Surprise! That's right--SmirkyRaven did good, and surprised herself as well by writing this *very* long chapter since Thursday afternoon. And I felt so good about my lovely reviews this time around that I decided to share my early spoils with you all.

I hope you enjoy it. Please remember to review if you're happy to get this chapter so early! thumbsup

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Chapter 36: Speedster

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Two overstuffed enchiladas of doom, complete with sour cream and extra onions, despite the early hour of the day. Beans on the side. A super-sized drink, complete with miniature, zooming Supermen plastered onto the side of the massive cup. And then, the cake of tres leches.

Such was the price of information, Lois thought with a trace of regret. Especially thinking about the cake. The white, moist, fruit-seeped, cream-smothered cake might not be chocolate, but it was close to it on the scale of divinity.

Which was saying something, coming from Lois Lane.

So she let Clark drive the rental car she had taken out for the day (it wasn’t like she could point a taxi to where their source was going to meet them, of course). She didn’t know if she could trust Kent with the precious fare. She cracked open the doggy bag carrying the massive piece of cake to check on it—just in case something might have happened to it.

It was such a big piece of cake. Surely, if she cut it just right, Bobby Bigmouth wouldn’t notice . . .

“I—I don’t think Bobby would like it if he found some of his cake missing again, Lois,” Clark’s voice interrupted her thoughts with a slight smile. The sunlight had poked its face through the clouds for the moment and was shining down into the streets. Clark had the window down and rested his arm casually on the door as the wind ruffled his hair.

“Roll up that window, Smallville!” Lois snapped. “This isn’t a good neighborhood. You know that. And it’s gotten worse since…” Since Superman left. Besides, it was making her hair fly in her eyes, and that was just annoying.

Clark was clearly reluctant to do so, but he obeyed. He really was feeling a bit too tired to argue about it. The lack of debate, however, annoyed Lois for some reason. He could argue back, instead of lying down and taking everything that was handed to him.

“You know, you don’t have to take everything lying down, Clark,” Lois voiced her thoughts.

Clark looked at her in some surprise. He rubbed one of his eyes, trying to wake himself up a bit more. “S-sorry?”

“I say roll up the window. You say, ‘No, Lois. I like the window down. It’s a nice afternoon.’ The window stays down. The end.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. “Uh…I don’t think so, Lois.”

“Why not?” she challenged.

Clark shifted uncertainly.

“Spit it out, Clark.” She frowned. “You know your problem? You think too much. You need to open your mouth and just say it. Maybe then you wouldn’t trip over your tongue so much, because you won’t be obsessing that whatever you’re going to say won’t come out wrong. It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

Clark’s lip quirked. If there was ever a quote that fit Lois Lane, it certainly was that. But she was watching him—waiting for a response. He bit his lip.

“Clark…”

“I…I don’t know what to say, Lois,” Clark muttered.

“Roll down that window!” Lois snapped. Clark gave her a confused look.

“What?”

“Do it!”

“L-Lois…”

“Now, Clark.”

Lois’s tone was deadly, and so Clark complied, albeit somewhat hesitantly.

“Now, Clark. Roll up the window,” she said, as if talking to a schoolboy.

Clark looked at her as if she were mad, then started to obey.

“NO! Stop. Stop stop stop!” Lois ordered. Clark froze, and consequentially almost hit into a breaking car in front of them, causing Lois to give a short shriek. “Careful! Watch the road! Clark, what’s the matter with you!?”

“S-sorry.”

Lois rolled her eyes, looking to heaven. There was a moment’s pause, then Lois folded her arms and stared at him. “Now Clark. I’m going to tell you to roll up the window. Now, you don’t want to roll up the window, so you’re going to tell me so. Okay? So, say something.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. Uh . . .

What was he supposed to say? The silence lengthened, and he could feel Lois’s eyes on him even while he kept his own on the road.

“Uh. Lois, I . . . Is it all right if we keep the window down?”

“Better. Now try again. Firm, Clark. You can do it. I remember the first time I met you and you had some pretty sly comebacks up those rolled-up farmer sleeves. Now, again.”

“Lois,” Clark exclaimed with a slight chuckle, feeling a bit bemused and amused. “You say close the window. I say, ‘No. Let’s keep it open.’ You say, ‘It’s my car.’ I say, ‘But I want the window open.’ You say, ‘Too bad, Smallville. You want fresh air, get out and walk back to Kansas.’ And if I don’t get out myself, then I end up kung-foo-ed out onto the road, probably in front of an oncoming car, and you take over the driver’s seat. So no matter what I say, the window ends up rolled up.”

Clark closed his mouth with a snap, looking surprised at the sudden rush of words.

“What?!” Lois protested. “I would not—!” She caught sight of Clark’s nervous and quickly-fading half-grin and cut off with a glare, but her lip curled in the slightest smile nonetheless, which she quickly hid. She grunted, but she had a satisfied air about her. “I guess that’s the best you’ve got, Smallville. Now roll up the window.”

Clark lifted his eyebrows innocently, glad she hadn’t exploded on him. “No.”

Lois’s contentment vanished. “Now, Clark,” she said dangerously.

Clark fiddled with the idea of leaving the window down, but even as he hesitated, Lois set her precious burden of food aside and practically dove across him to start rolling up the window herself. She knocked his arm, causing the car to swerve slightly before he quickly adjusted.

“L-Lo-is!”

“C-Cla-ark!” Lois mocked back. It took her a minute to roll up the window, and then she climbed back onto her seat, straightening her work suit as she tightened her seatbelt and picked up the doggy bags of food again. Clark felt flustered from the exchange, but not necessarily in a bad way.

In fact, he felt like laughing. So he did. A slight, soft chuckle, which Lois cut off with a sharp glare as she pulled herself fully back into her seat.

Lois pushed her hair back with a sigh and drew the cartons of food back onto her lap. “There. You’ve got to do it at the right time, Clark. Protesting at the wrong time just sounds…immature.”

Clark’s mouth curled in a tentative smile. He decided it was just not worth the trouble to try to figure out this side of Lois Lane. “Right, Lois,” he agreed. It was safer that way.

A few minutes later Clark drove the rental car into the lower level of a shadowed parking garage. He pulled into a parking space and all humor vanished behind seriousness as he looked around the darkened area intently.

Lois snorted softly. Even with the dim sunlight, she doubted that a frightened, bespeckled Clark Kent would be able to spot anyone. She turned her attention to something more important.

The cake.

No. Not the cake. Bobby Bigmouth. She had some questions for him, all right.

Clark shifted, glancing over to the back passenger side of the car, and his brow furrowed as his eyes stopped on something in the darkness. He paused his search, however, to cover a broad yawn. Lois fought the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn’t as if he could see anything over there that she missed.

“I hope you didn’t take some of my cake again, Lois.”

The name was right at her elbow, and Lois jumped and nearly dropped the food on her lap all over the floor.

She turned furiously to Bobby Bigmouth, where he was sitting quite comfortably in the back seat of the car.

“How did you get back there?” Lois demanded, her heart going a mile a minute. Clark didn’t even seem flustered in the slightest, curse him.

Bobby grinned, reaching forward and taking the food from her. “That would be telling.”

“Well,” Lois retorted. “You are a snitch.”

Bobby Bigmouth made some inarticulate response through a massive bite of the first soft enchilada.

Clark watched in something akin to fascination, but Lois looked away in disgust as Bobby practically inhaled the food. He paused before digging into the cake, seeing Lois’s regretful look.

He lifted the cake up, forgoing the spoon, and took a bite out of it before offering it to Lois. “Wanna bit?”

Lois managed not to physically recoil, but just barely. “Bobby, I need to know everything you have to know about Lex Luthor and the Flash.”

Clark shot her a glance at the last topic, but didn’t say anything.

Bobby swallowed the large bite. “Kind of disjoint subjects, aren’t they? You might have to come back for the second…”

Lois reached under her chair and pulled out the second massive piece of cake that she had been harboring there. Bobby took it without a word.

“Well then,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

“Lex Luthor,” Lois said. “We need to know any possible connections he might have with the criminal force of Metropolis.”

Bobby snorted into his cake. “You’re joking, right?”

Lois stared at him, deadpan. Bobby turned to Clark. “Tell me she’s joking.”

Lois felt her gut dropping and her face flushing. “About what?” Oh, but she had a feeling she knew very well what exactly Bobby Bigmouth was talking about.

“Everyone and their dog with half a sniff for criminality in this city know Lex Luthor,” Bobby said, taking another bite. He saw Lois’s flat look, and he looked at her in disbelief. “You’re not joking. You really don’t know.” He chuckled. “And here we all thought you were dating him because you were onto him—looking for evidence, or something. But you really didn’t know?” The last sentence was said in something as close to glee that Lois had ever heard in the snitch’s voice.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lois demanded, fire in her eyes.

Bobby’s humor vanished at the glare and he swallowed, but this time it wasn’t because of his food. “Well, Kent knew. I figured he’d tell you.” He turned an accusatory glare on Clark. “Why didn’t you tell her, heh?”

Clark opened his mouth, but Lois interrupted him. She didn’t want Bobby to know how stupid she had been. “Never mind. I want details. Information. You know, the works.”

Bobby shrugged. “No one can seem to pin anything on him, really, but that doesn’t mean everyone doesn’t know. Anyone who starts sniffing too closely somehow finds himself at the bottom of Hobb’s river.”

Lois frowned. “What else?”

Bobby shook his head. “Nothing right now, and I won’t be digging too deep for that kind of stuff, myself.”

Lois felt perturbed at the useless information and the reminder of about how blind she truly had been. She needed to sit back and take a look at her life to make sure she wasn’t missing anything else. As soon as things slowed down, that is. “Tell me about the Flash.”

Bobby looked at her sideways. “What do you want to know?”

“Why was he here in Metropolis, for one. Why he didn’t stay around. You know—the basics.”

Bobby frowned. “The Flash isn’t exactly a subject of the underground. But still…there’s word on the street that it wasn’t the Flash at all. Too dark-colored, you know? None of the usual red streaks, no sticking around afterwards. More like that Batman character in Gotham. In, out, gone, that’s it.”

Bobby lifted the prize of the second cake and opened the car door. “Anyway, got to run. Thanks for the cake.”

He left, immediately blending into the shadows and disappearing.

Lois sat back. “Well, that was useless.” What a waste of perfectly good food. “Come on, Clark. I’ve got the address of a couple people who were rescued last night, but first I want to visit the alleyway where he made his first appearance last night. Maybe someone saw something that didn’t get mentioned in the article.”

Clark nodded and drove the car forward and back into the sunlight obediently. Lois gave him the address and he headed in that direction.

“So…why the sudden interest in the Flash?” Clark ventured.

Lois looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing him up. Clark resisted the urge to fidget. She seemed to decide he could be trusted.

“I don’t think the Flash was in Metropolis last night,” Lois said at last.

Clark’s eyes stayed on the road. “You think it was—?”

“Superman? Yes,” Lois said, sitting back. “I don’t know why he’s avoiding people, but…it could be him. Maybe no one mentioned any flying, but if he was going so fast they could barely see him, how could they tell?” She looked out the window. “I…I’m worried about him, Clark.”

Clark felt his heart clench.

Lois, I’m here. I’m Superman.

He had to tell her. He wouldn’t even wait for lunch, like he was planning on doing. They were alone now, and the streets around this part of Metropolis weren’t very frequented, so if Lois did decide to throw him out of the car, hopefully he wouldn’t be hit by an oncoming car. He swallowed. “L-Lois—”

“Oh. Here it is. Park right there, Clark.”

Clark gritted his teeth and obeyed. He pulled the car into park and turned it off, but Lois had already undone her seat belt and was out of the car.

How was it that he just couldn’t seem to keep up with her, with or without his superpowers?

He sighed and opened the door, looking around and extending his hearing in case anyone was coming. The street seemed almost deserted. “Lois, I really need to talk to you…”

Lois stepped into the alleyway and looked around as if trying to x-ray through the walls and ground. “There’s got to be something here, Clark.”

“Lois—”

Clark cut off sharply at a sound, very far away, but that was coming towards them very quickly.

Whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo….

It sounded like wind, but a very fast wind—like the sound of the wind in Clark’s ears when he challenged himself to a race around the world on a slow day. Clark heard it like it was a mile away, but as milliseconds stretched into a half a second, he knew it was coming closer.

Clark turned his head, only just too quickly for a normal man, and he saw it. Or rather, him.

The Flash.

Even thinking in superspeed as he was, that was all the time he had to think before the red blur raced down the sidewalk, billowing up a tail of old newspapers and trash behind him. Clark stared, watching the man run in superspeed, though his image blurred even to him.

The red-garbed superhero’s eyes went to the alley, and he seemed to be slowing, but at the sight of Lois rummaging around he sped up again.

In that barest moment, he caught Clark’s eye. And then he was gone.

Clark didn’t have time to hesitate. Lois had her back turned to him, and was just barely beginning to notice the odd wind that was passing the alley. No one was watching. Clark leaped onto the rooftop of the building beside the alley, and in a moment his work suit lay in a heap behind an old vent on the roof.

Blue, red, and yellow darted off in a blur after the distant flash of red spandex.

Clark was glad he had been in such a good mood so as to don the superhero’s suit that morning. He had brought yet another spare to Metropolis with him when he came from Smallville—his mother had been quite insistent upon playing her role as “a superhero’s sidekick”—and had made him one in the slow days after Jonathan’s funeral. It was a good thing, too—he didn’t want to ruin another work suit, and there was no way he wanted even a fellow hero to find out his true identity. But the Flash was probably in Metropolis because of the news of the mysterious rescues being put to his name. Clark needed to talk to him.

But the Flash was aptly named—he was fast. Clark pushed himself to catch up with him, and the sunlight that peeked through the clouds aided him, but his leg ached and he was only gaining slightly despite his efforts.

He might not have caught him at all, but only seconds after the wild race began the Flash pulled into Suicide Slums and came to a stop in a deserted street.

Clark almost ran right past him at the sudden stop. As it was, he managed to break and stop only a few feet beyond the Flash’s stopping place.

The speedster’s head jerked around, and in suddenly he disappeared from where he was and appeared ten feet farther back, his eyes wide in shock. He swore. “Superman! Are you trying to scare me to death, or what?”

Clark tried not to stare at his spandex-clad fellow. He wondered who he was, how he had gotten his powers. Was he another alien, or just a human who had had some mishap change him into what he was? Did he feel silly running around in that suit? Did he have a mother to make it for him? Did anyone know who he was?

Clark swallowed and folded his arms in his Superman pose. “No,” he said, his voice appropriately deep and clear.

The Flash stared back at him with interest. “Nice suit, man,” he said. “Doesn’t the cape cause wind resistance, though, or is it some weird Kryptonian science thing that makes that work all right?” He tilted his head. “You look like crap.”

Clark’s eyes narrowed. Thanks. “I need to talk to you.”

“About your rescues last night? I was wondering if you were going to own up to them. I don’t want to have to deal with any rabid lawyers, Supes. Maybe you don’t know about them, being from that red planet of yours somewhere, but they’re not pleasant people. You take care of your own dirty work.”

Clark hesitated. “I didn’t mean for them to blame you.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining about all of it,” the Flash said, holding up his hands. “I mean, you must have been real busy, because I haven’t had this much attention since . . . well . . . probably the day I first put on this suit. Besides, it’s not like they can catch me.” He flashed Clark a grin.

Clark realized right then that the superhero before him wasn’t quite as old as he had expected. He probably was in his late teens, or early twenties at most.

“Follow me,” Clark said, stepping forward. “We need to talk.”

“And you don’t want anyone to see you, hm?” the Flash continued, openly curious. “Why are you hiding?”

“I am not hiding,” Clark emphasized, giving him his most intimidating Superman look. The Flash didn’t look affected in the least bit.

“Here’s the deal, Supes. If there’s one question I’ve ever grown sick of the past few years it was this: Can I run faster than Superman? So here’s the plan: you race me to Long Beach, California—on foot, no flying—and then we’ll talk, okay?”

Clark didn’t have time for that, not to mention that his leg was still hurting, and the thought of such a long run made his exhaustion settle down on him like a mountain. A very heavy, warm mountain. But before he even had a chance to open his mouth, the Flash vanished in a burst of wind.

Clark shook his head and, seeing no other choice, darted after him.

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It wasn’t much later that Clark darted into the streets of Long Beach, California. His leg was aching so badly that he was gritting his teeth at the pain. He was so tired that the thought of sleep was like the sound of water to a drowning man.

At least it wasn’t cloudy here.

He didn’t know where to look for the Flash, but that problem was taken away when a sudden red blur appeared next to him. The Flash pointed, and Clark followed.

They darted through the streets—between cars and people, between buildings, on a long, curving road, and out through the suburbs. In ten very long seconds, the Flash pulled to a stop along a rocky beach where the waves were crashing into the cliffs. He turned to Clark as he pulled to a stop. Clark wished he had something to lean against as he tried to keep his weight off his bad leg.

“You know, I always knew I was faster,” the Flash said, nodding as he looked out over the ocean. He looked at Clark with a grin, but the grin faltered. “Whoa, man. Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Clark said, rubbing his aching arm. He shook his head, trying to banish the weight of exhaustion from his body. “Listen. I was hoping you might just let the whole deal in Metropolis go. Could you just—let people keep thinking that it was you out there last night?”

The Flash looked at him with a furrowed brow, though much of his expression was hidden by his mask.

“Look, Supes, I know we don’t know each other or anything, but what happened to you?”

Clark gritted his teeth. “I got hurt,” he said, somewhat stiffly. “But I’d be grateful if you kept that to yourself.”

The Flash crossed his heart. “Swear it,” he said. “So this kryptonite stuff really does hurt you?”

Clark folded his arms. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

The Flash gave a soft chuckle. “Well, I think that answers my question, though, doesn’t it?”

Clark gave him a stern look. “I was hoping that you might keep quiet about the fact that it wasn’t you doing the rescuing last night. I have many enemies, and if it were known that I was . . . out of commission for so long, it would make my job quite a bit harder.”

He was Superman. He was a symbol of strength, infallibility, and constancy. He couldn’t disappoint those who believed in him.

“Sure,” the Flash shrugged. “I guess having a couple more lawyers to dodge is no big deal. I mean, you’d think these people would just be grateful for us saving them, or at least that we wouldn’t get blamed for hurting any of those idiots we stop from doing their deeds.”

Clark smiled slightly despite himself and gave a slight nod, but he didn’t say anything. The sun felt wonderful, and warmed the cold skin of his brow and cheeks.

The Flash’s careless manner backed off again. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You look ready to pass out, or something. I mean really. You don’t look so good.”

Clark brushed his arm across his forehead and closed his eyes, soaking up the sunlight. The aches and pains were already disappearing, and his pain and exhaustion was fading behind a soft curtain of gentle yellow.

“I’m…I’m fine,” Clark said. “It’s just been a long night and day.”

The Flash nodded, still looking at him closely. “Well, don’t go running off until you know you won’t accidentally crash into any buildings or whatever,” he said, half-joking. He reached forward and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Superman. I’d best be getting back, but one of these days I might drop by with a girl so you can give us a lift to Italy, or something. You owe me one.”

Clark took his hand and shook it, remembering too late that it was his bruised palm. The Flash must have seen the dark, black-veined bruise, but he didn’t say anything as he let go of the cautious handshake, though he looked speechless for a moment. He recovered quickly, though, and hid his reaction with a wink and a grin, before he turned and shot off and away and was quickly lost even to Clark’s view.

Clark sighed, uncurling his fingers painfully and looking down at the tender bruise on his palm. The bright sun felt like a balm, and with a careful scan he sat down on the sand and lay back, soaking up as much as he could.

He was going to enjoy it, just for a few minutes, and then head back to Metropolis.

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He was going to enjoy it, just for a few minutes, and then head back to Metropolis.

Clark woke up with that thought still repeating lazily through his mind. He didn’t open his eyes, but drifted in a state of half-sleep and contentment. The sound of the waves beat softly through his mind like a mental massage—working out the kinks and cramps and fears—and the sunlight cuddled against him like a warm blanket.

He felt so good. There was no pain, no soreness, no tiredness. Just lovely, perfect, gentle comfort.

He smiled and rolled over, reaching a hand for his pillow only to find…

A rock?

What the--?

Clark sat up in a literal blur and he looked around with a sleep-bewildered gaze to the ocean-side view around him. A seagull leaped into the air at his sudden moment, calling in an upset manner as it took its flight up towards the midday sun. Clark stared after it for a moment in a sort of dazed confusion.

The beautiful vista brushed against his slight concern, and he rubbed his eyes, trying to get his mind on track again. Had anyone seen Superman sleeping on the rocks, as comfortable as a baby on a feathered bed? How had he ended up here? Had he been sleeping over the warm vents of the Hawaiian volcanoes again and kind of just drifted down onto the beach? It had happened before, but not since he’d settled down in Metropolis . . .

No.

His thoughts came to a sudden halt as he remembered.

He had fallen asleep.

He, Superman, man of steel, had fallen asleep, and for more than a little bit, by the completely lovely feeling of rest that had settled onto his shoulders.

He, Clark Kent, had fallen asleep, leaving Lois alone without a single explanation.

Oh no. Lois!

With that thought, he was already far away from California and racing towards Metropolis. As he ran, the last vestiges of sleep stripped away from his mind like old wallpaper.

He ran east, and watched as the sun moved from early afternoon somewhere over his head to the back of his head, and it kept sinking later into the afternoon, taking his heart with it.

What had he done?

It was 4:37 pm Metropolis time when Clark sped back to the alleyway where he had left Lois and leaped lightly onto the rooftop to where he had hid his clothes. He pulled them on quickly, and glanced down at the alleyway, though he already knew that Lois was not there.

Shrugged on his jacket, and felt his heart sink as low as a muddy ditch as he heard the jingle of keys.

He had the car keys to the rental car.

Clark just stood there for a moment, shutting his eyes at his own idiocy. His own stupidity and weakness, which had no doubt caused Lois grief as he slept away happily on an ideal beach in California.

He wanted to go throw himself off the highest cliff he could find and hope the Earth would swallow him.

Why why why?

Why had he fallen asleep?

Okay, so he had been tired. Really tired. He still was, really—just not as tired.

But he had been planning on telling her, during lunch. That time had past, and perhaps that opportunity for a welcoming embrace after the revelation. A glance showed him that Lois’s car was gone—which could be a good thing or a bad thing, Clark thought, depending if it was stolen, towed away, or if she had somehow gotten another key . . .

He felt like the lowest class of slime that the planet Earth could produce. Or the universe.

He wouldn’t blame Lois for never talking to him again. He had disappeared, just like that, and left her abandoned in a disreputable part of town without transportation or even the keys to her own car.

And Lois had been beginning to relax a bit around him, after everything . . .

How much worse could it get?

A lot worse, a too-cheerful voice reminded him in the back of his head, but Clark realized slowly that the voice was right, somewhat. The bruise from his hand was all but vanished, and though he had made the trip back to Metropolis much faster than his original exit, his arm and leg weren’t hurting him despite his frantic sprint from California.

He really had missed that sunlight. And now he was much more rested, rejuvenated, and his mind shouted pleasantries at him. Physically, he felt as good as he had for weeks, if still a bit on the tired side. He wanted to go back to sleep, that’s what.

Why!?

Why why why?

Clark glanced around, dropped down into the alleyway, and looked around bleakly.

Clark took a deep breath and walked out into the street, set on calling a taxi.

His spirit continued to sink as he rode back to The Planet.

He was going to shatter her high esteem of her hero a thousand times over, tonight. How could he, Clark Kent—a man of follies, weakness, fear . . .

Before he had felt guilty for running out on Lois, but he had always come back as fast as he could, and it had been to help other people who needed him. He had hated to play some sort of god—hurting those around him, however unintentionally, to save strangers—but he had done it because he had to, and he had done it for them. But this time . . .

This time he had fallen asleep like a drunken, indolent, selfish man.

But he hadn’t meant to fall asleep!

It didn’t matter, though. He had responsibility. As both Clark Kent and especially Superman, he had responsibility. His father had told him so time and time again.

Just because he didn’t mean to, didn’t mean what he had done was right.

He paid the taxi driver without a word and slipped out of the taxi. He looked up at the height of The Daily Planet building, shrinking under its shadow.

Guilt.

He had felt guilt before. Guilt for his secret. Guilt for trying to hide. Guilt for not being able to do all he should have been able to do. Guilt of failure, when all he could do was just not enough.

But what was he supposed to say? “Sorry, Lois. I thought I’d just sit back for a minute and I accidentally fell asleep. Sorry to leave you like that, but, you know, I really didn’t mean to . . . ”

Clark bowed his head and stepped forward.

The ride up the elevator seemed to take forever. He put his hands in his pockets and felt sick dread rising in his stomach.

What was he supposed to say to her?

The elevator doors opened, and Clark stepped out deliberately, lifting his eyes to look for her.

But she wasn’t there.

Biting his lip, Clark walked down the stairs and looked at her desk, which was already slightly cluttered despite his cleaning of it the day before. Luthor’s roses were dark red blots against the white paper and soft brown wood of the desk.

Clark looked around, moving back to his own desk and looking for a note, or something. Jimmy ran up towards him.

“Hey, CK! Where have you been?”

Clark looked up, started. “Jimmy! Where’s Lois?”

Jimmy turned red. “Uh. She’s gone, Clark. Gone for the day, by the sound of it. You . . . you might want to keep some distance from her for the next few days. I haven’t seen her so mad since . . . ” He cleared his throat. “Well . . . What are you doing?”

Clark had immediately moved towards her phone. “Was she okay? Did she get some spare keys to get the car? Why did she leave so early?” It wasn’t like Lois Lane to get off work if she was angry. She must have been very angry.

“Hold on, CK!” Jimmy said, coming around the desk. “She won’t be home. She had an appointment for something. She said . . . not to call her tonight.”

Clark swore and ran a hand through his hair. Jimmy stared at him in shock. “Sorry, Jimmy,” Clark said, but his voice was grim.

Now what?

He would buy her roses. Get some chocolate—too bad it couldn’t be Belgian, tonight. He’d go over and talk to her. There was no way that Lois could avoid him if he got let into her apartment . . .

That was a big If, considering how mad she probably was at him.

“So I guess no movie for tonight,” Jimmy observed, and Clark looked at him in surprise. He’d completely forgotten about Jimmy’s offer. “Yeah. I figure you’re going to be busy. She was really upset, Clark.”

Clark winced. “I know.”

“Kent! In my office. Now!”

Clark swallowed at the loud holler from the editor’s office. Jimmy gave him a sympathetic look. “Go get em, CK.”

Clark nodded.

“Sit down, son,” Perry said as Clark stepped into his office and closed the door behind him. The editor sounded grim, and Clark obeyed tentatively.

“Now,” Perry said, leaning forward and putting his intertwined hands before him on his desk. “Lois told me about how you disappeared on her today. Now listen, Kent, if something personal’s going on between you two that you can’t work out—”

“It’s not that, chief,” Clark said quickly.

Perry nodded. “Good.” He leaned back. “Lois has been having a hard time, Kent, though she’d rather go to the dogs than admit it. I don’t need to tell you that. I think you understand well enough. Now I don’t know what happened today, but Lois . . . I’ve never seen her as bad as this, and that’s saying something. But you’ve stayed with her this long, so I’d rather not break up my best reporting team, if I can help it.”

“No! You don’t need to do that!” Clark said. “I . . . something just happened, Perry. I’ll tell Lois about it, and . . . .Where is she?”

“Gone,” Perry gruffed. “Had an appointment. Said she wasn’t coming back in today, either.” He tilted his head and looked at Clark closely. “Listen, son. Are you doing all right? You’ve been looking a bit roughed up the past couple days yourself.”

“I’m . . . fine,” Clark said. He was tired. He wanted to run back to that beach and sleep for the rest of the day, the night, and another day. How long had it been since he had slept without nightmares?

He shuddered.

“You okay, Kent?”

Clark nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I—I’m sorry, Perry. It’s just . . . so much has happened. I . . . I promise, I’m getting through it. Things are getting back to normal and . . . that helps.”

“Really?”

“Y-yes.”

Perry gave him a long look, and Clark suddenly felt very vulnerable under his gaze. Finally the editor nodded. “Good. You can go on then.” Clark stood and turned to leave. “It’s good to have you back, Kent,” Perry said unexpectedly.

Clark stopped and looked back at him. “Th-thanks, chief,”

The burly editor grunted and turned away, as if already regretting the hasty words. “Go on. Lois wouldn’t leak a word of your latest story, but I want all the details on Monday, right? Then get to it!”

---------------------------------------

Lois was grumpy. And she was late. Again. She didn’t think there had been a time when she wasn’t late to one of her cursed appointments. And she probably would have been later, if Kent had tried to follow her. For a moment there she had thought he actually might make her listen to him, but had stopped as if he had been slammed in the face with a two-by-four. Good thing, too, or he might have gotten kung-foo-ed after all.

Lois signed her name off on the role, barely heard the directions to the Melinda’s room. She knocked, and stormed in the second Melinda opened the door. She plopped down on the couch, and she could almost feel steam hissing from the top of her head.

Melinda stared at her, then seemed to recover. “L-Lois. You look a bit . . . upset.”

“Tell me about it,” Lois said in a dark tone that was almost a growl. “You want to know what happened today? Do you want to know what has happened to me today?”

“Sure?” The psychologist always encouraged Lois to talk about whatever was bothering her, but today Lois’s mood must have been enough to make her wary.

Lois took a deep breath. “Today,” she said. “I spent a whole hour marching across Metropolis until I found someone who would give me enough money to use a payphone. Why? Because my wallet, and all my money with it, was locked up in the car I rented because my other one got shot clean through the window. And why was the rental car locked up? Because I didn’t have my keys. Why didn’t I have my keys? Because my idiot, irresponsible, selfish man of a partner ran off on me! So I had to call the company, try and convince them that I was in fact Lois Lane and I had actually been stupid enough to lose car keys in the bare hour that since I had rented the car. Half of my day was wasted down at the car rental, and when I finally got a key from them I had to go all the way back to Hobb’s Bay and get the car, and my partner was still missing. And there’s no way he was mugged or dragged off or anything, because he was right behind me and then he was just”—Lois snapped her fingers—“gone. Just like that.”

Melinda looked taken aback at the pure fury in her tone. It took her a moment to recover, and she sat down cautiously.

“Your partner?”

“A bumbling, inexperienced hack from Smallville, Kansas,” Lois seethed, wringing her purse handles as if they were Clark’s neck. She seemed to recognize her action and stopped with a glare at Melinda as if challenging her to make note of it. “He left me in the middle of a dark alley, in the middle of perhaps the worst part of Metropolis, without a word or promise to be back.”

Melinda’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure nothing happened to him?”

Lois certainly had been worried, at first. When she had turned around and found Clark mysteriously gone, she had assumed the worst, and darted out towards the street in a panic, searching for a getaway car or the men who might have attacked her partner. But no. There was no one to be seen, and there was no one but Superman that could have gotten Clark out of there so quickly without a sound—unless it was by his own will, and he had just slipped away and hid in the shadows of the street while she had called his name frantically.

Lois laughed—though it wasn’t a happy laugh. “He’s six foot three or something, and not exactly a lightweight. I only had my back turned for a second, and didn’t hear a thing.” Not even Lex could have pulled something off like that.

How dare the man make her worry? How dare he leave her like that? How dare he make her break down into tears of panic and fear as she searched the alley and street—calling his name in desperation? How dare he make her see those terrifying white walls, and believe that he may have been taken, just like before? How dare he make Lois Lane’s heart rip into shreds before she realized that the only explanation was one of Clark Kent’s famed disappearances?

How could her heart go from so broken and terrified and turn so quickly into a sheet of jagged ice?

“You know the worst of it?” Lois said, her voice softer and tighter, but no less fierce. “He’s supposed to be my friend. It was good to have him back—after everything. He’s been gone for the past couple weeks, and he came back on Friday, and though it’s been busy . . . for the first time since Bureau 39 I . . . I could forget about things. I . . . I could forget. I didn’t r-really think about it, but . . . he had been caught by Bureau 39 too, you know, and . . . though I didn’t realize it, it made me feel . . . less alone.” Her voice ended in a whisper that sounded awfully close to tears. But she took a deep breath and steeled herself.

“But then he left me,” she said, her voice growing cold again. Just like he must have left Superman. He was too caught up in his own business—whatever it was. Too caught up in his own life to worry about how Superman had needed his friendship—or how much it would affect Lois if he left her there without a word.

And now that he was gone, she felt the hole of where Superman should be as if it were twice as large as before.

It hurt so much that, despite herself, a lone tear dropped from her eye and she let it go. She could cry for that pain—for Superman. But Clark Kent . . .

He wasn’t even worth shedding a single tear for anymore. He’d lost that privilege.

“You care for your partner?”

“No!” Lois snapped, wiping the tear away. “He—it was just that . . . He was a friend of Superman’s. And . . . I guess it made me feel like S-superman was a bit closer, when he was around, you know? Sometimes . . . sometimes it just feels as if he . . . he was just a dream.” She took a shaky breath. “Like he was too big for this world, and that he’s fading away and taking everything good with him, and no one really knows him, just of him, like an old story or something. But Clark . . . he knew Superman, too. So . . . he knew that he was real. Knows that he is real.” Lois gritted her teeth against another tear.

It was so hard to keep up hope. So hard to keep living in question, in between longing and despair—with the chance that she could be so very alone.

The very thought that something might have happened to Superman made her feel sick.

The thought of what had happened to Superman made her sick. What was he going through? Lois was scarred enough, but Superman had gone through so much more.

They needed each other, but he was just too stubborn to see it.

He probably spent his hours and days and weeks . . . wherever he was . . . guilting away about what he thought was his weaknesses, but really was so very human.

You don’t need to be perfect, Kal-El.

Fear. Pain. Uncertainty. Things that the world certainly didn’t find in their superhero, but Lois had seen it before and knew better. She had read up on post-trauma victims, and she knew Superman’s troubles weren’t over, and neither were hers. But she knew him well enough that she had no doubt that he would be trying to bottle it up as much as he could. And he was so alone—as alone as Lois felt, day after day as she attacked lead after lead with the fearless super-Lois mask in place and bristles up to make sure no one came too close.

“So you . . . don’t like your partner? Maybe you should talk to Perry and he would split you up.”

A lance of panic struck right through Lois’s heart. “No!” she said before she even thought about it. She blinked. “I—I mean . . . ”

She blinked at Melinda, who was watching her closely. What did she mean? The woman was right—if Clark was so impossible to work with, it would certainly be the next step to make sure she didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

But . . .

His awkward, shy smile. His nervous jokes. That way he looked at her, as if she were just the greatest thing in the world. How he could look so much like a neglected puppy that Lois’s mad-dog composure was threatened every time he bit his lip or ran his hand through his hair, just like that . . .

Lois slumped back, running her hand through her own hair and letting out a frustrated, tired sigh. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do now. I mean, it’s because of him that we even have a lead on our latest story, and it’s something . . . I haven’t been too nice about towards him.”

What would have happened to her if Clark hadn’t tipped her off to Lex’s true character? The thought made her shudder.

“Really?”

Lois winced. “He’s been trying to tell me something about someone for months about . . . about someone I was dating and . . . I thought I knew and . . . I didn’t listen to him, and now . . . well, it got us both in a lot of trouble. So I was trying to be nice—to make it up to him, you know?” –and it had been surprisingly easy to be nice to the naïve, stuttering farm boy, once she had let her guard down a bit— “And then he goes and shuts the door in my face. Worse, actually. I mean, one minute he seems like one of the most honest, intelligent, selfless people I’ve met and the next . . . he’s bumbling, dense, and goes off and pulls something like this! I . . . I just can’t figure it out. I can’t figure him out.”

Oh, how she loathed him. She hated him. He had hurt her, and she neverwanted to see him again.

But if she never saw him again, there would be no more teasing remarks, no more sympathetic ear to rant to when something got on her nerves. Clark always was such a good listener, Lois realized, and he paid attention, too, except when he got that annoying look on his face that meant that he was about to come up with some weak excuse and disappear with hardly a warning . . .

Lois felt a bit ill. Was that why he kept leaving her? Was she really that awful to be around? She knew she got carried away, sometimes, and sometimes she just got so frustrated—with him or the world in general—that she just didn’t think before opening her mouth.

Was she really that bad? Is that why Superman had left her? Is that why her parents had left her? Was she doomed to chase away every single person who tried to come closer into her life?

But Clark cared for her. It was part of his naïve air—that so-obvious crush on her that he tried to hide, though he never really succeeded. That slight awe, whenever she walked into the room, and that clean, innocent pain he felt whenever she hit a cord—there was no bitterness in his anger. He never seemed to hold anything against her. She probably could throw him out into the path of an oncoming truck and the farm boy would probably find some way to blame himself . . .

Lois frowned suddenly. How did she know all this? Now that she stopped and looked back over her thoughts, she felt ridiculous. She didn’t know Clark that well, and the longer she knew him the less she felt she understood him.

“He’s so simple. There’s nothing there underneath his honest-to-goodness, earnest farm boy spirit. But then. . . he . . . he just doesn’t make sense,” Lois concluded aloud.

Melinda smiled slightly and leaned forward. “You trust your instincts, don’t you, Lois?”

Lois had almost forgotten about the other woman, and now she fixed her with a glare. Before, she would have answered confidently. But she had been so blind to Lex . . . So horribly, completely blinded by him. It didn’t help her bad mood to be reminded of it.

“I suppose so,” she grumped. “I mean, I hope so. They failed me just recently, though—this one guy I was dating . . . I was aiming the wrong way for him—he had a . . . a side that I just didn’t see—but . . . that happens to everyone, I guess.”

“So usually you trust your subconscious.”

Lois shifted, frowning and wondering what the shrink was getting at. “Well, I don’t like the sound of that, but sure, I guess.”

“Then perhaps your subconscious mind is trying to tell you something.”

Lois gave her an odd look. “About Kent? Right. What, that he’s an undercover crime lord? Or maybe that he doubles as a super hero in his spare hours?”

Melinda chuckled at that. The idea was, of course, ridiculous. “Of course not. But perhaps there’s more to him that you give him credit for, Lois.”

Lois rolled her eyes, sitting back in the chair and folding her arms. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. But you’re an investigative reporter. So investigate!” Melinda said.

Lois looked at her and shook her head. “For all the good it will do, researching things like cows and all,” she said with a sigh, but as her gaze was drawn towards the window and the sky beyond that, her eyes narrowed. What did she have to lose?

Lois Lane hated to be in the dark.

“But why not?” she asked herself, crossing her arms thoughtfully.

Clark Kent, you are now officially on Lois Lane’s investigative radar.

--------------------------

Melinda Helmerson closed the door behind Lois Lane well past their appointed time, but she had scheduled a break after the intense reporter after realizing that a recovery period was necessary. She sat down on one of the couches and sat back with a sigh.

Brrrrring…Brrrrring…

Melinda sat up sharply, staring at the phone on her desk. She stood up slowly and walked towards it.

Brrrring . . . Brrrring . . .

Taking a deep breath, she picked up the receiver.

“He—hello?”

“Hello, Melinda,” a soft, almost growling voice muttered from the other end. Melinda’s hand tightened on the telephone.

“What do you want?”

“I told you what I wanted, Helmerson. I have been patient, but my patience is not everlasting—it has a limit.”

“I will not be frightened by you!” Melinda said firmly, but the paleness of her complexion and shaking of her voice betrayed the thin lie. “I respect my patients’ privacy. If you want someone to spy on Miss Lane, you’ll have to find someone else.” She slammed the phone down on the stand.

A moment passed, and she stood there, shaking.

Brrrring . . . Brrrring . . . .

She wouldn’t get it. She wouldn’t.

Beep. Her message machine turned on. “Hello, this is Melinda Helmerson’s office. If you could please leave a name and a number, either I or my secretary will call you back. Thank you.” Beep.

There was a moment of dreadful silence, and Melinda hoped that the man had just given up once again.

“Mrs. Helmerson,” the soft, dark voice graveled. “I told you last time we spoke that there are things that can make even the most moral of persons break all of their bounds. I have your husband, Mike, here with me, Melinda dear, and if you don’t pick up the phone in three seconds . . . well, use your imagination. One . . . two . . . ”

Melinda snagged the phone off the base. “You’re lying!” she said, but it was desperate.

“Are you willing to risk that?” Cold. His voice was so cold.

Melinda didn’t know what to say.

BANG!

Melinda jumped at the loud, unmistakable pop of a gun firing on the other side of the line.

“What was that!? Why are you shooting?” she screamed, frantic.

“Oh, one of the guns just accidentally went off, I’m afraid. It looks like your husband won’t be walking for some time, my dear.”

Melinda swore, tears breaking onto her cheeks. “Stop! Stop it!”

“How long does it take a man to bleed to death from a gunshot wound like that? Oh, dear. That does not look pleasant. If you want to see your husband alive, Mrs. Helmerson, you’d better start talking. Fast.”

“N-no,” Melinda’s voice quivered.

BANG!

Melinda screamed.

“Stop! Okay! I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” Her legs went weak beneath her, and she sank to the floor, clutching the phone to her ear as she wept. “Don’t hurt him. Please. Please!”

“He’ll be just fine, if you cooperate. Now, tell us what she said.”

Melinda’s hand shook, but she drew her notepad towards her and flipped to her most recent conversation with Lois Lane and with a quavering voice read through them—with everything from the reporter’s rants on her naïve partner, to every single word that slipped out of Lois’s mouth about one Lex Luthor.

TBC . . .