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"Don't be a fool, man!" she shouted brusquely. "You need warmth. And, I dare say, some tea wouldn't hurt, either!"

He smiled at her, either amused by her manner or grateful for her care. Winnie wasn't sure which. All she knew for sure was that his was a gleaming white smile.

It was a movie-star kind of smile, Winnie thought. It made her ageing heart skip beats and remember how it felt to be young. If she had been fifty years younger, she might have
been attracted to him. Even now, in her seventies, she could appreciate the beauty of his smile. She was old, not dead!

"What are your real intentions?" She knew she was blushing as she voiced the question, but she refused to play the role of the coquette and lower her eyes. "What do you want from me?" Why do you make me feel beautiful and wanted, she almost added, but bit her lower lip instead. He had claimed several times that there was nothing on his mind other than talking. Somehow, she couldn't believe that. She didn't *want* to believe that.

She heard him inhale sharply, and she held her breath as she waited for his words to hit her.

"I don't know what I want," he whispered fiercely, his eyes burning with renewed intensity and his posture tense. "But I know what I *don't* want. I don't want to passively watch you walk away from here. I don't want to live with the feeling that what I've been missing all these years was within reach tonight, and, fool that I am, that I let it go."

"I'm a reporter."

"I said I wasn't interested."

"Fine."

"A reporter in Borneo?"

"I thought you weren't interested?"

"I'm not. I'm just being polite." She looked belligerent for a moment, then repeated her earlier question. "So... Borneo?"

She was a bundle of contradictions, Clark decided, unable to decide whether he was irritated or charmed by her attitude. She was fascinating for sure. "Don't look so surprised," he said with an indulgent smile, which he knew she would probably interpret as unbearable contempt. "There *are* newspapers there."

"With as big a reputation as the Planet?"

"Is that the paper you're working for? The Daily Planet?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Is there a rule that says I have to?"

She glared, her frown reminiscent of the expression adorning her face when she had first snapped at him. "I suppose there isn't," she said slowly. "Just like there is no rule forcing me to listen to the boring conversation of a guy who needs a better hobby than sitting in bars waiting for a woman to annoy."

She rummaged through her purse and dropped a few bills onto the table, then she put on her coat and slid out of the booth where she had been sitting.

She was leaving.

"Live a little, Clark. It's fun to be bad."

His eyes go a little darker. "So was that fun?" He gestures to
the bedroom door. "Or bad?"

"Are you fishing for compliments now? Because I'm not about to
rate you."

"You don't have to. I already know how I did."

I open my mouth but no words come out. I pick up the closest
pillow off the couch and throw it at him. He ducks and it knocks
the lamp off the end table. He catches it before it hits the
floor and puts it back.

"Tell you what," he says as he dodges the next pillow I launch at
him. "You call Henderson while I go get us something to eat. I
have a feeling I'm going to need my strength for round two."

He bends to pick up his shoes, missing another pillow in the
process, and heads for the door.

"You're laboring under the delusion that there will be a round
two!" I finally manage to find my voice as he opens the door.

He looks back over his shoulder. "You're saying there won't
be?"

"I wouldn't bet on it!" I pick up the last pillow on the couch
and take aim.

"Oh, I would." He winks at me and closes the door just before
the pillow gets there.

I shouldn't be thrown by Clark's innuendoes. I should have known
to expect this since he teased me about liking it on top within
minutes of our first meeting. He intrigues me and maddens me
and... there's no one else I ever felt this comfortable or this
safe with. No one else who ever pushed me over the edge and
caught me at the same time.

Of course there's going to be a round two.

"Hmmm," Clark hums and it tickles my cheek where it's pressed
against his chest. "I should tell you something."

"If it's about Superman..." I have to pause for a yawn. "Then I
already know about that."

"It's kind of about that..." He looks away suddenly, towards the
open bedroom door.

"What is it?"

"It's Perry!" He rolls out of the bed and dresses in a blur.
I'm still lying there, feeling lethargic, before I realize what
he's saying. I scramble off the bed, in search of my underwear
as he shuts the bedroom door behind him. I pull my clothes on
quickly and head out to join Clark and Perry.

"... She ended up in the West River so she's probably still
getting dressed." Clark is saying as I come into the front room.

Perry looks at me, than back at Clark and the grin that he was
already wearing grows wider. "Are you okay, Lois?"

"Fine," I say. I get the distinct impression that Perry is just
messing with us. And why wouldn't he? Clark looks as flustered
as I feel. We're both barefoot, both flushed, and we both look
guilty as hell. Clark has finger-combed his hair but I'm
positive mine looks like I was just f... fished out of the
river.

"Apparently there is nothing truly holding you here anymore." His pause was unintentionally dramatic. "You could leave."

Lois held up both hands in front of her. "Oh no, not again. I'm not going to go traipsing off to another dimension so I can create another Superman for you. I'm too old and tired for that." She sighed. "Can't you just let me live out the rest of my years in peace?" She dropped
her head into her hands.

His voice was soft, but steady. "I just thought if there was no longer anything here for you, that you might want to go... home."

Her head snapped up. Her eyes locked onto his. "Home?"

Wells gave her a quick nod. "He needs you."

"Hey," interrupted Jimmy, "wanna see if we can outguess
Dear Annie this morning? There's a good one, today."

"Shoot," said Lois as she began systematically plucking the
raisins from her cinnamon bun.

"'Dear Annie,'" Jimmy read from the Lifestyle section, "'I
think I experienced love at first sight. I thought my
infatuation would disappear but I still feel the same after
three years. I told him I loved him about a year ago, but
he never responded. I think about him all the time. I have
the chance to leave the country for a year. Do you think it
would help to finally forget him? Cynthia.'"

"Leave the country, Cynthia," Lois said as she placed the
raisins in a neat pile on a napkin beside her cup.

"Why do you say that?" Clark asked.

"She's been waiting around for three years, for god's sake.
Can't she take a hint? Cynthia, get on with your life.
Forget him. Go away and have the best time ever."

We get more calls about Dad's speech than we did about Mom being on
the front page of the newspapers, and Mom says it's *not* true what
Daddy says about everyone being too scared of *her* to dare say
anything about her exploits.

Ralph calls Dad "Superman" now and Mom doesn't like it but Dad says
that he'll get tired of it and stop doing it if she quits rising to
the bait and throwing things at him.

Now whenever Daddy's writing a speech and can't think of anything to
say, Mom will sit on the arm of his chair and tell him, "if things
get dull, you can take off your shirt ..." and he'll say, "Lo-is," and
then she'll laugh and slide into his lap and put her arms around him
and start kissing him and then he forgets about being mad at her and
forgets about his speech. Every time.

Clark resigned himself to this thought pattern, and just as the opening credits began to roll, he reached into the bucket to find a few kernels of popcorn.

He froze.

His hand had hit the rough, buttery popcorn, but it had also hit something else. Something soft and smooth. Something small and delicate. Something that also froze at the contact with his skin. Looking down into the popcorn, his suspicions were confirmed. His hand was brushed up against hers.

Not knowing what else to do, he pulled his hand up and out of the bucket. His palms were sweaty, his heart was beating a mile a minute, and his thoughts were racing even faster.

Had she reached for the popcorn at the same time on purpose, or was it just a coincidence? Did she think that he had done it on purpose? Had she even noticed that they had touched? Did she care? What should he do next? Should he go in for the popcorn again? Or wait a while? Or just leave it entirely alone for the rest of the night?

Clark forced himself to take a deep breath -- a super-deep breath -- to calm down, and he began to reason with himself. First of all, she didn't know what Jack had done -- neither did he, exactly, for that matter. Second, she wasn't getting nervous and panicky over a little touch, so why should he? After all, they'd touched hundreds of times before. They'd even *kissed* a couple of times!

But somehow, sitting in a dark movie theater was forcing him to think of things a little differently. He wished that she was thinking of things a little differently too.

Two steps later, though, Lois stopped. Her eyes widened in disbelief as something occurred to her. Then she stomped her foot and let out a yell of aggravation. "Lois, what did you just do?!" she berated herself aloud, the sound of her voice echoing off the alley walls. "Someone just tried to mug you, and what did you do? You beat the crap out of him. What were you thinking?!"

She shook her head in disbelief. That, clearly, was the problem. She *hadn't* been thinking. If she had been thinking, all she would have had to do was place a loud and frightened, "Help! I'm being mugged!" and the very man she was after could have been standing right there in front of her.

She had blown it. Blown it big time.

Lois turned back to her would-be assailant, who was still out cold. Maybe she could wake him up, ask him to try again? She could promise not to beat him up this time if he would let her yell instead.

quote:

"Apparently there is nothing truly holding you here anymore." His pause was unintentionally dramatic. "You could leave."

Lois held up both hands in front of her. "Oh no, not again. I'm not going to go traipsing off to another dimension so I can create another Superman for you. I'm too old and tired for that." She sighed. "Can't you just let me live out the rest of my years in peace?" She dropped
her head into her hands.

His voice was soft, but steady. "I just thought if there was no longer anything here for you, that you might want to go... home."

Her head snapped up. Her eyes locked onto his. "Home?"

Wells gave her a quick nod. "He needs you."

This is the wonderful, beautiful, amazing, stomp-on-the-heart-strings, A Future Reborn by Tank. Best series ever. Best ending ever. Just so, so, so good. Read it! It'll kill you!!

He opened his mouth to reassure the woman that his intentions with Lois were honorable, but just then a small white dog barreled out into the hallway, barking viciously. The next thing he knew, the dog had bit him on the ankle. Before he could react, the dog yipped in pain (he suspected those little teeth hadn’t appreciated biting into a hard-as-steel, invulnerable leg), then backed off, still barking--he suspected in an effort to regain some of its dignity.

Realizing two people were staring at him in wide-eyed shock at the dog’s behavior, he quickly pretended the dog’s bite had hurt and reached over to rub his ankle. “Ow,” he exclaimed, hoping he sounded convincing.

“Princess!” Lois exclaimed, looking over at the dog in dismay. “What has gotten into you? Agnes!”

Agnes bent over to pick up the dog at her feet and gave her a couple of reassuring strokes to soothe the riled animal. Then she glanced back up at Clark and took a couple of determined steps toward him, her eyes suspicious and accusing.

"Princess is protective, that's all,” she told Lois upon hearing the young woman’s protest at the dog’s behavior. “But she's also a pretty good judge of character. She knows better than most people when someone is hiding something." Agnes took a step closer to Clark, the dog still growling in her hands, and she narrowed her eyebrows at him. "You're not hiding anything, are you, young man?"

She's not always so peaceful. She can be pretty feisty at times - it's a good thing I'm invulnerable, otherwise she might well have drawn blood by now. I guess it's her independent spirit that makes us clash, and if I'm being honest, I can be pretty stubborn, too. The result is that we don't always agree: I want to do things my way and she wants to do them her way.

Of course, she can also be aloof and haughty when she thinks I've done wrong. I get ignored on a regular basis.