This part is dedicated to Maria, who throughout WYWG, begged mercilessly for a certain thing to happen... 
~~~Part 2~~~
She was dying. She. Was. Going. To die.
She cowered, her knees hugged tightly to her chest. The tree bark at her back bit at her, but she pressed closer against it still. Safer. It was safer to guard your back.
Huge roots jutted out from the tree. Gnarled. Frightening. Larger on her right than on her left.
But it was shelter. Precious little shelter.
She heard the trumpeting of an elephant somewhere close by. A sound that used to delight her when her father would take her to the zoo as a child. It was eerie now. The sound echoed off the trees. Elephants. She'd seen a few, but... elephants. In a forest. Nothing was right here. Nothing.
Her eyelids were heavy. So heavy. Can't sleep. She couldn't sleep.
The gorilla barked again. Or maybe there was more than one. Three short grunts. Like he was looking for something. For her. A twisted version of Marco Polo, hide and seek, and she prayed feverishly that she'd picked a good hiding spot.
Her stomach roared. She jerked, then stilled, begging not to have been heard, that her stomach hadn't mocked a return call to the gorilla. Don't find her. Don't find her.
Oh, God. She was going to die. All alone. Out here. Jungle. Rainforest. Whatever the hell this was.
A shiver ran down her spine and she shuddered.
Can't sleep. Can't sleep at night. Too dangerous. Only during the day. Can't sleep.
Her eyelids drooped, and she snapped them back open.
She froze.
Wait...
What?
Light...
Artificial light.
Window.
She was looking out a window.
A... an... airplane window.
Right. Breathe. Okay.
Safe. Going home. Safe.
She shivered. Cold. She was so cold.
She looked up, and the stream of cold air from the air valve hit her eyes.
She reached up to turn it off.
Better.
Inhale. Exhale.
She looked to her right, away from the window.
The man next to her was sleeping.
Fine. She was fine. Going home. She was going home.
She let out a long breath. She was okay. She was in an airplane, not the jungle. Headed towards home.
More slow breaths. Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal.
Her name was Lois Lane. She was in a Metropolis-bound plane. She was safe. After three long years, she was safe.
She breathed a heavy sigh of relief and rested her head against the scratchy airline pillow. She swallowed, wishing she could feel more relieved, but the only thing she could feel was the tight ball of anxiety in her stomach.
She inhaled again. Deeply. The air of freedom. Even in the enclosed steel of the airplane, the air tasted of freedom.
A quiet thud called her attention to the small leg space in front of her. The paper had fallen off her lap.
Lois reached down to pick it up and stared at the loud banner of comfort across the top that read "The Daily Planet".
She remembered almost squealing with delight when she'd found the week-old edition in the small reception area of the International Committee of the Red Cross Delegation. She'd squirreled it away in her ratty backpack when the workers hadn't been watching. The paper had been her comfort blanket in the three long weeks it'd taken the ICRC to finally get her back to Metropolis.
The Daily Planet.
Or, in one word - home.
She was going home...
Where no one knew she was alive and the only family she had was buried in the Metropolis Cemetery.
The dread clenched at her gut once again, but she did her best to quell it.
Perry. He was like family.
Perry White, no longer the editor, but instead, mayor of Metropolis. She hadn't ever imagined that Perry had had any political aspirations...
But it was comforting to know that he was still in Metropolis, at least.
Her passport - all she had left to prove she was Lois Lane - listed Metropolis as her home, but she couldn't be sure of that anymore. Her parents and Lucy had been dead for ten years. Nothing was there for her anymore, save for Perry. And he thought she was dead.
She shook her head, trying to clear the maudlin thoughts, the lingering anxiety, and focused on the front page article that had taken her completely by surprise.
"Superman Takes a Break."
She'd read the article over at least a hundred times, searching for something that seemed to be eluding her grasp. The first time she'd read the story, it'd seemed more fit for the National Whisper. A man who flies? Super strength? An alien here on planet Earth, just so kind enough to call himself a superhero?
Right.
Why was it front page news that he was taking a vacation?
The accompanying picture had changed her mind regarding the seemingly ludicrous nature of the article. Mayor White shaking hands with the "illustrious hero", who was scheduled to take a short leave of absence from his duties. She *supposed* that made sense; everyone needed a vacation...
To her, the whole idea of a superhero was absurd, but she knew Perry wouldn't have stood for that, not if it had been a lie.
She stared at Superman's picture in her lap for the thousandth time.
There was something about his eyes...
They were haunted, somehow.
Just like every other time she'd stared at his face, a pang of sympathy hit her.
He looked so... tortured, not by any outward appearances - and certainly not in that garish costume - but there was something in his eyes that said his life was more painful than what he presented to the public.
Lois knew that only too well. The first mirror she'd looked into in years at the Red Cross had shown her those same eyes. She'd spent a lifetime with those eyes, trying to hide all her pain and hurt inside. Maybe that was why, against her better judgment, she empathized with the man in the ostentatious costume.
The latter paragraphs in the article told of his powers and his true identity. He went by the name of Clark Kent, and he actually worked as a reporter for the Planet.
That had shocked her a bit. If he was so extraordinary, what was he doing as a reporter, collecting his paycheck at the end of the week like all the other poor schmucks? Why the pretense? Why not rule the world? Why not throw President Heston out of the White House?
His reasons for attempted normalcy eluded her, but she did know one thing for sure. He was the only one who could help her. She read the date of the article again - August 17, 1996. It was early September now. Surely he'd be back by now from his little vacation. Or he would be soon. Clark Kent was the only one with the powers and the resources she would need to finally put an end to this nightmare.
If he'd help her.
From what she'd read, he seemed to think helping people was his job. She only hoped he'd even speak to someone like her.
***
After eight long months of tediously boring watch duty, she'd seen her. She supposed she should have been excited about it, but she wasn't. Elle Daly sure didn't envy her associate at the Daily Planet; by the looks of her, Lois Lane wouldn't be going into the newsroom anytime soon.
Elle pulled out her cell phone and pressed the speed dial for her boss. She was supposed to report any sightings or possible sightings immediately, then tail her and not let her out of her sight.
The call was answered on the first ring. "Have you seen her?"
She wasn't sure what possessed her to do so, but she answered, "No."
"Then why are you wasting my time?"
Elle didn't flinch at the irate reply. She was done caring. "I think I should abandon post, sir. This operation isn't going anywhere. It's been almost a year now. Don't you think she'd have shown up by now? And how many people can survive the Congolese jungle with just the shirt on their back?"
"You will not abandon post."
"But..."
"Do you hear me, Daly? You're to stay where you are. The Lane woman knows too much, and that makes her a liability. A big one. Stay put!"
The line went dead.
Elle frowned at the phone in her hand, and then shoved it back into her jeans pocket. She wasn't sure why she'd just done that; she may well have put her job, possibly her life, in jeopardy. She'd let Lane walk away. The woman didn't look dangerous. Sure, Elle knew that Lois Lane had been one of the top reporters in the country, but the woman she'd seen walk out of the airport fifteen minutes ago looked nothing but pathetic. Beaten. Worn. But certainly not like a liability to their operation.
Well, one thing for sure, unlike the imposter they'd discovered last year, this had to be the real Lois Lane. As the associate in charge of watching the Planet back then, she had kept careful watch over that one, but she'd overheard the fraudulent Lois's story of a faulty memory and a coma. There'd been nothing to watch for, especially since she hadn't blurted out everything she'd witnessed in the Congo the second she'd gotten there. Then, only two days later, she'd vanished.
It'd been peculiar, but nothing had come of the situation. But this Lois, the one she'd just seen, had the markings of someone who'd been through a lot. Too much.
Elle sighed, dropping back into her seat in the airport lobby and cursing her sudden attack of sympathy. Maybe it was because it'd been such a long, hard trial for Ms. Lane. Just over three years now. She looked downright disheartened. Elle tried to shake the pity from her thoughts. She was getting soft, and she really couldn't afford to do that.
***
Lois lay on a lumpy mattress. She'd gotten a room for the night with the meager funds she had, and now she lay fingering the neckline of her shirt where her gold necklace normally rested.
It was gone now. All the years in the Congo - clinging to its presence for comfort, for the only reminder of home she had - she'd held fast to it. Her grandmother had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday. A family heirloom. It hadn't meant that much to her before. She'd hardly ever seen Grandma Lane, but back then when her family had been in such tatters, she'd liked the idea that *something* could last.
She'd pawned it an hour ago.
Stupid Lane pride... and weariness from traveling... The idea of staying in a homeless shelter, even after all the years on the run, was still unsettling to her. Though, she *would* have... if she hadn't been so tired, mentally and physically, from the trip. She hadn't had the energy to walk all over to find the nearest shelter, and when she'd seen the tacky neon lights of the pawn shop sign, she'd gone in on impulse. She'd gotten just enough money for a few nights at a cheap motel of some sort and a little food as well.
Her appetite, though, had disappeared along with her exhilaration of being home. Her apartment was gone. All her belongings. Her bank accounts. Her job. Everything she'd worked so hard for. Gone. Everything she owned now was tucked away inside her ragged blue backpack.
She had nothing.
Well... she had a roof over her head. That had to count for something. Even when she'd finally made it to the International Red Cross Delegation in Brazzaville, she'd had to stay in a large tent adjacent to the main building with at least a dozen other people. Maybe that was what made her so disconcerted with spending the night in a homeless shelter.
She was home now - even if the current definition of home hung by a precarious thread. This was her first official night back in the States. In Metropolis. She was officially free now. And she'd be damned if she felt uncomfortable her first night back.
She shifted away from the small spring that was poking at her, and looked around the room, really seeing it for the first time. It was small, only a little bigger than the one she'd been kept in for so long. She stared at the walls for good long moments... they weren't moving, weren't closing in. She just had to breathe and she'd be fine. If only she could open the window or something... but it was painted shut, locking her...
Stop it, Lane!
Deep breaths.
The small kitchenette to the right of the door exuded the feeling of freedom. That was good, though ironic considering she didn't remember how to cook - or know how to cook in the first place.
The pay phone on the wall was a bit odd, but its presence would remind her that she wasn't in the Congo anymore. Not on the run anymore. Safe. Home.
Impulsively, she scrambled out of the bed and picked up the phone, bringing the receiver to her ear. The dial tone rang hollow in her ears. Who would she call? There *was* no one. She didn't have a clue what Perry's number was now. And there was no one else. She replaced the receiver dejectedly and returned to the flimsy comfort of the motel bed.
Civilization. At least it was something.
She stared up at the ceiling, drab as the rest of the room in its shade of sullied concrete. She'd have preferred white. Or any color, really. Anything to erase the memories of the cold, dark jungle and the room...
Even silence eluded her. The buzzing of the lone light bulb above her head as it flickered on and off reminded her of the countless insects that had pervaded the wilderness. She turned on her side to avoid its incessant blinking.
That was when it hit her, full force.
Everything.
All the years of running, hiding... getting caught. Fearing for her life. It almost seemed like a horrible nightmare - one which gripped her in its horrors long after she'd woken up.
She wished she was in her room, her bed... all the familiar surroundings that were so comforting after a bad dream. The things that told you were home and safe. That it *had* just been a terrible dream. Instead, the bleak gray walls surrounded her, trapped her, offering no comfort at all.
She sobbed into her pillow, at once feeling a wash of relief and gratitude for her freedom and a shadow of terror engulf her as she looked towards her future.
Her life in Metropolis was dead. Gone. No one knew she was here. No one knew she was alive. She'd spent years establishing her career, making a name for herself. And now the only piece of paper that bore her name was a death certificate, and even that was covered in dust.
She thought she'd be fine once she got back, but she wasn't. She had nothing. No job, no money, no place to live, and nobody to care that Lois Lane was back from the dead.
Perry.
Perry would care.
But how on Earth did a nobody dressed like a transient get in to see the mayor?
TBC...
