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Lois perched on the edge of her sofa, staring blankly at the video cassette sitting in the dead center of her coffee table. It looked harmless enough, yet she was terrified to touch it. Just gathering the strength to remove it from the box that Perry had thrust into her reluctant hands nearly two weeks ago had drained her. Now, feeling as leaden inside as the gray sweatshirt she'd not bothered to change in three days, she sighed. Making the decision to collect it from the box was one thing. Actually going through with viewing it was another.

The tape called to her, beckoning with the promise of a reprieve from reality. Like a cocaine addict licking the microscopic residue from an empty plastic bag, she had willed herself from her bed and stumbled through her darkened apartment searching for a fix, the need to see his face so
powerful that it ripped through the haze clouding her mind. Perhaps for a few minutes, she could forget that he was gone and never again would she see his eyes or smile save the few snapshots she possessed, none of which came close to doing him justice. Like images of the Grand Canyon, a brilliant sunset, or the sparkling turquoise Caribbean, Kodak was incapable of capturing the very essence of the man she had known. She needed to see him move, to see him breathe and speak.

He shifted on the hard wooden chair, looked around the sparsely furnished room and quietly rattled off the names of the items.

"Chair... table... mirror..."

The swell of frustration caused the knot in his stomach to coil tighter and his hands to clench on the grimy tabletop. He *knew* what a chair was...

He knew so much, but at the same time... he didn't. He just didn't know. He couldn't remember the important things, and it frustrated him. He glared at the chair on the other side of the small table and ran an agitated hand through his hair.

Why didn't he know who he was?

He *should* know who he was. After all, that wasn't something you were supposed to forget. It wasn't like he'd misplaced his keys or forgotten to turn the oven off...

His eyes darted around the room, the oppressive grey walls looming over him. The chair scraped backwards as he stood quickly and strode over to the mirror on the opposite wall. Five full strides. Just like the time before, and the time before that. The walls weren't closing in on him. He wondered again if he might be claustrophobic...

He sucked in a deep breath. He was fine. Really.

He was just locked in a crumbling interrogation room at the Metropolis Police Department and he had no idea who he was.

Yeah, he was fine.

"Darn it, Clark!" Lois ran a hand through her hair. "It's like the dratted thing is hiding from me!"

"It's not alive," Clark pointed out. "It can't do anything by itself. You've just laid it down somewhere and don't remember where."

"No way," Lois said. "I remember crossing the room and laying it down somewhere perfectly obvious. I didn't put it under something, or stick it in a drawer, or anything, but now it's gone! The darned thing is deliberately hiding from me."

"*Urr-rr-rr-rp!*"

"Good girl!" Clark Kent said to his baby daughter after she came
out with a monumental burp. The little girl looked rather startled
for a moment, as though she wasn't quite sure *where* that noise
could have come from, but forgot about it and gurgled delightedly
at her father as he lifted her into the air over his head.

Clark, for his part, was feeling quietly satisfied -- as well as
being equally delighted just to be playing with his very special
girl. Burping Laura sounded like something that ought to be very
easy, but there was a knack to it, and Clark thought he had it
-- and Laura agreed, if that massive belch was any indication.

The smile which seemed to be a semi-permanent fixture on his face
these days -- or at least whenever he was able to spend some time
with his family -- broadened as he remembered how he'd been
introduced to the fine art of baby-burping. His mother had once
said that he'd been a remarkably healthy baby -- no problems with
colic or anything like that -- and he'd gathered from passing
remarks by Ellen Lane that Lois had been much the same, but that
was no reason to be complacent.

The view by the lake was beautiful. Completely unspoilt, with
nothing but pine-trees and water so far as the eye could see. The
sun beating down and causing ripples of light to dance on top of
the water. A couple of Canada geese playing close to the water's
edge. To the right, a white-tipped rocky waterfall where the
river emptied into the lake. If Paradise existed, it would be
here, Lois was sure: on this stretch of the north-eastern shore
of Lake Superior.

And yet she was restless. Dissatisfied.

Unhappy.

Yet she was the last person in the world who had a right to be
dissatisfied with her life. She had it all. Married to the third-
richest man in the world. Three mansions, four penthouse
apartments and two beach-houses, including this one, at her
disposal. Servants at her beck and call. Any number of platinum
credit cards. A bank balance amounting to so many digits she
couldn't possibly keep track of it. A private plane or helicopter
to take her anywhere she wanted to go. A top-of-the-range
Mercedes SLK convertible for summer, and an equally top-of-the-
range Mercedes SUV for winter.

Nothing was too good for Mrs Lex Luthor.

She was going to die. She knew that, and it made her angry.

She stumbled, nearly losing her balance, as the men on either
side dragged her along the long, narrow corridor. The leather
hood over her head was suffocatingly hot, and the smell of it
nearly made her retch. She was certain that other unfortunate
individuals who'd been forced to wear this hood before her had
done just that.

She'd committed the cardinal sin of all reporters. She'd become
part of the story. She'd allowed her own disgust and indignation
over the situation here to color her articles. Her reports had
contained more than just the facts. In an effort to more vividly
convey the horror she had witnessed, she had allowed herself to
editorialize.

The old woman stepped out of the hazy shadows of Metropolis Park, walking as briskly as her ninety year old body would permit toward the traffic lights at the intersection on the southeast corner. The slowness of age had led her to a new appreciation of the order and safety provided by the stoplights which, in her youth, she had mostly ignored. Jaywalking was a sport for those more adept at dodging oncoming traffic than she now was. And there was such a lot of traffic, even at this early time of day, just before sunrise. More traffic than she remembered, she thought, as she glowered at a passing taxi which ran the light just as she stepped into the crosswalk. Muttering to herself, she retreated a few paces to avoid being hit. She had forgotten that crossing the road was a survival skill in Metropolis.

Lois Lane stared out of the window of the 727 winging its way
across the United States: destination Metropolis. In the
distance, the cotton candy clouds appeared to hang in the sky by
strings, it wasn't evident that the plane was moving by their
standards; but by judging the speed against the feathery
confections that were brushing the plane wings, time was not
standing still in the sky. She took a deep breath and tried to
relax but her misgivings increased by the mile in anticipation
of the plane finally landing.

The decision to return to the large city had not been easy, the
prospect of starting over unsettled her, but Metropolis was in
her blood. Even more so than the action packed city, journalism
was in her soul; working briefly at a small paper on the West
Coast didn't compare to the way she felt while working at the
Metropolis Star. She tried to separate the two, but it took her
four long months to finally sort out that it wasn't journalism
unless she was working in Metropolis.

Now she was heading to her heart's home. She didn't know who her
friends were anymore, or where she'd work or live, but she
couldn't let him win, not again. It was time to find her niche
again in the newspaper business, this time fighting twice as
hard as before.

"Will the defendant please rise?"

Lois trembled as she forced herself to her feet.

"Lois Lane, the people of Metropolis have found you... guilty of
murder in the first degree."

The entire room became a whirl of colors as she fought to remain
standing. Through the fog in which she was engulfed, Lois could
hear startled gasps of disbelief. Then the noise of the courtroom
was lost in the pounding behind her own eyes.

"Bailiff, take the defendant into custody. This court is
adjourned."

She was barely aware of hands grasping her from behind, placing
handcuffs on and forcing her from the room. It couldn't be. This
was a dream - a nightmare. Any moment she was going to wake up.
The judge hadn't really pronounced her guilty. And yet
everyone... even Perry... even Perry had turned on her in the
end.

She glanced over her shoulder as she was escorted none-too-gently
through the doors at the side of the room, looking back into the
courtroom for a friendly face but found none. No one was there
for her. When it really mattered... Not even her mother and
father had bothered to come.

Doors slammed closed behind her as the light began to fade. It
was over. Everything was over before it really had a chance to
begin.

Perry stared absently at the television screen, lost in thought
as he watched District Attorney Clemmons give a press conference
on the screen in front of him.

"...the tragic fact that Ms. Lane was one of our leading citizens
is only further proof that in Metropolis, no one is above the
law. I believe the sentence of death is wholly fitting. The crime
itself, caught on video tape, the motive, established by the
shocking testimony of Perry White, Editor of the..."

"Turn that noise off!" Perry shot back, sending one staffer
scrambling to turn the television off while the rest headed back
to their assigned desks.

Still, Perry stood, staring blankly at the dark television
screen. He hadn't testified. He really hadn't. And he'd called in
every favor he could, trying to persuade someone, anyone to get
involved. He'd gone all the way up to the governor of New Troy.
But no one was willing to help. No one. 'It would be political
suicide' Perry had been informed more than once.

Making his way back into his office, he sank into the chair
behind his desk, lost in a feeling of hopelessness. Lois Lane...
his Lois Lane... the woman who was like a daughter to him, whom
he had known since she was a journalism student hustling her
first summer job to the remarkable reporter he knew today, had
been sentenced to death. And he, it seemed, was powerless to stop
it.

No. He was not going to think like that. He would find someone
who would listen. He would make someone understand and intervene.

Lois lifted the lid of the machine. The light on the front was
glowing a steady green. She raised the eye-dropper and carefully
dripped three drops of liquid onto the pad on the top of the
machine. They vanished at once. Lois put the dropper back into
the beaker and closed the lid.

The light flickered and winked to amber.

Lois's heart gave a sideways leap, then settled into a new,
faster rhythm. She stared at the light blankly for a few
moments, then an odd, strained smile crept onto her face.

She turned away and began to dress.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clark was having difficulty concentrating. He was supposed to be
finishing his account of the Trevino trial for the Saturday
morning edition, but as he studied his computer screen he could
see Lois out of the corner of his eye.

And Lois had been behaving oddly all day.

She'd been brusque almost to the point of rudeness when she'd
arrived at work this morning, which wasn't unusual - Lois's
temper was becoming a byword in the newsroom, and sometimes there
were lines of strain on her face that made Clark wonder if she
was ill, but nobody dared ask after her health these days. Clark
had resigned himself to this being one of the more difficult
days, and continued reading his email... and then, five minutes
later, she'd brought him a cup of coffee and a doughnut, which
was almost unheard of. He could almost swear she'd been blushing
when he'd looked up in surprise to thank her. She'd leant
against his desk for a few minutes and asked him about his plans
for the day, which had simply consisted of attending the trial
and then coming back to the Planet to write it up; then she'd
bustled back to her desk and ignored him till he'd left.

Now she was sitting in front of her computer screen, pretending
to work but in reality fiddling with all the various objects on
her desk in turn and shooting him surreptitious glances every few
minutes. He had no idea what could be on her mind. He'd
developed the habit of walking her home in the evenings after
work lately, even though the threat to her life had ended with
Barbara Trevino's arrest; but it was only a quarter to five, and
Lois never left work before six at the very earliest.

Still, five was his deadline for this piece, and he needed to
forget about Lois long enough to finish it up. Pretending to be
bothered by the glare on his screen, Clark shifted his monitor
and chair until Lois was no longer in his field of vision, and
set to work.

He knew that he should be doing anything else but the thing that he was doing. He should be anywhere else on earth but where he was, which was outside of Lois Lane's apartment window, watching her silently and trying to work up the courage to make his presence known. Surely someone somewhere needed him worse than she did - needed him in that life-or-death way that was both the blessing and the curse of his entire existence. Often - so often that he was sure it must be a statistical impossibility - she *did* need him like that, needed him to save her from whatever feat of brilliant-stupid-reckless-daring she was attempting in pursuit of the almighty story. How many times had she put her life on the line for a few columns of ink that had long since been tossed in the trash? He'd lost count now. And he knew there was more to it than that, for he, too, was a journalist through and through, but no story had ever been worth the life of Lois Lane. No story ever could be. Since he couldn't seem to convince her of that, however, he had simply stayed close and listened for her call, and when she called, he had always come, in one guise or another.

It was a simple enough arrangement, and until recently it had formed the foundation of his life in Metropolis. Now, however, the foundation was eroding, his whole life crumbling more quickly than he would have believed possible, even knowing the power of Lex Luthor was behind it. There was no longer a Daily Planet, no longer a Lane and Kent. Perry was heading for Florida, of all places, to work on his tan; and Jack was in jail for a crime Clark was sure he hadn't committed.

And Lois...Lois didn't love him.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise to him, let alone made him feel as though he'd been punched in the gut and didn't know where to find his next breath. She'd made herself perfectly clear on the subject from the very beginning; it was only his own foolish, hopeful heart that had allowed him to believe that maybe, just maybe, his love for her wasn't a wasted emotion. She'd put paid to that, however, kindly but decisively, and then she'd undone all the attempts at kindness by asking for Superman. He'd known her to be thoughtless before, but he'd never suspected her capable of such cruelty.

He should just leave...really he should. He should be anywhere, answering anyone else's call. It never worked that way, though. It never had. The whole world could be shouting for him, and he would somehow hear Lois Lane's slightest whisper and rush to her side, even if it were just to offer himself up for another round of her special brand of torture. So here he was, staring into her window like a voyeur as he tried desperately to gird himself for the coming conversation.

She was in her living room, wearing a satiny blue nightgown that hugged her slim form and dipped low enough to make his heart pound and his groin tighten. She would probably be shocked to know that he was capable of such a typically male response. To Lois, Superman was far too noble for such base reactions, and Clark was the safe friend, practically asexual in his comfortable dependability. How he wished just then that either was true. But no, he was neither noble nor asexual, and he'd long since faced the fact that Lois Lane draped in burlap would have the power to stir him; Lois Lane in satin lingerie left him incapable of higher brain function.

Still, the thing for which his body was clamoring was quite clearly not on the night's agenda, so he somehow mustered the willpower it took to drift away from her window and up above the clouds, where he gained control of his more traitorous parts and gave himself a stern reminder of all the reasons she'd given him to be angry with her lately. It seemed to work, too, and when he swooped back to her window, all he would let himself think of was her breaking his heart in one breath and then asking for Superman in the next.

She heard him this time, as he'd meant her to. She jumped up from where she'd been reading, sounding a bit startled as she said his name.

"I heard you wanted to see me," he said, taking care to keep his face blank and his voice neutral.

"Yes," she said, smiling nervously at him. "Please come in. I'll just...put on a robe."

He let his eyes sweep over her blatantly, indulging the impulse just once. "Unless it's lined with lead, Lois, it's a waste of time."

He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw her startled by his crass remark. But then his hurt from earlier in the day made its way back to the fore, and he shook off the guilt and wrapped himself in the pain he was feeling. What a farce this was! Whatever she had to say, he was going to hear it and then get away from her once and for all.

"I guess so," she stammered. "Anyway, I'm just trying to figure out...well, there've been a lot of changes going on in my life and I'm trying to make the right decisions, but I can't until I know...how you feel."

She walked up to him and put her hand lightly on his chest, and he felt like she'd stolen his breath. He shook his head, fighting the urge to step away. "Lois, I do...care for you. But there are things about me you don't know. Things you may never know. Reasons why you and I aren't a good idea."

"It doesn't matter. I know you. And I don't mean you the 'celebrity' or you the 'superhero'. If you had no powers - if you were just an ordinary man leading an ordinary life, I'd love you just the same. Can't you believe that?"

He had to force himself to answer calmly, still desperately wishing for some distance from her. "I wish I could, Lois. But under the circumstances, I don't see how I can."

He saw the tears in her eyes and hardened his heart to them. "I don't understand," she said. "What circumstances? Why won't you believe me?"

Bitterness had lodged itself in his heart like a shard of glass, and suddenly he wanted to return some of the pain and embarrassment she'd dealt him that day. "You're not in love with *me*, Lois," he spat, stepping backwards, moving away from her soft touch, her sweet scent. "You're in love with a role I play when I'm dressed up in a spandex suit my mother made for me. And without the flashy suit, you wouldn't give me a second look."

"That's not true!" she cried. "It's not!"

Without stopping to think about it, he spun into a whirl of color before her astonished eyes, and when he stopped, he stood before her as Clark Kent. "Tell me again that it's not true, Lois," he said softly. He felt a thrill of victory when she backed slowly away from him, her face pale...shocked. He stepped forward, deliberately crowding her. "Tell me you didn't hand me back my heart this afternoon and give me the let's-just-be-good-friends speech."

If you had asked me a couple of weeks ago to tell you who I am, I
could have answered you in a hundred words or less. And that's if
I include my likes and dislikes, else I can do it in half that
amount. Seriously. I'd have told you I'm your typical, run of
the mill, regular teenager. At least, that's who I thought I
was.

As it turns out, a hundred words... would be several tomes short
of the full story. I'm so much more than who I thought I was,
it's almost unimaginable.

You might as well sit down, because this is a long and
complicated tale to tell. Not to mention your knees may go weak
at some point. Once I'm done, I expect you'll want to check my
temperature to see if I'm not feverish and delirious. That's in
the best of cases because it's also quite possible you'll start
screaming and run away as if I had the plague. I'm kind of hoping
you won't do that, but I know better than to have you promise you
won't. Just please believe me when I tell you I haven't gone
completely off my rocker. I still have all my marbles, if you
know what I mean!