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Now I understand how Eddie has managed to keep his distance from all the super-kids and Superman: he’s just like Linda—he can sense them!

I like that he’s figured several things out on his own. Fortunately, he’s not a bad kid. What would have happened if his mother hadn’t wanted him because of who his father was? I’m no expert on the subject, but I imagine it must be incredibly difficult to overcome the trauma of abuse and then love the child who was conceived as a result of it.

Best wishes, Nan, and thanks for continuing to share!

CarolD

Finally finished my fanvid for auction winner KSaraSara. Such a brilliant song, I had so much fun making this even if my software did keep crashing 😂 Enjoy!

Lois & Clark - Arms

So here’s a new chapter. Let me know what you think. 😁
Thanks everyone for reading, replying and/or leaving a like.
Huge thanks to my BR Socomama and 90stvfangirl. ❤️

TOC

Chapter seventy

The phone rings.

I stop.

“Lane.”

“Lois. I just got off the phone with Henderson. The MPD found people in the basement. Over twenty individuals.”

I breathe in sharply. Clark stops beside me.

“How long?”

“They didn’t say.” Perry’s voice is careful. “They’re in poor health. Some of them more than others. The hospital is not releasing names. The police are trying to find next of kin first.”

I press my lips together. More than twenty people, and somewhere there are families who don’t even know where they are. I glance at Clark. His eyes are on the file on the table. There's something in the set of his mouth that makes me think of all the people who must be wondering what happened to someone they love.

He looks like he wants to do something, though there’s nothing we can do now.

“Your story ran an hour ago. Stagg’s made a public statement before the ink was dry.” A pause. “It’s what you’d expect: denial and promising to cooperate with the police. He’s also named a culprit from middle management.”

“Of course he has.”

“He held a press conference, and announced a fund to cover medical care, temporary housing, and ‘every legitimate need’ of the survivors.”

“Every legitimate need,” I repeat. “Translation: he gets to decide who counts.”

“Exactly. He’s also ordered an internal review run by lawyers who report to Stagg Industries. That’s not accountability. It’s a firewall with a press release.”

I press my fingers against the receiver. “He’s making himself the rescuer.”

“If he pays the bills, he can point to every receipt and claim he made things right. Meanwhile, the people who were locked in that building may be too frightened or dependent on his money to speak up.”

“The survivors. When can I talk to them?”

“All of them are currently being treated at the hospital. Right now, only police and medical staff have access.”

“But?” I can hear that there’s more.

“That’s why I’m calling.” Perry’s voice shifts into editor mode. “Henderson says the doctors may clear some survivors for interviews over the weekend. Anyone who agrees can speak to the Planet anonymously. No identifying details, and we’ll put out a separate call for next of kin. Anyone who recognizes someone goes through the police, not us.”

“Good. When can I go?”

“You get three hours with everyone willing to talk as soon as they are cleared. You go alone. No pressure, no crowding. You broke the story, Lois, but these people have been through a lot.”

“Understood.” I glance at Clark, and take his hand. “Perry, there’s something else I wanted to discuss. Would you like to have dinner with us tonight?”

“I’ll come by, when the Planet is put to bed. Gotta go now. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The click in my ear is loud.

I yawn and stretch after replacing the receiver.

Clark looks at me and leads me to the couch. “Sit down while I whip up something to eat for us.”

He returns to the kitchen and I close my eyes for a moment.

***

When I open them again, there’s a blanket covering me and Clark stands in front of the couch with two steaming bowls in his hands.

“Here’s some soup, do you want to eat at the table or do you want to stay here?”

“Let’s eat on the couch.” I sit up to make room for him. “How long did I sleep?” I take one bowl from him after he sits down beside me.

“Not long, maybe fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“I didn’t even realize that I was tired.”

He smiles and sinks back against the cushions. “Then stay put. I’ll do the rest.”

I lean against him, the soup warming my hands beneath the blanket.

We eat slowly. Clark keeps his bowl balanced on one knee, his free hand resting lightly against my shoulder, and every few minutes he glances down to make sure I am actually eating.

“This is good,” I say after a while.

“It’s only soup.”

“It’s good soup.”

He looks pleased with that.

When the bowls are empty, I set mine on the coffee table.

Then my stomach growls again.

Clark looks down at me. “Still hungry?”

I shrug.

“We should go out for groceries then, we don’t want you and your sister to starve over the weekend.”

“Now?”

“Why not?” he asks. “I could go without you, if you’re too tired.”

“No. If I let you go alone, you’ll probably just buy vegetables and nuts. Someone needs to put the right things in your cart.”

He takes the empty bowls to the kitchen, and I reluctantly sit up, folding the blanket over the arm of the couch.

***

Clark takes the basket and heads for the produce section. He chooses several types of fruit, examining each one before placing it carefully inside. Then come the vegetables.

In the next aisle, I get an urgent craving.

“Pickles.” I add a jar to the basket. “The really sour ones.”

“Pickles?”

“I used to hate pickles.” I reach for a second jar. “Things change.”

He makes room beside the yogurt.

“And those crackers.” I point toward the shelf. “No, the other ones. The salty ones.”

He adds them without comment.

By the cereal aisle, I have acquired cheese puffs, a box of sugary cereal, chocolate-covered biscuits, and a family-size bag of chocolate. Clark places granola, oatmeal, and a box of bran flakes into the basket beside them.

“That’s not a pregnancy craving,” I tell him.

“It’s breakfast.”

“It looks like cardboard.”

“It has fiber.”

“So does the box.”

His mouth twitches. He adds the cereal anyway.

Then I see the peanut butter. An idea arrives fully formed: peanut butter on a pickle, sprinkled with crushed cereal. It sounds like the single best thing I have ever considered eating, and I have to stop myself from opening the jar in the store.

He looks at me with a half smile and adds another bag of pecans to the basket.

We spend much longer in the store than either of us intended. Clark reads labels, checks dates, and makes sure we have enough food for the weekend. I keep discovering urgent requirements in every aisle, even food I have never liked in my life.

By the register, the basket looks less like a grocery run and more like we’re stocking for winter. The cashier divides everything into several bags. Clark pays without a word, without a single raised eyebrow, and carries all of them himself.

“You’re not going to say anything?” I ask once we’re back on the sidewalk.

“About what?”

“About choosing all that healthy food, only to watch me bury it under chocolate and ice cream?”

He shifts the bags to one arm and takes my hand with the other.

“You’re pregnant,” he says. “I’m making sure you have what you need. If you want ice cream and chocolate, we'll have ice cream and chocolate.”

“And the bran flakes?”

“Those are the healthy options I’m going to sneak onto your plate when you’re not watching.”

“Then I’ll make sure to keep an eye on you.”

“I have no objection to that.”

***

Back home, Clark puts away the groceries. “I thought we could make curry for dinner tonight.” He places the sweet potatoes onto the cutting board.

“That sounds good.”

He glances at me. “You could help.”

“If you want me to.”

“You can chop things.”

While he starts preparing what he needs for the curry, he sets out onions, garlic, ginger, and the vegetables we bought, cutting and arranging them.

As the curry begins to heat, I watch him.

“Show me something.”

He looks at me.

“In the kitchen. Something simple.”

That earns me a small smile. “Come here.”

He pulls the mixing bowl from the cabinet, the big one, and sets it on the counter between us. Then the oats, the bag of pecans, and an apple from the bowl by the window.

“Oatmeal cookies,” he tells me. “Simple, and healthy enough to count as a snack.”

He hands me the apple and a small knife. “Peel this first. Try to keep as much of the apple as possible.”

I start peeling, and he stands close beside me, one hand resting lightly on the counter.

“The curry can simmer while we make these.”

We break the pecans into pieces by hand rather than chopping them. He demonstrates, and I do the same, the nuts crumbling between my fingers. There’s something satisfying about it, the clean snap, the irregular pieces falling into the bowl.

He measures the oats by eye, then adds an egg.

“That’s not a measurement.”

“It works every time.”

“That’s what people say before it doesn’t.”

His mouth twitches as he hands me the spoon. I stir until the mixture thickens, the apple pieces catching between the oats and pecans.

My back begins to ache before the dough is ready. Clark takes the spoon from me without comment and finishes mixing while I lean against the counter.

“Now make a cookie,” he says, handing me the spoonful of dough.

I drop it onto the baking sheet. It spreads into a lopsided mound.

I give him a look and make the next one. It’s marginally better. By the time we finish, the sheet is covered in uneven rounds, some larger than others, none of them remotely identical.

Clark slides the cookies into the oven and sets the timer.

Then he moves back to the curry. The kitchen fills with the scent of onions softening in oil and the warm spices he adds one after another. I hand him things when he asks, staying close enough that our shoulders brush whenever he reaches past me.

“Now we wait until the cookies are done.” His eyes shift toward the new couch.

I follow his gaze. “Then we have time to cuddle, right?”

His smile comes slowly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He holds out his hand. I take it and settle beside him, tucking myself against his side beneath his chin. His arm closes around my shoulders.

“Comfortable?” he asks.

“Very.”

He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then another just above my temple. I slide my hand beneath his arm and curl my fingers into his shirt. His lips meet mine.

“Love you,” I murmur.

His expression changes.

“I love you, too, Lois.”

He kisses me once more, then draws me back against him. I close my eyes.

I rest my hand over his heart. He covers it with his own.

“Do you think they’re doing any better?” I ask. “The people from the warehouse?”

“I don’t know.” His thumb moves over my knuckles. “I wonder if there’s been any news.”

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV on, keeping his arm around me.

LNN has picked up the warehouse story. Lex Luthor fills the frame in a dark suit, standing behind a podium bearing the LexCorp seal.

“What happened in that warehouse is a disgrace.” His expression is grave. “LexCorp is establishing an emergency fund to provide medical care, rehabilitation, and long-term support for the survivors. We cannot undo what has been done to these people, but we can make sure they are not left to face the consequences alone.”

The camera pans to an oversized LexCorp cheque.

“He’s making sure everyone knows he’s helping.”

“Is that a bad thing? Lex Luthor has done a lot for this city over the years.” I look at Clark.

“Maybe.” He watches Lex smile for the cameras. “But I just wish the cameras weren’t part of the aid package.”

“You’re right, the oversized cheque is probably a little much.”

The report moves on to Stagg Enterprises. Stagg states his denial of any knowledge of the warehouse operation, while the company confirms that Brenton Oswin, a senior logistics manager who had been with the company for seventeen years, has been dismissed pending investigation.

The screen cuts to a photograph of a middle-aged man in a business suit.

“Seventeen years. And there’s only one person who needs investigating.” I raise an eyebrow.

“What happened in that building is an abomination,” Stagg says. “Senior leadership had no knowledge of these activities. We are cooperating fully with authorities, and we have identified the individual responsible.”

“Convenient.”

He doesn’t argue.

Then the broadcast cuts to the hospital entrance.

“The hospital has also confirmed a substantial private donation from an individual who requested anonymity. The funds will help cover ongoing care and other needs as survivors begin recovering.”

I watch the screen. “That’s good.”

Clark looks at me. “The donation?”

“The fact that someone helped without needing a camera pointed at them.” I nod. “Someone who thought about what those people might actually need.”

“That’s how it should be,” he answers.

I tilt my head to look at him. “What is?”

“Helping someone. You don’t do it so people will think you’re a good person. You do it because someone needs help.”

I study his face for a moment. He says it so simply, as though there’s nothing else to consider.

“And if they never know who helped them?”

“Then they never know.” He shrugs.

I lean against him again, turning his words over in my mind. On the television, the anchor moves on to the next story. I reach for the remote and mute it.

T. B. C.

They're getting closer. I fear for Clark, because getting closer also means it's going to be more dangerous.

Yep, starving the fans was a major hobby of those evil producers. They as much as admitted it in the DVD extras...



It's just one of those A-plot holes the writers didn't give a damn about and we viewers had to patch up for them.
One explanation: disasters happening in other parts of the world were way outside Clark's telepathic radar, so he could only pick them up randomly off TVs and radios. We can imagine how slow news must have been in the '90s. So usually, by the time he heard about it, it was already too late. That's why Superman sightings outside of Metropolis had been rather scarce before "Vatman."



Yes, indeeed. I always sensed something rather sparky between Luthor and Superman. And I’m pretty sure there are fanfics dedicated to their love-hate relationship.


I think the default setting was that L&C’s mutual attraction was genetic. It was the same with Clois, and with Alt-Clark.



I like this line a lot. It shows how deeply ingrained Clark's farm-boy nature is in his personality. No matter how weird his life has become, he could never quite wrap his head around things as “far out” as sci-fi or voodoo, because such wild ideas went against his "ordinary" upbringing.



I think the reason she didn't give up on Superman the way she gave up on Clark is that she never had much hope for Superman in the first place. Superman is a celebrity who's expected to be out of reach—but Clark isn't. I bet when Lois first marked Clark as her prey, she probably thought for a while that he'd be a rather easy one to catch. And the fact that she couldn't reel him in only did more damage to her already dangerously low self-esteem. Poor Lois.



Exactly. The fact that Luthor was willing to take such a huge risk is clear proof of how shallow his "love" for Lois really was, even by villains' standards.
One reason I keep bringing this issue up is that controlling, manipulative men like Lex Luthor are in abundant supply in real life. And women with low self-esteem do tend to misread men’s strong, persistent desire for domination&possession as "love." Such misjudgment produces real victims and often leads to domestic abuse. That's why I feel we should always be careful not to encourage such harmful illusions when writing romantic stories.
Bottom line: stay away from controlling men, ladies! No matter how charming or persistent they are.



Well, even if Superman miraculously smartened up somehow, Clark still wouldn't take his place in "Vatman," because he wasn't yet ready to accept Lois as his life partner at that stage. Personally, I don't think he was ready even in "BATP." He only declared his love because his hand was forced by Luthor. And his not being ready was the real reason he chickened out on Lois at the end of "THOL."
But he was definitely ready in "Metallo," a solid year after "Vatman." (You have to admire this guy's sluggishness.) And he did have an honest conversation with Lois in that episode to put an end to her Superman fantasy, just like you advised him to.
By the way, the timeline in the first half of Season 2 was scrambled too. The events in "The Eyes Have It" actually took place before "Season's Greetings." In the corrected order, Lois no longer had any romantic entanglement with Superman after their late-night conversation in “Metallo”.



You are absolutely right. I’ll see what I can do to honor the clone’s tragic death in the commentary on “Fly Hard”.

This was so fun! It was easy to figure out who the visitors were - excellent characterizations!! The excuses were truly Cheese of the Month Club worthy, and the headlock had me in stitches!! Fantastic job, thank you for sharing!!

It's time! We are having a Christmas ficathon this year!

If you want to participate, then get me a prompt composed of a list of 3 things you want in a story and 3 things you want left out of a story, due by 30 October!

I'll shuffle these lists up and assign them to authors on Nov 1, and then you will have 2 1/2 months to write, write, write!

Stories are due 15 Jan (because, holidays...).

I'm accepting prompts by DM on Discord, by email at veritycantare@gmail.com or in Private Message here on the Boards!

Format:

Authors will post their own stories and table of contents on this day. There are no extra challenges this year, because writing during the holidays can be challenging enough, haha.

At the end of each story, the author should include the prompt and who the story is for, like this:

2026 Christmas Ficathon for Verity

Wants:
Snarky banter
Definitely kissing
Hot chocolate

Don't Want:
Either of them with anyone else
Zebras
Jimmy Interruptus (regular Jimmy is fine)

If you want to see how this works, the master thread for last years ficathon is here

https://www.lcficmbs.com/ubb/ubbthreads.php/topics/302987

What a serious and in-depth piece! I suspect the problem you raise here is part of the reason I'm not comfortable with Clark Kent being written as such an extreme altruist. A person needs a certain amount of selfishness to stay alive and retain their sanity. But the L&C writers didn't give this character nearly enough.


This is another issue you bring up that the series never addressed. To protect Lois Lane's innocence, the L&C writers created an idyllic world with no rapists. In the ugly reality, a female reporter with that kind of recklessly aggressive style would have been sexually assaulted multiple times already. Real criminals rape female prisoners before murdering them—they don't grant them a dignified death. That's why whenever I saw Lois get caught by villains, I was strongly reminded that I was watching a lovely fairy tale, a blissful escape from the rotten real world.


There's one theory worth considering. It's called "the law of conservation of misery." The central idea is that misery, like energy, is never destroyed—it just changes form or moves from one being to another. Trying to reduce suffering for one person or in one place only increases it elsewhere, where you can't see or don't realize it. For example: feeding a hungry person chicken and potatoes makes both the feeder and the hungry person happy. But the misery doesn't disappear; it's merely passed on to the chicken and the potatoes. Anyone who keeps a chicken as a pet will tell you that chickens are highly intelligent animals capable of deep emotions. And scientists have already discovered that plants not only feel pain but can also recognize the specific person who harmed them, which means plants likely possess intelligence—or even souls—that we humans can't yet perceive.
So if the Almighty ensures every human is happy on Earth, it wouldn't be fair to other living beings, because energy and resources are limited on this planet.
Of course, I'm not saying we should just lay back and let things be. But theories like this do help if the suffering in the world affects one's emotions too much. They also remind us that instead of trying to solve all the problems on Earth, it's more important to try not to pile extra misery on others. For example, if chicken is enough to satisfy our needs, don't go for Chianina steak. It's much less environmentally friendly.



I think it's simply because we were shown a version of a parallel universe in which Lois Lane was particularly lucky. In other universes, other Lois Lanes must have died in all sorts of gruesome ways at different points before her wedding.
And who knows—maybe every one of us suffers our own share of misery in at least one version of a parallel universe. So it's all fair in the end.



I agree with your second point—the Lois Lane in this story feels more like the Lois Lane from early Season 2, soon after Clark "robbed" her of her Kerth Award, when L&C were briefly warm, platonic friends before they started dating.

I have a feeling I might have read this fic on the Archive a while ago...


I loved this line

Oh, sure, you can, but she can't?

Shhh, you weren't there, so you can't butt in.

What a scene I'd think it was some eccentric serial killer.

Terrifying.

I have a very vivid imagination and tend to visualize things a lot, so I feel like my eyes have just witnessed an image I'd rather forget!



Moral of the story: never try to justify a man's lack of interest in you, or you'll end up embarrassing yourself.

DARCY in Pride and Prejudice: A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment.

Oh, an interesting observation, indeed...

Help!!! Jimmy! Have we just unlocked a new ship? Lois x Mayson? Loson?

Funny how he's more concerned about the furniture xD

Sometimes, it seems like the obvious really does need to be said.

Diva. Don't waste your time on those two weirdos!

How considerate of him.

Oh no! How cruel!

I love all kinds of comments, honestly!

I have reading to catch up on too, and even more things to write. Good luck to us both

Thanks for commenting! ^^



I found some really cool emojis, some of them extremely specific haha!

NOT ! (That sentence is much deeper than it might seem at first glance, huh?)

I've read part of this one too! (Hm, I'm doing this too much )

And the male of the species (debatable) is choosing yet another weird tie.

Oh, what a shame. I think she blends drama and comedy with incredible skill. She tackles sensitive subjects, but in a way that doesn't feel overwhelming, and there are lots of funny scenes. She draws you in with the suspense and also writes about sex and relationships in a really interesting way, unlike anything I've read before. That's what made me think you might enjoy her books (Narrator's voice: Peixinho has not given up yet, because she believes Wikipedia's summary did not do the author's work justice )

One of them is you writing it, right?

Luckily, you warned me!

Story

Comments

It's a huge relief Clark didn't run away. This Trask guy is really scary. I hope they'll soon find a way to bring him down.

Summary: Being a hero sometimes has a bitter taste, especially when dealing with problems that are bigger than anyone could expect to solve alone – even if that someone is Superman.

Author's Notes: When the days start to taste like I want Latin America to be free + seriously, am I the only one who can see the misogyny in this situation? + hunger is profitable for the big billionaires and that's why it perpetuates itself + we should be able to protect all our children, seasoning them with a little writing can help with digestion. So welcome to a story born from the reflections of someone who probably has OCD (I'm not sure, since I haven't been able to consult with a professional in the field yet for a few reasons). And last but actually most important: this fanfic takes place at the end-not-so-end of season 1. Probably before Vatman. I should warn that there are no explicit scenes of violence here, but there is a paragraph with some dark accounts right at the beginning.





Funny how being Superman was, simultaneously, the best and the worst experience of his life.

It was so rewarding to save lives, to use his powers that had once been a source of anxiety for good, to make the world a better place. But it was also so agonizing to think about why so many lives had to be saved.

The girl who committed a heinous crime and who in the past had been sexually, emotionally, and physically abused several times. The other girl, who got pregnant due to a rape and was prevented by her father from having an abortion – and then sought an illegal clinic, knowing she couldn't bear to carry the fruit of that violence, and died during the procedure. The man who killed himself due to exhaustion and loneliness and whose fatality was acknowledged as just a corpse delaying the subway. The family stricken by cholera, living in a polluted area with no basic sanitation. The city that was almost entirely destroyed by the flood because it hadn't been well planned. The young Black man whose body was found hanged from a tree. The gay young man who was beaten in the street and left quadriplegic. The recovering drug addict who volunteered with animals and always helped his neighbors, shot multiple times by police officers. Children who hadn’t had anything to eat for months, whose bones were almost all visible beneath their wounded skin.

"Son, you need to have dinner."

And he had. He had everything. He had loving parents, a good job, a good boss, good friends, food, clothes, buying power, exceptional powers – the pleasure of rising from the ground and flying whenever he wanted, feeling completely free, or at least pretending to feel that way. Because as much as he could save people and raise funds for those in need and give talks to raise awareness about social causes and speak with world leaders to ask for peace, there was so much that was beyond his reach.

"Son?"

Clark looked at his mother, clearly worried, leaning over him with one affectionate hand on his shoulder. He almost flinched, but he held back. A little further away, leaning against the window of the cozy farm kitchen, was his father, also watching him attentively. Clark looked at the dinner. Chicken stew with potatoes. And for dessert, there would still be apple pie.

The smell was the most wonderful and nauseating thing in the world. In Somalia, in Haiti and in Sudan many people had nothing to eat. His parents' worry about him was the most comforting and unfair thing in the world. How many people, if they had been truly loved as every human being deserves, would not have become criminals or suicides?

Who he could have been, without their constant love, far from the warmth of that farm, that life, and that name they had given him? Could he have become an all-powerful dictator, without empathy or responsibility, guided only by his own desires and by the ease of fulfilling them?

"Clark, we know what you're thinking," said Jonathan, his voice firm and gentle. "And it doesn't make any sense. Refusing to eat won't solve the hunger in the Gaza Strip."

"I don't need to eat. Maybe I'm just wasting resources," Clark shot back, without thinking.

"You can be sure, son, none of this planet's problems started because Superman decided to eat a piece of chicken," Jonathan insisted.

Clark looked from his father to his mother, who now, besides worried, stared at him with a glint of tears in her eyes. His heart tightened at the possibility of having hurt her.

"Mom..."

Martha pressed her lips into a pacifying smile and shook her head, turning to grab something from the oven.

He sighed and ate a potato. Splendid. Potatoes were, along with tomatoes and onions, the most wonderful vegetables nature had ever invented.

"... God, son."

Clark swallowed the piece he was chewing. "What?"

"I meant that it's understandable for you to feel this way," Martha repeated. "You see so much suffering on so many different levels, and you feel you need to remember these people, to carry their pain in your memory. But Clark, not even Superman can do that. You couldn't be an archive of every injustice you witness. That job belongs to God. He is the witness of those who suffer, and also the advocate and the judge."

How many times had he not repeated this to himself? He had lost count. But why did God allow so much suffering? What was the purpose of all of it? How would He judge those who never knew love and therefore could never act in accordance with it? Or did He, as the final and perfect representation of love, always make sure to find everyone, beyond what reports and stories could fathom?

Please, find them all.

"So you're asking how we can deal with the guilt of having a good life while others can barely survive?" paraphrased Jimmy, when Clark approached him the following morning, at the Daily Planet. "Is this some new angle for a story?"

"Uh, more or less," he answered. "And I didn't say 'guilt,' that's not what it's about."

"To me, it's the same thing. The way you put it, it sounds like you want to punish yourself."

"Clark wants to punish himself?" Lois, who had just come over to hand Jimmy a file, asked. "If you need help, I'm right here at the desk next to yours." She gave him a pat on the shoulder. "I'm happy to be useful."

And she was indeed very good at punishing him, better than she could ever imagine. Sometimes, because of the way she treated him compared to Superman. Of course, Clark understood that she didn't want to hurt him, especially since she wasn't aware of the whole truth, and that was consolation enough. Most days, at least. But he wondered if the reason he kept using Superman to complicate Clark Kent's situation with her was a subconscious impulse of self-sabotage, since in the vast majority of aspects, his life was wonderful. His mother had mentioned something of the sort a few weeks ago, when she told him she was starting to take an interest in psychology.

Beyond that, there was the fact that Lois always escaped death at the last minute – whether due to her own luck or his desperate efforts, as he couldn't even imagine going on if he lost her. At the same time that he was grateful for all of it and for the instinct that helped him save her, he recognized, deep down, how unfair it was that other people didn't have the same opportunities he did. After all, as long as Superman's secret identity remained intact, his loved ones would be the most protected human beings in the world. How many others had already lost people they cared about for far less than Lois's risky investigations? She had become an integral part of the happiness he lived every day. Was it fair for him to be happy, even against the odds? And what if the day came when he failed to save her? If he had to choose between Lois, his parents, Jimmy, and Perry against the safety of the rest of the world, what would he do?

"You have to stop thinking so much, C.K., or you'll go crazy," Jimmy advised. "Look, I think sinking into that kind of sadness is surrendering to the system, it's doing exactly what they want. They manipulate us to weaken and control us. The best way to rebel against that is by being happy." Then he stopped and raised an eyebrow at Clark. "Did you sleep last night? You don't look so good."

Superman didn't need six hours of sleep. And he could take advantage of that extra time to save more lives.

"If I were one of those people who suffer so much, I would feel very sorry for anyone who wasted their life mourning me," answered Cat, stroking his collar with a long fingernail, after Clark repeated the question to her. "I would be outraged by the waste of time. We should be happy on their behalf... Even to honor them, don't you think? Isn't that what every human being was born for, Clark, to find joy and pleasure?"

He muttered something and hurried off to finish a bland article so he could get a chance to ask Perry. When he finally did, the editor stared at him as if he were a little crazy.

"Look, son, things are as they are." Perry gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Everything that happens was supposed to happen, and that's that. There's no point in getting lost in those paths that will never be walked, unless you want to leave the paper to write a novel. Or to check yourself into a psychiatric clinic. That kind of thing, besides being a waste of time, is dangerous for your mind. Take care of yourself, and then you can keep doing your work with excellence to contribute to society. Try to think that way."

His partner, who would usually be the first person Clark would turn to when discussing that kind of issue, was very excited and busy with a solo piece she was working on, so he could only catch her at the end of the workday.

"What is that thing cows do?" she answered him with another question.

"What do you mean?"

"That thing they do with food. They swallow it, then it comes back..." She made a face.

"Oh, right. Ruminating."

"Yes. That's what you're doing, walking around all day obsessing over this. What good does that do?"

He thought for a few moments. "I guess I can't help it. It's not an easy question, and there's no right answer."

"I think most people would say everything is God's work, or fate's," Lois opined, glancing at him as she organized the mess of papers on her desk. "It's more comfortable to think that way."

Clark furrowed his brow, reflecting in silence as he listened to the almost hypnotic sound of the paper. "No, it's not more comfortable."

Lois studied him, pressing her lips together, and her verdict on his state seemed to come along with her sigh. "You're really not okay, are you?" Without waiting for an answer, she took a step toward him and put her hands on his shoulders. For one embarrassing and confusing second, Clark thought she was going to massage him, but then she gave him a pat and withdrew her hands. It was already the third pat on the shoulder of the day and he was starting to feel kind of like an idiot. "Have you... um... talked to your parents about this? You guys talk about everything, don't you? Maybe they can help you."

Clark nodded. "I have. It was my mother who said that role belongs to God – to be the memory of all suffering and of all people, and to do justice and vengeance, that kind of thing. And that not even Superman could expect to have part of that role. But I'm tired of never seeing any change happen, you know, Lois?" He raised his voice and opened his arms with all the helplessness he felt. "We watch the news, complain, and then go back to our rose-colored world. We buy, we eat, we forget. Nobody does anything."

"Whoa, that's an unexpected change! Usually, I'm the pessimist and you're the optimist, remember?"

Clark sighed, tired, and looked away toward the large newsroom window, which showed a lilac sky and its orange rays like a painting by an artist who repainted the same canvas every day. If God was so attentive to the details of the sky, He was also attentive to all people, wasn't He?

"Clark, you're not going to give up, are you?" Lois's hand was on his shoulder again. He tensed up, annoyed at the thought that she would give him another pat, but her hand remained firm, heavy, and warm. Clark looked into his partner's brown eyes, so sweet that he could barely meet them. "Your mother is right. Not even Superman could do that. Do you remember what I told you about him a few months ago? That whatever he could do was enough."

"I do." Again, how many times had he not repeated this to himself? He had lost count of that too.

"It's not his fault if humanity has problems with roots so deep that sometimes all he can do is prune the branches. And he needs to be okay if he wants to have the strength to keep saving people."

Great, Clark thought. One more obligation Superman has to fulfill.

"And that's something we have to do too, Clark," Lois went on. "Even though we're in a different position. We're the ones who expose the truth behind the tragedies, who try to actually solve the roots of the problems. That takes longer, and it's very complicated. Maybe we'll never see concrete results from our attempts, or maybe it'll take a while – and that's frustrating, I know it well – but we can't give up. Someone has to do this work, to shoulder this responsibility."

"I don't know if I can–"

"Oh, Clark, of course you can!" She squeezed his shoulder. "Otherwise, you would have fled Metropolis in the first week. Instead, you're asking advice from the worst advisor in the world because you're desperate to convince yourself that all of this is worth it. And it is, Clark. In our own way, we change the world, and we'll never be satisfied with it because... because there's always something to improve. And we need to take care of ourselves if we want to keep working well. That's why, you see, the Kerths exist. We have to turn a part of that struggle into something that deserves applause and recognition. And that's why I need to win every one I can, and also chocolate, and to watch The Ivory Tower, and you need your horribly sweet coffee and–"

"Wait, you watch The Ivory Tower?"

"No! That was just an example." She withdrew her hand from his shoulder and Clark felt cold instantly.

"I mean, it doesn't seem like your style..."

"I already said I don't watch it. Well, I'm glad you're already better, from what I can see."

Recognizing that she would turn to leave, he stopped her, touching her elbow. "Lois, just so you know, I don't think you're the worst advisor in the world. You really helped me. Thank you."

She seemed a little uncomfortable. "But seriously, think about what I said, Clark. We owe it to the people who depend on us to keep our sanity so we can fight for them. And you're so hard on yourself. It's almost like you're living in a perpetual 'Superman Complex.'"

He smiled slightly at the irony. "You too."

She let out a laugh and raised her eyebrows. "Not me. I'm too pragmatic to fall into that kind of trap, thank you very much."

"As long as you're being honest with yourself, Lois."

"Oh, I always am. Well, you're welcome. I'm glad I could help. I just hope you don't pull one over on me and use all of this as encouragement to steal the next Ke– I mean, my next Kerth."

"I promise I'll be honest too and I won't steal it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Of course. I should have known the farm boy would eventually stab me in the back." He laughed, shaking his head, and she continued, "So... I think you should get me more of that mysterious Chinese food to make up for it. It's the least you can do, don't you think?"

Clark stared at her, feeling his heart beat calm with a sense of certainty, but also energized by the warm brown of her eyes and the orange glow of the sunset coming through the window. A breeze also came in through there, bringing a new freshness he didn't even know he needed.

He thought of God's last creation, man and woman, to whom He had given His breath of life. Both standing in the Garden of Eden, not knowing they would be the parents of an entire humanity that would eternally long to go back to paradise. A divided humanity, which would make mistakes and commit atrocities, and yet one day might manage to return.

Instead of the Garden of Eden, however, they were standing in the newsroom, more than aware of what good and evil were. They weren't in any perfect place, but how many positive changes could their work together bring about? Just like so many other warriors who contributed to making the world better, the Lane and Kent byline could somehow help humanity to one day return to paradise.

And using his undeserved powers and privileges just to buy food in China and thereby make them both happy maybe wasn't so wrong after all.

"Yes," Clark finally answered. "We should have dinner."





Well, well, well. Look at me referencing Utopia even though I don't like the way that concept was introduced in the show at all. But who says we can't make the most of the things that displease us, right?

I accept and appreciate any kind of comment, consider leaving one FDK

📺 Saturday @ 6:30pm PST‼️
Season 1 Rewatch of Episode 5:
🥊 "Requiem for a Superhero"
Originally aired October 17, 1993.

The FoLCs 3/7/8 Discord

This is simply beautiful. I love how Lois comforts Clark through the after effects of this latest kryptonite exposure.

Hope the thread of strength and stability was reached. If so, hold onto it with both hands.

The Chewbacca Factor: Part 2
by Nan Smith

December 28th dawned clear and cold with a good six inches of snow coating the ground, Lois saw when she looked out the sliding glass doors of the living room. The aluminum picnic table under the Red Maple tree that graced the small back yard of the townhouse, now completely bare of leaves, was also coated with several inches of white.

It was a good thing that the team of Lane and Kent had no set hours anymore, as long as they continued to bring in the headlines, she reflected idly as she set bowls, silverware and mugs on the kitchen table. Today, in honor of the approaching New Years Day, the Jason C. Hunter Middle School football team, the Cheetahs, was scheduled to play the Jasper A. Groverton Grizzlies. The Cheetahs and the Grizzlies were the two top teams this year among the five middle schools in the Metropolis area and this was the first of the final trio of games that would determine this year’s champions. She, Clark and the kids were dutifully set to attend to support CJ’s and Marta’s school.

Absently, Lois switched on the radio, listening to the morning news with half her attention, but her mind continued to focus on the upcoming game between the two middle schools.

Groverton Middle School was an establishment situated in one of the toughest areas in Metropolis. It bordered Suicide Slum and Lois had heard a number of stories about it a few times before, and not in a particularly complimentary way. She hoped the coaches would exercise firm control over their players when they played the Cheetahs. She didn’t want to pre-judge any of the kids, but there had been a few incidents at one time or another, that made her a little uneasy. Last year in early November they had played one of the other middle schools in the city. Groverton had won, and her husband had been involved in breaking up a riot afterwards that had left several blocks across town somewhat the worse for wear. The worst part of it had been the fact that the riot had involved many of the players’ attending parents. She hoped sincerely that they didn’t have a repeat this year.

Clark walked into the kitchen, and reached for the big chef’s apron to protect his regular clothing from spattering grease. A few moments later, CJ and Wyatt entered. Clark glanced over his shoulder at the pair. “Breakfast will be ready in a few,” he said. “How about scrambled eggs and bacon for starters, and pancakes?”

“I’d better get Jonny and Jimmy, and the Terrible Trio ready,” Lois said. “And wake up Marta and Linda. We need to leave at eleven-thirty.” She departed, tightening the belt of her bathrobe.

Life in the Kent household had evolved into a routine that was absolutely necessary if they were to have any semblance of organization, now that the triplets were thoroughly mobile. Fortunately, Lois thought, as she climbed the stairs, she and Clark had gone through training with the older kids and had a much better idea of what to expect this time around. To her surprise, at least so far, the trio had somehow proven to be the easiest to manage of their offspring. Clark pointed out that they tended to entertain each other, even to the point of speaking their own private language which Lois had only partially managed to figure out.

She reached the top of the stairs and opened the door to the triplets’ nursery. “Okay, guys, rise and shine!”

**********

“Be careful,” Sally told Eddie as he started out the front door. “And as soon as the bus drops you off after the game, you come right home. I’ve got the afternoon shift at the diner today, so you’ll need your key.”

“It’s in my pocket,” Eddie said. “Be careful, Mom.”

“I will,” she said. “Rory’s probably sleeping off a hangover, so he likely won’t show up ‘til this evening sometime.”

“I’m coming over to the diner after the game,” Eddie said. “I’m going to walk home with you when you get off.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’ll be all right,” his mother assured him.

Eddie wasn’t so sure. His mom didn’t get off work until after dark, and this area wasn’t even safe during the day. He’d had a bad feeling when he’d gotten out of bed this morning, knowing he was expected to attend the game at Jason C. Hunter Middle School at noon today. He hadn’t explained to Sally his reluctance to go; she had enough to worry her without him piling his problems on her, too, but he was thinking about Harlowe Nelson again. Of course, he didn’t go by that name. Everybody just called him Hutch, though Eddie couldn’t figure why. But Harlowe had been on his case for weeks and it would be just his luck if the guy wound up on the same bus as Eddie, going over to the game. And while he was gone, Sally would be alone, and if Rory showed up, she wouldn’t have anybody there to help her. Eddie didn’t know why but he felt as if some kind of disaster was just waiting for him to let down his guard. He’d even dreamed about it last night. It had probably just been because of the things that had happened the evening before, but he still intended to show up at the diner, just in case.

Sure enough, as soon as he boarded the bus he heard Hutch’s loud, brash voice. “Well, well! Look who’s here! If it isn’t the water boy!”

Eddie ignored Hutch and picked a seat several rows away from him, looking straight ahead. The larger boy made a crude low-voiced comment to one of his cronies, but Eddie heard it and steadfastly refused to show any reaction. The bus started up with a groan and a belch of exhaust as it continued on to the next stop.

When, at long last, the bus arrived at Jason C Hunter Middle School, he made a point to get off the bus ahead of Hutch and started off at a trot for the locker rooms. He wasn’t actually one of the players, but, as Hutch had accurately pointed out, he was the water boy and was expected to be there before the game started. And that was when he felt it.

It was an oddly familiar sensation. Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck was prickling, as if something in him was warning him that he was under observation – no, not exactly that, but maybe that someone was aware of him.

This had happened to him twice, a couple of years ago, right around the time he’d overheard that strange mental conversation, once at Metro Elementary, when he had attended a baseball exhibition game there. He had been uneasy the whole time, wanting to constantly look over his shoulder. It had made him feel strange, and he’d been glad to leave. The second time it had been at a Little League game a few weeks later. That was why he’d stayed away from Little League games ever since. The whole thing had been a bit creepy, he acknowledged, and now it was back.

But he needed to be with his team. The game would be starting, and nobody had time for him to get weirded out over what was probably nothing. After all, nothing had happened to him either time, really. But he’d never forgotten it.

He trotted on toward the locker room, accompanied by several of the players who had also come on the bus. It was time to play football and though he wasn’t one of the players, his role was important, too.

But the feeling persisted, and after a little while he became aware that there were others – not others that knew he was there, like that one – or was it two? – but that there were several others around that were … somehow different than most of the people in the big crowd of families here to see the game. It was a small bunch – out toward the bleachers, he thought, a little surprised that he could feel them so clearly. Like a family group or something.

As if they had come to see the game. The realization slowly dawned on him. They might be a family that had come here to watch the football game, whoever or whatever they were. Just like at that baseball game at Metropolis Elementary when he had first felt that someone knew he was there.

Well, he couldn’t leave now, and no one seemed to be coming any closer. He’d just have to be alert, he thought.

He continued on toward the locker rooms, his neck prickling.

**********

The bleachers were slowly filling up. Marta Kent squirmed a little in her seat, watching people filter in. She was seated in front of her dad and mom and her younger siblings, and next to her older brother, CJ and Linda Lennox. They were holding seats for their friends, and Marta hoped they would hurry. After what seemed like ages, Maria Hernandez and Valerie Henderson hurried up, accompanied by Ben Myers, Ally’s brother. Ally, as well as Wyatt, played trumpets in the school band, and would be getting into their blue and gold uniforms about now, Marta knew.

The buses carrying students from Groverton Middle School were still unloading, and parents and students were filing in, except for the players and the support staff who were headed for the locker rooms. The voices of the spectators filled the air, growing slowly louder as the crowd gradually increased. Marta covered her ears. Her super hearing made the gabble of the crowd loud enough to be uncomfortable, even though her dad had been working with her to teach her to filter out unwanted sounds. She concentrated, slowly blocking out the voices until they became only a murmur of background sound.

The loudspeaker was blaring periodically as well, making announcements that Marta mostly couldn’t understand because of the echo effects around the field.

And very quietly, in the bare thread of a whisper, Linda Lennox’s mental spoke very softly in her mind. ‘There’s one of the special kids here, somewhere.’

Equally softly, Marta heard her father reply. ‘Can you pinpoint him?’

‘Not yet. It’s a guy, but I don’t think he’s in the seats or on the field,’ Linda replied. ‘I think he might be in the locker room.’

‘Keep listening,’ her father said. ‘Let me know if you hear anything else.’

Linda didn’t answer. Marta saw her turning her head right and left, apparently trying to locate the mystery child.

The seats were almost full, now. Marta hoped the game would be starting soon. Football wasn’t her favorite thing to watch, but she was here because the school had been pushing it before Christmas vacation. She glanced again at Linda, but she was still looking around the field, still searching.

The bands were assembling at each end of the field – Jason C. Hunter’s band was brilliant in blue and gold, their instruments glittering in the sunshine. With her telescopic vision, Marta easily located Wyatt and Ally in the trumpet section. Groverton’s band wore red and black, and were lined up on the opposite side of the field. As if on cue the bands burst into some kind of musical selection that sounded very stirring to Marta, and began to march toward each other across the field. Marta put her hands over her ears.

As they approached each other, the bands shifted into complicated maneuvers with robot-like precision, marching around each other. They looked good, Marta had to admit. A whistle blew as they ended the selection, the majorettes spun their batons, flipped them into the air and caught them as they came down. The bands broke into another tune. Marta watch with mild envy, and for a moment she wished she could do that. She’d have to ask her mother later if she could try out for the squad. At the opposite ends of the playing field, she now saw the players emerging onto the field and lining up.

‘Anything?’ Marta’s father’s mental voice whispered suddenly.

Linda shook her head. ‘Not yet.’ Her reply was as soft. Then she suddenly stiffened. ‘There he is! The kid carrying those towels over on the left side of the field. That’s him!’

*****

Naturally, Eddie thought as he was getting on the bus for the ride home, the game had run into overtime, even though Groverton had finally won with a field goal. They still had two more games to go in the series, and the next time the team from Jason C Hunter would have to come to their school. He made a point to take a seat several rows away from Hutch and his buddies and studiously ignored them during the 49-minute ride back to his own part of town. At least that ghostly awareness of him had vanished after the bus had pulled away from the school.

In spite of the weird feeling of almost-observation, nothing had happened.

Eddie had slowly come to the conclusion that what he was “feeling” was something he probably shared with the other “superkids” like himself. Maybe a mutant power or something. Like the two people in that strange conversation three years ago. He’d never told Sally about that. He’d figured that she would have either been scared of it, or maybe simply attributed it to his imagination.

In any case, as the bus drove away from the school, the feeling had faded slowly away, and he had been aware of a feeling of mild disappointment, mixed with one of relief.

It was already getting toward sunset, which came early at this time of year, and the sun had almost vanished behind the taller buildings as he exited the bus and began the walk home. Dusk was falling, and the street lights were starting to come on. He glanced at his watch, noting that it was a little after five-thirty. Sally would be at work, of course and she would be getting off at nine, well after dark. Eddie had every intention of being there when she got off. The sense of impending disaster had abated somewhat since this morning, but it hadn’t gone away. In his experience a few times in the past paying attention to a bad feeling like this one had turned out to be a good idea. Maybe it was just his imagination, he thought, but he was going to walk his mom home and that was the end of it. He’d already settled that in his mind.

The walk took nearly fifteen minutes before the apartment came into sight. As was his habit, he turned down the alley that ran behind the building and pulled the key out of his pocket. The sun had disappeared and the shadows were long on the streets. The alley was dim, or would have been if Eddie’s eyesight had been the same as it had been three years ago but to him the light was perfectly adequate as he fitted his key into the lock of the apartment’s kitchen door.

He entered the cramped little kitchen, shut the door behind him, and turned to lock it. That was always a good idea in this section of town. He and Sally didn’t really have anything worth stealing, but the thugs who roamed the area didn’t know that. They’d had a break-in two months ago and whoever it had been had come in, pawed through Sally’s stuff and his and then left, leaving dirty footprints on the rug and a mess in the kitchen. The only thing that they had done there was to drink two of Rory’s beers that had been in the fridge. They’d left the cans in the middle of the kitchen floor.

As his fingers touched the dead bolt, the door burst inward and Eddie staggered backwards, nearly losing his balance. Rory Edwards stepped through, slamming it behind him. “All right, shrimp. Where is she?”

“Huh? Who?”

“Sally! Where is she?”

”I don’t know! I haven’t been here all day!” Eddie took an involuntary step backwards. He could smell the alcohol on Rory’s breath, and hear his accelerated heartbeat. The guy was high on something besides booze, Eddie thought. Again. And at least a little drunk.

Rory pushed him aside and started rifling through the kitchen drawers and cabinets, opening lids and peering into canisters, obviously looking for Sally’s spare change, Eddie thought disgustedly. He started to back toward the door. Getting away from this guy seemed like a good idea while he was this unpredictable. He turned the knob and began to ease the door open.

A bellow from Rory made him yank it wide and dart quickly through it as the man made a lunge for him, grabbing him by the wrist. Eddie jerked away, employing a bare fraction of his enhanced strength to break free. Rory stumbled forward and went to one knee on the cracked sidewalk. Eddie ran.

It was already a lot darker, he saw as he raced down the street. Dark enough that people he passed almost certainly saw no more than a vague figure in the dimness. The street lights in this section of town were more or less hit or miss, and made him pretty much anonymous as he passed them at considerably faster than human speed. Three blocks down, a much darker alley opened up and he dodged into it, ducking into the deepest shadow available. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard, not from the exercise but from the adrenaline that was pumping through his system. Blood still pounded in his ears and his heart beat hard. What had just happened? He had been running faster than even he should have been able to. Much faster. He must have been gradually getting faster over the last few months and hadn’t realized it, because he had been trying so hard to act like everyone else. He didn’t think anyone could have recognized him in the dark, but he hadn’t had any idea he could do that. He was kind of like the Flash, or Quicksilver, in the comics.

But the Flash couldn’t jump over banisters from the second floor or off roofs three stories from the ground, like he had last night. At least, not without breaking a leg or something. The Flash couldn’t hear whispers from the other end of the school campus or see things on the other sides of walls.

He held his breath, listening. He could hear the voices of people here and there, but no one was talking about what had just happened. Apparently no one had really seen him. It had been almost like the things Superman was supposed to be able to do ….

Slowly, the realization crept over him. It had only been about three months since the news of the sudden and unexpected appearance of Superboy broke. There had been no sign of Superboy since, but naturally he’d heard those same stories Sally had, that there were “superkids” around, supposedly children left behind by the invading New Kryptonians, some fourteen years ago.

He hadn’t really believed that explanation. Superman, and the New Kryptonians, were aliens, for Pete’s sake! They weren’t even from Earth, and were less related to human beings than a catfish or a potato or a mosquito, no matter how human they looked. How could they possibly have kids together? He’d believed the “superkids” were some kind of mutant like in the X-men or something. But now he was staring into the face of his new realization. He’d read about Superman’s powers on the internet at the library and he had them all, except the ability to fly. Maybe not as much as Superman, but they were all pretty much there. Super hearing. Super speed. X-ray and telescopic vision. Near-invulnerability. And maybe someday he might even be able to fly.

He was a superkid, a part-Kryptonian, just like Sally had said. No matter how unlikely it seemed.

And Sally had also said the “superkids” were worth money.

He stood still for a long time in the shadow of the crumbling brick wall of the alley, letting his breathing become quiet, and thinking.

He didn’t want any gang members getting hold of him. He was going to have to be even more careful than he had before. But Rory was after Sally for her income. Rory was going to be a problem. What was he going to do about him?

He’d left the door to the apartment open, too. He had to go back, making sure Rory didn’t see him, and lock it. If these powers he had really were the same ones as Superman’s, he should be able to use them to outmaneuver Rory. He’d just have to be very, very careful, that was all.

And then, he’d better get over to the diner. It must be almost six-thirty by now, and he still didn’t want his mom to walk home alone in the dark. And he needed to ask her a few questions, anyhow.

*****

“The boy is Eduardo Montez,” Clark said. He swiveled the computer screen toward Lois, showing her the school photograph of a slender boy with light brown skin of about CJ’s age, with black hair and brown eyes. “He’s the water boy for the Grizzlies.” He leaned forward, studying the picture thus displayed. “From his school records, he’s apparently a pretty bright kid. Good grades, keeps to himself a lot – that’s from a note written by his school counselor – and scored high on the school’s IQ tests last year. Apparently he keeps out of trouble, generally, which is a good sign, especially in that environment.”

“So, what do we do?” Lois asked. “Does Superman just fly in and invite him to dinner?”

Clark shook his head. “Not yet. I’m going to have to observe him and get a little better idea of what we’re dealing with, first. He’s from a pretty rough part of town. No siblings, according to the records. He’s going to need training to be sure he doesn’t accidentally hurt someone – that’s not an option, of course, but he must have noticed the things happening to him by now. Apparently he’s keeping it to himself. That’s a good sign, too. I’m just going to have to feel my way for the present. Right now, I’m going to fly over and check out his home environment, just to begin with.”

Lois nodded agreement. “That’s a good idea.”

Clark got to his feet and pecked her on the cheek. “I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I’ll try to be back in time to fix dinner.”

“If you’re delayed, I can always heat up one of your casseroles.”

There was a light knock on the door of the den, and then Marta stepped through, followed by Linda Lennox. “Dad?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Could we go with you? Just to see how you do this kind of thing?”

Clark hesitated, but surprisingly Lois spoke. “That might not be a bad idea, if your father doesn’t mind – but all you do is watch. Is that clear?”

Marta nodded vigorously. So did Linda. Lois looked at Clark. “What do you think?”

He nodded slowly. “All right. Go put on your Suit, Marta, and we’ll go.” He looked at Linda. “Have you got some dark clothing you can wear?”

Linda nodded. “I have some Navy blue sweats. Is that okay?”

“That should do,” Clark said. “Go ahead and change. I’ll meet you in the upstairs hall.”

The two girls turned and hurried out of the room. Clark looked at his wife with one eyebrow raised. She laughed.

“You look just like Mr. Spock. Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”

“Actually, I do. It beats winging it like last time.”

“That’s what I thought. Don’t take too long, though. We need to eat sometime tonight.”

*****

When Marta and Linda stepped out of her room a few minutes later, Clark was waiting in the upstairs hallway. He gestured them toward the master bedroom.

“This way. We’re going to leave via the back bedroom window so no one sees us.”

They preceded him into the room. As he followed, he made the super speed change from Clark to Superman and stepped to the rear window without flipping on the light. “Can you see all right?”

Marta nodded. “Sure. I’ve been able to see in the dark for ages.” Linda simply nodded. Clark surveyed the pair. “I think Linda should wear some kind of mask, just in case,” he said abruptly. “Just a minute.” He opened Lois’s top dresser drawer and reached into it, fumbled for a few seconds and handed Linda a red ski mask. “Here.”

Linda took it and pulled it on. Clark looked critically at the result. “That should work,” he said. “Okay, let’s go.” He opened the window and examined the area carefully. “No one’s around. Follow me.”

A few seconds later, Superman, Supergirl and the yet to be named anonymous masked super heroine hovered in the dark sky over Metropolis and he spoke again. “The address is over by Suicide Slum. Do you know where that is?”

Marta nodded. “Sure. It’s over east of here. That way.” She pointed.

“All right. Lead the way.”

The three super-powered humans (or close enough, Clark reflected, half-humorously) soared over the city. Clark kept his speed down to match that of his companions until they reached the border of the slum district.

“Eduardo lives in an apartment on the eastern side of Sunflower Drive, right on the edge of Suicide Slum,” Clark told her. “On the 400 block. Can you find it?”

Marta nodded confidently. “That way.” She pointed.

“Right. Go ahead.”

Letting Marta lead, Superman and Linda followed her as they flew, silent as a trio of ghosts, through the chilly night air, staying well above the level of the street lights until they hovered above the 400 block. Below them, shabby, ancient buildings inhabited by the least well-to-do members of Metropolis’s population lined both sides of the street. Clark gave them the address and both girls scanned with their vision powers, pinpointing the building.

“There,” Linda said, pointing. “Apartment 4A.”

“Very good,” Clark told her. “Now see if anyone’s home.”

There was silence as both girls scanned the apartment house. “Eduardo isn’t there,” Linda said. “But he isn’t far away. I can feel him. He’s coming this way, but there’s a guy --”

Marta nodded. “There’s one guy,” she said. “Not Eduardo. He’s digging around in the dresser in the upstairs room, closest to the stairs.”

Clark had followed her gaze. “One of the bedrooms,” he said. “It looks like he’s ransacking the room.” He broke off. “He just yanked a drawer out and dumped it on the floor.”

Marta frowned. “I think he’s robbing the place,” she said soberly. “Shouldn’t we stop him?”

Clark nodded. “Stay here.” he said. “I’ll deal with this.”

Linda’s head swiveled suddenly. ‘Look!’ she said, suddenly switching to their mental channel, and pointing, and he could feel her making a determined effort to keep her thoughts focused tightly on her companions. ‘There’s Eduardo!’

The boy was approaching the apartment door that opened on the alley that ran behind the building, looking cautiously around. He saw the open door and stopped, staring at it, then hesitated and Clark, with his own super eyesight, could see a telltale shimmering in the air as Eduardo employed his X-ray vision, scanning the apartment before him.

‘He’s using X-ray vision!’ Marta’s voice said in his mind. ‘What do we do now?’

‘We wait to see what he does,’ Clark replied. ‘I’ll step in if it looks like somebody might get hurt. You two stay up here out of sight.’

*****

Eddie approached the apartment cautiously. His neck and scalp were prickling with unexplained nervousness. Like this afternoon at the football game, there was an awareness of him, vague, nothing he could identify. He shivered slightly at the crawling feeling between his shoulder blades. There was nothing he could see, nothing he could pin down, but it was just as certainly something there that hadn’t been there before.

There was no sign of Rory, either, but the kitchen door hung open suspiciously. It could be just because of what had happened when he’d first arrived home, but Eddie had a strong hunch that it couldn’t be so easy. Rory was desperate for another fix and certainly wasn’t likely to have any qualms about taking their stuff. He stopped in his tracks and scanned the apartment with his special vision.

Sure enough, Rory was in Sally’s room, rifling through her belongings. Eddie knew that Sally didn’t have much but Rory wasn’t fussy. He was looking for anything to sell to pay for his next fix.

Eddie made a face, looking around nervously. Calling the cops in this area, he knew from sad experience, would be useless, and if he tried to stop Rory, himself, it would give him away, and Rory wouldn’t hesitate to tell people who were offering money for any information about any of the superkids. And besides, Sally would probably kill him if he did something stupid and let anyone know what he was. And in any case, when Rory was coming down from a high, he was completely unpredictable. He’d tried to grab Eddie earlier, and Eddie distrusted him just on general principles.

It was too bad that Superman wasn’t nearby tonight, he thought. Eddie had seen the Man of Steel, high in the sky often enough – he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time over Suicide Slum and the adjacent areas, which was probably because the crime rate was pretty high around this part of town …. His thoughts screeched to a halt. Call Superman? Well, why not? He could at least try.

He had even opened his mouth to yell when Rory burst from the kitchen door and collided with him, knocking him to the ground, and tumbled to the pavement on hands and knees, practically on top of him.

Eddie pushed Rory aside and staggered to his feet, backing away from the man.

Rory landed on his face with a strangled grunt and lay there for several seconds, making crowing noises, and trying to regain his footing and command of the situation. He lumbered to his feet, gulping air and his eyes met Eddie’s. All at once he seemed to come to the realization of who he was staring at.

Incredulous rage seemed to engulf him. “You!” he bellowed.

Eddie tried to backpedal. Rory lunged at him.

The thing he had been going to do was the first thing that came instinctively as Rory seized his wrist in a tight grip.

“Help, Superman!”

The shout seemed to ring loudly, echoing against the old brick walls of the crumbling buildings on both sides of the alley, but no one could have been more surprised than Eddie at the whoosh of air that responded immediately, announcing the arrival of the super hero.

Rory froze for an instant. Superman reached out and took a firm grip on his wrist. “Let the boy go.”

Rory did not let go of Eddie’s wrist. Eddie could see him recalculating almost as fast. He puffed out his chest.

“This is none of your business, Superman! This little punk was robbing my place! He –“

Eddie interrupted. “He’s lying! My mom and I live here! He was trying to rob us!”

Superman did not release Rory’s arm. “Where’s your mom?”

Eddie glared at Rory. “She’s at work. She’s on the evening shift tonight at Roscoe’s Diner over on North Heron.”

“The one about six blocks from here?” Superman asked.

Eddie nodded. “Rory took all of Mom’s tips last night. I guess he needed another fix, ‘cause he came back just when I got back from the football game over at Hunter Middle School.”

Superman’s expression went a little grimmer. He looked at Rory.

“Is that so? What do you think I should do with you, Rory?”

Rory glared at Superman. “You can’t prove nothing,” he said. “It’s my word against his.”

“Actually,” Superman said, “I saw you ripping apart that upstairs bedroom. I think a judge might listen to me, don’t you?”

Rory abruptly fell silent.

Eddie yanked his arm from Rory’s suddenly loosened grasp. “He broke in when I unlocked the kitchen door and went inside. I got away and ran, but I came back ‘cause I’d left the door unlocked. I thought he’d be gone, but he wasn’t.”

“Well, you can go in now,” Superman said. “There’s nobody else inside. I’m going to take Rory to the nearest police station. They should be willing to hold him for 24 hours at least.”

“I can’t,” Eddie said. “Mom’s got to walk home in the dark. I’m going to walk with her so she isn’t by herself.”

Superman’s eyebrows went up a fraction. He hesitated and then nodded. “All right. I guess you’d better lock up here first and then go. Be careful.”

“I will.” Eddie paused, belatedly remembering what Sally had always told him about manners. “Uh … thank you, Superman.”

Again that slight lift of Superman’s eyebrows, almost as if he were surprised. “You’re welcome, son.”

*****

Marta and Linda hovered, invisible, several hundred feet in the air, watching the scene below them in silence.

‘You know,’ Marta remarked on their telepathic channel to Linda, ‘I don’t like that Rory guy very much. He’s a real creep.’

‘Me, either,’ Linda agreed.

Beneath them, Superman lifted into the air, carrying Rory by the back of his battered jeans, and Marta heard his “voice” in her mind. ‘I’ve got to deliver this gentleman to the police, and I might be a while. I’d like you two to follow Eduardo to be sure he gets safely to his mother’s place of work. Call me if you need me.’

Marta and Linda looked at each other for an instant. ‘Sure,’ Marta said.

‘Thanks.’ Superman’s “voice” cut off and they heard the whoosh of his departure.

*****

Eddie watched as Superman rose into the air, his left hand grasping Rory by the back of his ill-fitting jeans. At least, he thought, he probably wouldn’t have to worry about Rory for a day or so.

He shook his shoulders, still trying to dispel the sense of someone, somewhere aware of him.

It had changed from the sensation he had felt at the game, he thought. Just a little. It was now more a feeling that someone was no longer just aware of him but instead was actively watching him. Still, there was no feeling of hostility – more of curiosity. The feeling wasn’t menacing, but it was definitely making the skin between his shoulder blades crawl a little. Still, he had felt it at the game, and nothing had happened. It had been gone for a while, but somewhere in the past few minutes it had come back.

When Superman had arrived he had felt that same sensation as he had at the game, when he’d thought there were people there who felt a little different than most of the attendees. Now it occurred to him for the first time that maybe he was actually detecting others like him who had just been there to watch the game. Maybe even Superman and his wife and kids.

Somehow he had never thought of Superman doing something like that, but why not? After all, he had a son – Superboy – who had said he was thirteen in that short interview, just like Eddie. Maybe Superboy was doing the same thing that he was – pretending he was a regular kid. Maybe his dad and mom had come to see him play football, and brought his brothers and sisters, too. He’d never felt anyone like them at Groverton, but there might be some who went to Jason C. Hunter.

The thought was kind of shocking, but it made sense in a way. Superboy and other superkids wouldn’t want people to know about them any more than Eddie did. He’d have to think about this for a while.

He looked around a little uneasily. Somebody was watching him, all right, but why was he so sure? He – no, he realized suddenly. Not he. She. It was a girl, he thought, and young, maybe about his own age. Could it be one of the superkids, someone like him? Why hadn’t he thought of that before? After all, if he could do this, he probably wasn’t the only one.

But he was wasting time. In the distance he heard the clock on City Hall chime quarter to seven. He needed to lock up and then walk over to Roscoe’s Diner. That would take a while, but he’d make it in plenty of time. Sally didn’t get off until nine. But what if he and Sally ran into trouble on the way home? He still didn’t want to get recognized.

He entered the apartment, shutting the door behind him and locked it so nobody could come in behind him and ran up the stairs. A glance into Sally’s room confirmed what he had seen through the walls a little while ago. Rory had torn Sally’s room to pieces, and dumped her clothes onto the floor, but it wasn’t going anywhere. It was a mess, but it didn’t seem like anything was missing – not that there was anything there likely to bring Rory the kind of money he probably needed. He went into his own room.

Rory hadn’t been here, he thought. His room wasn’t perfect, but his stuff was pretty much where he’d left it. He opened his bottom dresser drawer and dug around until he found what he was searching for.

Shoved into one corner was an old rubber Chewbacca the Wookie mask with frizzy artificial hair that came down to his shoulders that he had worn to the school Halloween party in fifth grade. If he was going to walk Sally home and somebody decided to make trouble for her, he didn’t want anybody to recognize him if he had to step in. In fact, he didn’t even want anybody to see him with her. That way nobody would be likely to connect him to her.

He shook the mask out and pulled it over his head, then surveyed himself in the cracked mirror of his dresser. Not bad. It fitted over his head and had been too big three years ago but now it fit pretty well. He peeled it off and stuffed it into a pocket and turned to descend the stairs. A moment later, he stepped out into the alley again, locked the kitchen door and turned in the direction of his mother’s place of work. In the distance the big clock chimed seven o’clock. He still had plenty of time until Sally got off work. Walking at a pace that blended with that of the other pedestrians, Eddie made his way along the sidewalk toward Roscoe’s Diner.

Alright, finally this chapter is done, I kept finding issues when I reread it. I wanted to post it past Monday. Sorry for the wait.
Thanks everyone for the amazing feedback. Thanks to everyone who reads and leaves a like.
I’ll try to have the story finished by the end of this year. That means you’ll probably get two to three parts per week (I hope 😅)
Thanks also to my amazing BRs 90stvfangirl and Socomama.
Now let’s see what happened in the lobby:

TOC

Chapter sixty-six

I move closer on the couch beside him and put my hand over his. His skin is burning.

Clark’s eyes flick toward mine.

Perry leans back in his chair. “They looked around, made notes, then split up. One came over to me. The other stayed near the elevators.”

“The one who approached stepped pretty close,” Cat adds. “Close enough that I could smell the cold smoke on him.”

Perry’s mouth tightens. “He started telling me an editor ought to think carefully about what he allows into print.”

“He threatened you?”

“He suggested consequences.”

I glance at Clark. “And the other man?”

“He stayed near the elevators until his friend began to get louder.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No.” Perry shakes his head.

Clark’s fingers close around mine.

“Perry told him to get lost,” Clark murmurs.

He stops there.

I wait.

“The man didn't appreciate being dismissed,” Cat continues. “Stepped toward Perry. Then he tried to shove him.”

“And Clark got between us.”

My breath hitches. “You did?”

“I couldn’t let him attack anyone.”

Perry’s fist clenches. “The man shoved him into the wall instead.”

Clark closes his eyes.

“How hard?”

“Hard enough for security to intervene,” Cat replies. “Not hard enough to explain this.” She gestures toward him.

“I’m fine,” Clark says.

“No, you’re not.”

He starts to rise.

I press my hand against his shoulder. “Stay seated.”

For a second, he looks as though he might argue. Then the effort leaves him, and he sinks back into the couch.

That frightens me more than the story does.

Perry watches him. “You went pale when that man came close.” He clears his throat. “And when I grabbed your arm earlier… You were burning up.”

Cat's eyebrows rise. “Burning up?”

“I'm fine,” Clark says.

My thumb moves across his shoulder.

Not fine.

He is tense beneath my touch, but he leans closer.

Not here.

Perry's brow furrows. Cat has stopped pretending to be casual.

Clark’s eyes lift to mine.

Too soon.

I give the smallest shake of my head, not yet, and turn back to Perry. “How long was he standing near you?”

“A few minutes.” Perry rubs his chin.

Clark’s gaze drops to the floor.

I turn back to him. “Clark?”

“I’m okay.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I don’t want you to worry.”

“That ship sailed.”

Perry comes around the desk. “Security arrived before things got worse. They grabbed the men and escorted them outside.”

I keep my hand over Clark’s. “And they were close to you the entire time?”

“Not the entire time.”

“Most of it?”

He does not answer.

Perry does. “Close enough.”

Clark lifts his head. “Perry…”

“No.” Perry’s voice is quiet. “You don’t protect anyone by pretending you’re not hurt.”

Cat reaches for the water on Perry’s desk and places it in his hand. “Drink.”

Clark obeys. The glass trembles once before he steadies it.

“Something is wrong with this picture,” Perry says. “That man shoved you once. You hit the wall, barely got back up, and when you did you were swaying like you were about to pass out.”

Clark looks down at his hands.

Cat’s expression tightens. “It started before that.”

Perry stops. “What did?”

“He put his hand over his face while that man was standing near us. Like he had a headache. Then he shook his head. I saw him do it twice,” Cat continues. “The second time, he was already swaying.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because the men were still there. And because Clark clearly didn’t want them noticing.”

Her eyes move to Clark. “Am I right?”

He does not answer.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Perry asks. “Or is this the part where you tell me it’s nothing, too?”

“Is this connected to what you two haven’t told me?” Cat asks.

My first instinct is to deny it.

Clark’s face is still pale, but he is watching Perry now.

“It’s complicated,” I admit.

Perry’s expression does not change. “Most things worth knowing are.”

“It isn’t something we can explain in five minutes.”

“Then don’t explain everything.”

Cat’s gaze drops to our hands.

Clark looks at me. This time, he doesn't shake his head.

Cat's expression shifts to concern for Clark. “Fine. I’m not asking about that.” Her gaze returns to Clark. “I’m asking whether whatever happened to you today can happen to you again.”

That is a much harder question to answer.

The knock at the door interrupts us.

Perry waits another second, his eyes still on Clark.

Clark’s hand closes around mine.

Wait.

His eyes flick toward the door, then to Cat, then back to me.

I squeeze his hand.

They know we're hiding something. We can't leave them to piece it together.

I guide Clark’s hand onto my belly.

His shoulders sink.

All right.

Perry stands to open the door. “Tommy. Tell your father he’s a lifesaver.”

He takes the boxes, presses some money into the boy’s hand, and adds, “Get home safe.”

The door clicks shut. Perry sets the pizza on his desk.

Clark spreads his hand over my belly, his palm covering the small swell.

“Once they know, they can’t unknow it.”

“They already know something is wrong.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“No. It isn’t.”

I turn his hand over and hold it between both of mine. “But it may be the difference between helping us and walking into this blind.”

“If they know, they become targets.”

“They are journalists, it’s part of the job.”

“Not in the same way.”

“No,” I agree.

He looks down at our joined hands.

“You’re sure?”

I look at Perry, then at Cat. Perry is still standing between us and the locked door. Cat has not taken her eyes off Clark.

“I’m sure enough.”

Clark gives the smallest nod.

I turn toward Perry and Cat. “The men… They were from Bureau 39. You already know what they’ve spent decades looking for.”

“An alien,” Perry says.

He looks from me to Clark, then back again.

“Trask’s ghost story,” he adds. “I thought it was the kind of story you killed before it reached the copy desk.”

I can see Perry trying to put the story back where it belongs: in the category of lunacy, rumor, and government obsession.

I would have done the same a few months ago. I did the same even after I received the message from Lara.

“It isn’t a story.” My throat wants to close around the next part, so I do not give it the chance. “It isn’t a delusion, Perry.”

“It’s real.”

Perry’s gaze drops to Clark’s hands. To the tremor he is trying to hide.

“You’re telling me…” Perry begins.

He does not finish. Maybe he cannot find a version of the sentence that does not sound impossible.

Cat looks between us. Her eyes are wide now, but she is not retreating. “Clark?”

Clark sits forward, both hands on his knees. He looks at Perry first, then at Cat.

When he speaks, his voice does not shake.

“It’s me,” he says. “I’m what they’ve been looking for.”

No one moves.

“You’re an alien.” Disbelief drips from Cat’s words.

“Yes.”

I squeeze Clark’s hand.

Perry rubs the back of his neck.

Cat blinks.

“Well, you’re still Clark. You were Clark this morning. You were Clark when you brought Lois lunch. You were Clark before those men made you sick.”

“Cat’s right.” Perry looks at me first, then at Clark.

“And Bureau 39 knows?”

“They know something is out there, but they don't know it's me. If they did, I don't think they'd have stopped at a threat. I've seen what Trask's people do to anyone they consider a risk. It's all in the file Lois stole.”

Cat draws in a sharp breath.

“But they found you.” Perry’s voice is calm. “Or they found a trail leading to you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since I knew I was pregnant.”

Cat’s gaze returns to Clark. “Does this happen every time they come near you?”

Clark’s silence answers before he does.

“It isn’t them,” he explains. “Something they carry affects me.”

Perry’s face hardens. “And you still stepped between that man and me.”

“You were about to be shoved.”

“That was not the part I was asking about.”

Clark looks down.

“You don’t get to do that again.”

“Perry…”

“No. Those men came here to bully an editor over what he might print. They were too busy measuring themselves against each other to notice the man standing three feet away. This time, it cost you a headache and a scare.”

“Son.” Perry’s voice softens. “You got lucky. I don't want to find out what unlucky looks like. ”

His gaze drops briefly to my stomach.

“You keep your distance from them. You matter. And those children will need their father.”

Cat folds her arms more tightly. “I agree.”

Perry looks from Clark to me. “Now we start with what you know, what you don’t know, and what those men might have seen today.”

It takes the better part of an hour and two pizzas to tell them what matters. Clark explains his past and what we learned from Trask's file. When his voice falters, I take over, filling in some details of our meeting in Atlanta and what the documents reveal about Bureau 39.

Perry listens without interrupting. When we finish, he leans back.

“That explains why your birth certificate seemed fishy.”

I manage a small smile. “The Kents did a pretty good job with it. It still couldn't protect them from what happened later.”

“I’ll talk to security tomorrow. The Planet won’t be intimidated by a few wannabe soldiers with a god complex.”

Then something dawns on me. “I don’t think they came here looking for Clark. I think they were targeting the Planet.” I look at Perry. “The police raided the warehouse today. And then Bureau 39 showed up here.”

“You think they knew the raid was triggered by your story?” Cat asks.

“But the story hasn't even been published. Only Henderson and his men knew about the raid, apart from us.” Perry looks toward the locked door. “Henderson said the warrant was handled carefully.”

“Carefully isn't the same as securely.” I look at Perry.

“No. It isn’t.”

“We don’t know whether the leak came from the police, the court, the warehouse, or somewhere else. We don’t even know whether they were reacting to the story or to the raid itself.”

“The timing worries me,” I say. “The warehouse might be connected to Bureau 39.”

“Everything else is a theory until we can prove it,” Perry says.

“Maybe Henderson can tell you more tomorrow.” Clark looks back at him. “We still have the rest of the file to go through. Maybe it will tell us more.”

Perry nods. “And we need to keep you safe, all of you. Lois, we’ll still run your story tomorrow, but I’ll remove your name.”

I stare at him. “You want to publish my story without my name?”

“I want to publish the story without giving anyone a sign pointing directly at you.”

“But…” I stop myself and close my eyes. “You’re right.” I ball my fist.

“Good.” Perry nods.

“What about the babies?”

It is the first thing Cat has said in a while. She is looking at my stomach. “Are they going to be like you?”

She stops, shakes her head, and tries again. “No. That isn’t what I mean. I mean, can the same thing hurt them? What if Lois had been with us in the lobby?”

Clark lowers his head.

“They reacted to the same stuff that weakens Clark. I accidentally encountered that stuff in Smallville. It felt like being drained from the inside.”

My hand returns to my stomach. I stroke the small swell, letting the warmth beneath my palm steady my breathing.

Perry closes the pizza box in front of him, aligning the corners. “Thank you for trusting us with this, son. And thank you for protecting Lois.”

Clark looks up.

“You’re safe here,” Perry continues. “Whatever else is true, that part is.”

Clark’s expression tightens. “Sir, I realize this is a big story. I could understand if…”

“Nonsense.” Perry waves the objection away. “It’s still Perry. And I won’t print any of this.” He pauses. “Just promise me one thing. When you go public, the Planet gets whatever story you want to tell first.”

Cat looks at Clark for a long moment. I hold my breath.

Then she smirks. “Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?” Clark asks.

“You. Keeping up with her.” She tips her chin toward me. “I always figured it would take someone extraordinary. I didn’t realize I meant that literally.”

Her smile softens. “After what Claude did to her, I’m glad she found a super man. She deserves it.”

“Cat.”

“What?” She points the crust at Clark. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Unfortunately,” I admit.

Cat smiles.

Perry lets the moment last a few seconds longer. Then he closes the pizza box.

T. B. C.

Wow, this may have been the best part so far. I wonder what Trask's men are doing at the Planet. Did they really catch up on Clark? Or is it something else they are after?
Can't wait for the next part.

Did I say I love how Lois and Cat get along so much better here? Thanks for another great chapter.

At least Lois's new position makes the gold issue very convenient. Could this adventure with AltClark end up leading her to discover that Clark is Superman? I'm looking forward to seeing them together. And I hope the next chapter doesn't take too long!

A few moments later, Lois Lane and H.G. Wells were alone in a high-ceilinged room with a harpsichord and several silken chaise-longes and armchairs.

“Miss Lan—”

“How do you know who I am?” To Wells, her voice was both sharp and quivering, vulnerability hiding behind authority as she lifted the ostentatious hat from her head. He felt confused; this Lois seemed both large—her body literally enlarged by her outfit—and small at the same time. He had met Lois Lane at multiple junctures of her life and marvelled at the force of nature she was, seen her take on the role of Superman’s consort, her love, support and keen intellect as essential to the superhero as the sun. The Lois Lane he knew was Superman’s equal—in the future utopia, she and Superman were equally revered. But her eyes didn’t glitter with knowledge, and it wasn’t Superman she was married to; it was Lex Luthor. In the 1800s. Having managed to avoid him on his travels, Wells knew enough of the tyrant to doubt that Luthor valued her as an equal as Clark Kent had always done.

“I know who you are because we have met many times,” he said quietly. “The question is, do you know who I am?”

Lois shook her head. Wells sighed, wishing he didn’t have to explain it all to her. It would be so much easier and quicker if she already knew all about time travel.

“My name is Herbert Graham Wells. I believe you would recognise the name H.G. Wells better?”

“H.G. Wells? The writer? From the… future?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Lois’s jaw dropped. It was too good to be true. Out of nowhere, she wasn’t alone. But a writer? From the past. No, from the future. How? Four years of holding it together started to come apart at the seams. Desperation squeezed up from her restricted abdomen. Her mind went into overdrive.
“What are you doing here? In fact, what am I doing here? How do you know my name?” Lois paced the room, wringing her hands, her brown hair which now fell well past her shoulders coming loose from its grips. “Is this a nightmare? Have I gone mad? Do you see me? Am I really here? Am I just a figment of your imagination? A character in a book?”

The man who called himself H. G. Wells stepped up to her and stilled her shaking hands in his. His touch was assured and caring. Her fingers tingled as if grasping onto a long-forgotten memory of kindness. “I assure you, Miss Lane, you are perfectly sane.” His grey eyes glimmered with empathy. Relief flooded through her at his gentle touch. It had been such a long time since someone had touched her with true understanding and sympathy. She had been alone so long, unable to confide in anyone lest they thought her mad, and Lex. Well, she had learned very quickly that he could not be trusted, that his supposed love for her was a performance. But this man. He oozed trustworthiness. She let it soothe her muscles, calm her tight chest.

“What I will say may not sound so, but given our current predicament, you’ll give me a little leeway. Take a deep breath now, there’s no need to panic.” Lois followed his guidance and took several long breaths through her nose. It was hard enough to breathe properly with this ridiculous get up, she couldn’t start hyperventilating as well, they would only have a few minutes privacy which she couldn’t waste.

Wells kept his voice gentle. He wasn’t used to dealing with upset women, and he was feeling a little shocked himself at seeing the great Lois Lane reduced to this trembling state. From his memory, on their travels, even to another dimension, she had always taken everything in her stride. But at least two years stranded in a time she didn’t know, with no understanding of how she got there, trapped with Lex Luthor, would throw even the strongest person off their game. She just needed reminding of who she was.

“I have a time machine—”

“A time what?”

“A time machine.”

She looked at him as if he were the crazy one. “A time machine? Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

“You and I have met before, many times, in fact, but I suspect at a later point in your life.”

Incredulous, Lois laughed, releasing Wells’s grip, and shook her head. “You know what, I believe it. In the future, I travel through time with H.G. Wells. Makes perfect sense.” She threw her arms in the air. “It’s not like it’s any crazier than all the theories I’ve come up with.”

He sensed that they might not have much time, they needed to focus. “Please, could you tell me what happened.” He was about to direct her to sit but he looked at the size of her skirts and decided against it.

She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for someone to ask me that.”

“What year did you arrive here?”

“1818. Four years ago. One minute I was on a plane, the next I was crawling from a wreckage in front of this building. We, Lex and I, were brought into this palace. The Prince Regent was here, no one could understand who we were, what a plane was.”

“Did you tell them you were from the future?”

“Of course not, they would have thrown us into an asylum. Lex told them he was an inventor from the New World, that he had been working on a flying machine and it crashed. He was so smooth, so slick, he came up with a story on the spot. Before I knew it, we were celebrities. We were married. Lex became King.” She sounded haunted. “He was… a… let’s just say born to the role. He wanted me to be his Queen. What could I do but accept what had happened?”

Wells knew all about Lex Luthor and he had no doubt that he was the worst person, barring maybe Tempus, that Lois could have found herself trapped in the past with. But he was a gentleman, and he wasn’t about to ask Lois Lane what Lex Luthor had put her through or if she had ever tried to escape. Lois, starting to look far less glazed and shaky, anticipated the questions anyway.

“I thought about leaving Lex so many times, but in this time, in this country? Where could I go, what could I do? He has spies everywhere; he would just drag me back and make everything worse."

Wells nodded sympathetically and stayed silent; in his lifetime as a writer, he had learned that people want to fill the silence with their stories.

‘And you know what else I thought about? My mom when I was little, telling me that if I got lost to stay where I was, that way she could find me. I thought, I have to stay here. I don’t know how, but I thought it would be Superman who would rescue me, but it was you. My mom was right, I stayed still and you found me.” Tears welled in her eyes.

Wells cleared his throat, embarrassed. He was still not used to the ease with which Americans expressed their feelings. “I didn’t find you on purpose, I’m afraid. I just arrived yesterday. I’m very sorry, but I think I am responsible for what happened.”

“You?” A spark flickered in her pupils.

“I was in my time machine, and I think I collided with your plane. I crashed too, just four years later than you. That’s time travel for you. Somehow, our collision created a rip in time.”

Lois stepped back. “You didn’t come here to rescue me?”

“Not technically. But once I learned that you were here and under what circumstances—” he thought it best not to mention his concerns for the whole of human history “—I rushed straight here.”

“So you’re just as stuck as I am!”

Wells stepped closer to her, his palms upwards, placating. “No, no. The time machine is intact; I just need gold to fuel it.”

“Then we can go home?” She shouldn’t look so desperate, he thought.

“It’s not quite that simple. You see, history has been changed. Lex Luthor was not meant to be king and the ripple effect on the future will be astronomical. At the very least, you left your timeline in—what year was that by the way?”

“1994.”

Wells did the maths in his head. Lois doesn’t yet know that Clark Kent and Superman are the same person. That will make things tricky. If he wants any chance to rectify the situation and preserve the future, he will need to keep her in the dark.

“Everything after you left that would have happened, didn’t happen. And everything that happened from 1818 onwards will be different. You see, when an event like this happens, time splits. We are now on a different timeline to the one you were living, like a different tine of a fork.”

“I’ve seen this movie,” rushed Lois. “Back to the Future. To fix the future, you have to make it so the event that caused the rip in time never happened.” Wells watched the cogs turning. He didn’t know what film she was talking about. On his travels he hadn’t had time to sit in cinemas, but it sounded like it was based on fact. Although he’d never met another time traveller from the twentieth century, it was plausible that he wasn’t the only one and they had hidden their knowledge in plain sight, in a piece of entertainment. It had always amused him how the public referred to his works as Science Fiction. How little they really knew.

Lois paced the floor deep in thought. “You say you’ve met me before? So, you know about Superman?”

“I do,” he said. The less said the better.

“He can fly. We need him to fix this,” she said excitedly. “He could stop this, move the plane out of the way of your time machine.”

“Yes, yes, I see what you’re saying but I cannot go forward in time on this timeline because then I cement it, and the timeline from which you came will be erased, the crash will never have happened, there will be no moment to take Superman back to. And in this time, I wouldn’t know where to find him, if he’s even there.”

“What do you mean? No Superman? That’s not possible! There will always be Superman! There is no world in which there is no Superman!”

Wells understood in that moment more than ever before why Lois Lane and Clark Kent were always destined to be together: it wasn’t simply a destiny of soulmates, it was unshakeable faith.

“Miss Lane, you’re a genius.”

“Well, I—” She dipped her chin then looked up at him and smirked. There she is, thought Wells. She just needed to be reminded of Superman to shake off the oppression of the last four years.

He pointed a sharp finger in the air. “I don’t need Superman from this world; I need one from another.”

“Wait, what?”

“You see, Miss Lane, this is not the only dimension. You and I have not only travelled through time, we have crossed dimensions together, visited a parallel universe.” Lois didn’t bat an eyelid; after all he’d told her it seemed nothing could faze her now.

“There’s more than one Superman?”

“Countless.”

Lois looked like she might swoon and it wasn’t from her corset. “And I’ve met them?”

“Just one. He, er, needed your help to become Superman. You, I mean, the Other You, the Lois from his world, she went missing before his moved to Metropolis. He never met her and his life wasn’t, well—”

“I help Superman become Superman? I don’t understand.”

“Yes, yes, you see, in each reality, each dimension, you have the same characters, but things never unfold in quite the same way.”

Lois held up a hand. “Maybe you shouldn’t be telling me about this, I mean, if it’s going to happen in my future.”

“Miss Lane, I can tell you anything I want,” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “Because we are going to get you back to the moment seconds before this happened. When we erase the event, the crash, we will erase this split timeline. Everything that happened here since 1818 since you and Lex crashed here will not have happened. You will have no memory of this timeline, and neither will I.”

As Lois absorbed this information, her demeanour shifted, a glint appearing in her eye. “So, you know what’s going to happen in my future?” There was a dangerous lilt to her voice, one he imagined she had used endless times as an investigative reporter, her target caught in her snare.

“Um, well, yes, I suppose I do.” Wells hopped from foot to foot, suddenly regretting his outburst.

“And it doesn’t matter,” she said slowly, “if you tell me because I’m going to forget you told me? So, what happens? When do I win the Pulitzer? How many times? And… do I marry Lex Luthor?”

Wells put his hands up defensively. “I know I said I could tell you anything and I suppose that’s true but what if…”

“Anything goes wrong?”

Wells nodded. “Would you mind ever so much, Miss Lane, if I refrain from telling you any more than I already have? Our plan, it’s all theoretical, of course. You see, I rather feel it jinxes, as you Americans say, things.”

Lois narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, come on, it can’t really matter if I get a little sneak peek?” Despite all the swathes of crinoline, Wells felt like he was in the offices of the Daily Planet being grilled by the indomitable Lois Lane.

“It matters terribly, Miss Lane.” He managed to smile through her hard stare.

“Fine,” she said rolling her eyes. Fear crept into her voice “But can you can really undo all this?”

It’s the hope that kills you, he thought.

“I know exactly who can help us. I just need some gold.”

“I can help you with that.”



Clark Kent landed on the roof of the Daily Planet. He spun out of his Superman outfit—the one the Other Lois Lane had encouraged him to wear—and traipsed down into the offices of the Daily Planet. For a few hours at least, he was off the Super-hero clock and on the one that paid him to write. Sometimes his life just felt like a treadmill.

A man was sitting at his desk. Older and greyer but still recognisable. Clark sighed. Whenever Mr Wells turned up, there was always drama to be had.

Foregoing the welcoming pleasantries, he said, “So, who’s in trouble this time?” He should be sympathetic but every now and then he thought about the Other Clark living happily with the Other Lois Lane whilst his had never been found, lost to the forests of the Congo. For the most part, he was happy for them, happy that an alter-ego of his was living the life that he wished he had, with both his parents and the love of his life still alive. But sometimes on lonely nights, it stung. Like now, with the time traveller sitting in front of him with a very serious expression on his face, reminding him that Lois Lane kisses another Clark Kent before she goes to sleep at night.

“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, again, but I need your help.”

“You need my help?”

“In point of fact, not me but Lois Lane, the er… other Lois Lane, not your Lois Lane—”

“I don’t have a Lois Lane. I never actually met mine, remember?”

“Um, yes, sorry, that was thoughtless of me, I just thought, for clarification.”

“I understand.” He waved him on as he slumped into a desk chair. “Why my help? She has her own Clark Kent, doesn’t she? Her own Superman.” It had been a long day. Everyone needed Superman, did they have to need him in another dimension as well?

“It’s a bit complicated, you know, time and all that. But it’s catastrophic. If we don’t fix this, the whole future of that world will be ruined. She’s stuck in the past with Lex Luthor—”

Clark clenched his fist and sat up straight. He repeated angrily, “Lex Luthor?” The millionaire had been a thorn in his side until his death from the fall of one of his skyscrapers; the man had caused no end of trouble trying to bring down Superman, so hellbent on his mission that he didn’t care who got hurt. There were villains aplenty in Metropolis, but no one had ever quite come close to Lex Luthor for evil intent. If the Other Lex Luthor shared the same lack of scruples, then Lois was in danger.

“Yes, and I can’t travel forward in her current timeline to retrieve Superman because that will delete her proper timeline. Right now that original timeline still exists, albeit with a different future from the moment Lois left it. I can still enter from this dimension but I can’t get that Superman to help us, it would turn things even more topsy-turvy. That’s why I need you, someone from another universe whose own timeline won’t be affected by this event.”

With thumb and forefinger Clark pinched the bridge of his nose where he no longer wore glasses. Everyone knew he was Superman; there was no need for them anymore.

“So, what do you want from me?”

“I need you to come with me now to the very moment before my time machine crashed into her plane and move the plane out of the way.”

“That simple?”

“Not exactly; we must be utterly precise. We need to arrive in the split second before the crash so you can move the plane, get back in the time machine to vacate that universe back to here. You’re faster than a speeding bullet, we need to be there for an infinitesimally small amount of time.”

Clark studied the older man. There was something he wasn’t telling him. “This will definitely work?”

The old man blinked rapidly. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure. I’m not entirely sure what the consequences will be of two of me and my time machine appearing in the same reality at the same moment. It is, of course, conceivable that it could destroy that universe.”

Oh, just something small then.

“And me.”

“And you.”

Wells’s stare was unwavering, as if he was looking into his very soul. He knew. Knew that he would put his existence on the line for a woman he had met just twice. A woman he had no claim to. Lois might live in a parallel universe, but he knew she was out there and it drove him every day. When she had entered his world, she had shown him a possibility of love he had been ignorant of. But he had never, not for one second, wished she had never arrived and left him in ignorance. Better to have known love than to have never loved at all. He carried the Other Lois with him in his heart. The idea of her living, suffering, in the wrong time with a tyrant was unbearable. There was no choice to be made. But it couldn’t just be his choice.

“But if you and I… Lois would still survive in her current timeline?”

“Alas no. If we—and I stress it’s a very, very, tiny, infinitesimal likelihood—destroyed that universe, it would destroy Lois’s new timeline too. You see, they are part of the same universe, linked by a time-thread. The future in her current timelines beyond 1822 hasn’t happened yet. It’s all very complicated.”

“Does Lois know you’re going to try this?

“It was her idea.”

“Then I want to see her.”

“What?”

“I need to see her. If this doesn’t go as you hope and we somehow destroy that whole universe, and her, and you and me, I need to have seen her one last time. I need to know it’s worth the risk, that she understands the risk. She’s alive where she is right now, right?”

Wells’s mouth dropped open. “I… I…”

“I want to help you, I do. But I need to be sure this is the right decision, that it’s her decision.”

Wells’s shoulders slumped. He had come to this Clark because he knew Lois, knew him and was sure he could convince him to help. He had not reckoned on this Clark’s sadness, his willingness to risk his own life for Lois Lane. “I understand.” He pushed himself to standing. “This is an earlier Lois, before I met her for the first time, before she learned about time travel and other dimensions. She doesn’t know yet that Clark is Superman so if you’re going to see her, talk to her, it has to be as Superman not Clark Kent.”

“I can do that.”



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