Chapter 5

Lois sat and waited. The single stool at the counter of Clark's tiny kitchenette was the only available seat, so she'd perched there. She was regretting it now. The stool was hard and uncomfortable, but the only alternative was Clark's bed.

She'd taken a gamble and come here after Clark's abrupt departure, reasoning that it had been so close to when he'd needed to be at the airport that he might just go straight there and come back for his luggage later. After all, he was Superman. It couldn't take him more than a few minutes to fly to Paris and back.

The look on Clark's face before he'd turned and walked away haunted her. She'd never seen him so ... desolate. Even when she'd rejected him and asked him to get Superman for her almost in the same breath, it hadn't been as bad. She shivered. She'd been so wrong. So utterly, appallingly wrong.

She recognised his distance, after she'd turned him down in Metropolis, for what it was now - an attempt to protect himself. She'd been doing it herself for years - people couldn't hurt you if they didn't get close to you.

She should have realised what he was doing then. Instead, she'd gotten angry. She'd picked fights over the stupidest things. And he'd fought back. The fights they'd had before her aborted wedding to Lex Luthor had been nothing compared to the ones before Clark had left Metropolis.

Fighting about Mayson Drake - the fight that had stopped him from hearing the car bomb that had claimed her life.

Fighting about the Resurrection story - a fight that had culminated in Clark blaming her for Mayson's death.

She'd all but stopped talking to him after that one. And she'd started dating Daniel Scardino.

Kissing Dan in full view of the newsroom - and Clark - had been needlessly cruel.

Perry told her after Clark was gone that he'd put in his request to transfer to Europe later that day.
He'd tried to tell her he was leaving. For two full weeks he'd tried to get her to talk to him and she'd brushed him off, holding a grudge when she knew full well that Clark didn't mean what he'd said.

And then one morning she'd come into work to find his desk bare and a letter taped to her monitor.

She sighed. She'd made such a mess of things.

Clark loved her, she had no doubts about that now. But he'd given up hope.

It was up to her to put things right. If she'd didn't, she was pretty sure she'd lose Clark for good.

* * * * * * *

Two hours later, she was starting to think she'd lost the gamble. She'd lost an hour trying to get his address before finally giving up and calling Jimmy. Maybe he'd ducked back here before going to the airport after all.

Finally she heard the scrape of the door handle turning and the door swung open. He looked as tired as she'd ever seen him.

“I see your lock picking skills are just as good as ever.”

She chose to ignore the sardonic comment.

“I liked your place in Metropolis better”, she informed him. Looking around, she suppressed a shiver. His apartment in Metropolis had been warm and welcoming, like the man himself. This place was stark, cold, unfriendly. The only personal touch in the tiny apartment was a framed picture of his parents on the night-stand. “Where is all of your stuff?”

“At the farm. I'm not here much.” Walking forward, he dropped his jacket onto the bed. “What are you doing here, Lois? Other than to criticise my apartment, that is.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“I said all I'm going to say earlier” he replied, sounding defeated as he turned towards the wardrobe. “I really don't have time right now, Lois. I'm due at a reception in an hour and a half and I need my tux.” He pulled a suitcase out of the wardrobe and started piling clothes in it.

She got up off her uncomfortable chair and went and stood next to the bed, her hands on her hips.

“Damn it Clark Kent, you are not running away from this. Not this time.”

He heard the anger in her tone and stopped packing, slowly turning to face her.

“That's better. Now, you sit there -” she pointed at the end of the bed “and listen.”

Dumbfounded, he sat obediently.

“When you left Metropolis I was angry, Clark. I was angry with you for leaving, and I was angry with myself for being hurt that you left. I told myself that it didn't matter, that you couldn't have cared about me or you wouldn't have left -” she held up a hand to forestall him from speaking - “and I told myself that I was better off without you. And then I came here, and I saw how unhappy you are. You rarely smile, you barely talk to anyone, you live like - like this.” She gestured at the almost clinically bare apartment. “Then there's our conversation from earlier. I hurt you, Clark. I didn't know I was doing it and I didn't know how badly and I'm sorry.” She looked away, taking a deep breath. She looked back to find his gaze intent on her face. “So much pain, and all because I was too afraid to admit ...” She took another breath, shakily this time, and met his gaze. He looked wary but she could see a spark of hope kindling in the depths of his eyes.

“I love you, Clark.”

He stood and stepped towards her, the wariness warring with the hope in his eyes. She saw him swallow hard.

Her fragile composure broke and she flung herself at him. “I've been such an idiot, Clark. It wasn't until you'd left and I'd lost you that I realised how much I loved you and then I thought for sure that you didn't love me and - please tell me I'm not too late, Clark!”

His reply was a groan as he crushed her against him, burying his face in her hair. She could feel him trembling in reaction as he held her close. Finally he loosened his grip, letting her move back enough to look up at him. “It's not too late, Lois. Not if you really mean it.”

“I mean it, Clark. I love you.”

A blinding, brilliant smile in return took her breath away. Gently he slid his hand under the curtain of her hair, cupping her cheek. “And I love you.”

He dipped his head and kissed her, a sweet, tender kiss that hinted at restrained passion. Their first real kiss, instead of one designed to mislead - or say goodbye.

They broke apart for a moment, smiling shyly at each other.

Afterwards, Lois wouldn't be able to tell who moved first, but suddenly she was in his arms, her own arms looped around his neck, being thoroughly and passionately kissed.

* * * * * * *

He hoped he wasn't dreaming.

If he was, then he hoped he never woke up.

Lois was here, in his apartment, in his arms, kissing him like she'd never let him go.

There was a little voice at the back of his head, almost drowned out by the rush of passion that was fogging his mind, trying to remind him of something he had to do, somewhere he had to be.

Then Lois' tongue found his and he banished the voice, surrendering instead to the intoxicating feel of her slender body pressed up against him, the taste of her as their tongues stroked and entwined, the faint scent of her perfume ... They broke apart only to breathe before coming together again, unable to get enough of each other.

The chiming of his neighbour's clock through the flimsy wall of his apartment impinged on his consciousness finally, breaking the spell and recalling him to a sense of his obligations.
Reluctantly he broke the kiss as she moaned in protest, drawing a little away from her. He took in her kiss-reddened lips and realised that his hands were resting on her waist under her shirt and his own shirt had gotten unbuttoned at some point. He smiled at her shakily.

“Clark? Is something wrong?”

“No ... and yes.” He sighed. “I don't want to do this, but I have to go back to Vienna.” She looked at him blankly. “The reception, remember? I have to be there.” He gently disentangled himself and finished his packing at super speed. Then he walked back to her and caressed her cheek. “Are you sure this is what you want, Lois? It can't be a normal relationship. My life isn't normal. I am not - normal. And I can't promise that I'm not going to have to leave, sometimes at the worst possible moment. Are you sure you want an absentee boyfriend?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I'm sure, Clark. I love you and I want to be with you. If that means putting up with Superman, then that's fine with me.”

He grinned. Two years ago, she wouldn't have considered Superman to be of less importance than ... well, practically anything.

“On two conditions. One ... you always come back. And two ...” she continued in a playful tone of voice. “You take me flying.”

He kissed her. “I will always come back to you, Lois.”

He glanced at the clock on the night-stand. “I have to go. I”ll come back. We'll go flying.” He kissed her again, and with a regretful look backwards, picked up his bags and left the apartment.

* * * * * * *

Lois sipped at her third cup of coffee for the morning and pulled a face. The newsroom brew was thick and bitter, and she was already close to her personal limit for the day.

She was finding it hard to concentrate this morning. Her mind kept wandering back to the night before ... and Clark.

The look on his face when she'd told him that she loved him. The way he kissed. The feel of his bare skin under her hands ...

She shook her head to snap herself back to the present. As enjoyable as it was, she didn't have time to sit and daydream. Perry had only given her a limited amount of time in Paris and it was rapidly running out. She froze.

Time was running out. Soon she'd have to go back to Metropolis ... without Clark. Last night, neither of them had mentioned what would happen when Lois' time in Paris was up.

Surely he'd come back now? Yesterday it had sounded like she was the only barrier to Clark coming home. Now that he knew she loved him and wanted to be with him, that barrier was gone, right? But what about his job here? She knew he preferred investigative reporting to the correspondent work he was doing now, but Clark would never shirk on his obligations. Was he on a contract here?

The phone ringing next to her elbow was a welcome distraction from her unprofitable wonderings. Picking it up, she heard the unmistakeable sound of international dialling pips. There was a pause, and for a moment she wasn't sure if the call had dropped out.

“Lois Lane.”

“Lois? It's Jimmy. I've got some information for you.”

“Hi Jimmy. What'd you find?”

“I haven't been able to get into some of the European passport controls ... their systems are really locked up tight.”

She put down her pencil. She could see her only real lead evaporating, and fast.

“Jimmy -”

“But I did get a hit on his credit card. He's at the Hotel Sacher, in Salzburg.” He spelt it out for her. “So how's Paris? Have you been - hang on, I've gotta go, the Chief is calling me.”

“Bye - “ The line went dead “- Jimmy.”

She put down the phone. Salzburg. She doubted she could get there, but she knew who could. She dug around and found the piece of paper that Clark had written his cellphone and hotel phone numbers on.

Picking up the phone, she dialled Clark's cell, squashing down the little surge of nervousness and telling herself off for acting like a giddy teenager. She must have called Clark at least a few hundred times, so why should this be any different?

* * * * * * *

Clark wasn't sure if this level of tedium was unique to summits of this size, or if it was simply because he wanted to be roughly 700 miles west of Vienna.

He plastered a pleasant smile on his face while he listened to one of his more long-winded colleagues talk about the trip he'd recently made to Moscow, while letting his mind wander. Suddenly aware that he'd been asked a question, he was saved the necessity of answering by the buzzing of his cellphone. Stepping away with a moue of regret, he flipped open the phone and answered.

“Clark Kent.”

“Hi Clark, it's me.”

He couldn't help but smile at the sound of Lois' voice. Looking around, he moved through the crowd and found a quieter spot so he wouldn't be disturbed.

“Hey. I was just thinking about you.”

“Really? I've been thinking about you too. I'm not interrupting you, am I?” She sounded anxious.

“No. They've stopped for morning tea and a photo op” he reassured her, knowing that he sounded a little exasperated by the whole process of the summit.

“So how are things going?”

“Slowly. I'd rather be in Paris working with you. How is the story going?”

“Actually that's one of the reasons I called. Jimmy tracked Mathieu's credit card. He's in a hotel in Salzburg.”

“And you want me to go and talk to him.” Clark stated, a grin on his face. He should've known it wouldn't be long before Lois started taking advantage of his ... unusual abilities ... to help an investigation.

“Can you?”

“Sure. Give me the details.” He jotted the address down on the notepad he habitually carried in his jacket pocket and repeated them back to her. “Got it. And Lois?”

“Yes, Clark?”

“I love you.”

He could hear the smile in her voice as she replied. “I love you too, Clark.”

Closing the phone, he took another look at the agenda for the day. No one would notice if he left for a little while. Leaving the function room, he found a deserted alley unobserved by security cameras and spun into the Suit.

* * * * * * *

Reaching the border city of Salzburg and finding the Hotel Sacher only took a few minutes. At hotel reception, he took advantage of the distraction of an overworked clerk to scan the register and find out what room Mathieu was in.

Locating the right room, he tapped on the door and waited. From inside, he could hear someone moving around but they didn’t come to the door. He knocked again and announced himself.

“Monsieur Mathieu, my name is Clark Kent. I'm a reporter for the Daily Planet-”

“Go away.” The voice was muffled by the door. Clark wasn't giving up. He knocked again, more forcefully this time.

“I just want to talk to you.”

This time the door opened as far as the safety chain would allow and a dishevelled, unshaven face peered around the edge of the door.

“I said, go away.”

Clark stood his ground. “I know about La Complet Joconde.”

Through the small gap left by the safety chain, Clark saw the older man's face pale.

“You're a reporter. Why should I talk to you?”

“Because I can help you. My partner and I are trying to find whoever stole the artworks.” He could see Mathieu wavering. “Please. Before it's too late.”

The door shut in his face, and from inside he could hear the unmistakeable sound of the safety chain being disengaged. Slowly Mathieu opened the door, looking around warily before gesturing for Clark to enter.

He was about fifty, Clark knew from the background he and Lois had dug up, but right now he looked closer to sixty five. His dark, thinning hair was ragged and unkempt, his eyes were bloodshot and his hands trembled. He looked as close to collapse as anyone Clark had ever seen.

“How do you know about the painting?” he asked hoarsely.

“A friend saw the real one being loaded into a van.”

“They'll blame me.” A shudder went through the smaller man's frame. “I had no choice.”

Clark guided the man to a nearby chair. Taking the one opposite, he leant forward.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Late one night, I got a phone call at my home ... he said he knew I was the restorations director at the museum, and he would give me 3 million francs if I'd do what he said. He said he knew about my wife ... I asked him what he wanted. All he wanted was for me to write orders for the arms to be taken to an outside restorer, outside of the museum.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, he continued. “My wife is very ill. She has multiple sclerosis ... she's getting worse. There's an experimental treatment ... it's very expensive, but it's the only thing that helps. I needed the money.”

“So you said yes.”

He nodded slowly, the guilt he felt written all over his face. “I met with the man. I gave him the papers, he gave me the money. Two days later, his men came and took the arms.” Mathieu sighed. “I felt guilty. The money is still there, in a briefcase in my office.” He sighed again. “That night, he called again. This time he wanted me to substitute the copy of La Complet Joconde. I said I wouldn't, and he laughed. He said that I would get something that would change my mind. And the next morning, I got a letter in the post. It contained a picture of my daughter, and a note.” He paused. “My daughter is away, studying ballet. She is a very talented dancer, maybe even good enough to be prima one day. The note - the note said that if I didn't do what he wanted, he would cut my daughter's tendons. She would never dance again.”

Clark listened with mounting anger. Mathieu was undoubtedly guilty of taking a bribe in the theft of the arms of the Venus de Milo, but threatening the man's child? No wonder he'd caved and substituted the fake painting.

“What else could I do? My daughter ... I could not let her be hurt. I swapped the paintings, and then I left town.”

“I want to help you, Monsieur Mathieu, but I need some details. What did the man look like?”

“I don't know. I never saw his face. He wore a hat pulled down low, and his collar turned up high ... all I could see was his mouth.”

“Can you tell me anything about him? Was he French? Caucasian?”

“He was Caucasian, yes, but not French. He was American, but well educated.”

“Did he give you a name?”

“Yes. He called himself the Phoenix.”

Horror struck, Clark stared at the older man in disbelief.

It couldn't be possible. Luthor was behind bars. Clark had put him there himself.

“The Phoenix? You're sure?”

Mathieu nodded, puzzled. “Yes, I am sure.”

Fighting to maintain his composure, Clark stood and offered his hand to Mathieu. “Thank you for telling me this.”

“Wait. How did you find me?”

Clark forced a smile. “Your credit card. Do yourself a favour. Keep moving around, and don't use your credit card to pay.” He gave Mathieu his business card. “If you need me - if he finds you - call me straight away. I'll send someone to help you.”

On autopilot, he headed down to the lobby and outside.

It all made a horrible sort of sense. They never had discovered who owned the vault under the Metropolis Museum of Art. What better candidate than Luthor?

That meant that Luthor had had his globe. The thought made him feel sick. Luthor had heard the messages from his father, meant for Clark's eyes only. Luthor had come so close to discovering Clark's landing place on Earth. No one had ever accused Lex Luthor of being unintelligent. There was no way he would have failed to put the information together and realise that Clark Kent and Superman were the same person.

Clark and his parents would've been at Luthor's mercy.

Clark shook his head. All of this was supposition. Luthor was safely tucked away on Stryker's Island in Metropolis. Opening his cell phone, Clark dialled a number dredged from the depths of his photographic memory.

“Henderson.”

“Henderson? It's Clark Kent.”

“Kent?” The usually cynical police detective's tone was laden with surprise. Clark could picture him, cup of coffee in his hand, saturnine countenance with one eyebrow raised. “I thought you were in Europe, somewhere.”

“I am. Vienna, at the moment. Henderson, can you tell me something? Is Lex Luthor still behind bars?”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and for a few moments Clark thought they'd been disconnected.

“Henderson?”

“How exactly did you come across that piece of information, Clark?”

Clark closed his eyes. He was right. It was Luthor behind the thefts.

“He's here, Bill. Well, he's in Paris. I just got done talking to a source, who says he was blackmailed by a well educated American calling himself the Phoenix.”

“Paris. Thanks for the tip, Kent.”

The line went dead. Clark sped up, searching for a quiet place. As soon as he was away from prying eyes, he changed into the Suit and launched himself into the air.

If Luthor was at large, Lois was in trouble.

* * * * * * *

Collecting the last few pages of van registrations from the printer, Lois made a fresh cup of coffee and settled down at her temporary desk. She didn't know what she was looking for in the printout- wasn't sure if the information she wanted was even in the printout. But she had to check. It was tedious but necessary work. The thought occurred to her that it would go much faster with Clark around - he could use his super-speed to get through these seemingly endless piles of paper in seconds. Then it occurred to her to wonder how many times he actually had used his super-speed for the purpose.

Sipping at the coffee, she scanned down the lines of registered owners, looking for something that set off her instincts.

On the third page, she came across a familiar name.

“Carlin Imports!”

It might have been a coincidence, but Lois wouldn't bet on it.

She sat back. In Metropolis, she'd have her Jeep at her disposal, but here? She wasn't convinced that her rusty schoolgirl French would be sufficient to get a cab driver to do what she wanted. For a moment she considered asking Joe Patterson if she could borrow the Planet's car, but the thought of being cooped up in the tiny Panda, possibly for hours, induced almost instant claustrophobia.

Instead she grabbed her bag and headed out of the Planet building. Once outside, she hailed a taxi to the Gare du Nord. From there, she knew, she'd be able to hire a car.

* * * * * * *

It took her longer than she'd anticipated to make it through the press of people at Europe's busiest train station to the hire car desks, arrange the rental of a nondescript mid size sedan, then navigate her way through Paris to the registered address of Carlin Imports, but finally she was in place.
The premises proved to be a small yard full of shipping containers, which she supposed made sense for an import company. One of the containers had apparently been converted into an office of sorts. All in all, it didn't look like a place that she'd expect to find a disgraced, fugitive ex-billionaire. But then, the last time she'd seen Lex it had been in a sewer.

She kept as low a profile as she possibly could while she surveyed the yard. It all looked deserted.
She had just made up her mind to come back with Clark in tow when her driver's side window was shattered. A strong arm was suddenly wrapped around her neck, choking the breath from her. In the rearview mirror she caught a glimpse of the man Evan Williams had described.

It was the last thing she saw before everything went black.