The young, athletic, blonde home care nurse with the unlikely name of Buffy bustled around Lois’ living room, shifting this and moving that and generally making Lois tired just from watching her. But when the girl finally stopped moving and smiled at her patient, the room somehow looked better, with everything Lois might need within easy reach of the hospital bed in the middle of her apartment’s living room.
“Okay, Ms. Lane, I think we’re ready for you to be alone for a while today. There’s your water bottle, a basket of healthy snacks – they taste better than they sound – a pee bottle, your walker – which you have to use if you get out of bed and I mean it – your cordless home phone, your cell phone, TV remote, all on the end table to your right, and the bed controller is right beside your left leg. If you have any questions, or if you need me to come back, don’t hesitate to call my mobile number! It’s at the top of your speed-dial list. And I mean that, too. I won’t have you strain yourself or hurt yourself on my watch.”
Lois leaned back against the raised head of the bed. “Thanks, Buffy. I think that’s everything.”
“Not quite. I also laid out two changes of underwear and three sets of sweats on your bed. And if you start bleeding around your sutures again, call me! Even if it’s just a little bit. Don’t try to change the bandage by yourself. You know what Doctor Richards said.”
“I remember.”
“Oh, I almost forgot! This wheeled tray on the left side has your laptop – fully charged and the power supply plugged in to the extension outlet on the cart – three blank notebooks, two dozen sharpened pencils, your dictionary and thesaurus on the second shelf, and a brand-new remote keyboard and mouse with a lap desk. Also your hairbrush, makeup bag, and a new hand mirror.”
Lois grinned. “For all you do, you should get paid more.”
Buffy smiled back. “Remember you said that when my bill comes due.” She picked up her windbreaker. “I’ll be back in about four hours or so. You want anything special for dinner?”
“How about a big pizza with everything on it?”
The blonde frowned. “How about ‘no?’ Your tummy isn’t anywhere near ready for that much acid.”
Lois’ face fell. “Will it ever be?”
Buffy sat on the end of the bed. “I don’t know, Ms. Lane. Dr. Richards told you that the damage to your liver was extensive. It’s only been nine days since you got shot, and you’re doing very well just to be breathing.”
“I don’t know if breathing is enough for me.”
The girl sighed. “Ms. Lane, you’re alive. You’re recovering from a near-fatal gunshot wound. It’s going to take some time to get back on your feet.”
Lois looked away. “Dr. Richards said I probably won’t ever be a hundred percent again. Not like I was before.”
“You mean when people were trying to blow you up or shoot you or drop you in boiling liquid or strangle you or throw you off tall buildings? A hundred percent like that?”
“Ah, the good old days.”
Buffy chuckled and Lois forced a small grin. “Look, everyone loses something in painful life experiences. But we also gain something. You’ve gained a wonderful cook and caretaker. And—”
“You certainly think highly of yourself.”
“No, not me! I mean that good-looking Mr. Kent.” The girl leaned forward and lowered her voice as if trying to keep the kitchen from hearing her. “If he were the reward, I think I’d risk getting myself shot. Hey, he’s coming over again tonight, isn’t he?”
“If he doesn’t have to work, yes.”
“Great! He and I will do rock-paper-scissors to see who makes the soup and sandwiches. Who knows, I may just let him win.” She dropped a big wink at Lois. “I do enjoy being served dinner by such a handsome man.”
If Lois hadn’t feared popping her stitches she would have burst out laughing.
*****
She couldn’t believe the emails she’d gotten. Her inbox was full and she needed to delete some of them, but going through each one would be a trial. Maybe Clark would help her when he came over.
Then one caught her eye.
She opened it and realized that it was a form notice. Another rejection notice from another publisher telling her that her book idea wasn’t bad but wasn’t what they—
Wait a minute.
This wasn’t a rejection.
It – it was an acceptance form!
They – they wanted to publish a book by Lois Lane!
It was the same company, Putnam, who published those alphabet mysteries by Sue Grafton. The acquisitions editor – scroll, scroll, where was his name? Theresa Franklin. Okay, her name. Ms. Franklin liked Lois’ book proposal and the excerpt she’d sent and wanted to see more of her Wanda Detroit novel! And even more interesting, she hoped that Wanda would become a series character! They sold better, apparently, and Ms. Franklin wanted to know if Lois had outlined the sequel yet.
She sat there, stunned, while the import of the email washed over her. If this worked out, she wouldn’t have to go back to the Planet as a desk-bound copy editor or move to rewrite or do something else orders of magnitude less satisfying than investigative reporting. She could parlay this into non-fiction books, too, writing about Lex Luthor – whose complete story still had not been told in a coherent manner, despite the badly informed efforts of a dozen amateurs – or about other career criminals and how they were brought to justice.
And another idea blossomed in her mind, one that she’d been playing with off and on for a couple of years.
There was no shortage of tell-all books about athletes and their drug/alcohol/lifestyle problems, but there was very little information presented to the public about their spouses and children after their falls from public grace. Often the fans would rail at an athlete who’d destroyed his (or occasionally her) career with excess and self-indulgence, but seldom would the story remain in the public eye long enough for the fates of the families to be published. There were divorces, of course, and children who seldom saw their absent parents very often, if at all, and many times the athlete would not maintain the child support or alimony ordered by the courts, preferring to blow it on partying and hiding from legal obligations.
People needed to know the human cost of such behavior.
She could expand it – no, make it a separate volume – and write about entertainers who had done the same kinds of things. There would be even more tales of abandonment, betrayal, lies, deception, and the public would eat it up. Maybe she could interview John Lennon’s first wife Cynthia and let her tell her side of the story of their marriage, what really happened with Yoko Ono. The best part about the whole idea, though, was that Lois could continue to campaign for truth and justice in her own way.
Truth and justice. That reminded her of Superman.
She hadn’t spoken directly to him since the day they’d confronted Jace Mazik and Nigel St. John. Clark had delivered a couple of messages to him from Lois and brought one back from him, but the Man of Steel hadn’t come by himself. Poor thing, she thought, he probably blames himself for me getting hurt. She’d have to tell him emphatically that this was totally her own fault for pulling that stunt with the Yi Chi trance. She also wanted to tell him that if he hadn’t brought that Taser with him and used it on Nigel when he did, they’d both be dead.
But that was a task for later. Right now she needed to reply to this email.
*****
It was Saturday morning and Clark stood in front of Lois’ apartment door and raised his hand to knock.
Then he hesitated. He didn’t want to do this.
But he had to. It was past time for him to move on.
It was eight weeks to the day since the shooting. Lois was mostly recovered now, although she hadn’t gone back to the office yet. Perry had advised Clark to talk to her about it and get a feel for her future plans. The editor’s odd manner hinted that he already knew a great deal about Lois’ plans and didn’t want to tell Clark about them himself.
Or, maybe Perry just wanted him to talk to Lois. He’d kept in touch with her by phone over the last six weeks, and on occasion he’d brought care packages of food and research materials and writing supplies to her. But he hadn’t taken the time to sit down and talk with her. Nor had he asked her about the comments she’d made to Superman as she was getting ready for the grand deception to rescue his parents.
He didn’t think he could take it when she told him once again that she refused to consider a long-term relationship between them.
So here he was, carrying today’s copies of the Daily Planet, Metropolis Star, Los Angeles Times, Chicago Tribune, Phoenix Herald, and Denver Post, along with the latest copies of Newsweek and The Atlantic Monthly. They were all publications carrying the byline of Lois Lane, syndicated columnist, and he wanted to prove to her that he was thrilled at her success and more than a little proud of her. And he knew that she’d earned that success, even if Perry had called in a few favors to get her work in the hands of the feature editors of those publications. Even the Chief didn’t have enough juice to create a career for her if her work weren’t up to snuff.
He also wanted her to autograph each one for his parents. They were also thrilled for her, probably more than her own parents were.
He also intended to tell her that he’d decided to leave Metropolis.
Perry had listened to him, listened to his reasons, heard him out as he laid out his heart and crushed hopes for him and Lois, and refused to accept his resignation letter. “Not until you talk to Lois,” he’d said. In fact, he’d said it eight times. That’s how many times Clark had tried to hand over his letter.
Clark finally shrugged and agreed. He’d talk to Lois and then give Perry his official resignation.
“If you still want to,” Perry had said.
Hence the trip to Lois’ front door.
He might as well get it over with.
But his hand held back. He and Lois had never addressed her semi-confession to Superman about her feelings for him as they had prepared to face Nigel and Jace. He’d thought about writing her a letter, but if he was wrong about how she felt about him there was no way to take it back or alter what he said. He’d almost brought it up on one of his visits to her, but he was afraid that she’d think he was offering himself to her out of pity. He’d waited for her to mention it to him, but despite several long and thoughtful pauses in their conversations, she hadn’t alluded to it.
He’s painted himself into a corner and the only way to get out was to break through the wall and escape. It was the last time he’d suffer in her presence.
He commanded his knuckles to whack on the door and they finally obeyed.
*****
The knock on Lois’ door surprised her. She wasn’t expecting company and wasn’t dressed for it, but rather than turn away a visitor, she decided that said visitor had willingly risked seeing her in sweats and fuzzy bunny slippers. If whoever it was expected a formal reception, someone was destined to be deeply disappointed.
“Hang on, I’m coming!” She thumbed the ‘save document’ command on her computer and stood, something that was finally getting easy for her again. As long as she didn’t enter any long-distance races or weight-lifting competitions, she felt fine.
She opened the door and Clark stood there looking wonderful.
It took her a moment to remember to inhale so she could speak. “Ah – hi. I – I’m sorry. Come in, Clark. Please.”
He slipped in on cat feet and looked around as if waiting for a mad dog to start chasing him. “Hi, Lois. The place looks good again now that the big bed is gone. I don’t want to take up much of your time, but I hoped you’d have a chance to autograph these newspapers for me. For my parents, I mean. They’re really thrilled that you’re getting published so widely.”
She smiled and took the stack of documents. “I’ll call them this evening and thank them. I assume you’re taking these the next time you go visit?”
“Yes. In fact, that’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. If I’m not interrupting you, that is.”
“It’s okay. I’m due for a break anyway.” She walked to her desk and laid the stack down beside a small pile of travel books. “I’ve heard some good things about you from Jimmy and Perry. And Bobby Bigmouth has called a couple of times to bring me up to speed about you. I understand that you and Sharon McClure went out to dinner last week. How did it go?”
His mouth fell open for a moment. “You heard about that?”
She grinned. “Blame Bobby. He’s my source on that tidbit. So?”
“What? ‘So’ what?”
“How was your dinner with Sharon?”
“Oh. Um, it was okay, I guess. She said – wait. No, it’s okay, I can tell you.”
“Ooh. Mysterious much?”
He almost smiled. “Not now. The memo went out today. She’s moving out to Central City to work in the district attorney’s office. Seems some guy calling himself the Flash is running around like a manic vigilante, dropping criminals off at police precincts left and right. They need more people to handle the increased volume of criminal cases, and she decided to help them out.”
“I’m sure they’re lucky to have her. And what about you, Mister New Partner Kent?”
This time he looked mildly exasperated. “You don’t miss a single tidbit of gossip, do you?”
“Gossip? I was asking about your new partner. Her name’s Karen, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “Yes. Karen DeLong, rookie reporter with lots of street smarts and ambition. She’s got a lot of rough edges, but she also has a lot of potential.”
“Didn’t you list her as a contributor to that story on Lieutenant Governor Liedecker a couple of weeks ago?”
“Yes. We staked out Liedecker at his girlfriend’s house upstate. Jimmy found out he was passing information on construction bids to her and she was giving them to her brother in the mob. Karen and I got him red-handed on both that and cheating on his wife.”
“Didn’t he claim not to know that she was related to a mobster?”
“He did. I don’t know anyone who believes him.”
“Good work. When is your next stakeout with Karen?”
He grimaced. “Second Thursday of next week, I hope.”
“What? Why? Is she that boring?”
“Oh, no, she’s a fount of information, both personal and trivial. She minored in economics at Ohio State, played a year of women’s pro basketball in France before the league folded, plays the tiple for relaxation—”
“Wait, what’s a – a tiple?”
Clark sighed. “The tiple is a Central or South American stringed instrument with twelve strings in four groupings of three, sometimes referred to as courses. Karen prefers to tune hers like the four upper strings of a guitar, D-G-B-E, which is considered the ‘modern’ tuning. All of the trios of strings except the highest have the middle string tuned an octave higher than the inner and outer strings, giving it a wider range of sonic palettes. It can be strummed or picked, and is often used in Latin groups like a mandolin is used in traditional American country or bluegrass music. Karen prefers the Columbian style instrument rather than any of the Puerto Rican – what’s so funny?”
“Ha-ha-ha! How many times has she told you all that?”
“I’ve lost count. Karen is bright, hard-working, enthusiastic, willing to take direction, attentive, very intelligent, but I cannot for any amount of money or level of threat get her to shut up!”
She wrapped her arms around her stomach and laughed as hard as she dared. After a moment he chuckled and said, “Yeah, I guess I’m a little sensitive about that subject. Hey, how are you keeping yourself busy? I know you’re doing your syndicated column, but what else have you got going?”
“Quite a bit. I was editing the chapter I’ve been working on this week when you knocked.”
“Chapter?”
Her head tilted to one side. “No one’s told you?”
“Told me about what?”
“My book deal with Putnam. In addition to the Wanda Detroit mystery I just sent to Teresa – she’s their acquisitions editor – I’m doing a brief history of my career so far, with emphasis both on the bad guys I’ve helped bust and the people who have done so much to help me bust them. Perry and Jimmy are both in it, Eduardo, Cat, Ralph, and Eddie, and my network of snitches – under assumed names, of course – and you figure prominently, too.”
He smiled at her. First real smile she’d seen from him for weeks. Maybe months. “I do?”
“Of course, Clark. Without you I’d be dead.”
His smile fled like a rabbit from a coyote. “Without me you might not have been shot, either.”
“Clark, you mustn’t take all – Sit down with me.” She took his hand and guided him to her couch, then tugged on his hand until he sat beside her. “Don’t be ridiculous. That was my choice and mine alone. I had to practically threaten Superman to get him to agree. But you already knew that, of course.”
“Well, yeah. I’m still really sorry it happened.”
“Believe me, so am I. This is not a dietary method I endorse.”
They shared a brief smile. “I understand. You sure sound like you’re keeping busy, Lois. The columns, the book deal, your job at the Planet – uh, you are going back, aren’t you?”
She shook her head. “Not full-time, and not as an investigator. I’m on partial disability from the paper now. I don’t have the strength or the stamina for those seventy-hour weeks any more. In fact, my doctor threatened to chain me to my bed if I tried to go back full-time.”
He looked stricken. “What? Oh, no, Lois! I had no idea you – that it – I didn’t know!”
He looked like he was about to bolt, so she took both of his hands in hers. “Of course you didn’t. I didn’t tell you. And before you ask, I have my reasons.”
He hesitated, then asked, “Would you share them with me?”
“Of course. No secrets, Clark. Not anymore.” She released his hands and leaned back. “First of all, you didn’t comment on my new couch.”
“Your new – oh, right, it really is more comfortable.” He shifted on the cushion and nodded. “Hey, that’s a lot better than your old one. Looks just as good, too.”
“It needs to be. I’m going to be spending a lot more time on it.”
He frowned slightly. “I don’t understand.”
She sighed and looked away. “That bullet – it hit me in the liver, Clark. Tore it up pretty badly. Oh, what I have left works well enough for a normal life as long as I don’t exert myself too much and stay on a fairly restricted diet. You know, low acids, reduce my sugar intake, no alcohol, cut way back on caffeine, watch my portions, get plenty of sleep, try not to get threatened by bad guys trying to take out Superman, that kind of thing.”
She watched his face out of the corner of her eyes as she came to the end of her list and noticed a flash of humor in his eyes. That was a good thing. Maybe this would work after all, even if this wasn’t anywhere near the way she’d envisioned telling him.
Her gaze dropped. “Anyway, I’m about fifteen pounds under the weight my doctor thinks I should carry, but I’m going to sneak up on it so I don’t overshoot and get fat, which would be just as bad for what’s left of my liver if not worse. And I’m going to be working from home a lot, even when I get well enough to travel regularly. I’ll live a normal life, but I won’t be able to be an investigative reporter any more. It’s just too much for me now.”
She turned back to look directly at him and was surprised at how pale he’d become. His mouth moved but no sound came out, and she knew he was blaming himself for destroying her career and her health.
“Clark Kent!” she snarled. “This is not your responsibility or your fault! I’ve always known something like this could happen to me. Why, just since you’ve known me, I’ve been almost blown up, nearly drowned, almost dropped in boiling acid, shot at more than once, strangled almost to death, and worst of all, nearly married Lex Luthor!”
Her voice softened and she tried to smile. “And every time I jumped in the deep end of the pool without checking the water level, Clark, you’ve been there to pull me out and help me get through it.”
Some color was coming back to his features, and she thought he’d missed what she’d said about him saving her. Then his face hardened and his voice came out flat. “Some people might say that I’m a jinx for you, that I brought all that down on you.”
“Then they’re stupid! And you’d better not use that as part of your excuse for leaving town because I won’t put up with it!”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Leaving town – Did Perry call you this morning?”
“No, but you’re not hard to figure out. When I went to Smallville with you that first time, one of the ladies told me that with you, what you see is what you get. And for the most part she was right. You don’t lie, Clark, except for your one big secret, and I understand why you’re keeping that one. But you are who you are, no matter where you are or who you’re with. You don’t change personalities to fit in or gain an advantage.”
“You don’t either.”
He had to be upset. He’d missed her reference to his ‘one big secret.’
“No, but I make people mad by being myself. You make them comfortable and they tell you things I’d have to pry out of them. That’s part of what makes you a great reporter. And you mustn’t walk away from that.”
“That’s not what I’m walking away from.”
“I know that!” She jumped to her feet and immediately regretted it. The scar tissue in her abdomen caught and pulled and the sudden sharp pain bent her nearly double.
Before she registered it, she was in his arms with her feet off the floor. “Lois! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! What can I do? How can I help?”
Between gritted teeth, she whispered, “Just – just help me – sit down, please. It will pass in – in a minute.”
She felt herself drift down like a feather until she knew he was sitting on the couch again, holding her in his lap as if she were Dresden china. The pain eased away and she slowly relaxed.
When she opened her eyes, she saw tears in his.
“No, Clark, don’t cry. It’s not your fault. I just moved too fast. That’s one of the things that will take some time to heal. You didn’t do anything.”
He blinked and dripped a tear on her shoulder. “I – it hurts me so much when I see you in pain. I can’t stand it.”
“It would hurt me a lot worse if you left Metropolis. Please don’t go.”
His face contorted and he sucked in a breath. He looked like she’d just asked him to choose between two particularly painful tortures.
She couldn’t let him leave like this.
No. She couldn’t let him leave at all. She had to tell him what was in her heart.
“Clark, I—”
“Lois, I have to go. I have to leave Metropolis. That’s what I really came here to tell you this morning.”
