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"There was... Kryptonite... in there," he
explained, lines of strain showing on his face.

Kryptonite...

That was the meteorite Jason Trask had claimed to have. The
one he'd claimed could kill Superman. The one she'd never
even believed existed.

The one... which was harmless to humans.

And it had hurt Clark.

That meant Clark... was Kryptonian. He had to be!

But what did that mean? He was Superman's brother? Cousin?

Wait a minute...

From the kitchen, tantalizing smells had begun to waft, distracting her. She heard the sudden, irritated sizzle of a pan as some new ingredient was added and heard Clark whistling softly as he --

-- made breakfast.

Pot holders.

Why *were* there no pot holders in Clark Kent's apartment?

Oh, she knew what she'd postulated the previous evening, but really...now that she thought on it hard...had she *ever* seen pot holders? Even tattered ones ready to be thrown out and replaced?

She'd spent a lot of time in Clark's apartment. Not exactly at an intimate level, she hadn't stayed there, her visits had always been casual. She had watched him cook though. Often. But she'd never seen him use pot holders.

Not once.

Not ever.

So, how *did* he get those scrumptious, mouth-watering casseroles from the oven to plate when he made them dinner as they worked together? She began to realize that she was never in the kitchen when he did. More often than not he'd shooed her off by that point, complaining with a smile that she was distracting him. Or claiming cook's secrets and teasing her about trying to steal his Mom's heirloom recipe. Or telling her she looked tired and why didn't she just go relax and he'd call her when it was ready?

What else had he said was missing?

She frowned. The kettle. The kettle had been 'right at the back of the cupboard.'

Because he never used it?

He used it when she was there, she told herself tartly and for an instant was pleased at herself for producing something solid to thoroughly debunk what she was thinking...beginning to think was...trying *not* to think was --

But when he's alone?

Her triumph deflated. Maybe, alone, he didn't bother with kettles. Or gas.

Why would you, when you could use heat vision to heat up your tea?

Heat...heat *vision*?

"Okay, I'll show you." Still cupping her face, he rose several inches into the air, taking Lois with him.

At her shocked expression, he said, "I can't go much higher than this because we're out in the street. It's hard to tell who's watching but I think the coast is clear."

"You're... you're... Superman?"

If Clark shutting the door in her face had surprised her before, then this new bit of knowledge really had a punch to it. Her mild-mannered, gentle partner was claiming to be Metropolis' and the world's resident superhero.

But it was too shocking to believe the first time through. Clark wasn't saying a word. He was simply sitting there looking as if he was about to become fodder for one of his farm animals.

"What is it, Lois? Come and tell me what's bothering you."

He took her free hand and gently pulled her over to the sofa. She sank onto it heavily, glad of its support. Clark took the candle from her and put it on the coffee table.

"You know, Clark...have you ever had the experience of not realising how much you value something until you no longer have it? And it was something I gave up voluntarily, but that doesn't make it any easier."

Clark gripped her hand a little tighter. "Look at me, Lois."

She glanced at him, but her thoughts were elsewhere and her gaze wandered.

"Lois, didn't I tell you that you'd made the right choice?"

There was a pause, and then suddenly Clark's words registered with Lois, tired as she was. She swung her gaze back to his face. "Say that again, Clark," she said sharply.

He continued to look at her intently. "I said, I told you that you'd made the right choice, and..."

"...and I'd never regret it," she finished the sentence with him. She looked at him in horror, conscious of a rising sense of panic inside her. She wasn't with her best friend anymore, she was with a stranger - or rather, not a stranger at all. She felt a little light-headed. "Clark, are you trying to tell me
what I think you're trying to tell me?"

"I'm sorry, Lois. I had to know. I had to hear you say it."

Lois took a deep breath. "Excuse me, Clark. I think I need some fresh air." She went over to the window, threw it open and screamed.

Clark had gotten a haircut last night, too. What was it with men? Did they all time their haircuts? Or maybe they used the same barber.

Lois laughed aloud, earning some strange looks and a “cuckoo” symbol from Cat.

The same barber. That was ridiculous. Although they *had* both gotten exactly the same hairc--

Lois sat up fast. Clark and Superman... they’d both had pretty much the same haircuts yesterday... She shuffled through the papers on her desk, pulling out a picture of Superman from a few days ago.

His hair was slicked back, so it wasn’t as obvious. But it was definitely as long in the back as Clark’s had been. And if Clark had slicked his back, it would have looked exactly the same. And then today, both of them had had haircuts. The slicked-back look made it hard to tell, but she thought they both had about the same length and style of hair now.

And their skin and eye color, along with their hair color, were the same. Except for the glasses and the muscles, they could be the same person. The muscles...

She looked up at Clark speculatively. Was it possible?

“Clark,” Lois said sharply, standing up and walking over to him, “take off your shirt.”

"Smallville, Kansas, May 17, 1966," said Clark quietly.

"Pardon?" Lois didn't even bother looking up at the apparent non sequitur.

"I told you that, if you found the records, and if it became necessary for you to know where and when the ship landed, I would tell you."

That got her attention. Her head jerked up, and she stared at him, wide-eyed. "*What* did you say?"

"I said-"

"No. No, it's all right. I heard you the first time. I'm just... *You're* Superman? You?!"

Clark looked at Lois uncertainly, not sure how to react to her incredulity.

"I'd worked out that he... you... had to have a secret identity. And I even knew that there were some parallels in your backgrounds... But I didn't... It never even crossed my mind..." Lois turned her back against the filing cabinet and slid down against it so that she ended up sitting on the floor, knees to chest. She wiped a hand across her forehead as she said, "Boy! Have I been blind!"

Clark walked over and squatted down next to her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to shock you."

"Clark, you're bleeding."

"Am I?" Stupid, stupid...

"Yes, your shirt is a mess. You'd better sit down while I take a closer look." She slipped an arm around his waist to guide him down to the sofa, but he pulled away again.

"I can clean it up. I-I'm sure it's nothing."

"Clark, what is it? Why won't you let me help you?" Lois just couldn't understand his behaviour at all, and it was beginning to frustrate her. She was also starting to wonder exactly what he was hiding - what could be so bad that he would keep shrinking away from her like this?

Clark stared dumbly at Lois; he didn't know what to tell her. What he did know was that he needed to sit down soon.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! At least sit down before you fall down."

There was no argument for that. Once seated, he couldn't resist relaxing back into the soft cushions and closing his eyes. He felt her start to ease his jacket off again, and somehow it was easier to let her continue than put up any more resistance. <She's going to find out.> I know, but I can't stop her. <She's going to be so mad at you.> I know, but I can't change that. His tie was coming off, and then she was undoing his shirt buttons.

"Lois, I'm sorry."

"I should think so! You were acting like a two year-old."

<That's not what I meant.>

Now his shirt was off, and he felt her go still. "What...?"

He opened his eyes just as hers slid from the bandage to his face.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

"Why have you got Superman's bandage on your shoulder?" Lois studied the face in front of her...she reached up and pulled his glasses off his face. Those eyes...slowly she pushed the hair back from his forehead, while he continued to stare anxiously at her with those wide brown eyes of his...of-

"Superman's. You're Superman." She snatched her hand away from his hair.

He leaned forward and seized her lips with his again in a fierce,
passionate kiss. He wanted, *needed* to make love to her, to give
them both what they so badly wanted. But....

She tore her mouth from his. "Superman... Superman, take me home.
Take *us* home, please!"

He made his decision on the spur of the moment. "Lois, we are home,"
he told her quietly, humbly.

She gazed back at him, eyebrows furrowed, clearly not understanding.

"*My* home," he told her.

She shook her head in confusion. "I don't... oh, do you mean you
*live* here with Clark or something?"

He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her head onto his shoulder
and burying his face in her hair. "No. I live here. Alone."

She didn't reply, and the stillness of her body suggested that she
was still baffled.

"Me. Clark," he murmured at last, and waited for the explosion.

She pulled back from him, staring at his face; her hands pulled at
his hair, ruffling it and dragging strands down over his forehead.
"My God! Do you mean... I was right the first time! When I saw you...
you *were* Clark, but you were just pretending to be Superman? I
don't believe... you *fink!*"

She stopped abruptly, seemingly too shocked to move, but continued to
stare at him. Then she spoke again, muttering agitatedly to herself.
"No. You can't have been Clark - you *flew* me up to that
washing-line. And Clark can't fly...."

"I can," he told her quietly.

The expression of shock seemed to be frozen on her face as she simply
continued to stare at him; he felt his desire subside as it was
obvious that any lovemaking was now definitely not going to happen.
He wondered whether she'd hit him if he tried to put his T-shirt on.

Did he need to explain further? Possibly. "Lois, I am Clark. And I am
Superman. There aren't two of us - there never were."

He watched in horror and disbelief as she began to cry.

Clark took one deep breath. "I'm Superman."

Lois wasn't sure she heard him correctly. Her brain had suddenly ceased to function. Whatever possibilities that had passed through her mind before this moment, whatever she thought Clark might be going to say, what she thought she heard certainly wasn't it.

"What?" There was a quaver in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Lois, I know I should have told you sooner. You have to believe me when I tell you how much I wanted to tell you before this, but I just didn't know when it would be the right time."

"You're Superman?" Lois was still dealing with the original pronouncement.

Clark nodded once and levitated a couple of feet off the seat of the couch. Lois' hands flew to her mouth as tears flooded her eyes. Clark reached for her but she pulled back and scrambled off the couch. Her hands left her mouth to clench hard at her sides, her teeth finding her bottom lip as her tears fell in earnest.

"Lois, I'm sorry. I know you are upset. Please allow me to explain. I know you are probably mad because I didn't tell you sooner. You probably don't think I trust you, but believe me I do. It just has been so hard recently with all the confusion in our relationship and everything. If you and I could just... what?"

Lois was just holding up her hand and shaking her head in denial. "You don't understand. This is the worst thing you could have told me."

She felt warm now, so she relaxed into a long, drowsy stretch as she turned over to settle down for what remained of the night. She listened for a moment to Clark's deep breathing, then glanced his way. He had turned onto his back, and his face was towards her. He has such a nice face, she thought. "The best looking guy at the 'Daily Planet,' " is the way she'd once overheard one female staffer describe him, while bemoaning the fact that he only seemed to have eyes for his partner. Lois had been secretly tickled by that observation at the time. It was making her chuckle now and she quickly stifled the noise. She didn't want to wake Clark -- he looked so peaceful and, in this light she could hardly see the marks from the fight ... Wait a minute, she really couldn't see them ... but she'd been able to before they had fallen asleep, what ... ? Maybe the light was different? But, no ... the only available light was that neon sign hanging in the alley outside. She looked more closely at him, edging nearer to him and propping herself up on her elbow. She studied his face intently. She could barely make out the bruises, now. The scrapes that had looked so raw before, now had scabs on them that looked two days old. His left cheek wasn't swollen at all. How could he heal so quickly? What in the world ... ?

Suddenly her whole body stiffened. She could feel her heart begin to thump uncomfortably. She reached a trembling hand out, smoothed his hair back off his forehead, and then jerked her hand back. It couldn't be! She looked again -- it *was* true!! Clark was Superman! Clark was *Superman?*

For a moment her mind was blank, she felt numb. This wasn't happening. No. Wait a minute here. Let's think about this. Maybe there is another explanation. She looked at him again, very carefully and slowly, allowing herself to really look -- the eyebrows, the way his hair grew at his temples, his chin, his lips were all just like ... ! His right hand was resting on his stomach. All those muscles in his arm -- they're not from playing football or working out, but because he's ... And his hands ... the long slender fingers -- Superman's hands! She
looked for the marks on his wrists. They had faded, too! He ... he... it was true, then -- Clark was Superman, or was it ... Superman is Clark? Either way he hadn't told her, she wailed to herself. Why hadn't he told her?

She felt overwhelmed. I have to get out of here, she thought. She got out of bed and almost ran to the front door. She was at the steps before she remembered that she didn't have
any street clothes, or her purse. Where was she going to go at this hour with no money, no I.D. -- nothing. She stood there in the dark and the cold trying to decide what to do before the cold and common sense won, and she headed back to bed and warmth. It would be morning soon anyway. She'd just thank Clark politely for his hospitality and leave. No need to tell him that she knew his little secret; after all, she thought with a pathetic sniff, if he didn't trust her enough to tell her all about himself, then she didn't have to tell him what she'd found out. He wouldn't understand why she was doing what she was doing -- why she was leaving so abruptly. He'd be hurt. With a little sob she thought, but I don't want to hurt Clark!

She felt an odd tingle run up and down her spine and wondered if her reporter's sense had misfired. She regarded him more carefully and decided that it definitely had not. She was experiencing major deja vu. The image of Clark lying on the ground the night before came back to her and she realized why the sight of him without his glasses and with his hair matted down had struck her. She stared at him, hard.

Same chin.

Same nose.

Same ears.

Same mouth.

Same warm, softly pleading, deceptive eyes.

He began to speak but she didn't hear a word he said. She couldn't do anything except stare at his practiced expression. She could see nothing but deceit in his face. Hear nothing but lies in his low, sonorous voice. She wanted to shut him up, tell him that she knew and demand a reason for his lies, but she held her tongue.

"...I don't know what to say. What you did for me, it was incredible. You saved my life. I don't know how I'm supposed to thank you for that."

"Forget it." She casually dismissed his thanks with a shrug. She knew better than to fall for that polished look of earnestness. She had to give him credit, though, he was a damn good liar. He even pretended to be a lousy liar, probably to
deflect suspicion she figured.