I
was knocked out and eventually brought here, to this facility. At
first, things weren't too bad. I was treated well enough. My
injuries were tended. I was given food and shelter. But it
quickly became apparent that the sunlight gave me abilities
beyond reason. It made them fear me. At least, it did until it
was discovered that Kryptonite robbed me of my abilities and
acted as a poison, so long as I was exposed to it in some way. I
was kept indoors during the day, and allowed outside only once
all traces of sunlight were gone."

He sighed, his eyes seeming to see the ghosts of the past rather
that his immediate surroundings.

"At first, I didn't mind as much as I probably should have. I
understood their concerns. The powers were frightening even to
me. I didn't blame them for being afraid of what I could
do...intentionally or not." He sighed again. "You must
understand, Kal...Clark. The Bureau was not always the evil
organization it now is. In the beginning, they seemed to have
noble intentions. I freely shared my knowledge with them, hoping
to better this planet. After all, I was a scientist, back on
Krypton, and have always been at ease creating things. Much of
your technology today is crude imitations of what we had on
Krypton. Your internet, your cell phones, your fax machines, even
your CDs. It's all based on technology we once had on Krypton.
Ancient technology, to be sure, but cutting edge for this young
planet."

"Hey, now wait just a minute..." Lois started to protest
angrily.

Jor-El gave her a hard look. "Your species is young. Very young,
compared to much of the universe. Krypton had developed
artificial intelligence while Earthlings were building the
pyramids. We were exploring space while your people were learning
how to make fire. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Earthlings
simply haven't been around long enough to develop the technology
other planets do."

"Other planets? You mean, more than just Earth and Krypton?"
Lois asked.

Jor-El nodded. "It's an infinitely large universe. Did you
think you were the only planet with intelligent life?" he asked,
somewhat bitingly.

"Of course not," Lois shot back. "I was just curious, that's
all. There's always been speculation, but never any proof. At
least, until Superman started flying around."

"How many?" Clark asked, like Lois, too curious to resist
asking.

"We don't really know for certain," Jor-El said, shaking his
head a little. "Hundreds of thousands. Millions. New ones were
being discovered all the time -- either accidentally or through
deliberate attempts at making contact with new places." He
shrugged. "A few men and women from other places have been
captured by the Bureau during my time here. I'm the only one who
still lives."

Clark felt his fist tighten in anger. "Others?"

Lois looked horrified. "Only one...? You mean, they've killed
them?"

"Some, yes. Others were either too unsuited to this planet's
atmosphere to survive long or too injured from their own crash
landings to live."

"And now? Are there others here now?" Lois asked, her concern
rising to match Clark's.

"No. The last was a woman from Oa, maybe a good six months or so
ago. It's hard to tell down here in this windowless hell. Bex,
was her name."

"Oa?" Clark asked, the word completely foreign to him.

Jor-El nodded. "A small planet not far from Earth, relatively
speaking, that is. It's used primarily as a meeting place for
the Lantern Corps, a sort of interstellar peace-keeping group.
But, like I said, Bex died a while back. She was here only a day
or two." He pointed to the empty cell across the way. "We spoke
only briefly. Her ship had crashed and her injuries were
grievous. I was surprised she lived for as long as she did. There
was Zokila, from Ujinka. She was here maybe a week. Pren, from
Quahth. He was shot by Trask only hours after arriving here. The
shielding I spoke of? To block telepathy? Stolen technology from
the planet Markilth, some years before Lara and I ever crash
landed here. It's been rumored around here that the Roswell
incident left survivors aboard the crashed space craft but that
the Bureau refused them medical assistance and dissected the
bodies once they had died."

"So, you're the only one left," Lois said, as though speaking
her private thoughts aloud. "Why? What's the Bureau's angle?
Bait for Superman? Dangle the idea of another Kryptonian in front
of him and see if they can draw him to him? But wouldn't they
have done it sooner? And why keep you alive for so long when
Superman only entered the scene a couple of months ago? How could
they have even known?"

"A presidential order protects my life," Jor-El explained,
keeping his eyes focused on Clark. "I am alive for no other
reason than the fact that no one has been brave enough yet to
cross that line."

"Why would the White House care if you lived or died?" Lois
mused.

"As I said, the Bureau once had noble intentions, at least when
I first was brought here, and my contributions, small as they
were, to your technology were noticed. They were deemed important
enough to ensure that I lived. I was too valuable to be allowed
to die, though there were times when I wanted nothing more --
when the grief over losing my wife and son was unbearable."

"You said they were once noble. What happened? When did they
start feeling like it's their duty to eliminate alien life?"
Clark asked, thinking back to his interrogation by Trask.

"I'm not sure how long it's been. A decade or more, certainly.
Time runs into itself when all you know is the inside of a
cell." Jor-El sighed. "When I first arrived, Stanley Robbins
was the head of the Bureau. Things were good under him. I was
treated like a colleague and friend. I was valued for my input.
After he retired, Burton Newcomb took over. That's when I first
felt like a true prisoner. Almost from the start, Jason Trask
worked to undermine and edge out Newcomb. He finally succeeded
and took over. Since that day, I've spent every day wishing he
would finally violate that accursed presidential order and just
kill me." He broke eye contact with his son and looked at the
floor instead. "What did I have to live for? My family was gone.
Even if I could contact the mothership somehow, what could my
fellow Kryptonians offer? And I would finally be free of Trask's
deranged paranoia. His sometimes daily torment of me. His insane
demands."

"He's a sicko," Lois agreed. "He thinks it's his job to kill
you, Clark. He thinks you're some kind of scout for other
Kryptonians, and that an invasion is inevitable unless he kills
Superman. Or, at least, that's the impression that I got from
our little 'discussion' earlier." She pulled her eyes from
Clark to look at Jor-El. "What kinds of demands did he make of
you?"

"Weapons, mostly. Things that could wipe out large numbers of
people in seconds -- people born of Earth or other planets, it
didn't matter to him."

"A weapon like that in the hands of someone like him..." Lois
visibly shuddered and Clark snaked an arm around her to pull her
a little closer.

Jor-El nodded, just a slight dipping of his head. "I know. I
refused. Krypton had such weapons, it's true. They were created
as a last resort against some of the more warlike, barbaric alien
races. Thankfully, we never needed them. But their creation cost
us dearly. The resources we needed to build the weapons...it took
its toll on our world. I believe, though I could never prove it,
it's what caused our planet to become unstable." He paused for
a moment. "As much as I've grown to hate this world, I
wouldn't wish that fate on anyone. And," he added, "your world
lacks the materials to build such weapons anyway."

"Let's be thankful for that," Clark muttered.

"Let me guess," Lois said, tucking a strand of hair behind her
ear. "Trask didn't believe you."

"No, he didn't." There was an audible sigh.

Silence fell over the cramped cell. Clark decided to try
standing, since he felt like he was a bit stronger. This time,
when he put his feet on the floor, his muscles remained solid. He
tentatively stretched, finding most of the pain in his body gone.
His gunshot wound still ached, but he ignored it and paced to the
bars. He gripped them as tightly as he could and tested his
strength. They held fast and he was rewarded with a shooting pain
where he'd been shot.

"I've got to figure a way out," he whispered to himself.
"Their lives depend on it."

***

"Get up, alien scum!" Watson said, his gun raised and ready.
"The boss wants to have a word with you."

Clark blinked rapidly, trying to banish the last shreds of sleep
from himself. He got to his feet and moved to the bars. He
gripped them hard, anticipating the poisonous assault of
Kryptonite on his body. But none came, much to his relief.

"What's the matter? Trask can't do his own dirty work? He
sends you to come get me?" Clark asked, his anger and fear
adding an unintended harshness to his words.

"Trask?" Watson chuckled. "You aren't seeing him right now.
You're seeing the boss. And you're not *going* anywhere."

"Who is this 'boss?'" Clark asked.

"Me."

A chill ran down Clark's spine at the voice. It was one he knew.
One he hadn't heard for many long years. One he'd counted
himself lucky for having put firmly in his past. And yet, by some
cruel twist of fate, here it was again. Here *she* was.

"Lana," he breathed. "What...?"

"Lana?" Lois echoed. "Lana, your ex-girlfriend, Lana? Lana
Lang?" She sounded as shocked as Clark felt. "This is her?"

"Lana *Luthor* now," the woman corrected, as she stepped into
their line of view, her black leather pumps clicking like
gunshots on the tile floors.

"Luthor," Clark repeated, spitting the name out like a curse.

Lana nodded. "After my father died, my mother and I moved. She
met Lex at a business conference and they fell in love. When they
married, he adopted me. What better way to get ahead in the world
than to use such a powerful last name? Of course, my line of
fashion designs is nothing more than a very lucrative hobby. I
spend most of my time keeping the Bureau in order for my
father."

"Your father? But this is..." Lois began.

"A legitimate military operation, yes," Lana said, as though
reading Lois' thoughts. "Welcome to Project Blue," she said
gesturing around them.

"Then how can you be keeping 'in order' for Lex?" she asked.

Lana snorted. "Who do you think funds this little operation,
hmmm? Those bozos in Washington? They ran out of money for this
years ago. My father offered to run it on his dime, so to
speak."

"Why would he even care about the Bureau?" Lois asked. Clark
could almost see the wheels spinning in her mind.

"Do you *know* how much money he's made, building on the
technology this freak," Lana replied, gesturing dismissively at
Jor-El, " and the others used to supply the Bureau with? Taking
control of the Bureau meant taking control of the technology."

"Why are you doing this?" Clark asked, drawing Lana's ire from
Lois, but still ever mindful of the green bullets he knew would
be in Watson's handgun. "What do you want from us?"

"You've been a thorn in my father's side, ever since you first
started wearing that ridiculously hideous costume," Lane said
bluntly. "Going around, interrupting things. Costing him
money."

"Putting away the criminals he deals with?" Clark added,
spitting the accusation out through gritted teeth.

Lana ignored him. "A presidential order protects *him*," she
said, waving a hand disgustedly at Jor-El. "But, fortunately,
*nothing* protects *Superman* or the pathetic little reporter he
pretends to be."

"So, what then? You're going to shoot me? Why bother keeping me
alive as long as you have? I could have bled out earlier," he
said, the words shooting like acid from his mouth, though he knew
he was inviting trouble.

Lana gave him a dangerous smile. "Oh, I have something much
better planned for you. You see, there *is* one thing that my
father does admire about you. *Your powers.*" Her voice was a
snake's hiss by now, and Clark felt a cold fear creep down his
spine. "Now, my friend Jason here," she said, nodding toward
her side where Trask stood silently watching their conversation,
"thinks that, if we dig deep enough, we'll find out the source
of your powers. And when we do, we'll find a way to pass on your
abilities to my father."

*Lex Luthor with my abilities?* Clark thought with growing alarm.
*The world wouldn't stand a chance. He'd destroy everything.*

"He thinks," she continued on, "that all we have to do is
crack you open, like an egg, and we'll find what we need. And if
we don't...well, there are other experiments we can run on
him." Again, she gestured dismissively at Jor-El. "At least,
the non-fatal ones."

"Non-fatal," Lois repeated, a hint of a question in her voice.
"What...?"

She wasn't given a chance to finish speaking before Trask jumped
in.

"Vivisection." He grinned a deadly grin at Clark. "Do you know
how much I've waited for this moment, *alien*? I'm going to
*love* every minute of watching your alien body being opened and
explored. I want to hear your screams. I want to smell your
blood. And when they are done with your carcass, I'll be the one
to throw it into the furnace."

Clark's fear turned into full-blown panic. His worst nightmare
was coming true. And, what was worse, was that he would be alive
for at least some of it as it unfolded. Out of the corner of his
eye, he saw Lois and Jor-El go stark white at the threat.

"You know as well as I do that you won't find anything
different that you can steal to bestow powers on another,"
Jor-El said, coming to Clark's side.

Trask shrugged in a bored fashion. "Maybe. Maybe not. We won't
know until Massimo's up to his elbows in alien guts."

"You can't do this!" Lois protested.

"I can, and I will," Trask said, glaring at her. "Well, our
surgeon will, at any rate."

"Don't you get it?" Lois called out, panic tinting the edges
of her words. "If you kill him, you kill the world's hope for a
better tomorrow."

"No. I'll simply eliminate the *false* *hope* this invader has
duped the masses into believing in. The same glassy-eyed idiocy
that will keep the world from defending themselves when more of
his kind come to forcibly take over this world and enslave us
'lesser mortals' who have no powers of our own to fend them off
with."

"You're delusional," Clark said defiantly. "We're not here
to take over. We have no one waiting in the wings to do so much
as throw a party, let alone to seize control over the world. All
I've ever wanted was to help people. Even people like you."

Trask snorted in what sounded like disbelief.

"You want to protect the world? Fine. But you're going after
the wrong guy. Go after Luthor," Clark continued.

"And why would I do that? He's the one holding this
organization's existence together. He's the one standing as the
world's guardian."

"With blood money!" Clark spat out. "He's not a hero, Trask.
He's nothing more than a common criminal. Murder, Trask! That's
what we're talking about here."

"Oh really?" Trask asked in a bored, dismissive tone. "If
he's such a bad guy, why is it that he's given us millions to
ensure that no alien life-form ever leaves this compound to
terrorize the world?"

"Because he knows that one day, one of us will uncover his
misdeeds and expose his evilness to the entire world," Clark
replied. "Because he's been making billions off the patents for
technology he's stolen from more advanced races that live among
the stars. Because he knows that nothing can stop *him* from
taking control of the Earth if he gains the abilities that Jor-El
and I have." He shifted his gaze to Lana.

"You can't possibly believe that he's looking to gain my
powers for altruistic reasons. Think about it, Lana! You're
smarter than this! He sends you to do all his dirty work. He
won't have to lift a finger but he'll gain all the reward.
Right? You'll have all the blood on your hands, ordering my
death, and you won't be given so much as a *hint* of power. Oh,
maybe he'll make you his personal assistant once he has the
world on its knees."

"Probably not even that," Lois spoke up. "He likes his
assistants to be available for his...baser desires, from what I
understand. And I highly doubt that even he will be so depraved
as to do that with his stepdaughter. He probably won't even make
you head of any of his companies. No, you'll probably be stuck
leading this group of alien-hunter misfits for the rest of your
life. Lana Luthor, head of Bureau Thirty-Nine. An organization
that will be so despised for killing Superman that even the most
cowardly of men would gladly put their lives on the line to
assassinate its members. Particularly its head. And trust me --
somehow or another, the truth *will* come out about that."

"Enough!" Lana fairly roared. "Believe me when I assure you
that no one will ever know of how 'Superman' met his demise.
He'll simply...fade away from the public's thoughts. Jason, is
your team ready?"

"Chomping at the bit," he replied with a cold, satisfied
smile.

"Good. I expect a report by midnight. *Don't* fail me. Or I
swear, things will *not* end well for you," she ordered.

Trask nodded brusquely. "You can count on me. I've been waiting
long enough to rip into one of these freaks. I'll see to the
final preparations myself." Without another word, he strode
off.

"Good," Lana said, more to herself than to Trask as she eyed
Clark like a caged animal.

Clark felt his heart thudding faster with every step Trask took.
He felt nauseous, despite the fact that no one had pulled out any
Kryptonite. He gripped the bars tighter, in an effort to support
his body as his knees threatened to give out. Never before had he
faced such terror. Never before had his death been so close. He
could almost feel it there, reaching for him with icy fingers.

"Lana, wait!" he called out as the woman and her underlings
turned to leave.

She took one more step, then, to his relief, she stopped and
looked back at him. After a moment, she waved the guards away.

"Leave me," she instructed them.

Wordlessly, they obeyed. She turned her emotionless gaze on
Clark.

"What?" she asked, annoyed.

"Think about what you're doing," Clark pleaded. "There's no
coming back from ordering another person's death."

"I've done it before. You're no different."

"Aren't I? Come on, Lana! I know we could have ended things
between us better, but you *know* me! Do you honestly believe
that I pose some threat to the world?" Clark asked, shoving his
rising desperation aside.

"No," she said in a monotone, her eyes boring into him. "But I
*do* believe that you pose a risk to my father. No matter which
suit you're wearing."

"He's a criminal!" Clark reminded her. "I can prove it! I've
been working on gathering enough evidence to put him away for
good."

She ignored the comment. "You know, you could have had it all,
Clark. A good life. *Me*. The protection that only I can give you
from all of the people in this building*, all of them* hungry for
the chance to extinguish any alien life on this planet."

"So, what then? This...this death sentence is some kind of
revenge? Some way of punishing me for realizing that we would
never be compatible?"

Lana laughed, the sound of it harsh and bitter, and totally out
of place in that metallic hell. "You misunderstand me. This has
nothing to do with our past. The pathetic life you used to
live...being a poor working grunt of a reporter...dashing around
the world in a grotesque costume...all of that would have held me
back. Sad to say, but you did me a *favor* by not staying with
me."

"Let me go, Lana. Let all of us go. You were never like this
before. Never so...coldhearted. I know the old Lana has to still
be there inside, somewhere. You know this won't end well for
you. Do yourself a favor and let us go. Things will go easier for
you, in the long run."

Again she laughed -- a sound completely without any heart to it.
"Do you really believe I'll ever be implicated in Superman's
disappearance? No, Clark. Let me tell you something about *real
people.* As soon as Superman's absence is noted, people are
going to assume that he left the world high and dry. That he up
and left just as suddenly and without explanation as he appeared.
They won't care to look for you. They won't remember you as a
hero. You'll go down as a speck in the footnotes of history as a
jerk who gave the world false hope for less than a season and who
abandoned humanity without so much as a farewell. And as for
Clark Kent, measly reporter? People go missing all the time.
Sure, the Kents will probably grieve for you for a time, but even
they will likely think that you just left without saying
goodbye."

"That's not true!" Lois protested. "Superman is loved. People
will always remember the good that he did, no matter for how long
or short a time he was able to. People will always want to find
out the truth of what happened to him. And when they do, they'll
call for your head on a platter. And Clark? Clark has touched
more lives than you can possibly imagine. His family and friends
will spend their lives looking for him."

"That's where you're wrong. Once my father has his powers,
*he'll* be the one people will remember. A true human, not some
alien masquerading as one." She looked Clark up and down for a
moment. "You know, I always knew something was off with you."
She spat the words out like poison, turned on her heel, and
strode away, barking orders at a few guards down at the end of
the hall as she drew near them.

Clark wearily retreated from the cell bars. Snubbing the cot, he
leaned back against the wall and let his body slide down until he
sat on the floor. He took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Clark? Are you okay?" Instant concern bloomed across Lois'
face and mingled with her words.

"Yes. No." He sighed. "I'll be fine. I just...I never once
imagined Lana being...like that. That's not the woman I used to
know."

"I'm sorry," Lois whispered, sitting cross-legged on the floor
beside him. She put her arms around him in a comforting manner.

"Can that really happen?" He directed his question at Jor-El.
"Can they really find some way to...steal our powers, to give
them to someone else?"

Jor-El shook his head slowly. "As far as I know, our powers are
possible due to the particulars of our genetics interacting with
the yellow sunlight of this world. Not from, say, some organ that
can be transplanted into another. They will be killing you for no
reason and they know it." His voice was bitter and enraged as he
stared off in the direction Lana had disappeared.

"Thank God," Clark whispered, relieved. "The thought of Luthor
with these abilities..." His voice trailed off as he shuddered
at the unspoken thought.

"They won't kill you," Lois swore. "We'll think of
something. I just..." She shrugged, unable to complete her
thought, though Clark could read it in her eyes. *I can't think
of anything,* they screamed in silent desperation.

The three fell silent as they each became absorbed in their own,
futile thoughts. And, though Clark was usually an optimist, he
could see no clear solution. His thoughts became bleaker as he
focused more and more on the horrors to come, despite his best
efforts to shove such thoughts aside.

"There *has* to be some way!" Lois finally uttered
frantically.

"I have been trying to find a way for many long years," Jor-El
replied contemptuously, as though Lois were an idiot, incapable
of understanding the situation she was in. "This compound is
secure. Even if we made it out of this cell, we are in the very
bowels of the place. Numerous check-points would still stand in
our way. We might get through some of them, but, eventually,
someone would find us. I tried it myself, years ago. If not for
that presidential order protecting me, I would have killed on the
spot."

"Clark *will* be killed if we don't figure something out!"

"You think I don't know that, woman? He's* my son*!" Jor-El
roared. "I would gladly give my own life to see him safe and out
of this place!"

"Enough! Both of you!" Clark cried, raising his hands in a
'stop' gesture. "This isn't helping anything."

"You're right. I'm sorry," Lois relented after a few seconds,
while Jor-El looked sheepishly at the floor.

"Now, assuming we could get out of this cell, do you think you
can guide us out of here?" Clark looked to Jor-El, waiting for a
response.

"Yes," he said with a confident nod.

"Good," Clark said, nodding in turn. "That's one less thing
to worry about." He closed his eyes and leaned his head against
the wall, trying to will his way out of the cell. "Now for the
hard part."

"Oh, it won't be difficult at all," the voice of Jason Trask
said, as he approached the cell. "You won't have to do anything
but lay on the table." He looked to his right, where one of his
men stood ready. "Bring him."

The man nodded and grunted his acknowledgement. Clark could see
the name "Hastings" embroidered on the fatigues he wore. He was
a big, heavily muscled man who easily towered over Clark by half
a foot or more. He pulled a keycard from his pocket and held it
up for just a heartbeat or two. There was a buzz as the lock on
the cell opened. Hastings opened the door and grabbed Clark,
shackling him and pulling him out into the hall in a swift,
practiced manner, while Trask closed the cell door. It was when
Hastings pulled his keycard back out that Clark took his chance.
Before the scanner could register the information on the card,
Clark mustered all his strength. He turned and rammed his body
into Hastings, knocking the man off balance as he was caught off
guard.

The man immediately seemed to forget about the lock as he went
after Clark. He struck back, catching a fist in Clark's wounded
shoulder. The pain momentarily blinded Clark in a haze of black
and red, though he did not stop fighting. He lashed out, striking
Hastings in the stomach. But the man's muscles were rock-hard
with many years of punishing bodybuilding, and he appeared not to
even notice, even though a new wave of pain exploded in Clark's
hand as he made contact. Hastings smirked and put one arm around
Clark's neck, choking off his airway.

"Enough!" Trask roared. "You may not care much about your own
life, *freak,* but I know you care about *hers,* he said, nodding
in Lois' direction. "One more false move and I swear I'll
empty my gun into her."

Clark instantly gave up the struggle. He went limp in Hastings'
embrace. After a moment, the man loosened his grip, allowing
Clark to breathe easier.

"Okay," Clark choked out, coughing. "You win. I'll go
quietly. Just...one last request."

"And why would I grant you a request?" Trask asked, now
sounding more amused than anything.

"Because," Clark said, "it's the decent thing to do."

"Amongst *humans,*" Trask amended for him. Then, as though
turning the question over in his mind, "Very well. What is it
that you want?"

"Just to...say goodbye," Clark said, nearly unable to get the
words out. His move to ensure that the lock didn't actually lock
hadn't been for his benefit. It had been to give Lois and Jor-El
their chance. In his heart, Clark knew he was going to die.
"Please."

"You have thirty seconds." Trask turned to Hastings. "Let him
go, but keep your weapon at the ready."

Clark felt the massive arm come completely away from his body. He
stepped to the cell door, to where Lois stood.

"I'm sorry, Lois," he began. "I wish I could have done more
to save you. For what it's worth, my life has been so much
better for knowing you. You took away all the hurt and loneliness
I once had. I love you." He leaned in to kiss her, the bars
standing like cold soldiers between them as their lips met. He
could taste the salt of her tears as they started to flow. He
kissed her lips, her nose, her eyes, then moved to kiss her
cheek. "I did what I could," he whispered in her ear, so
lightly that he prayed she didn't miss his words. "Save him for
me. Save yourself."

"Clark...no. Please," Lois pleaded.

"I can't. I love you, Lois."

"I love you," she whispered back, her voice choked with tears.

Clark pulled back and looked to the man who'd fathered him. "I
wish I could have known you better. Please, watch over Lois for
me, Dad."

Jor-El nodded, swallowing hard as he did so. "My son," he
breathed. "I love you."

"Enough. Time's up, alien," Trask said as Hastings put a hand
on Clark's shoulder and pulled him away before he could clasp
hands with Jor-El. "You don't want to be late for your
doctor's appointment, now do you?"

With that, Clark allowed himself to be led away to his fate. But,
though his feet led him further from the woman he loved, his
heart stayed behind.

*Please, Lois. Get out of here,* he pleaded in his mind.

He'd never been one to shed many tears, but his vision soon
fractured beneath a wall of water. He didn't want to die. Though
he would gladly give his life in order to give Lois a chance of
escape, he couldn't just accept his death without a fight.
But...how? Clark didn't doubt that Trask would kill Lois before
his waking eyes if he so much as sneezed the wrong way. How could
he fight, knowing that it would cost the woman he loved?

Then too, without his powers, what hope did he have of surviving
a fight? Even if he got the upper hand, he was only too aware of
the Kryptonite he knew Trask and Hastings had to have on them. A
second would be all they would need to bring Clark to his knees.
One bullet -- even a regular one -- expertly placed to his head
or other vital area of his body, would kill him, just as surely
as the vivisection he was facing.

*A bullet would be merciful*, he thought bitterly. *Just a split
second of pain and then I'd be gone. No dragging out my misery
on a cold metal table while my insides get ransacked in a morbid,
pointless scavenger hunt.*

*No!* another part of him screamed. *You can't give upI Fight,
Clark!*

It was enough to rouse him. Using what strength he had left, he
tried to break away from his captors, knowing, in his heart, that
he wouldn't know where to go even if he *could* get away. But
Trask was ready for him. The moment Clark tried to make a move,
Trask pulled a box containing a piece of Kryptonite from within
his pocket. As the lid snapped open, Clark felt the deadly
effects. His attempt to break free died before he really even
began. Trask slipped his sidearm from its holster and smashed the
butt of it into the back of Clark's skull.

The world went black.

***

"Clark!" Lois screamed after Clark was taken away, her heart
feeling like it was being squeezed in a vice. "Clark!"

But, of course, Hastings and Trask never stopped or allowed Clark
to turn around for one last, final look. They only pressed onward
at the same steady pace, until they, and Clark, were lost to her
sight. Next to her, Jor-El also cried out for the young man
who'd been ripped away from them to meet a grisly fate.

Finally, knowing their voices were not being heard, they fell
quiet. As the deafening silence enveloped them, they both took a
moment to take stock of the current situation. The guards, who'd
been posted to ensure that Clark remained a captive until Trask
came to retrieve him, were gone, for the most part. A lone guard
stood with his back to them at the end of the hall.

*I did what I could. Save him for me. Save yourself.*

Clark's final words to her came back to her mind.

*I did what I could.*

"I wonder," Lois muttered to herself, eyeing the lock and the
cell door. She checked the hallway again, ensuring that the guard
was still looking away from them.

"My son," Jor-El groaned to himself, leaning against the bars
of the cell, just to the left of the door.

"Just one guard left," Lois whispered him, unhappy that she had
to work with a man who so clearly seemed to resent her, but
willing enough to collaborate with him if it gave her a chance to
save the man she loved. "Should be easy enough. Follow me and be
ready to guide us."

"What are you...?" Jor-El began, trying to follow what Lois was
getting at.

"Now!" Lois hissed.

She carefully opened the door to the cell. Luckily, Bureau
Thirty-Nine appeared to take pride in their compound. The door
swung open soundlessly on its well-oiled hinges. Abandoning her
high heels, she crouched and crept along the floor, painstakingly
placing each footstep as she drew closer to the guard. When she
got within a few steps of him, something -- a sound, a shadow, or
maybe just plain intuition -- alerted him to her presence. He
turned to confront her but Lois was already on the move. In two
quick steps, she knocked him out completely.

"Glad I took those self-defense classes, " she grinned to
herself. "Give me a hand," she commanded Jor-El as she bent to
grab the man who lay sprawled out on the floor.

Jor-El nodded and grabbed the guard under his armpits. Together,
they dragged him back down the hall to the cell. He grabbed the
man's keycard and used it to lock the cell securely before they
moved on.

"Where would they have brought Clark?" Lois asked, not sparing
a breath of thanks for his help in locking the guard up. It
simply didn't cross her mind. She was completely focused on
saving Clark.

"This way," Jor-El said without hesitation, already on the
move.

He led her down what felt like a twisting maze of hallways. In
retrospect, Lois would admit to herself that it was probably more
straightforward than it had felt at the time. But with her
pounding heart, her growing sense of urgency, the suffocating
fear that she would be too late to save Clark, and the constant
feeling that they would be caught at any moment, her head was
soon spinning. At first, she tried to keep track of the turns
they took, but after the fifth hallway they turned down, she gave
up and focused only on her surroundings, checking every direction
constantly to ensure that no one saw them.

Several times, they came seconds from being discovered. Each
time, they ducked down a different passageway or behind something
or into an empty room just in time to avoid detection. By the
time they reached the medical area, Lois' nerves were completely
shot and Jor-El had needed to use the stolen keycard several
times.

"He should be here," Jor-El whispered breathlessly.

"I'll check the right wing," Lois said grimly, steeling
herself for whatever she might find.

Without waiting for a response, she started off in her chosen
direction. It felt good to be away from the older Kryptonian's
distrusting and flat-out judgmental gaze. She couldn't blame him
for distrusting people, given all the vile things that had
happened to him during his years on Earth. But she did feel
indignant that he extended that same mistrust and hatred to her,
when she hadn't actually done anything wrong. She knew that he
hated her simply because she was an Earthling, and that didn't
sit well with her at all. Sure, she was no stranger to being
hated. It was part of her job, as she exposed the worst of
society and helped put criminals behind bars. But Jor-El had no
reason to extend his hatred to her.

In fact, he had every reason to like her, in her mind. After all,
she was working to save his son. Not only that, but she was in
love with his son. Jor-El should be embracing her, not wasting
his energy hating her.

"Can't focus on that now," she whispered to herself as she
scanned every room she passed. "If we all get out of this alive,
then I can worry about it."

A noise caught her attention, stopping her dead in her tracks.
She stood stock-still, listening. Singing. She could hear
singing. It was coming from the greenish-gray double doors ahead
of her. Swiftly, she crossed the distance, then carefully opened
the doors just wide enough to slip through the crack between
them.

Operating rooms.

Just two, one on either side of her. The one on the right was
dark and dead. The left was lit up. A man was singing to himself
as he prepped the various instruments he would be needing. Harsh
metal tools that would tear into Clark's now-vulnerable flesh.
Silent as a shadow, Lois slunk inside the room. As she'd done
with the guard earlier, she employed a few lightning fast moves
she'd learned in her self-defense classes, and knocked the man
out cold. Once he was down and she was certain he wouldn't be
moving for a while, she closed the door, shutting out any prying
eyes.

"Lois?"

In the center of the room, on a cold metal table, Clark was
strapped down, spread-eagle, at least as much as the operating
table would allow. A thin white sheet covered him from his navel
down, but it wasn't difficult to see that he'd been stripped
naked. Lois let out a shuddering, thankful breath. Clark was
okay. He hadn't yet been cut into. She'd gotten there in time.

"Oh, thank God, Clark," she whispered, her relief evident in
her words.

"Lois, what are you doing here?" he whispered frantically, his
eyes darting to the door, trying to see as much as he could.

"Saving you," she replied. Then, cheekily, "After all, it
seems only right. How many times had you saved me already?"

"Lois, I did what I did so you could get out of here and to
safety. You need to get out of here while you still can."

"Not without you," she vowed.

"If they catch you, they will kill you. If they find me gone,
they'll know what happened. Leave me, Lois. They'll be so
distracted with their...work...on me that you should have time to
escape."

"Clark, I am *not* leaving here without you. So just shut up,
stop it with the self-sacrifice thing, and let me help you," she
commanded as she set to work loosening the straps that held his
right arm in place.

It took a long, nerve-wracking couple of minutes, but soon Clark
was free from the restraints. He hoped off the table, wrapping
the inadequate sheet around his waist.

"At least they gave you that," Lois said as he secured his
paltry covering.

"Not out of the kindness of his heart," Clark said, glancing at
the doctor. "He threw it over me saying he just didn't want to
look at that until he absolutely had to." He paused, looking at
the doctor again. "We can't leave him here."

Lois nodded. "You're right. We could drag him into one of the
empty rooms down the hall." She bent down and snatched the keys
hanging from his belt, as he hadn't yet donned his scrubs.

"Good plan. They took my clothes in one of those rooms. With any
luck, they'll still be there."

Clark grabbed the man, and, with effort, slung him over his
shoulders, thankful that he earlier encounter with Kryptonite had
likely been brief and that he was already feeling close to
normal. Then he led Lois to the room he'd first been brought to.
He went inside, while Lois stayed in the hall, keeping watch. A
moment later, he returned, now clad in his work pants and shoes
again. Evidently, he hadn't found a replacement for his shirt,
which had been taken from him during the rough patch job the
Bureau had done on his gunshot wound.

"That's better," he announced as he closed the door gently
behind him.

Lois locked the door. "Good. Now let's find your father and get
out of here."

"Gladly," Clark replied. "But one thing first." He grabbed
her and kissed her hard, all of his relief and gratitude trying
to pour out of him at the same moment. "Thank you, Lois."

"I'm just glad I got here in time," she replied, giving him a
kiss back.

"Let's go get Dad," Clark said, grinning at her.

"He's down this way," Lois said a few minutes later, as she
led Clark back to where she'd parted ways with Jor-El.

They found the older man waiting for them at the T-intersection
where Lois had gone her own way. He was pacing, head down, and
clearly agitated. But when he heard them approach, he looked up
at them and relief flooded his features.

"Thank Rao," he whispered.

*Rao?* The thought flashed through Clark's mind before he
realized it. *Must be one of those Kryptonian things I missed out
on.*

"Let's get out of here," Clark said.

"You're okay?" Jor-El asked, concerned.

"Perfect. Let's move, before someone realizes we're gone."

Again Jor-El took the lead, snaking them through the complex
compound of Bureau Thirty-Nine. He took them down little-used
maintenance passages as far as he could. When they reached an
end, they took a moment to catch their breaths. A silver metal
door stood before them. Once they stepped through, they would be
exposed to anyone who happened by.

"Please, tell me we're almost at the front door," Lois begged
as she leaned against the cinderblock wall, taking deep breaths.

"Nearly there. We have to pass through one large room and then
we're free, as far as my memory serves."

"We passed through that room on the way in," Clark confirmed
for him. "Lois? Are you okay to move on?"

"More than ready to get out of this hell-hole," she said
grimly. "Let's do this."

Cautiously, Clark opened the door. He peeked his head around and
thoroughly checked his surroundings. As far as he could tell, no
one was around. But there wasn't anything in the world he
wouldn't have given for his super hearing as well! Even his
x-ray vision would have been a tremendous help.

*Here goes nothing,* he thought wryly.

"Coast is clear," he whispered. "Stick together and move
fast."

He threw open the door and they filed out. They made a beeline
for the door across the room, moving as swiftly as they dared.
But they didn't move quickly enough. A door on the right side of
the room opened.

"Hold it right there!"

Out from the hidden office, Lana came, a handgun raised and
pointed at Lois.

"One move and she bites it," she threatened. She eyed them as
the three came to a halt. "I don't know how you got free and I
don't care. This ends *now!*"

"Lana! Listen to me!" Clark commanded, his voice slipping
momentarily to the authoritative tone of Superman. "I know you
think you're doing something great here. I know you're trying
to impress Luthor. I know you're trying to earn his respect. He
never truly adopted you, did he? Never passed along the last name
of Luthor to you. Not legally."

"Of course he did!"

Clark noted the bluff in her voice. He remembered it far too well
from his days spent dating her. Wasted days, as he'd come to see
them.

He shook his head. "No, he didn't. I did some thinking when
your man had me strapped to that table. Luthor eloped with your
mother. The press coverage was there, but small, when it became
known that he'd remarried, because he wouldn't talk much about
it. There was even less coverage when your mother died last
month. No mention was ever made of a daughter. Not a word of the
newest member of the Luthor family. He never really accepted you,
did he? Never found a true use for you. He shipped you off here,
to the Bureau, to get you out of his hair. And maybe, just maybe,
he could use you to kill me, so that his hands remained clean."

"It's not...you know *nothing!*" she screamed at him, but
Clark could see that his words had struck home.

"I know Luthor," he replied. "He only cares about what people
can do for him, not about the people themselves. Killing me for
him won't change that, Lana. It won't make him care for you. It
won't make him bestow his empire to you in the future. It won't
make you his equal in his eyes. All it will do is remove the
greatest obstacle in his path to whatever sick plans he has for
the future."

He chanced three steps forward. "Lana, listen to me. I know the
girl I grew up with is in there inside of you, somewhere. You
trusted me as a kid. Trust me now. I have no reason to lie to you
about Luthor."

"You have *every* reason to lie," Lana protested. "You just
want to save your alien skin."

"Okay, I'll admit it. Dying isn't high on my list of things
I'd like to accomplish today," Clark conceded. "Look, you can
kill me if you don't believe me. After all, you have the gun and
I'm completely without my powers right now. But ask yourself,
have you ever known me to lie and cheat to get something that I
wanted? With my words or my powers? Answer me honestly."

She hesitated and Clark saw something change in her eyes. "I
guess not."

"Then believe me now. Let us go."

Something broke inside Lana. A single glimmer of a tear shone for
an instant in her eye.

"I...can't," she said.

"You *can*. Or take me back down to that operating room and
dissect me like a frog. Just let Lois and Jor-El go."

"You really care what happens to them, don't you?" she mused.
"You're weaker than my fath...Lex thought."

"Caring for other people doesn't make me weak, Lana. It makes
me human. Like you. Like your mother. Like your father. They were
good people, your parents. Always quick with a smile or a helping
hand."

She nodded. "They were."

"Is *this*," Clark ask with a sweeping gesture, "what they
would have wanted? Would they have been proud of this?"

As Lana cast a look around at the compound, Clark took his
opportunity. He took the last two steps forward and grabbed the
gun from her hand. Her grasp on the weapon was weak as she stood
there in a conflicted state. She didn't even attempt to keep
hold of it. All the fight seemed to have bled out of her.

"Go," Clark said over his shoulder to Lois and Jor-El as he
gently wiped a tear from Lana's cheek before stepping out of her
reach, in case she made a grab for the gun.

They didn't need to be told twice. Clark hung back, ensuring
that Lana made no moves to call for help. But she looked utterly
defeated now, and a little like a lost child. She neither moved
nor uttered a word until Lois and Jor-El reached the door and
wrenched it open.

"Are you happy now?" Lana asked in a hoarse whisper.

"*None* of this makes me happy," Clark replied. "Of all the
enemies in the world I thought I would need to face, I never
wanted you to be one of them. Despite what you may think, Lana, I
never harbored any ill feelings toward you."

"And now?" she challenged.

"Not even now," he said as he took a step backward and away
from her. "Goodbye, Lana." He flung the gun away from them
both.

She gave him a hard, unfeeling look. "Get out of my sight."

He held her gaze for the entire length of the room, ensuring that
she made no threatening moves. She remained still, however, and
Clark's heart quietly broke for the girl he'd once known and
cared for. Maybe he'd never loved her, but he cared for her as a
friend.

*Well, former friend,* his mind said sadly.

It was weird, he mused. He hadn't really thought of Lana as a
friend since their breakup, years before. But in this moment, it
felt so...so...

*Final,* he thought.

There would never be any coming back from this. It was as if the
door to the past had suddenly been slammed shut and locked. What
Lana had done -- had planned to do -- could never be erased.
Though she'd done the right thing in letting them escape, she'd
done too much evil for Clark to ever fully forgive her. She
would, however, always have his pity, for falling under Luthor's
spell, for being so completely used by him.

He turned only when he felt the door at his back. Swiftly, he
pulled the door open and stepped out into the blessed sunshine.
He wanted to stop and soak in all the healing, nourishing light
that he could, but knew that such a thing would be impossible.
Behind him, in the compound, he heard the unmistakable clanging
of an alarm. Their absence had been noted. Or, perhaps, Lana had
changed her mind. It didn't matter. Getting Lois and Jor-El to
safety was the only thing that mattered.

He started to run, heading to where he saw the two making their
way across the desert sand. Faster and faster he pushed himself,
feeling the hot sun beating down on him. It felt so good, so
right, and he felt his body drinking in the power of the yellow
star. He felt himself growing stronger. Like a puzzle, he felt
the missing pieces of himself returning and locking into place.
His powers had returned. He shot forward, easily catching up with
Lois and Jor-El.

"Clark!" Lois said in surprise as he skidded to a halt before
them, dust kicking up around him. "Are you...?"

"I'm back," he affirmed. "One first class trip back to
Metropolis, coming up!" He scooped her up in his arms, as he
done so many times before while in the blue, red, and yellow of
Superman. "Can you fly?" he asked Jor-El.

The older man made a few attempts before shaking his head. "Not
yet. It might take a while. I haven't seen the sun in I don't
know how long."

Clark nodded. "Put your arms around my neck and hold on," he
instructed. "Hurry, before Trask and his men find us."

Jor-El did as his son bid. When Clark was satisfied that his
father's grip was tight enough, he shot up into the sky, leaving
the compound and Bureau Thirty-Nine far below. He didn't stop
until he was well out of the reach of any Kryptonite bullets that
might be aimed in their direction. Then he took off in the
direction of Metropolis, to the safe haven that was his
apartment.

"Stay here," he instructed them as he grabbed a suit and spun
into the familiar garb of Superman. "Call the authorities. Get
them out there *now*. I'll make sure no one escapes."

"But the Kryptonite," his father protested.

"Is something I'll work around," Clark said, the neutral mask
of Superman naturally falling over his features.

"Be safe," Lois pleaded, kissing his cheek.

"I will."

There was no time for any other words. He had to make sure no one
from Bureau Thirty-Nine got away. He would make sure that each
and every one of them faced justice. He stepped out onto his
terrace and rocketed into the sky. Exhaustion threatened to slow
him. Need pushed him faster than he'd ever flown before. Before
he knew it, the desert was stretched out endlessly before him.
Inconceivably, he found himself flying even faster, until he at
last found himself looking upon the Bureau's hideaway. Members
of the Bureau stood about in the heat, scanning in every
direction, weapons drawn.

"Superman!" Trask called in a mocking voice. "Miss us
already?"

"Only in your sordid dreams, Trask."

"Come down and fight like a real man! Or are you too afraid of
us 'mere' humans?"

One of Trask's men fired off a shot at Clark. Clark heard the
trigger being squeezed a second before the weapon fired. He
evaded the bullet easily. The bright green projectile whizzed
past him, too quickly to effect him much, only causing him to
wobble in the slightest before he caught himself. He crossed his
arms as he hovered, looking down on Trask.

"Give it up, Trask! The authorities are on their way. Go quietly
and it'll go easier on you."

Trask looked to his men. "Kill anyone who approaches."

"Stand down," Lana commanded, as she stepped out from the
compound.

"Never!" Trask said defiantly.

"Trask, that's an *order.*"

"I don't take orders from *traitors*," Trask replied, turning
to face her. The rest of his men froze, watching the scene
between their superiors unfold.

"Are you calling me a traitor?" Lana asked in a threatening
tone.

"So what if I am? What are you going to do about it, *traitor?*
You let the alien escape once. I'll make sure that doesn't
happen ever again."

He'd steadily closed the distance between them as he spoke,
until he stood right before her. Quick as a flash, he pulled the
large knife that hung from his belt and plunged it into her guts,
twisting it to cause maximum damage. A wordless cry burst from
Lana's throat, matching the shocked, anguished cry Clark let
out.

"*No!*"

The desert rang with the sound of Clark's cry.

Heedless of the danger to himself, he dropped from the sky,
flying to where Lana lay bleeding out into the sand. He knelt by
her and took her hand. Even without the use of his powers, he
could tell that she wouldn't survive the wound. He tried his
best anyway, putting pressure on the wound in an attempt to stem
the flow of blood. Instantly, his hands were coated in sticky red
blood. Her life was literally slipping through his fingers.

"Lana," he said softly.

"Cl..."

"Ssh, don't try to talk," he urged her. "Save your
strength."

It was a false hope he was giving her, he knew, but it was better
than nothing. If it was the only measure of comfort he could
grant, than he would maintain the lie for as long as she
continued to draw breath.

"S...S...Sor..." she choked out. "So...sorry.
Bout...every..."

With a shudder, she expelled a breath and did not take another.
Clark pulled his hands from her wound and gently closed her
eyes.

"I'm sorry, Lana," he whispered. "Why?" he asked with a hard
look at Trask as he stood, leaving Lana's body on the ground.

"Traitors must always be killed," Trask replied, casually
examining the sheen of red on his blade, as though it had been no
big deal that he'd just murdered the woman in cold blood.
"Speaking of..."

Clark felt the effects of the Kryptonite that Trask carried
before he felt it. The man had had it fashioned into the blade of
a knife -- smooth, flat, and dangerously sharp. Clark tried to
turn away, to flee to some distance away from the lethal stone,
to get out of the rock's sphere of influence, but his muscles
refused to cooperate. He crashed to his knees, then pitched
forward onto his hands. Trask reached down and, using all his
might, stabbed Clark in the back with the shard of radioactive
stone. Clark couldn't help crying out in pain as the little
piece of his home-world tore through his now-vulnerable flesh and
burned him like a raging inferno.

Long minutes passed as Trask gazed down upon his victim.

"I might not get to slice you open from stem to stern," Trask
whispered in Clark's ear as he finally squatted down beside him.
"But I *will* see you dead, *alien.*"

He pushed Clark down, so that he lay flat on the hot desert sand.
Clark tried to rise, but the Kryptonite in his back made it feel
like he bore the weight of the entire universe. Lying as he was,
flat on his stomach, even breathing was a painful chore. He
suspected a punctured lung.

"Sir?" The young man's voice sounded worried. Clark tried to
place it, but he didn't recognize it.

"Can't you see I'm busy here, Crowley?" Trask snapped.

"But, sir? We have incoming hostiles, sir."

Trask looked up, forgetting Clark for the moment. Clark lifted
his gaze heavenward, then breathed a small sigh of relief. The
cavalry had arrived.

"Damn it!" Trask muttered to himself, just loudly enough for
Clark to hear. Then, yelling so that all could hear him, "Hold
your ground!"

*Thank you, Lois,* Clark thought to himself, fighting to maintain
consciousness against the excruciating pain shooting through his
body.

He must have blacked out for a few moments. The next thing he
knew, someone was kneeling by his side and the sound of gunshots
rang out around him. The man beside him was gently shaking him,
trying to get his attention.

"Superman?" he called out.

"Ugh..." was all Clark could manage at first. Then,
"The...knife...p...p...please."

The man grasped the handle of the knife. Clark winced as the
movement jostled his body. He tried to brace himself against what
he knew was coming.

"Ready?"

Clark managed a weak nod.

His vision went white as fresh agony exploded inside his wounded
body. The other man looked down at the glowing weapon, an
expression of confusion and wonder on his face.

"What in the name of hell...?" he asked no one in particular.

"Get it away from me. Please," Clark wheezed, trying to back
away from the toxic stone.

The man nodded and stepped away from him. Clark breathed easier
with every inch put between himself and the Kryptonite. After a
moment, he felt his wound close up and his strength returning.
His punctured lung seemed to knit back together and he no longer
had the sensation of drowning. But by then, it was too late.
Trask and his men lay dead in the sand, along with a few of those
who'd come to subdue the Bureau. A sudden silence fell, with
only the barest echoes of the final few shots that had been fired
fading in the wind.

In that moment, the world itself felt surreal to Clark.

His nightmare was over.

He knew the nightmares would linger in his mind for a long time
to come.

"Superman? What happened here?" asked the same man who'd come
to his rescue by removing the blade from his back.

"It's a long story," Clark replied. "First though, I want to
thank you for your help. If you hadn't come when you did..."

"Yeah, what was that weird knife?" the man asked,
interrupting.

"Something deadly," Clark answered vaguely. "Look, I don't
know what your procedures are, but if it's possible, I'd like
for that knife to be entrusted to Dr. Klein at S.T.A.R. Labs."

"In Metropolis?"

Clark nodded at the policeman. "Dr. Klein is a friend of mine.
He'll know what to do with the knife."

*After I have an honest conversation with him,* Clark reminded
himself.

"You've got it," the officer answered. Then, lowering his
voice, "I'm surprised though. I thought you were, well,
invincible."

*You can trust him,* some instinct, deep inside, told Clark.

"It's a pretty powerful stone," Clark replied, not wanting to
get into it.

"You can trust me," the man vowed solemnly. "It'll get where
you want it. But, uh, should I be worried about its effects on
the rest of us?"

Clark shook his head. "No. As far as I can tell, it's only
something Kryptonians need to worry about. You and your men will
be fine, uh...sorry, I didn't catch your name."

The man cracked a small smile. "Sorry about that." He stuck out
a hand, which Clark took and shook. "Detective Bill
Henderson."

"Good to meet you, Detective Henderson," Clark said, giving the
other man a smile of his own.

"Look, I know you're a busy man and all, but, uh, I need your
statement on what happened here," Henderson said.

Clark nodded to one side, indicating that they should separate
from the group a bit. "Of course."

And so, leaning against the side of one of the now silent
helicopters, Clark told his story to Henderson. Of course, he
curtailed the details, since it had been Clark, not Superman,
who'd been held inside the compound. He spoke only of
"finding" his friends in the desert after their escape, of
ferrying them to the safety of Metropolis, and his return to the
desert. He fought to remain stoic as he recounted how Trask had
murdered Lana before his eyes and of how he'd been stabbed by
the strange green knife.

The rest he would leave for Lois, Clark, and Jor-El to fill in.

Henderson mutely took his notes, only asking his questions to
clarify things once Clark had finished his tale. Clark found
himself impressed with the detective and the shrewd questions he
asked, even as he undercut them with understanding and
sensitivity. When they were finished, Clark thought to himself
that it was a shame that the man wasn't with the Metropolis
Police Department. He would have liked having a regular, working
relationship with him.

"Thanks, Superman. I think I have everything I need. But, uh, in
case I need to contact you again...?"

Clark smiled. "Contact Lois Lane or Clark Kent at the Daily
Planet in Metropolis. They'll get the message to me."

Henderson nodded, scribbled a note, and clicked his pen shut.
"Perfect."

"Is there anything else I can do to help?" Clark asked,
glancing at the scene around them. He did his best not to watch
as a body bag was zipped up around Lana's unmoving form.

"No, we're fine. You do whatever you need to do. But if you see
your friends, let them know I'll need to speak with them."

"Of course."

"And, again, I'll get that knife where you asked me to."

"Thank you," Clark said gratefully. "I really appreciate
that."

"It's the least I can do, believe me."

Clark would have preferred to take the blade to Dr. Klein
himself. But the thought of getting close to Kryptonite again
terrified him down to his very soul. Even locked away in a lead
box, he'd simply had too many encounters with the stone since
arriving at the Bureau's compound. He just wanted to be as far
from the deadly rock as he could get.

Nodding once more, he lifted off the ground and shot away from
that accursed place. He didn't feel any measure of safety,
however, until he landed on his terrace. Only then could he feel
like he could breathe. Only then did the knots in his stomach
begin to uncoil.

"Oh, God. Clark, what happened?" Lois asked, springing up from
the couch as he stepped inside the apartment and eyeing the blood
on him.

Words failed him. He simply shook his head.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I...I...I guess," he managed. "I think...I need a minute."

"Of course," she said, moving back a pace.

Clark ducked into his bathroom. The blood that covered him --
Lana's and his own -- revolted him. He needed to wash it off
*now.* It almost felt as if it was burning his flesh. He
couldn't get out of his soiled suit fast enough, tearing it off
as soon as the bathroom door was closed. Turning up the heat in
the shower as hot as he could, he showered at super speed. As the
lather of the soap slid down his skin, carrying the blood and
sand away, Clark started to feel comfortable in his own skin
again.

After thirty seconds or so, he turned off the water and wrapped a
towel around his waist. Then he set to work rinsing the blood
from his suit and examining the gash in the back where he'd been
stabbed, wondering if the suit was ruined forever or if his
mother could salvage it somehow. He set it aside in the hamper,
then finished drying off and dressing, taking a moment to use his
heat vision to sear off the short crop of stubble that had
started to emerge on his chin and cheeks.

"Clark? Are you okay?" Lois asked worriedly, going to him and
embracing him tightly around his midsection, like a little girl
seeking assurance.

"What happened? Were you injured?" Jor-El wanted to know.

"All of that blood," Lois said with the shake of her head as
Clark returned her hug. "Please, tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay. At least, I am now. Trask...he..." Clark stopped,
shaking his head. "He killed Lana. I tried to help, but there
was nothing I could do." His voice was hoarse and hollow as he
spoke. "Trask had a knife...with a Kryptonite blade."

"Oh, God," Jor-El gulped, dread in his voice, despite the fact
that his son was alive and well before him.

"He stabbed me," Clark continued, "but, thanks to Lois, the
authorities showed up just in the nick of time. A man named
Detective Henderson saved my life."

"I'm glad to hear that. But, what happened to the blade?"
Jor-El asked, scowling, likely at how quickly Clark had pointed
out that a human had saved him.

"He's sending it along to S.T.A.R. Labs once he's done
processing the evidence. There's a man there whom I trust to
keep it safe and to run tests on it. The more we understand about
why it affects us so seriously, the better chance we have of
maybe finding some way to break its hold on us."

"Kal...Clark. How can you trust a *human* with something that
can kill us? Did you not see what Trask and the others did with
that stone?" Jor-El demanded indignantly.

"Yes. I saw *exactly* what can happen when Kryptonite falls into
evil hands. That's exactly *why* I want Dr. Klein to keep it
safe for us. He's a good man. I trust him. Look, I know trusting
the people of Earth is not something you are used to, but you
need to trust *me.* I know what I'm doing. I've lived amongst
good Earthlings my whole life. I've seen the bad too. I know the
difference. I know who I can trust."

It was hard not to be defensive, Clark acknowledged to himself.
Yes, it was true that Jor-El's experiences with humans had been
nothing short of nightmarish, but Clark felt like his own
judgment was being questioned. No, more than that. He *knew* it
was being called into question.

"I just want you to be *safe*, my son."

"I know...Dad. But you have to understand that giving the blade
over to Dr. Klein *is* the safest bet...for *both of us.*"

"You are young, my son. You know nothing of the evils of the
world."

"Stop it! I am not a child!" Clark argued. "I have traveled
the world...many times over already. I've seen things you can't
yet imagine. Things that maybe I can show you."

"You're right. You aren't a child. *Humans* stole your
childhood from me," Jor-El fairly spat.

"*Humans* have also saved my life," Clark countered. "The
Kents. Lois. Even Detective Henderson."

Jor-El looked about ready to argue, but then seemed to think
better of it. He nodded slightly. "If you say so."

"So...what now?" Lois asked, perhaps to break the sudden
tension in the room. She touched Clark's arm lightly to get his
attention.

"Well, Henderson wants to speak with us. He's going to need our
stories. But I'm sure it can wait until the morning," Clark
said wearily.

"Of course it can," Lois said, taking him by the shoulders and
guiding him to the couch. "You need to rest. I don't think
I've ever seen you this exhausted looking."

"I'll be fine," Clark said distractedly. No matter how hard he
tried, he kept seeing Lana's death play before his waking eyes.
He shook his head, in an attempt to dispel the images. "I think
it's best if we all stay together tonight. It seemed to me like
everyone from Bureau Thirty-Nine lost their lives in the
shootout, but I'd rather err on the side of caution. That is, if
it's okay with the two of you."

"I'd like to stay," Jor-El immediately answered. "I'd like
to get to know you...Clark."

Clark nodded. "That would be nice. For a long time, I wondered
who my biological parents were. I have so many questions I want
to ask."

Jor-El nodded. "And I have questions about you." He smiled.

"Lois?" Clark asked, almost afraid, now that the dust had
settled, that her anger with him for lying about Superman would
tear her away.

She nodded. "I'd hate to be in the way while you get to know
your father, but I have to agree with you. I don't like the idea
of us being apart tonight. God, Clark, I almost lost you...what,
three times? More? I'm not letting you out of my sight ever
again."

Relief flooded him. Maybe she wasn't so mad at him after all.

"Well then. We're going to need pizza," he said with a small
smile as he picked up the cordless phone. "And lots of it."

***

Clark woke and yawned. He stretched, feeling his muscles pop in a
pleasant way. His body felt riddled with knots between his
run-ins with Kryptonite and from falling asleep in his armchair.
He looked to the couch, where Lois had fallen asleep after
insisting that Jor-El take the bed after years of sleeping on a
barely adequate cot in the bowels of Bureau Thirty-Nine's
compound.

The couch was empty.

He listened for a moment, locating her heartbeat. For a long
minute, he let the sound of it wash over him and calm him. He
felt his own heartbeat responding, as though it were adjusting
its rhythm to match hers. He looked out his windows, to his
terrace. Instantly, he was on his feet and moving toward her.

"Lois?" Clark asked as he approached where she stood, bundled
in one of his coats, hunched in an effort to ward off the bite of
the cold predawn air. It was sorely oversized for her, making her
look small and vulnerable.

"Clark," she acknowledged.

"Can we talk for a minute?"

"Sure."

"You want to come inside? It's freezing out here. What are you
even doing out here?" He gestured vaguely to his terrace.

"I just wanted some air. I thought it might clear my head a
little. So much has happened. It's kind of hard to process it
all."

Clark nodded. "Come in. I'll get you something hot to drink."

Lois shook her head. "No. I'll come in, but I'm not in the
mood for anything right now."

"Fair enough," Clark said, leading the way back inside and to
his couch. They sat next to each other, with Clark slipping the
coat from her shoulders only to replace it with a thick, handmade
woven blanket he'd had since childhood.

"Thanks," she said, pulling it tighter and staring, unseeing,
into space.

"Lois? Are we...okay?" Clark asked, worry tainting his words.
"I know you have to be mad at me for keeping the whole Superman
thing a secret. And it's okay if you are. I just...I need to
know, Lois. I need to know how angry you are with me. Scream at
me if you want. Whatever you need to do. I want you to ask
whatever questions you have. I want to be completely honest with
you now and always. I don't even care how personal your
questions might be."

"I'm not mad," she said, taking one of his hands in hers. "I
mean, I *was*, when I first found out. But after everything
that's happened, after seeing how far some people will go to
kill you, just for being different than everyone else on this
planet, I get it. I understand why you didn't want anyone to
know. I get why you hide what you can do...why you've adopted a
whole different identity for when you need to help people. If
anything, I'm mad at myself for not seeing past the glasses...or
the cape." She smiled tentatively and snuggled into his side.
"Yeah, I think we're okay."

Clark gave her a small smile as his arms came up to encircle her.
"Don't be mad at yourself, Lois. When you didn't see Clark in
Superman...it was a relief. I spend most of my waking hours with
you. If you didn't see that Superman was nothing more than Clark
Kent in a Spandex suit, chances were that no one else would. It
meant I was safe. It meant I didn't have to worry about being
targeted in both of my lives. It meant I could still have a life
-- a *real* life, without losing myself to the man in the blue
suit."

She smiled back at him with such a look of tenderness that it
nearly broke his heart. "I wish it was that simple, Clark. But
the fact is, I'm a reporter. A damn good one too, if I can toot
my own horn for a second here. I should have looked at the facts
harder. I should have seen the obvious. I mean, the way you
treated me, in both your roles, so to speak. It should have
tipped me off. No one has ever treated me with such...such..."
She struggled for a moment, looking for the right word. "Such
respect, such love, such openness and friendliness," she finally
said. "Whether I was talking to Clark or Superman,
he...*you*...always acted as though the rest of the world ceased
to exist and I was the only other person in the entire
universe."

"Lois, I *do* respect you. I *do* love you. I have, ever since
you barged in on my interview with Perry. You had such fire, such
passion, that you forced me to take notice of you. And when I'm
with you, yes, in a way, the rest of the world fades into the
background. I *want* to be able to listen to what you have to
say. I *want* you to know you have my attention. That you mean
the world to me."

"I'm glad," she said, bringing his hand to her lips and
kissing his knuckles. "You're the first man I've ever been
close to who's ever made me feel special."

Clark drew her closer, and she pressed into his side. She sighed
tiredly and contentedly. Clark did too. He rubbed his eyes with
his free hand.

"So..." Lois hesitantly said after a few minutes of blissful
silence. "After all that's happened...are you still going
to...you know? Be Superman?"

"Absolutely," he said without the need to think it over.
"Superman...it's funny. He never existed up until recently, but
now...he's an essential part of who I am. I won't let one group
of insane people kill Superman. I didn't allow them to do it
with Kryptonite, and I won't let them do it with fear."

"Good," Lois said with conviction. "Because the world needs
Superman. It needs Clark too. You do so much good for this world,
no matter what suit you wear. But most importantly, *I* need
Clark. If I've learned anything over the past day or so, it's
that I can't live my life without you in it. *All* of you. The
ordinary man and the brave hero both. I don't think I could
stand it if the Bureau...I don't know. Changed you, somehow."

"That'll never happen," Clark assured her, pulling her into a
hug.

Silence fell between them for a moment before Lois spoke again.

"Well, I guess one good thing came of all of this. You gained a
father during this whole mess."

"It seems I have," Clark said, leaning his cheek against her
head.

"How does it feel, getting to connect to your roots?" she asked
gently.

Clark thought it over for a moment. "So much has happened, I
guess I really haven't processed it all yet. I know he's my
father but...I don't know. It's like the reality of it all
hasn't really sunk in yet. It's nice to know that I'm not the
only person like me out in the world. It's nice to meet the man
responsible for bringing me into the world. At the same time,
it's been so long since I last imagined what it would be like to
meet my biological parents. I was just a kid then. A kid with
budding super powers, but still just a kid. It feels...a little
surreal, right now," he admitted. "Like I'm in some kind of
dream and, when I wake up, none of this will be real and I'll
just go back to being the only Kryptonian out there."

Lois nodded.

"There is so much I want to know. So much I want to ask. But it
feels...awkward, to think of Jor-El as my father. All my life,
*Jonathan Kent *has been my father."

"He still is. Jor-El doesn't change that," Lois pointed out
gently.

"I know. But...I don't know. I know Jor-El is my biological
father. I know it in my heart and in my mind. But it feels weird,
to call him 'Dad.' And weirder still for me to call him by his
first name. I'm not sure *what* I should be calling him. Nothing
feels right yet."

"That's not an uncommon feeling, from what I understand," Lois
said, rubbing his arm in a soothing fashion. "I had a friend in
high school -- Carol. She and her sister were both adopted. She
met her birth mother right before she left to go to college. When
I asked her how it had gone, she told me something similar to
what you did. It made her pull away from her biological mother
because she wasn't sure how to handle her conflicting emotions.
She...the mother, that is...died two months later to a drunk
driver. So, just promise me, no matter what, you'll make the
most of this second chance with Jor-El."

Clark nodded mutely. "I wish I'd known that he was alive all
this time. I wish I could have gotten him out of the Bureau's
compound sooner."

"How could you have known?" Lois asked gently. "None of this
is your fault, Clark."

*She knows me too well already,* he thought to himself. *She
knows I'll always blame myself for not being able to help, even
if I couldn't have. It's the same guilt I have when I can't
save a life, only deeper. Jor-El is my father. I should have
saved him sooner.*

He nodded sharply. "I know. I just can't help thinking about
the what-ifs."

"So...you're going to give him a chance, right? A chance to get
to know you?"

Clark smiled at her, loving the way she so tenderly asked, loving
the concern she had for him.

"Of course," he said, his voice a soft whisper. "I lost
*years* with him. I'm not about to turn away, not when I've
finally reconnected with a piece of my past. I want to know who I
am, fully. Who I was. At least, who I was to the people who gave
me life. I want to know about the world I came from -- the good
and the bad -- not because I'm sorry to be on Earth, but because
I am so *thankful* to be on Earth. So thankful to be anywhere you
are." He smiled down at her again. "Because of you, this planet
is the most beautiful spot in the universe, as far as I'm
concerned."

She smiled at him. "I'm glad that you'll give him a chance."

"He's my father, Lois. Even if he didn't raise me, he's still
a part of me," Clark said. "I just wish...because of Bureau
Thirty-Nine, I lost my only surviving family. A man lost his only
child. Jor-El was tormented for years. For all I know, he could
be mentally scarred beyond repair. And it makes me furious. But,
then again, because of them, my parents finally got to become
parents. Because they raised me, I'm the man I am today." He
passed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away some of the
conflicting emotions he felt and the sleep which called to him.
"I'm grateful for my life as Clark Kent. But I feel almost like
I shouldn't, because of what my father went through. I feel
like...I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel at this
point. This isn't your typical adoption story. My parents
didn't give me up because they were too young, or too sick, or
too poor, or anything like that. They were stolen from me...one
in death, one by a sadistic group of people who held him prisoner
for almost thirty years."

The anguish of his heart threatened to spill out of his eyes in
the form of salty tears, but he bit them back and refused to
allow them to escape.

"Maybe you should take Jor-El out to Kansas," Lois said after a
thoughtful silence. "Let your parents meet each other. I know
your parents, Clark, maybe not for long, but I still feel like I
know them pretty well. I'm sure they would love to meet the man
who helped bring their son into the world. I know they must feel
grateful to him. I know I would be grateful to whoever fathered
my child, if I were a parent. Maybe once you see them together,
it might help you to sort out some of your feelings."

Clark thought it over. Lois was right. Martha and Jonathan had
always expressed gratitude to the woman who'd chosen them to
raise her son after she passed away. He knew they felt the same
way toward the man who'd sired their son. And Jor-El seemed so
bitter toward the entire human race, thanks to his very limited
exposure to Earthlings. It would be good for him to see the best
of society, so he would know how great a planet he'd landed on,
even if his start to his new life on it hadn't been good. He
just hoped that, after almost thirty years of mistreatment,
Jor-El was capable of opening his heart and mind toward the rest
of the human race.

"Maybe," was all he said in return. After all, even if he
wanted to make the meeting happen, it didn't mean that Jor-El
would be open to it, even if Jonathan and Martha were. "You
should get some sleep, Lois. It's been a long couple of days,
for all of us."

Lois stifled a yawn. "Yeah, it has. Thanks for letting me crash
here."

"Sure," Clark said, his voice soft. "I'm just glad that you
still want to be around me." He flashed her a brilliant smile.
Then, "Just wait here a second. I'll get you some extra pillows
and blankets. I wanted to get them earlier, but I didn't want to
wake you."

He crossed the room to his closet and floated up a couple of
inches to comfortably reach the top shelf. When he landed, he had
two pillows and an armload of blankets. He brought them over to
Lois, putting the pillows beneath her head and covering her with
the old, hand-woven blankets that his grandmother had once
crocheted. He kissed her brow once she was snuggled beneath
them.

"What about you?" she asked, nodding in the direction of
Clark's bedroom, where Jor-El was resting.

Clark gave her a half-smile. "Got it covered," he said, rising
from the floor and stretching out as he hovered in midair.

"God, I wish I could do that," Lois grinned sleepily. "You can
really do that while sleeping?"

Clark rolled onto his stomach and folded his arms to make a
pillow for his head. He nodded.

"It so easy, so second nature, that sometimes I wake up only to
find myself floating above my bed, even if I hadn't been
floating prior to falling asleep. It's not often, but it
happens. Particularly in times of high stress."

"Your life is so strange," Lois mused.

"And it gets stranger by the day," he agreed with a smile.
"Lois?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad that you know...about me. I've wanted to tell you
for so long. I'm glad that I can finally stop lying and
hiding...that I can be myself around you, completely, without
holding anything back."

"I'm glad too," Lois said, trying to hide another yawn.
"Night, Clark."

"Night, Lois. I love you."

"I love you too."

***

Somewhere in the gray hours before sunrise, Clark awoke feeling
mostly refreshed. Physically, he could have slept some more, but
his mind wouldn't allow him to fall back into his dreams.
Eventually, he stopped trying altogether and got dressed for the
day. He left a message on Perry's voicemail, letting the Chief
know that he and Lois were taking the day off, but not to worry,
they had something huge brewing. What he didn't say was that it
involved taking down the city's resident multi-billionaire,
exposing him as the head of at least one very evil organization.

*I'll let him be surprised once we turn in our article and all
the evidence we've been compiling to send Luthor to prison,* he
thought as he brushed his teeth in an effort to feel cleaner and
more awake.

As he exited the bathroom, he saw that Jor-El was awake now too.
The older man poured himself a glass of water and drank it down.

"I'll make us some coffee," Clark offered.

Jor-El nodded. "I would appreciate that. It's been an age since
my last taste of coffee, back when I was more of a valued
colleague to the Bureau, when the old management still had
control of the operation."

"Are you hungry?"

"Not yet."

"Are you sure? I could make you something," Clark offered as he
started the coffeemaker.

Jor-El shook his head. "I'm fine for now. Thank you."

While the coffeemaker worked its magic, Clark checked on Lois.
She was still asleep. One of her blankets had slipped a little,
so he gently fixed it, brushing a few strands of hair away from
where they'd fallen over her left eye. Standing back, he looked
down on her, his heart full to bursting with the love he carried
for her. Then, not wanting to wake her, he retreated to the
kitchen and fixed his own mug of coffee while eating a granola
bar, letting Jor-El prepare his to his own liking.

"Dad? Could we talk? Outside, so we don't wake Lois," he asked
in a soft whisper of a voice.

"Absolutely."

Clark led the way out to the terrace. Cradling his mug in his
hands, he leaned against the side of the building, looking up
into the sky. Beside him, Jor-El did the same. Neither one seemed
willing to broach the silence.

"What will you do now?" Clark asked quietly, not quite able to
look at his father just yet, fearing the answer.

"I don't know," Jor-El replied in a matching tone. He sighed.
"I still feel as though I have a duty to our people. Our *true*
people, not these Earthlings." Clark winced a little at the
harshness of Jor-El's words. "But it's been so long," Jor-El
finally added. "I've no doubt that I've been replaced, that
there is no place for me among the surviving Kryptonians."

"Do you think they're out there, somewhere? Do you think they
found a new home?" Clark asked. He'd been thinking about
potential survivors since he'd first heard his father's story
in its entirety the night before while the three of them
demolished two pizzas.

"I hope so," Jor-El replied. "Finding them, however..." He
shrugged. "It's an impossibly large universe out there, and
I've never known a single race of people to have mapped it all
out. Our people could be anywhere."

"Why not stay here?" Clark asked after a moment. "Why go back,
with no promises of finding anyone else still alive and
thriving?"

"This isn't my home," Jor-El said flatly.

"Neither is...wherever the others might have settled," Clark
argued back in a neutral tone. "Krypton is gone. You could just
as easily make Earth your home. For *real* this time." He sipped
from his mug, enjoying the feeling of the hot brew as it raced
down his throat. It was a simple pleasure he never thought he
would enjoy again while he'd peered into his own death.

"I know this is where you grew up," Jor-El said, hesitation in
his voice as though he was carefully choosing his words, "but
this is not where I belong. It's not where I *want* to
belong."

"I know," Clark said, now cherry-picking his own words and
staring into the depths of his coffee, "that things were bad for
you. I don't blame you for your disgust for Earth and the people
who inhabit it. I can't be sure I wouldn't feel the same way,
under the same circumstances. But, please, don't let one *very
small* group of zealots shut your mind to all the wonderful
things this world has. Sunsets and warm, sandy beaches. December
snowfalls. Summer thunderstorms. People who are so diverse, so
different from one another, but so much the same. People who love
and share their joy. People who wouldn't hesitate to help out
even total strangers."

Jor-El snorted as though in disbelief or disgust.

"I'm not going to say this world is perfect," Clark continued.
"Yeah, it has its fair share of evil -- people like Trask and
the rest of the Bureau -- who make it their business to hurt
people instead of helping them. It can be overwhelming,
sometimes. But there is so much good out there too. So much hope.
So many people who fight, daily, to make this planet a better
place to live."

He paused for a moment, looking up at the sky again. Before he
could continue, Jor-El cut in.

"Kal...Clark..." he began, correcting himself.

Clark didn't mind the slip. For almost thirty years, the man had
thought of his son as Kal. Switching to Clark would take some
getting used to, he was sure.

"I know your experience is different than mine. I know you've
seen more in your years on Earth than I have. I've heard about
this...Superman...that you've created. I know that, right now,
the world embraces you for it. But for how long? How long will
they love the alien in their midst? How long before they turn
their backs on you? How long before they begin to resent and hate
you for having abilities they will never have? What then?"

Clark shrugged. "I'll keep on doing what I do. Being Superman
isn't about getting the world to accept me. There's only one
person in the world whose acceptance of me matters -- Lois. And,
I think, she has. I don't care if the whole world turns into an
army of Bureau Thirty-Nine members. I *like* helping people. I
*like* being able to save lives. I *like* knowing that my powers
are serving a higher purpose than just a lazy Sunday afternoon
fly or bringing Lois takeout food from Shanghai."

Jor-El fell silent for a few long moments.

"I think, if you gave the world a chance, it might surprise
you," Clark finally offered quietly, before taking another long
overdue drink from his mug.

"I think not," Jor-El replied.

"I used to think the same way as you. I was accepted as Clark.
No one knew I was anything more than a regular guy. No one knew
anyone on this planet could do the things that I can. That *we*
can," he corrected, to include his father. "I thought that
everyone would be...well, like the Bureau if they found out about
me. I imagined they would all be just like Trask. But I took a
leap of faith when I created Superman. And I was surprised at how
well he was embraced."

"You've never been locked up in a cell for years on end, not
knowing how long you've been there, whether or not an insane man
is finally going to against the Presidential order that protects
your life," his father said with quiet intensity.

"Maybe not," Clark countered, "but I *do* know that all it
takes is one person to change a life." He cast a glance through
the window to where Lois still slumbered on the couch.

"You care for her." It wasn't a question. It wasn't said with
contempt or enthusiasm. It was merely spoken, a flat statement of
fact.

"I love her," Clark corrected him. "For a long time, even
though no one knew of my powers, I felt...isolated. I wasn't
sure where, if anywhere, I belonged. Then I met Lois, and, in an
instant, my entire life changed. Everything seemed to click into
place for me. The world changed from a vast, lonely place, to
someplace warm and inviting."

Jor-El seemed to process this over a long sip of his coffee.
"And her? Does she feel the same?"

Clark nodded. "She says that she does."

"Then I pray that never changes," Jor-El said, though Clark
knew that the man disliked her for the simple fact that she'd
been born on Earth. "A great love has a way of changing a man.
Your mother...I shall never see her like again."

"I wish it was as simple as just...finding her," Clark
admitted. "I've always wondered what she was like. What *you
both* were like. It killed me to learn that she'd died, when my
parents told me the truth about the night I became their son."

A silence fell between the two men as they both drank from their
mugs and tried to find some way to break the sudden quiet. Around
them, only the light, cold breeze could be heard, as well as the
rumbling of a truck on some distant street.

"I can tell you about her."

It was a simple statement, but the weight in Jor-El's voice was
palpable. It was clear how much love he still bore for the woman
he'd been wed to. And the pain Clark heard in his father's
voice, knowing that Lara was gone, almost broke his heart.

"I'd like that," Clark replied sincerely.

A silence fell between them once more. Clark waited patiently to
see if his father would say more, but Jor-El spoke not a word.
Clark wondered if, perhaps, the other man was gathering his
thoughts. But Clark wasn't ready for stories just yet. It felt
too soon, too rushed, to hear them now. He wanted to be able to
take his time and ask all of the thousands of questions he'd
always had about his origins and the people who'd brought him
into this world.

"Will you stay then?" he asked instead, hoping to convince his
father to stay on Earth, even if for a short while.

Jor-El studied the strong brew in his cup before answering. "I
don't know. I have no ship. I don't know if Earth has the
materials I would need to build a new one, something capable of
traversing the infiniteness of space. But I do know one thing. If
I go, Clark," he said, the name 'Clark' sounding like it took
great effort to say, "I want you to come with me."

"No."

"No?"

Clark shook his head for emphasis. "No. Krypton...or whatever is
filling in for Krypton now, is your place, not mine. I belong
here, on Earth. My place is with Lois, and with all of the people
Superman defends on a daily basis."

"You *have* a place there, even if you don't know it. Before
you were born, you were promised to the daughter of Krypton's
ruler. If you returned to me, you would be bonded to Zara, and
the two of you would rule over what is left of our people. It was
to be your legacy, your destiny."

Again, he shook his head. "My legacy is what I leave for Earth,
in both of my roles. It's in the way I can make this planet
better and safer as Clark through the written word and my
investigations. It's the lives I protect as Superman, the
criminals I catch, the people I can give hope to. Not in ruling a
people I don't know along with some woman I've never even heard
of before and cannot possibly love. If I'm to spend my life
bound to anyone, it'll be to Lois." He kept his voice soft and
low, but firm, leaving no room for an argument.

"Think of the good you could do!" Jor-El urged.

"I *am*. The people here need me more than some distant group of
people who don't even know I'm alive."

"I wish you'd give this some more thought."

"I don't need to. *Nothing* will change my mind," Clark said.

*Hypocrite!* his mind screamed at him. *Asking him to open his
mind to the idea of staying on Earth when you're just as
closed-minded about going with him to your own people.*

*No, *he yelled back in his mind.* It's not the same! Without
Lois, there is no life for me anywhere. It took me a lifetime to
find her. I won't ever lose her again.*

 "Hmm," Jor-El hummed in response. Clark had the sneaking
suspicion that the conversation was not yet over, though he was
glad to let the subject drop for the moment.

"There *is* one other thing," Clark said after a moment, after
another peek through the windows to ensure that Lois was still
sleeping.

"What's that?"

"I'd like to...to bring you home with me," Clark said, working
hard to get the words out, feeling awkward in calling Kansas
home, when Jor-El clearly only viewed Krypton as their home.
"I'd like you to meet my parents...the people who raised me. I
think they'd really like getting a chance to meet you."

"Ka...Clark...I don't know," Jor-El said warily.

"Look, I know it's got to be hard, knowing that other people
raised the child you wanted to raise yourself," Clark said
quietly. "I can't imagine being in the position you are...to
lose the child I loved only to reconnect with him years
later...to miss out on such a huge portion of that kid's life.
But...well...I think it'll be good for you. For *all* *of us.*
Nothing about this situation is easy, I know. But I can't
imagine you leaving this planet without getting to know some of
the best, kindest, most loving people that I know. Because of
them, I'm the man that I am now. They've never once turned
their backs on me or even been afraid of my powers. Instead,
I've always been able to count on them. They were the ones who
helped me figure out how to control my powers as each new one
manifested. Please, Dad. Give me a chance to show you the polar
opposite of Bureau Thirty-Nine."

Jor-El hesitated. "I'm not sure that's a good idea..."

"Why?" Clark asked bluntly.

"Well, for one thing, I'd feel like an intruder," Jor-El
stammered.

Clark shook his head. "You wouldn't be. All my life, ever since
I was old enough to understand that I'd been adopted into the
Kent family, I've only ever heard expressions of gratitude for
the people that gave me life, and a wish that my parents could
thank them for filling their lives with the one thing it lacked
most -- a child to love."

"But it was never done out of the goodness of our hearts!"
Jor-El protested. "Yes, I am glad that someone was there to love
you and raise you when I couldn't, even if it wasn't a fellow
Kryptonian. But, selfishly speaking, I wish the Kents had never
had a reason to meet you." Frustration and anger rang in his
voice.

Clark's voice went to a soft near-whisper. "You think they
don't know that? Or that they won't be able to understand your
feelings? They've always regretted that my parents had to die --
so they thought -- in order for them to become parents
themselves."

"Clark..."

"No, Dad. Please, just give it one chance. One dinner. If it
doesn't go well, or you're too uncomfortable
or...whatever...I'll never ask you to see them again."

"It's just...a lot...especially given, well, everything,"
Jor-El said, each word sounding harder to get out.

"I know. I know the Bureau did unspeakable things. But, I'm
telling you, the vast majority of people are not like that. And
if you wind up staying here, on Earth, by choice or by
circumstance, you'll need to know that there are good people out
there and that the world is just so...so...incredible and
wondrous." Clark sighed. "Please. Let me try to show you some
of the good out there. Whether you stay on Earth or not, please
don't let your only memories of the planet be the horrors of the
Bureau. Don't you owe yourself that much, at least?"

Again, Jor-El hesitated. A thick silence fell between them. Clark
noticed that the barest hints of pink were blooming in the sky. A
new day was dawning.

"All right," Jor-El finally agreed. "I will meet the people
who took you in and loved you as their own."

***

Clark knocked on the door of the farmhouse he'd grown up in. He
took Lois' hand for a boost of confidence. She gave his hand a
squeeze, as if to reassure him that all would be perfectly fine.
After a moment, he heard his parents coming. Jonathan opened the
door, his face a broad smile.

"Come on in," he urged as he held the door for everyone.
"Lois, so great to see you again. Clark, it's good to have you
home." He hugged Lois warmly.

"It's good to *be* home," Clark said, giving his father a hug.
"Mom! It smells *fantastic* in here."

The delicious smells of pot roast, carrots, onions, potatoes,
buttermilk biscuits, Martha's famous homemade macaroni and
cheese, and a cherry pie filled the farmhouse. Clark breathed the
scents in deeply, the different aromas invoking many happy
memories of his childhood. This was his *home*. These were his
*parents,* no matter what his DNA said.

"Thank you, honey," Martha said, pulling him into a hug.
"Lois, I'm so glad you could come. And I'm so glad that
you're part of the inner circle now, of those who *really* know
Clark." She smiled brightly, the smile of a woman glad to
lighten the burden of a secret even if only by the slightest of
degrees.

"Thanks," Lois said. "Me too. It means a lot to me that you
and Jonathan are okay with me knowing things."

"Of course we are!" Martha exclaimed, her smile impossibly
wider.

"Uh, Mom? Dad?" Clark stammered, toeing the floor the way he
used to when he was a young boy confessing to having done
something he wasn't supposed to. "I want you to meet someone.
This is Jor-El. He's..."

"Your father," Jonathan finished for him. "It's okay, you can
say it in front of us."

"Yeah," Clark said, nodding, trying to will himself to feel
less awkward about the situation.

Jonathan smiled and waved away Clark's unvoiced concerns. "He
looks like you." He turned to Jor-El. "I'm Jonathan and this
is my wife, Martha. We're glad to have you here. We've always
hoped that Clark would get the chance to find his biological
father, however slim that possibility might have seemed at the
time."

"You did?" Clark asked. "You never told me that before."

"I know," Jonathan said. "I didn't want you to get your hopes
up. Right before you mother passed away, she said that her
husband was gone. We didn't know if she meant that he'd died or
if he'd simply...gone somewhere. We didn't want to plant the
seed in your head that you'd definitely find your father out
there somewhere, because we didn't want you to get hurt if you
couldn't find him." He laughed a little. "I have to say,
Clark, when you said you you'd found a piece of your past, I
never once imagined this at all. And when you said it was your
father..." He shook his head with a soft smile. "I couldn't
believe it. I'm happy for you, you know that, right?"

"Glad to hear it," Clark confessed. "I'm sorry. I know the
way I told you was a bit...well...awkward and clumsy. I didn't
quite know how to break the news on the phone when I called this
morning. I was so nervous about how you'd take the news."

"It's okay," Jonathan said. "I knew something was up, but I
just chalked it up to excitement over Lois being in on the whole
Superman thing. Then, when you said you'd found one of your
family members...well, our first thought was a sibling or a
cousin. Then you said it was your father and I have to admit
it...we were even more thrilled for you. But come on. Let's not
just stand around here by the door. Come in, sit. I think
dinner's close to ready."

"I'm actually just about to check on the meat," Martha
replied. "I'd hate for it to dry out. Why don't you all go
into the living room and I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Sounds great, Mom," Clark said, relieved that everything felt
normal with his parents, despite the fact that the situation
should probably have been a lot more awkward.

Jonathan led them all into the living room. Only Martha didn't
follow, disappearing into the kitchen. Clark could hear her
checking on the various dishes -- stirring a pot here, lowering
the heat of a stove burner there. She reappeared a few moments
later. Jor-El remained mute and spent the time looking at the
photographs around the room. He picked up a frame or two, in
order to study the images of the childhood he'd missed out on
seeing his son experience.

"I want to thank you for taking in my son," Jor-El finally said
as he sat on the couch.

"It was our pleasure," Martha assured him. "I don't know what
Clark's told you, but having him as our son has been the biggest
blessing of our lives. He was the miracle child brought to us
when all other avenues of parenthood were closed to us. He was
nothing less than an answer to our prayers."

Clark heard the lump in his mother's throat. After all these
years, he knew it still brought her to the edge of tears to think
about how close they'd come to being completely childless. It
still stabbed at his own heart to think of how unfair life had
been to two of the most loving people he'd ever known. Again, he
took Lois' hand to steady himself.

"He's spoken highly of you both." Jor-El sounded as awkward as
he must have felt, Clark mused.

Martha smiled in response. "He's a good son."

"So, Clark, you didn't say...how *did* you find your father?"
Jonathan asked, simple curiosity in his words. "You never
mentioned you were looking for him."

Clark shook his head. "I wasn't. It was just sort of luck that
we found each other. It's kind of a long story. But, the
important thing is, first and foremost, that we're all okay.
Just...remember that, okay?"

He could see concern settling on his parents' features like a
mask. Swiftly, he recounted their dealings with Bureau
Thirty-Nine, how he and Jor-El had found each other, the
terrifying new discovery of Kryptonite and what it could do to
him, Lana and Lex Luthor's involvement. It took some convincing,
but Jor-El related his own story, from before he and Lara had
left Krypton, up until he and Clark had met in the bowels of
Bureau Thirty-Nine's compound.

When they were finished speaking, Clark could see unabashed agony
in his parents' faces. Not just for him and his brush with a
stony green harbinger of death, but for Jor-El's captivity as
well. He hoped Jor-El recognized how deeply their hearts hurt for
him.

Martha shook her head, horrified. "I can't believe...that's
terrible!" she sputtered out.

Jonathan looked ready for a fight. "I've never been one to be
glad over someone's death, but in this case...I'm glad I can't
get a hold of them. I'd teach them a lesson they wouldn't soon
forget. How can anyone be so cruel?" He shook his head.

"I've long since given up trying to answer that question,"
Jor-El said wearily. "It's not a problem unique to Earth,
unfortunately. Out there, among the stars," he said, gesturing
vaguely toward the ceiling, "there are entire civilizations
which seem to consist solely of those who would seek to harm,
kill, or enslave others. It's not surprising to find people like
that here on Earth as well."

"Thankfully, that's only a small percentage of the world's
population," Lois countered smoothly.

"She's right," Jonathan put in.

A timer chimed in the kitchen. Martha stood and smiled.

"Dinner's ready. Shall we move to the table?"

"Sounds great, I'm starving," Lois was quick to respond. Clark
could sense her eagerness to dispel some of the tension in the
room.

"Me too," Clark agreed. "My mouth's been watering ever since
I stepped through the door. Mom? Why don't you sit? I'll take
care of everything."

"Thank you, Clark," she said, giving her son a fond smile.

"I'll help," Lois offered.

"No, no. I've got it," Clark said with a grin cast over his
shoulder as he headed to the kitchen.

He sped through his work, knowing that it would almost seem as
though the various dishes of food were simply just appearing out
of thin air. In seconds, everything was on the table, and Clark
had loaded the dishwasher with as much of the used dishes and
utensils they were finished with as he could. He popped a soap
tablet into the dishwasher as well, preparing it for later. Then
he calmly walked out of the kitchen and took his seat at the
table.

"You cheated," Lois accused him, good-naturedly.

"I had to," he mock-defended. "I had to make sure Mom didn't
tell too many embarrassing stories about me in my absence." As
soon as he said it, however, he felt guilty. Would it be a wound
to Jor-El's heart to hear about all the things in his son's
life that he'd been forced to miss out on?

But he needn't have worried. Jor-El paused only for a moment
before asking, "Stories? Would you mind if they told some?
There's so much I've missed."

Clark nodded. "Of course. Mom? Dad?"

And so the two gentle farmers began to talk, relating any story
that popped into their minds. Clark filled in when he could,
telling both Lois and his father of how his powers had
manifested, how he'd learned to control them, his decision to
never tell a soul. He thought, perhaps, that his father might be
particularly interested, as his own abilities began to reemerge.
Some of them hadn't yet, and Clark wondered if nearly thirty
years of being deprived of sunlight meant that it would take
longer for his body to absorb enough nourishment from the sun to
fuel his powers. He had no doubt, however, that soon his father
would possess all the powers that Clark had had for years.

When dinner was over, Clark once more volunteered to take care of
everything, leaving his parents and Lois with Jor-El for a whole
thirty seconds while he cleaned up, stored the leftovers, and
filled the dishwasher. He didn't yet turn the machine on,
knowing that his mother would want the dessert plates and
utensils added as well. Instead, he set the table and readied
everything they would soon be needing, even filling the tea
kettle with water to boil when it was time. His work done, he
rejoined everyone in the living room. To his delight, he found
Jor-El laughing.

"Okay, what'd I miss?" Clark joked as he sat in one of the
empty armchairs.

"Oh, nothing. Just the story of when you accidentally set the
Christmas tree on fire," Martha answered between laughs.

Clark felt his face go hot in a flush. He remembered the incident
well. He'd been focusing so hard on changing out the bad bulbs
on the strings of lights that he'd wound up setting the tree
alight. He'd spent a month's worth of allowance money on buying
a new tree for the family, not because his parents had made him
-- they never would have asked such a thing -- but because he'd
known in his heart that it was the right thing to do.

"Yeah, well..." he said with a shrug, trying to brush the
incident off. He left his statement unfinished.

And so the night continued on. Clark noticed a marked change in
Jor-El as the hours passed. The unhappy, almost depressed feeling
that surrounded the man fell away, piece by tiny piece. He
laughed more freely, more frequently, and more deeply. A twinkle
kindled in his eyes and his smile grew ever wider. His body
language -- once so stiff and formal -- softened. He became more
relaxed, leaning into the couch cushions, using ever more
expressive hand motions. It warmed Clark's heart and gave him
hope that the Bureau's grip on Jor-El might be able to be
broken.

"Hey," Clark said to Lois, long after dessert was eaten and
cleaned up.

"Hey," Lois replied.

"Can we talk for a minute?"

"Sure."

Clark glanced at his three parents. They were all deeply involved
in conversation. No one would notice if he and Lois slipped away
for a bit. He grabbed Lois' coat as well as his own and ushered
her outside. They walked in silence for a few minutes, until the
farmhouse was left behind, the windows all lit up and cozy
seeming in the chill night air. Clark leaned against the tree
where his Fortress of Solitude lay nestled within the sturdy
branches.

"Is everything okay?" Lois asked.

"Better than okay. Lois, I just needed to say thank you.
Suggesting that I bring my father out here was a stroke of
genius."

She gave him a tender smile that melted his heart. "I'm so glad
he seems to be bonding with your parents." She paused for a
moment, and Clark could see another question burning in her.

"What?" he asked in a soft voice, encouraging her to ask
whatever it was she wanted to ask.

"Do you think he'll stay?"

Clark sighed, watching his breath mist in the cold night air.
"I've been asking myself the same question all night." He
sighed again. "I hope so, Lois. I know he's had a terrible
experience in dealing with the human race. I don't blame him for
wanting to leave. But, especially after tonight, I feel like I
finally have a piece of my past back. Before tonight...I wasn't
really sure if I could think of him as my father. I have no
memory of him. He was taken from me too early for me to have any
recollection of him, other than what I'm now starting to learn
about him. And it felt like a betrayal to my folks, to think of
him as my father."

He pulled his gaze from Lois' face. "I don't want to lose him,
Lois. Not again. Not when I know there's no chance of ever
finding him again. I won't leave Earth. Not for him. Not for
anyone."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said, taking his hand and twining
her fingers with him. "I don't want to lose you." A
mischievous twinkle glinted in her eyes. "After all, you're the
only partner I could ever stand to work with."

Clark chuckled. "You're just saying that because you have the
inside track to Superman exclusives," he said with a lopsided
grin.

"I'll admit, it *does* have its perks," she said, still giving
him a wicked grin herself.

Clark laughed again and looked up into the night sky. He felt,
rather than saw, Lois snuggle into his side. He looked over only
to see her gazing at the stars too.

"It's so beautiful and peaceful out here. I can see why you've
always spoken of your farmland roots with such love in your
voice."

"What? The great Metropolis-lover, Lois Lane, enjoys being out
in the country?" he teased.

"I never said I'm ready to move out here, but I can see its
appeal," she retorted, her breath misting in the crisp air.

"Lois?"

"Hmm?"

"I meant it before. Thank you. For suggesting this. For coming
out here with me. For being so understanding about, well,
everything. You really are a rare woman."

"Considering the one ex-girlfriend of yours that I've have the
misfortune of meeting, I can see why you'd think that."

Clark shook his head. "I've always felt that way about you. But
Lana..." He shook his head again. "I've thought about her role
in everything since the moment we learned that she was in charge
of the Bureau. She was always assertive, difficult, and
demanding, even as far back as kindergarten. While we were
dating, she always pushed me to be someone I wasn't...someone I
had no intention of *ever* being. But she was never cruel. The
things that happened out in the Bureau's compound...I had a hard
time recognizing the girl I used to date in that unfamiliar,
sadistic woman." He thought for a moment. "Still, in the end,
she did the right thing, and I have to give her credit for
that."

"The right thing? Clark, you can't be serious! She ordered her
men to cut you open, stem to stern, while you were still
alive!"

"I know," he said in a whisper-quiet voice. "Believe me, the
nightmares of that order will haunt me for a long time to
come."

"So, how can you possibly defend her?"

"I'm not defending her," he clarified. "I'm
just...recognizing that she did do the right thing, in the end.
Without her help, we wouldn't have escaped. You can't deny
that, Lois. For a moment there, I even saw a glimmer of the old
Lana in her. It gives me hope that, maybe, Luthor hadn't
completely corrupted her."

Lois fell silent for a few heartbeats. Then, tentatively, "Did
you still care for her?"

Clark had to smile, albeit a sad, tentative smile. "No. Not the
way you mean it, anyway. She was a part of my past, Lois. I've
known her all my life. We grew up together. I could have easily
spent the rest of my life perfectly content to never cross her
path again, but I never wished her ill."

Lois nodded. "I have a few people from my past that I feel the
same way about."

"There's only ever been you for me, Lois," he said, feeling
her burrow deeper into his side. He put his arm around her
shoulders, luxuriating in the fact that she was there with him,
and that he could speak so freely with her.

"You know I feel the same way about you."

"In all my life," he said quietly, "I've never met anyone
like you. Someone who encourages me to be exactly who I am. I
mean, my parents do, but they're my parents." He shrugged. "Of
course they would. But you...it's such a unique experience for
me, Lois. To be with someone who doesn't see me for what I can
do for them. Lana...she always tried to force me to be something
I'm not. Someone who could best service *her* desires in life.
Someone to be...broken and reshaped into what *she* wanted. And
she didn't even know about my powers. You *do* know, but you
haven't once mentioned all the things I could do for you."

"I don't want you to do anything. I want you to be happy. I
want *us* to be happy." She paused, then spoke again. "Are you
worried, Clark?"

"Worried? You mean about us? No," he said, shaking his head.
"I think we'll be fine. Won't we?"

Lois shook her head in turn. "That's not quite what I was
getting at. I meant...well, the Bureau. If they knew your
secret...who else might? What records did the police find?"

"I don't know," Clark admitted. "I don't know what kind of
proof the Bureau might have gathered and kept. I was so out of it
in Bureau Thirty-Nine's compound thanks to the Kryptonite and
the fear I had, not to mention the shock of meeting my father and
trying to find some way to get the two of you out of the compound
alive. I have no idea if Lana recorded anything -- when we spoke,
when I was hauled off to have that bullet taken out of my
shoulder, the prison cell we shared, any of the prep that Trask
and the like did when they were getting me ready to be
dissected." He swallowed hard and shuddered. "You know, being
strapped to that table...it was my worst nightmare come true. My
parents and I have always been afraid that if it became known
that I was different from everyone else, that some scientists
would take me away to dissect me like a frog."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," she apologized.

He just stared into the far distance, hearing her but not
responding to her, lost in his own nightmarish thoughts. "I just
kept thinking to myself that, after all the years of hiding and
lying and pretending, that this was how it was all going to end.
Strapped to a cold metal table in some God-forsaken compound in
the desert mountains, hacked to pieces by a lunatic. I wasn't
even going to be able to die with any kind of dignity. No one
would benefit from my death. And, worst of all, my death would
have sealed your own fate, because I wouldn't be able to at
least try to defend you. I felt so responsible for everything
that would have happened to you."

"You did nothing wrong, Clark! My death would have been on Lana
and Trask's hands...on *Luthor's* hands. Never on yours. I knew
you were doing the best you could, under the circumstances. I
didn't blame you then and I certainly don't blame you now."

"You don't understand," he said his voice raising by only the
slightest of degrees. He dropped his arm from around her and
moved off a few steps, as though distancing himself from Lois
could lessen the agony in his heart. "Your life is more valuable
to me than my own. If my alien origins had cost you your
life..." He sighed, leaving his thought unfinished. "It's
because of *me* that Bureau Thirty-Nine connected Lois Lane with
Superman. The whole world does. The reporting team of Lane and
Kent gets all the Superman exclusives. Lois Lane is the one
reporter Superman is constantly seen speaking with. All because I
have no willpower around you. All because I'm so in love with
you, I can't maintain the aloof -- and safer for you --
personality of Superman when I'm near you. If I had, the Bureau
wouldn't have targeted you. So, yes, Lois, your death
*absolutely* would have been my fault."

"Clark," Lois replied in a quiet, intense voice that matched
his own, as she reached out to him and placed a hand on his
shoulder, "you don't get it, do you? I gladly would have given
my life to protect the -- as I knew it at the time -- two men I
care most about in this world. Superman protects so many. But who
protects *him?* If I could have kept him safe, I would have done
anything. And once I found out that you and he are one, it just
made me more determined to do whatever I could to keep you
safe."

He finally broke his unfocused stare to look at her. He gave her
a small smile. "I guess it's nice to know that Superman isn't
all alone in this world."

She smiled back. "He's got a lot of people who've got his
back." She nodded in the direction of the house. "And he's
finding new ones all the time, it seems."

 Clark gazed thoughtfully at the house for a long moment. Then he
shook his head.

"I'm not so sure about that, Lois. I may be Jor-El's son, but
he's had too traumatic of an experience with the people on this
planet. I'm not sure he'll ever like the fact that I've chosen
to dedicate my life to helping them -- both as a reporter and
superhero."

"Give it time. He'll come around," she promised, sounding so
sure of herself that it made Clark smile in his mind.

"I hope so. I mean, I don't need his approval. I've lived my
whole life without knowing really anything about my birth
parents. But, now that I've found him...I want him to be proud
of who I've chosen to become."

"I get it," Lois said with a nod. "I've lived my whole life
with my birth parents and I've long since come to the
realization that the only person in this world I have to make
happy is myself. I know I don't need my parents to approve of
the way I live my life. Journalism is the last thing my parents
wanted me to pursue. But that doesn't mean that part of me
doesn't want that approval from them anyway, that recognition
that I've made them proud of me."

Clark nodded. While he hadn't yet met the Lanes, he'd heard
plenty about Sam and Ellen already from Lois. It made him wince
inside to think of the father who'd never reconciled his
disappointment with only having daughters and whose affairs had
broken up his entire family. It made his heart ache to think of
the mother who, by all accounts, usually had harsh criticisms to
offer her daughters and whose alcoholism had alienated her
children for so long.

"I guess you really do understand," he said, offering her a
small smile. He paused a moment, drinking in the tranquility of
that cold night. "I really meant it, Lois. Thanks for making me
do this tonight. I feel...like a burden's been lifted from my
shoulders, to have my parents meet each other, and for everyone
to be getting along as well as they have. It...it gives me
hope."

He knew he didn't have to explain anything to Lois. He knew,
just by the look in her eyes, that she understood him fully.

*Please,* he thought in a silent plea to the universe, *let him
choose to stay.*

***

"Lois! Clark! Drive-by shooting on Barstow," Perry barked as he
came their way.

"On it," they replied with one voice.

Clark grabbed Lois' coat and held it as she slipped into it. He
shrugged into his own a moment later. He contemplated his nearly
cold coffee for a few seconds before tossing the Styrofoam cup
into his waste bin. He could have heated it up without any real
effort, but the fact was, Pablo, who worked down at the newsstand
in the lobby, had made an incredibly foul tasting brew that
morning.

"Ready?" he asked her.

"Ready," she nodded, following his lead and dumping her own
coffee on an unsuspecting and mostly dead cactus plant on her
desk. She frowned at the browning plant. "I thought these things
were supposed to be easy," she said with a mild touch of
disgust.

"They are," Clark replied with a grin. "However, the desert is
not exactly rich in coffee."

The desert.

Clark nearly shuddered at the mental image that brought up. A
scant six weeks had passed since their time as Bureau
Thirty-Nine's prisoners. Six measly weeks during which, at
least, their testimonies, along with Jor-El's, had secured a
criminal investigation into Lex Luthor. More about the
billionaire had come to light in those six weeks than even Clark
had suspected.

Luthor was behind more than just the criminally insane group of
misfits that had comprised Bureau Thirty-Nine. He was, in fact,
one of the biggest crime bosses in the country, running the crime
syndicate known as Intergang. For years, before Superman had ever
been conceived of in Clark's mind, Intergang had terrorized the
businesses and citizens of Metropolis. But now, Clark hoped, with
the organization's head behind bars and awaiting his trial, the
city would see more peaceful days, without Superman working
himself to death.

Lois must have caught the fleeting look on Clark's face. She
took his arm in hers and guided him to the elevator bank.

"Still having the nightmares?" she asked as the silver doors
slid closed, locking them away from the prying eyes and ears of
their coworkers.

"Sometimes," he replied truthfully. "Not as bad as right after
our time with the Bureau, but...well, it's not easy for me to
forget. I've never been that...exposed and...and...vulnerable
before, and that's not even taking the Kryptonite into
consideration. Having you and my father to try to protect,
thinking I was going to lose you both..." He shuddered a little.
"And you? Do you still have nightmares?"

"Sometimes," she said, her voice mirroring his. "I guess...I
guess it's been a little easier on me. It was terrifying for
sure, but not in the same way as it was for you. When they took
you away that last time, to that operating room, I went out of my
mind with worry for you. But at least I didn't have the
Kryptonite to deal with." She sighed. "Having Lex Luthor behind
bars helps a lot, knowing that the Bureau is completely disbanded
now. I hate to say it, but I'm so glad Trask and the rest are
dead. At least they can't use your secret against you."

Clark nodded as the elevator let them out into the parking
garage.

"So...can I ask?" Lois asked as they made their way to her
Jeep. "Has your father made his decision?"

"Not yet." He sighed. "I've tried showing him how great the
world is, but Trask and Lana and the rest...I'm scared his scars
might run too deep for him to ever see the world even a fraction
of the way I see it."

"Give it more time," Lois said in a reassuring manner. "It's
still so soon after his first taste of freedom in almost thirty
years."

"I know but...having him around? It's been pretty amazing. For
the first time in my life, I have the answers to every question
I've ever had, or *could ever* have. It was strange, at first,
thinking of him as my father, when for my entire life, I'd
always just thought of the *idea* of him as just 'the guy who
gave me his DNA.' But now...I can't imagine losing him. And I
*will* lose him if he decides this world isn't for him. Because
I am *not* leaving. Not Earth and not you."

They reached the car and climbed in. Lois cranked up the heat in
the vehicle before pulling out of the parking space.

"Clark, believe me, if he leaves, *he'll* be the one losing
out. You're an amazing person. And if he can't stay for you
alone..." She left the statement hanging in the air, letting
Clark draw his own conclusions as to how to end it.

"Thanks, Lois," he said, giving her a smile. How was it that
she could instantly lift his spirits?

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Clark thought back
over the last six weeks. He'd taken his father to everything he
could think of to show him the good of the world. Sporting
events, concerts, museums, art galleries, bustling cities,
ancient ruins, zoos, aquariums, religious buildings of various
faiths, peaceful walks through the woods, soup kitchens to
service the poor, school yards filled with playing youngsters,
neighborhood parks, national parks, amusement parks. No idea that
either his own mind or Lois threw out as a suggestion was
rejected. Often, Lois accompanied them, and Clark was glad for
her company. He still spent plenty of time with them both
one-on-one, but he felt it was important for Jor-El to be around
Lois as much as possible. After all, she was the woman Clark was
planning to marry, as well as the best person he could think of
to show Jor-El how great human beings were.

Lois found a spot to park in that was reasonably close to the
scene of the crime. Once there, they split up, wordlessly
slipping into their comfortable routine. They were nearly
finished when Clark caught sight of a familiar face.

"Detective Henderson?" he asked before he could stop himself.

*Good thing Henderson has met me face to face before, when he
flew in to get our statements after all that happened with
Trask,* he mused.

"Kent, hi."

"What are you going here?" He couldn't stop himself from
asking. "I mean, this is pretty far from home."

Henderson cracked a small smile. "After I came out here for your
statements, I decided to put in a transfer request to Metropolis.
I needed a change of scenery as it was, and, let's face it,
there are worse places to be than in a city where I'd be working
alongside the Man of Steel. Am I right?"

"It *is* pretty nice," Clark said. "At least, it helps having
a resident superhero in town when your job requires you to write
about him."

Again, Henderson smiled. "You have a minute? I need to talk to
you about something."

"Yeah, sure."

"Good," Henderson said with a nod of his head. "Walk with me a
moment, would you?"

"Sure," Clark said, now feeling uneasy as they walked some
distance away from everyone else. "What's up?"

Henderson threw a careful glance around before speaking. "I
thought you'd like to know that the Bureau, or, rather, Lana
Lang wrote up some detailed information on you."

Clark gulped and felt beads of sweat popping out on his forehead.
"Information?" he repeated.

The policeman nodded. "About your...shall we call it...alter
ego. About *Superman*."

"I...uh...Su...Superman?" Clark stammered, caught off guard. He
needed to deny it, but found no words coming to his fear-frozen
brain.

"Don't worry. I'm the only one who saw her notes. I was in
charge of going through the evidence. And...well...you don't
need to worry about them. I had a 'mishap' with the computer
files and everything got erased. Oops." He smiled at Clark, a
genuine, friendly smile. "Look, I don't care that you're
Superman. I don't care if Lex Luthor was really Batman. I just
want you to know that your secret is safe with me."

"Why?" It was the only thing to come to Clark's mind.

"Because," Henderson said with a shrug. "I respect what you
do. I have no desire to see more whackos like Trask try to harm
you. Which is also why I flew out here the same night as the raid
on Bureau Thirty-Nine's compound to deliver that weird green
stone to S.T.A.R. Labs like you wanted. And, by the way, we found
a *lot* more than just what was in that knife."

"I know," Clark whispered. "Dr. Klein told...Superman. I just
want to let you know...thank you. I never got the chance to
really say that. For everything you did that day...thank you,
from the bottom of my heart. I don't know what I can do to even
begin to make it up to you."

Henderson shook his head. "You already have. You're a symbol of
hope, not just to the average citizen, but to all of us.
Especially people like me, who pull on a uniform every day,
hoping to do some good in the world. And...maybe sign something
for my little boy?"

Clark laughed, all of his tension leaving him in that sound.
"Sure. Superman will even swing by to say hello to him
personally."

Henderson laughed in turn. "Thank you! That'll go a long way in
helping Nate forgive me for uprooting him from his school and
friends."

Clark laughed all the harder. "I'll bet."

"You have no idea what this'll mean to him. Here," Henderson
said, scrawling on the back of one of his cards, "this is my
address."

"Tonight around eight work for you?" Clark asked.

The policeman nodded. "Perfect."

"Clark? Did you find out anything?" Lois asked as she walked
over. Then, with a double-take at Henderson, "Detective
Henderson?"

"Miss Lane," he said with a slight dip to his head.

"He got himself transferred to Metropolis after everything with
Trask," Clark explained briefly. "He's...uh...one of us
now."

"One of us?" Lois asked, confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means he's...a protector of the secret," Clark said with a
lowered voice, throwing a cautious glance around.

"Wh...what?" Lois said, failing to keep her face neutral,
though Clark knew she was trying.

"It's okay, Lois," he assured her.

"Are you sure?" she asked, eyeing the police officer.

Clark nodded. "Absolutely."

"Well then...I guess...welcome to the club," she said,
extending a hand to Henderson.

He laughed. "It's an honor, believe me."

***

More days passed. Everything remained the same. Lois and Clark
conducted their investigations, setting wrongs right. Clark
responded to calls for help, donning the blue, red, and yellow of
Superman. At night, he would return to his apartment -- sometimes
with Lois, sometimes alone -- and spend the evening taking to his
father, who was still staying with him until he could figure out
his next move. They talked about anything and everything -- the
news of the day, Krypton and all the questions Clark could think
of concerning it, some movie Jor-El had watched while Clark was
at work, books, Jor-El's questions about Earth. Nothing was off
limits. On his days off from the Planet, Clark continued taking
his father around the world, hoping to prove that Earth was a
good place full of good people.

He noted, over the weeks since Jor-El's release from the Bureau,
a steady change in his father. He still didn't trust humans
much, but he *did* seem to be more relaxed around them, even if
only in the tiniest of ways. He smiled when he saw children at
play. He laughed deeply when he saw something amusing. He stood
in silent awe at impressive landscapes or works of art or
architecture. He spoke politely with the people he met. He
enthusiastically sampled whatever foods Clark brought him. He was
less quick to judge, and less harsh in the judgments he *did*
make.

Still, Clark couldn't be sure that Jor-El would ever be able to
find it in his heart to stay on Earth.

"Son? What are you doing out here at this hour?" Jor-El asked
as he silently padded up alongside Clark, late one night after
Clark returned home after responding to a few calls for help.

Clark didn't look over. He stayed where he was, his back against
the brick of his apartment, arms folded across his chest, his
civilian clothes already donned. A light breeze caressed his
skin. He breathed in the night air for a moment, savoring the
moment of peaceful quiet over the city.

"I just got home," Clark explained simply.

"You were out helping people again," Jor-El said emotionlessly,
eyeing him as though the hero's suit was still on display.

"Yeah, I was," Clark said simply.

"You really do like it, don't you?"

Clark nodded, surprised. He'd expected Jor-El to have some
negative comment. "I really do."

"Why?"

Clark took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before he spoke.
"When I'm out there, helping people, I know that I'm making
the world a better place. I know that someone is alive because I
was able to get them out of a bad car wreck or a burning
building, or that I was able to stop a bus from running them
down. Ignoring the cries for help isn't an option. I couldn't
live with myself if I didn't help and someone died because of
that."

"It makes you feel important," Jor-El supplied.

Clark shook his head. "No. But it makes me feel...accepted. Like
my alien roots don't matter. When I first started out as
Superman, that was my concern. That people would fear me or hate
me or just flat out reject me because I'm different from them.
But, with a few exceptions, the world loves Superman."

"You would be accepted by our own people too."

"Maybe. Maybe not. After all, I've been raised as an Earthling.
All of my experiences have been shaped through my upbringing.
I'm a Kryptonian in blood only. In my mind, heart, and soul
though? I'm an Earthling."

Jor-El sighed. "It certainly does seem that way, doesn't it?"

"It's who I am," Clark whispered into the small hours of the
night.

"I see that. Every day, I see it." Jor-El fell silent for a
moment. Then, "Was it bad?"

That caught Clark off guard. "Yeah," he managed after a moment,
hiding his surprise. Never before had his father taken much of an
interest in Superman's efforts to save mankind. "There was an
electrical fire in a duplex in Chicago. The firemen think it was
just old, worn wiring that caused the blaze. The place was pretty
old. Five people died, including two children. Another is in
critical condition. It'll be a miracle if he survives." Clark
sighed. "Everyone else is okay but..." He shrugged, letting his
voice trail off.

"Children, huh?"

Clark nodded. "Yeah. An eight year old and a four year old. And
the one in critical condition is just eighteen months old. I did
everything I could, but the two kids that died were gone before I
even got to the scene."

"I'm sorry," Jor-El said at last. He put a supportive hand on
Clark's shoulder. "I know you love these humans. And I've seen
how their suffering affects you."

"Thanks, Dad."

"I also know that you are only one man. Even with the powers we
wield, we have our limits. I know you did everything in your
power to save those people."

"I did. But sometimes...sometimes it's hard to accept, that's
all. Especially when kids are involved," Clark said.

"On that, we can agree," Jor-El said with a nod.

Clark nodded mutely. He'd noticed, over the past weeks, that for
all of Jor-El's mistrust of Earthlings, he had a special place
in his heart for children. He knew, in particular, that it was
difficult for Jor-El to see fathers and young sons together. It
didn't take a genius to realize that the man was still trying to
come to terms with losing out on seeing his own son as he grew
from his babyhood and into a man.

"So, what are you doing up?" Clark asked.

"I couldn't sleep. My mind's been spinning. I tried watching
that television of yours but...only a society made up of humans
could devise torture like that of infomercials."

Clark chuckled. "Yeah, those are pretty terrible. What's on
your mind though? Maybe I can help?"

"It's been more than six weeks."

"It has," Clark affirmed cautiously.

"When we left Trask behind, I thought for sure that by now I'd
be on a ship, looking for the rest of the survivors, looking for
wherever their new home might be. But, instead, I'm still
here."

Clark nodded. "Do you still want to leave?" he asked in a low,
soft tone.

"For a long time, it was all I could think about. Taking you and
getting off this rock and back to our own people," Jor-El
admitted. "Even if I had to use my powers against you to force
you to come with me."

"I would have fought every step of the way," Clark said,
looking up into the sky.

"I know," Jor-El said softly.

"And now? Do you still fantasize about that?"

"Now..." He sighed. "I still miss them, Clark. Somewhere out
there, I still have friends and family. At least, I pray that I
do. If you said that you would leave with me, I would go in a
heartbeat."

"You know that I won't," Clark said in a hushed voice.

Jor-El bobbed his head once in a nod. "I know."

"This is my home. This is where I belong. Leaving Lois...it
would kill me," Clark tried to explain.

"I see that now. I didn't -- *couldn't* -- understand why you
are attracted to her when I first met her. She's a human, for
Rao's sake! And a fairly annoying one at that when you first
meet her. But now I think I'm starting to see in her what you
do. She loves you, Clark. One day, if you're lucky, she might
just be the perfect wife for you...the way Lara was for me. And
if that happens, I wish you every happiness."

Clark wasn't sure what to think. He was insanely glad to hear
his father speaking so well of Lois, but his final words sounded
like an ending. They sounded like a farewell. Clark's heart
sank.

"So, you've decided then. You're leaving?" he asked, unable
to help himself.

"No."

"No?" He almost dared not hope that he'd heard that
correctly.

"No," he repeated. "I will stay." The words exploded in
Clark's ears though they had been uttered only slightly louder
than a breath of air.

"What?" he gaped, his heart pounding.

"I will stay. For all that I will miss by not finding our
people, nothing can compare with losing you. I will admit, at
first I had hopes of simply wooing you away from the life you've
built on this planet. But I see now that you are right. You *do*
belong here. And if you belong here, I will find a way of making
sure that I belong here too."

"That's fantastic news!" Clark said, embracing his father.
"I'd hoped you would stay, even if I never really believed that
you would. But...are you sure?" He was almost too afraid to ask
that question. "I thought you hated it on this planet?"

"I did, for many years. But being free now...being able to see a
side of Earth that I never have before...the world is not as bad
as I'd believed it was. You've shown me that, yes, there is
goodness in most human beings. Like our fellow Kryptonians, most
people are good. Some are evil. And just as no one can condemn
all Kryptonians for the few who are rotten, I cannot do the same
with humans."

*Am I dreaming?* Clark asked himself. *Surely this can't be
happening. *

"I...I'm glad you feel that way," Clark stammered, groping for
words. "This is amazing. I'm so excited. You won't regret it,
I swear."

Jor-El smiled. "How could I, when it gives me a chance to spend
my remaining years with my son? But there is much to do. Like
you, I will need an identity and a place to call my own. I've
already invaded your home for far too long, though I've been
grateful to have a place to stay."

"You're always welcome here, Dad, you know that. It's been
nice, spending time with you here in the evenings when I get off
of work. You don't know what it's meant to me, to have you tell
me all about my Kryptonian heritage."

"It's been nice to have someone to tell. Someone who can
appreciate Krypton's legacy."

"You know," Clark said thoughtfully, "I think I might know of
someone else who would definitely appreciate the knowledge you
have."

"Oh?" Jor-El sounded intrigued, if not a little worried.

"Dr. Klein, at S.T.A.R. Labs. He's been a friend to me since I
started at the Planet and he's become sort of Superman's
physician. I trust him completely."

"The one you entrusted with the Kryptonite?"

Clark nodded. "Yes."

"Does he know...?"

"No," Clark said with a shake of his head. "The fewer people
who know about Superman's day job, the better. But he's a good
guy, and if the circumstances ever arose when he had to be let in
on the secret, I would be comfortable with him knowing. Anyway,
he could use a fellow scientist to work with him. Particularly
one who's been exposed to far more superior technology than
Earth yet possesses. Actually, I was just at S.T.A.R. Labs today
and he was talking about taking on an assistant. You'd be
perfect for the job."

"I must admit, it would feel wonderful to be in a laboratory
again," Jor-El said with a grin.

"Good. I'll visit him just as soon as we establish your new
identity. If Superman recommends you for the job, you can count
on getting it."

"I've already thought about who I want to be," Jor-El said,
his smile disappearing. He looked to the heavens as if the coming
words needed some kind of cosmic forgiveness. Or maybe just a
boost of cosmic strength. "I will be Jordan. Jordan Kale."

"Jor for short, I would assume," Clark said with a laugh.

"And the Kal in Kale after my son," Jor-El finished for him.

Clark grinned and stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you,
Jordan," he said as he pumped his father's hand up and down in
a shake. "I'm sure you're a perfectly normal guy with
absolutely no super powers whatsoever."

Jor-El laughed. "Nope, not me. I'm just your regular Joe.
Absolutely nothing alien about me."

Clark leaned back against his apartment, a laugh on his lips and
his heart soaring. "This is great, Dad. Really. I'm truly happy
for you."

"For the first time, I'm truly happy about it too," Jor-El
confessed.

"I'll talk to Dr. Klein first thing in the morning," Clark
vowed. "I'll fly over before work. Now, let's get inside. We
have a lot of planning still to do."

*He's staying,* Clark's heart seemed to beat as they turned to
enter the warm comfort of his apartment. *He's staying.*

***

*Help!*

Clark's head snapped up from where it had been bent over his
research. He listened intently for a moment, waiting for the call
to be repeated. When it was, he breathed a discreet sigh of
relief. Now that he had a general direction, it would be easier
to pinpoint the location once he was airborne. Lois saw the
expression on his face.

*What?* she mouthed.

Clark made their now-familiar hand gesture that signified that
Superman was needed. She nodded and stood, moving to his side and
matching him step for step as he made his escape through the
bullpen.

"Fire," Clark said in the elevator, answering her unspoken
question. He listened again as he picked up the police scanner
with his enhanced hearing. "Over on Yorkshire."

"Yorkshire? That's mostly low-income apartment housing," Lois
pointed out with concern.

"I know," Clark said quietly. "See you there?"

"You bet."

Swiftly, they exited the building, only for Clark to duck down
the nearest deserted alley. He spun into his alter-ego and shot
away into the sky, picking up speed with every passing second. He
scanned the city as he flew, looking and listening for where he
was needed, though it didn't take long for him to find it.

Sirens blared in the otherwise still afternoon. Flashes of red
and blue lights competed to be seen in the glaring sunlight. The
roar of a raging fire drowned out almost everything else. But not
for Clark. He heard everything. The crackling as the fire
devoured the apartment building. The way the building creaked.
The thud of bricks as parts of the building collapsed. The
screams of those trapped. The bellowing of the firefighters as
they vied with everything else to be heard.

Clark sped into a descent, landing next to the fire chief.

"Superman! Thank God!" the man breathed, coughing against the
billowing black smoke that was overtaking everything. "The
building is collapsing. We're doing what we can to get as many
people out as possible, but I'm afraid our efforts aren't going
to be enough. There are people trapped where we can't safely get
to them."

Clark nodded once in the decisive, professional manner of
Superman. "I'm on it. Tell your men to stick to where it's
reasonably safe." He touched the man lightly on the shoulder in
an effort to ease some of the chief's anxiety.

"Thanks, Superman. I'm not sure what we'd do without you."

Again Clark nodded, then, quick as a flash, he zipped away into
the building. Instantly, he was engulfed in a raging inferno. It
was like entering the gullet of a fire-breathing dragon, he
mused. Around him, the flames danced and devoured everything in
its path, like a living being. The sound was deafening. Not
missing a beat, he began to x-ray the building, noting just how
unstable the structure was, and looking for survivors.

He knew he wouldn't have much time before the building came
down.

Spotting his first glimpse of life amongst the blaze, he set to
work. The two little boys he found recognized him immediately and
went to his waiting arms right away when they saw him. He
swiftly, but carefully, ferried them to safety. A soot-streaked
woman ran to them, still coughing, and embraced them tightly,
almost before Clark had set them fully on the ground. Satisfied
that the kids were okay, Clark turned and went back into the
fire.

He worked steadily, trying not to rush, knowing that he could not
afford to make any mistakes, but feeling pressured all the same,
knowing every second mattered to the people still stuck inside.
He pulled out an elderly couple next, followed by a teenage girl,
then a man and his dog. Each person pulled to safety lightened
his heart by the slightest of degrees. But more were still
inside, and the floors were giving way.

Suddenly, through the thick, choking smoke, a figure emerged,
unfazed by the lethal flames.

Clark had to blink several times to convince himself that he
wasn't seeing things. A figure in black shot with silver. The
stylized S on his chest. The near-perfect, but older, reflection
of his own features.

*Need a hand? *came a voice inside Clark's mind.

*Dad? What are you doing here?* he thought back in surprise.

The telepathy didn't surprise him at all. Jor-El had worked with
him on many a night to develop the ability. Though it was a
natural ability that all mature Kryptonians possessed, the skill
needed to be refined. And Clark had already missed out on years
of honing it. But seeing his father dressed in a black
Superman-like suit with silver accents -- the toes of his boots,
the cuffs of his sleeves, the cape on his back, the belt around
his waist -- was astonishing, to say the least.

*When did you...? *Clark thought to his father. He did not stop
searching for more survivors as he did so.

*Surprised? Good. It was a difficult secret to keep from you. *

*Did Mom make that?* Clark knew his father would know that he
meant Martha.

*She did. Ah, over here. I found a couple of women.*

Clark joined his father. The two women looked from one to the
other as Superman appeared with the strange new man clad in
black. But the older of the two -- a woman nearing retirement
age, if Clark was any judge -- took the hand Jor-El stretched out
to her and allowed him to help her up. Perhaps it was that
Superman himself was with the new, unknown hero that gave her the
confidence to go with Jor-El. Perhaps it was sheer desperation to
save her life. Perhaps it was how similar Superman and the other
man looked. Perhaps it was the S on his chest -- a symbol that
had stopped meaning Superman but which now stood for hope and
justice.

Whatever it was, Clark didn't care. All that mattered was that
someone who needed help was getting it. The woman would live,
thanks to Jor-El.

Together, father and son rescued a few more people. On their last
check of the building, they found a firewoman stuck inside one of
the apartments with an infant girl. The floor had collapsed,
leaving an impassible crater that stretched down for several
floors. There was no way to get to the window and the ladder to
safety that lay beyond.

"Who are you?" she asked, though the fire burned away her
voice.

"Give me the child," Jor-El urged. "I'm here to help."

Instinctively, she clutched the baby closer. Clark touched her on
the shoulder.

"He's with me," he said in her ear. "We'll get you both out
of here."

Reluctantly, she relinquished the child. Clark scooped her up
immediately and flew her across the chasm and out the window. He
did not let her out of his arms again until they were both
standing on solid ground. Jor-El lightly touched down not two
seconds later and gave the infant up to a waiting paramedic. The
firewoman sputtered and coughed as she tried to catch her
breath.

"Thank you," she wheezed at Clark. Then, to Jor-El, "I don't
know who you are, but I'm grateful."

Jor-El smiled benevolently and touched her on the shoulder.
"Glad I could help. Kal? One more check?"

Clark nodded in affirmation. *Kal.* His father had called him by
his birth name. Not Clark. Not Superman. Jor-El hadn't given
away Clark's identity, nor had he deferred to the nickname the
world had branded Clark with. He decided that Kal was the perfect
way for his father to address him while in the suit of the
superhero.

"Let's do it," Clark added as he nodded.

Together, they flew off again, side by side, scanning the
apartment building with their x-ray vision, and extinguishing as
much of the blaze as they could with their superbreath.
Eventually, their efforts, combined with the unflagging efforts
of the firefighters, contained and finally vanquished the
inferno. Floating in mid-air before the remnants of the scorched
brick building, father and son took a moment to catch their
breath. Clark looked over to his father with a smile.

"Thanks for the help," he said.

Jor-El nodded. "I know you're used to doing this alone. I hope
I didn't...step on your toes, so to speak."

Clark shook his head. "No, it was wonderful having you with me.
There are people alive today because of you. People who would
have certainly died, if not for a little alien intervention."

"You know, everyone is staring at us," Jor-El playfully
observed.

Clark laughed. "I think they're staring at *you.* You're the
new hero. The unknown one. I'm old news."

*Help!*

"Ready for another rescue?" Clark asked.

"Lead the way."

And so it went for the rest of the afternoon, in an unusually
busy day for Superman. After the fire, the pair of alien saviors
rescued a school bus filled with Girl Scouts after the driver had
a seizure and the vehicle crashed through a guardrail and sailed
into a lake. Then they stopped an armed robbery, saving a dozen
hostages in the process, and finally rounded out the day saving a
plane from crashing in Paris.

By the time they were finished, it was getting late and news of
the mysterious accomplice on each of Superman's rescues had
spread. It was all anyone seemed capable of talking about.
Worldwide excitement over something in the news hadn't been this
high since Superman had first introduced himself to the public.
It was hard not to laugh at all of the hype, speculations, and
theories they overheard as they dined in Germany that night.
Clark knew that Lois would be dying to talk to them both, so they
visited her once they arrived back in Metropolis.

It was too nice a night to stay indoors, and Lois insisted that
they talk things over somewhere outdoors. Jor-El agreed and a
place sprang to Clark's mind. With Lois safely nestled in his
arms, Clark led the way as they flew through the night, until
they reached a quiet cliff jutting out from a mountainside no
more than an hour's drive outside of the Metropolis city limits.
He'd found the cliff not long after he'd begun flying around in
broad daylight, unafraid of being seen doing something super. It
was a favorite spot for him to come and collect his thoughts when
he preferred being earthbound to floating unconnected to anything
out in the void of space. Together, the three settled down on the
rocky shelf, suspended above the trees and ground. A fat, round
moon illuminated everything and gilded the world in silver while
silent stars looked on.

"So, I hear you've had a busy day," Lois said, grinning at
Jor-El. "How did it feel?"

"It felt...wonderful," Jor-El said, his eyes shifting to some
far-off point, as though recalling the emotions of the day.

"You did a lot of good today," Clark added, gently patting his
father on the shoulder.

"I guess I did." There was no mistaking the satisfaction in the
older Kryptonian's voice. "Clark, you must forgive me."

"For what?" Clark asked, taken a little aback.

Jor-El shook his head. "Before today, I don't think I ever
really understood why you do what you do. Why you continue to be
Superman in a world with such a short memory and such a tendency
to fall back into old habits. I've wondered why you bother
catching today's criminals when tomorrow new ones will
inevitably rise to take their place. Why you waste your time
saving a planet that seems so dedicated to its own
destruction."

"What made you change your mind? After all, you spent all
afternoon doing exactly those things. Don't tell me it was just
some kind of father-son bonding time," Lois said quietly.

Jor-El chuckled a bit.

*Even his laugh sounds like mine,* Clark thought with wonder in
his mind. Even now, after months of having his father back in his
life, it still amazed Clark to see pieces of himself so perfectly
mirrored in Jor-El.

"No, it wasn't a bonding activity," he agreed with a grin, and
it warmed Clark's heart to see how well his father now got along
with Lois, especially now that she was Clark's fiancee. "I
finally decided that I would never understand it unless I did it
myself. I had to experience it for myself."

"It's a good feeling, isn't it?" Clark asked softly, looking
out over the moon-drenched world around them.

"When Krypton was dying, I tried my best to save it. I did
everything I could think of to convince the rest of the elders,
the ruling houses, even the lowliest of citizens to get away
before the planet could die. I worked night and day trying to
find a way to heal the wounds that had bled the life out of
Krypton. I was too late and my efforts did too little. Precious
few of our people heeded my warnings to abandon our planet. And
Krypton itself only got worse and more unstable as time passed
until the core gave out and the very stone of the planet was
ripped apart." Jor-El paused and took a breath.

"When I joined you at your rescues today, I felt...almost like I
was making amends for being unable to help my fellow
Kryptonians." His words were slow and deliberate in coming, each
one meticulously searched for. "But more than that, I felt
proud. Proud to be making a difference. Proud to know that
someone lived because I had been there to lend them aid. Proud to
know that I *could* help at all. And, suddenly, I knew what it is
that you feel each time Superman makes an impossible rescue."

Clark smiled but was too choked up to speak right away. His heart
felt like it might literally burst apart from trying to contain
all of the love and pride he was feeling.

"This feeling...it's so new to me," Jor-El continued. "For so
long, I'd forgotten what it was like to contribute something so
important to the place I call home. For a long time, after I'd
come to know the Bureau, I didn't *want* to contribute anything
to the world. Today...today I *finally* felt *free.*"

"Exactly," Clark said. "That's how I felt, the first time I
was able to fly around in broad daylight, without caring who saw
me. I finally felt free to be myself. Being able to use these
powers of mine...they finally felt like a blessing that I could
share, instead of a curse that I needed to hide."

"When I first found out about the whole Superman thing, I was
torn. Should I be proud that your embraced your powers and
assumed a role of natural leadership, as you would have, had you
been married to Zara? Should I be upset that you'd chosen to
help human beings -- a species I, at the time, only saw as vile,
evil, creatures not worth saving?"

"You seemed pretty settled on upset," Clark observed neutrally,
his voice still low and thoughtful.

Jor-El nodded solemnly. "I know. I was. I couldn't see past my
own experience with people. So I owe you an apology, Clark."

"I never blamed you for feeling the way you did," Clark
replied, looking at his father. "I told Lois once that I didn't
need your approval of what I do -- as Superman or as a reporter.
But I'll admit it, it's nice to have it after all."

"If I may, I'd like to make this a regular thing. Helping out.
Aiding you at rescues when I can. Being present at a situation
you can't be."

"I'd like that," Clark said with quiet intensity. His voice
surprised him. He would have thought it would have come out as a
shout so exuberant it would have shaken the mountains.

"Of course, this presents a problem," Lois said. Two pairs of
eyes settled intently on her, eagerly waiting for her to
continue. But she smiled. "The world is going to want to meet
their newest hero. Everyone in the world must have their own
theories and opinions by now."

"We'll need a press conference," Clark supplied. "What do you
think about linking yourself to the Daily Planet, along with
Superman?"

"I'd love it. How soon can we set it up?"

Clark studied the moon for a moment, gauging the time. "It's a
little late to call Perry tonight. I'll talk to him first thing
in the morning. We should be able to get everything in place for
the day after. Which, I think, is great. It gives us enough time
to figure out what we want to say."

"How to brand you, so to speak," Lois added.

Clark grinned. "If you need a name to go by, Lois is pretty good
at coming up with superhero nicknames."

Lois laughed. "Hey! I had nothing to go on other than an S on
your chest and an assurance that you were a friend."

"Having you name me...I couldn't have asked for a more
appropriate or amazing thing to happen," Clark replied, leaning
over for a brief, chaste kiss. "You know I love the name you
gave me."

"I don't think I could have picked a better name. You *are*
pretty super," she replied, sneaking another kiss.

Jor-El cleared his throat softly, bringing them back to Earth.
"I'm not sure I *want* a name."

"Trust me, it's better if you do," Clark said.

Lois nodded in agreement. "He's right. You may be known as
Jordan Kale now. And maybe no one knows the name Jor-El. But the
public is going to make up a nickname for you anyway. You may as
well control what it is."

"I'm destined to be Superman Senior without it, aren't I?"
The older man chuckled.

"Maybe," Lois smirked. "And they *will* peg you for being
Superman's father, or at least a close uncle or something. You
two look too much alike."

"The same way they realize Superman and Clark Kent are twins,
with different eyewear and hairstyles?" Clark teased.

Lois laughed. "Especially those who work right alongside one
half of the whole," she said, blushing a little and tucking a
strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're right though," Clark said. "It *is* pretty obvious
that the two of us are related. I've already heard several news
reports pointing out that fact."

"What do you want to do about it?" Jor-El asked.

Clark shrugged. "I say we meet the speculation head on. We be
completely upfront. Yes, this is Superman's father. But we spin
it. People are going to want to know why they haven't seen this
new hero before. So we say that he just arrived, the last
inhabitant of Krypton. Which, for all we know, might be the
truth. And, technically speaking, he *did* just arrive...as a
hero, even if he was a prisoner of a bunch of psychopaths for
many years. We'll say that he had matters to attend to before he
arrived, so he sent his son on ahead. Again, not totally a lie,
if not really the truth."

But, even as he tried to convince himself of the partial truth
hidden within the story they would weave, he felt uncomfortable.
The fact was, Jor-El had never meant for his son to become a hero
to an alien world. Clark had never been sent on ahead. He'd been
spirited away by his dying mother just in time to prevent Bureau
Thirty-Nine from capturing a second prisoner.

Lois seemed almost to read his heart.

"It's okay, Clark. It's not lying to the world. It's a
deception, yes, but along the same lines of making the world
think that Clark and Superman are different people. The story
we're going to tell the world, it's to protect your father."

"I know. I've just never been comfortable with deception. Even
hiding who Superman is, especially when I was hiding it from
you..." He sighed and shrugged, leaving the light breeze to
whisk his words away.

"I know," she said, snuggling into his side while he put his
arm around her waist. She leaned in, putting her head on his
chest. "So...we still need a name for our newest hero. Let's
think. AstroMan?"

"What is this, a bad fifties sci-fi movie?" Clark asked with
mild disgust at the terrible name, though he smiled fondly at
Lois.

"Splendidman?"

"No way." Clark shook his head.

"Cosmic Defender? Galaxy Guy? The Shadow? Sentinel? Centurion?
Silver Bullet? Silver Warrior?"

"You're not even trying now," he teased.

"Well, what's *your* suggestion?" Lois asked, grinning.

"How about...Krypto?" Jor-El suggested, cutting in.

"Krypto?" Clark asked.

"My dog's name from when I was a child," his father
explained.

Clark grinned. "I like it. Very Indiana Jones of you," he said
with approval. Then, "Uh, you've seen that one, right?"

Jor-El laughed, a deep, rich belly laugh. "Lucky for you, I saw
it last week. So, I get the reference, even if the movie
*didn't* inspire my idea."

"You know what? This is great. The three of us, together,"
Clark said.

"It is," Jor-El and Lois agreed, nearly together.

"Lois?" Jor-El asked after a moment.

"Hmm?"

"I don't think I ever said this, but, thank you."

"For what?"

"For being a woman worthy of my son. For loving him and
accepting him. For giving him your unconditional support. You and
I started off on the wrong foot, but I'm proud to call you my
friend."

"Jor, I love Clark. I should be thanking *you*, for risking
everything to bring him to Earth. I don't know what my life
would have looked like without him in it, but I'm glad I'll
never have to know. All I know for sure is that my life would be
a lot poorer without him. And just know...just as I protect Clark
in both of his identities, I'll protect yours."

"I know. I trust you."

It was incredible, Clark mused to himself. For a long time, his
biological father hadn't mattered. He'd been dead, as far as he
knew. But now...now his father was alive and well before him. And
a piece of Clark's heart -- a piece he'd never known was
missing -- had been restored.

Krypton's legacy wasn't in the gadgets and gizmos Jor-El had
guided mere Earthlings to develop. It wasn't in the caped
figures who flew through the sky and protected mankind from
whatever evil befell them.

It was this perfect, peaceful moment.

Krypton's legacy was, simply put, family.

THE END