Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Darkest Dreams 46/?

Surprise!

Yes, I am still alive, and yes--I am still working on this story, albeit a bit slowly (lol). Sorry for the very, very, very, very, very (etc.) long break since the last chapter.

This is dedicated to old fans and all of you who have not yet given up on me. Thanks for following this story and especially for reviewing it.

Hope everyone enjoys this!

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

Chapter 46: Hotshots

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

It turned out that the lifesavers were from his mother. Apparently she’d made his suit, too.

Lois decided she really needed to get to know Mrs. Kent better.

She really hadn’t taken enough time to get to know the woman, and even though her short time at the Kent farm those months ago had left her with a good enough impression, the more she learned about her the more she thought they would get along quite well.

Wait a second. Months? It was hardly over a month, wasn’t it?

Lois dismissed the thought, sneaking a quick glance at Clark as she took a left turn (she didn’t want him feeling self-conscious). Time didn’t matter all that much anyway.

Neither of them felt like going home. Lois insisted she wasn’t tired after her nap, and so she followed Clark’s directions to a small Chinese restaurant. The long-braided man taking their order spoke English was not so much broken as shattered, so after a sideways glance at her Clark leaned forward and made their order in flawless Chinese (at least, flawless as far as she could tell).

She wondered absently if the famed-stutterer Clark Kent was more fluent in Chinese than English.

But no. It wasn’t that. It was confidence, or the lack thereof, that caused the stuttering. He never stuttered as Superman—not usually, she amended, but then scribbled out her line of thoughts and tried again.

No. Superman never stuttered. Kal-El stuttered— Clark stuttered.

The man who held never-ending confidence on the strength and goodness of mankind in a world that was rotting from the inside out, the man who would look at her with that undying faith in his eyes, the man with the confidence in his actions that he would lay down everything of his own to uphold his principles—that man was a humble, self-conscious, confident-lacking stutterer.

But why?

She watched him as finished ordering, marveling that the strongest man in the world was probably the one most sensitive.

Heaven help whoever dared try to hurt him again.
Clark finished with the order and turned back to her, a bashful, almost embarrassed crooked smile on his lips.

“Sorry,” he said.

Lois shook her head with a soft chuckle, watching him with her chin in her hands. “You never will learn, will you?” she marveled. “I mean, an apology here and there I might understand, but why in the world are you apologizing now?”

Clark blinked at her.

“No, really,” Lois insisted. “Can you even think of a reason? Besides being brilliant, speaking another language, or ordering my dinner, I mean? Because if you’re going to apologize for that, then you—” Then you need more help than I thought. That was what she had been about to say—which was a perfectly normal retort for one of Clark Kent’s occasional dense moments. But her usual rant cut off suddenly. Her usual threats and grumblings to Clark felt so petty at best, and insensitive at worst.

Besides, Clark was already looking more guilty, not less, and she hadn’t even finished, and that guilt reflected right back to her.

A rush of warm affection washed over her, followed by a strange protectiveness that was definitely weird to feel towards Clark, but wasn’t a bad thing at all.

She reached out and put her hand over his where it rested on the table. “—then I’m just going to have to teach you better,” she finished.

He hesitated, then turned his hand over and interlaced his warm hand in hers. Lois would have been lying if she didn’t say it was a bit strange, but she wouldn’t have it otherwise.

His hand always was warm, wasn’t it? The only time when she’d ever felt it cold was in the White Room, and that seemed so very far away, and yet there they still sat in it, together apart from the world.

She looked into his eyes, and knew everything was going to be all right.

They would make it all right. Together. She swore it.

And heaven help anyone who tried to get in her way.

“So,” Clark said after a long silence.

So indeed.

There was so much she wanted so say. So much she wanted him to say. Least pleasant of all, Lois wanted to make sure he was recovering well in all aspects, but he had ducked her gentle promptings and it was too early to probe more deeply.

It was great to have everything out in the open, but everything felt new—delicate. Like too much pressure would send everything shattering down like broken glass.

She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life.

Clark. Clark ordered Chinese food in fluent Mandarin—which was fine, since she had seen him in China along with who knew how many other countries, and she had never seen him hit a language barrier.

He’d seen the world. Flown the world. And who knew what he knew beyond that?

So Kal-El was Clark. But how much of Clark was Kal-El? How did he find out who he was, what he could do? He said he got a message from his father--his biological one, not Jonathan—but how? How much farther advanced was Clark’s knowledge than the rest of the world put together?

And yet here he was, in a suit looking still slightly too large for him despite the weight he’d gained back over the past couple weeks. His glasses made him look strangely vulnerable.

How in the world was she supposed to treat him?
Clark was watching her, and she met his gaze. He pulled back his hand from hers, clasping his hands together on the table before him. He took a slow breath.

“I . . . I didn’t want this to change anything, Lois.”

That was funny. Change what? How she treated Superman, Kal-El, or Clark? Because now that they were one in her mind she knew she loved him, but darn if she knew how to talk to him. And did he care if she treated him different here, or in private? It wasn’t like she could spit out all her questions here.

Wonderful. For once in her life she was completely without a thing to say.

“Me neither,” Lois replied. She met his eyes. Maybe the best way to get over the awkwardness was just to ignore it completely. Fortunately, their food arrived right then, and further such talk was put aside as they ate.

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

Dinner was marvelous, which Lois was grateful for. It gave her something to talk about, and gave her a good reason for the silence as they ate.

Yes, she did want to talk, but she wasn’t going to push him. Not yet, anyway.

The plate was too big to finish after her double-lunch, so Lois put the rest in a takeout and they walked out to her jeep. Clark took his place in the passenger seat, picking up the folders they’d found in the office earlier and paging through them slowly.

“There’s got to be something in there,” Lois said, buckling her seatbelt and putting the keys in the ignition. This was very safe ground. She could talk about the case as normal as ever—after all, she’d never been on a case with Superman or Kal-El. It was on personal things that the ground was not so clear. She paused, turning on the cab light for Clark to see better, and only belatedly realizing that he probably didn’t need that at all. Oh, well.

“Jimmy can probably find something,” Clark said. “We’ll give it to him in the morning.” He pulled up a few papers, flipping through them with his thumb. Lois wondered if he was really scanning, or if he was actually reading each page . . .

Lois suddenly reached over and snatched a page from his hand. She stared at it for a second, then swore.

“What is it?” Clark asked.

Lois’s voice was victorious: “I knew it I knew it I knew it!” she said. She turned and shook the paper in Clark’s face. “Do you know what that is? Look at this!”

Clark reached out, stilling the flapping paper and frowning at the short message typed coldly on the page.

Operation breeched. Continue at new location.

And beneath that was an address.

“This could be after we found their first lab,” Clark said slowly. “Should we check it out?”

Lois was shaking her head emphatically. “Clark, don’t you recognize the address?” she said intensely, shaking the paper again.

Clark stared at her blankly, feeling more like the junior partner once again. “Uh . . . no?”

“It’s the warehouse,” Lois said, slapping the paper down on the dashboard. “I could never forget that address. Not after . . . .”

“You mean—”

“Either they had planned for . . . what happened”—Lois shot him a look—“to happen someplace else and they had a change of plans, or like you said—they moved their experiments there. Either way, we need to check this out.”

She stopped, suddenly biting her lip and looking at Clark worriedly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Just . . . tell me if I keep doing that, all right? Were you going to say something else?”

Clark looked bemused at first, but by the end his expression was torn between amused and reassurance. “No! No, Lois, it’s quite all right. I . . . I kind of like it. Really. You said everything that I was thinking, really.”

Lois was incredulous. The man liked getting pushed around and run over? Of course, she shouldn’t be surprised at this point—not with how completely thoughtless he was of anything to do with his well-doing.

Masochist.

Some kind of penance, perhaps? She wouldn’t put it past him.

The man was completely illogical.

Lois collapsed back in her chair and glowered at him. “Still,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t let everyone walk over you, Clark.”

“You’re not just anyone, Lois.”

A hint of a smile pulled at her lip. “You’ve got that right, Flyboy,” she said. “I guess you can let me walk over you, when you want.”

“I trust you,” Clark said simply. And it was that simplicity that really brought the statement home.

He really did trust her. It was almost frightening to think that she had that responsibility—that he trusted her so wholeheartedly, even after everything she’d done to him.

It hit Lois like a full-fledged hammer, knocking her heart right into her throat. She swallowed with difficulty, and inhaled a long breath. How come that scared her so much, made her guilt rise up with double force, yet somehow she didn’t think she’d ever heard anything so wonderful?

They pulled out of the dark parking lot, and Lois angled through traffic towards Hob’s Bay and the warehouse where this all began.

“Okay,” she said, adjusting her grip on the wheel and letting out a long breath. “How do we want to do this?”

Clark blinked at her. “I guess . . . like we always do.”

“So we walk into the trap that’s sure to be there, almost get killed, and then get saved at the last moment by Superman. Great plan.”

Clark paused, and Lois wondered if her sarcasm had been a little much. But then he looked at her and gave a crooked grin. “Well, if it’s worked in the past . . . .” he began.

“Don’t start,” Lois said, though she couldn’t help the smile on her face from his return.

“I-I didn’t. You did, Lois,” he pointed out mildly.

Lois scowled at him. He flashed a grin, then quickly struggled to pull it down, and instead ended up smiling at her hesitatingly.

Still not perfect, but it was a start.

“Okay, but seriously, now,” she said. “Where to begin? Could you just . . . you know . . . do the eye thingy from the outside and see what you find?”

“The ‘eye-thingy’?” Clark repeated, a bit amused, but then admitted, a bit self-consciously, “The—the walls are lead-coated.”

Lois had to stop herself from staring at him for the millionth time.

“Figures,” she muttered.

“Sor—”

Lois shot him a glare, and he stopped, realizing what he was doing. “Oh. Sor—I-I mean . . . .” he stuttered off.

Lois could help but quirk a smile at that. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll break you of that habit soon enough.” She reached over and patted him on the knee.

Superman’s knee. In her car.

Along with the rest of him, of course.

Talk about surreal.

The streets grew darker and quieter, and grey. Lois pulled up to the curb a good block away from the warehouse and turned off the car. The lack of their headlights turned the road black for a few moments until her eyes adjusted, and then the road looked washed out and pale in the smog-dusted moonlight. In the closeness of the car Lois suddenly wondered if this is what it sounded like in a grave.

As long as you’re keeping a positive outlook on things, she told herself dryly.

“Hear anything?” she asked Clark. He had gone quite still, tilting his head as if listening to something far away. And he was, wasn’t he? She didn’t know exactly how well he could hear, but if it was anything like she had imagined in the past . . . .

Heavens, how did he ever sleep at night?

Clark shook his head slowly. “Not nearby. A couple drunks on the other side of the block, some rats, a cat . . . . ”

“Now you’re just showing off.” And it was working. She couldn’t help but stare at him.
Clark ducked his head, but instead of apologizing he just smiled and shrugged. “Ready?”

So that was it. He’d just been trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. She certainly wasn’t ungrateful—her hands were clammy and her mouth dry. Could he hear her heart thudding away in fear? And what about smell?

Now that was a weird thought.

But there he was, trying to lift her spirits when he was probably just as afraid and uncomfortable about this as she was, or likely more.

She was starting to sense a theme here.

But she wasn’t going to think about the white room now, and how Clark had tried so hard to make her laugh, while he was bleeding out scarlet all over the white nothingness . . . .

No, they were going to get in, get out, and be gone before anyone could even think about trying anything, if that was vague enough.

Lois nodded. She reached down, her fingers searching over long-lost pencils, lint, and dirt to find two flashlights from under the driver’s seat. She handed one to Clark and grabbed the door handle, pushing it open. “Let’s go.”

The streets had dried during the day, leaving only snakes of sluggish slime glistening in the garbage-cluttered gutters along the street. The sky was cloudless—an odd grey under the still-bright city lights, like a distant echo of life long from this colorless street. The only direct light came from a weakly flickering yellowed streetlamp farther down the block.

They padded across the street, with Lois only glancing back to make sure Clark was following her. She’d never noticed how soft his footsteps were. Or was he cheating? She resisted the urge to check and see if his feet were touching the ground at all.

She couldn’t hear anything as they approached the building, and Clark didn’t raise any alarm, so she didn’t hesitate as she pushed open the door, which was still unlocked since her last visit.

Did that mean no one had been back? Or did they wanted her to think that?

Lois stepped inside, her flashlight beam seeming to weaken under the darkness of the room. Clark stepped in behind her and reached for the lightswitch as the door closed softly behind him. He flicked it, but nothing happened.

“I’d bet Luthor stopped paying electricity bills for this place weeks ago,” Lois said, shining around the room to make sure she didn’t miss anything from the last time, but nothing had changed except for soft swirl of dust that skittered in the beam of the flashlights. “The lights weren’t working last time I was here, either.”

Clark was silent. He stepped forward, glancing at the bare wall where Miss Glutwich’s desk had been settled. Did he feel as displaced as she did, as apart from this surreal, grey world as she felt?

“Last time?” Clark repeated at last.

Lois shrugged. “Y—Superman disappeared. I was trying to find out where he went.”

He glanced at her. “There aren’t any cameras or recording devices in here. I would have heard them,” he said softly.

“Just being safe.”

“You shouldn’t have come, then.”

“If you mean this time, eat my lucky stiletto,” she said, then paused. “In fact, if you mean when I came alone, you can eat it anyways. What else did you expect me to do?”

Clark looked at her again, then shrugged. “I--I guess . . . head straight into the mouth of danger and hope to strangle it on the way down?”

The man knew her too well. “Gets them every time,” Lois nodded.

They made their way down the hall, peeking into room after room in search of something that Lois might have missed in her first pass.

Finally, they got to the Room.

The door was gone—the last of the smallest splinter gone from where it had been smashed through, and the air was stuffy and dusty—it didn’t seem like anyone’d been there for weeks. The wall that had been cracked by Su—Clark’s arrival had been plastered over, and even the slightest smear of blood was gone as if it had never been there.

Lois’s shiver was interrupted by a sneeze. The dust was awful.

Clark was walking around slowly, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, which he lowered now and again to peer at the ground.

He paused, looking down, and stooped into a crouch to pick something up. It was small, and he looked at it closely.

“What is it?” Lois asked, hopeful.

Clark stood. “Cat hair,” he said.

“What?” She reached out, taking his wrist to level the hair with her eyes, but Clark suddenly tensed. She let go quickly, afraid that she’d startled him into bad memories, but he wasn’t looking at her. He stared at the blank wall beside them, his head tilted as if he was listening to something.

“We should go,” he said.

He sounded like Superman. How hadn’t she noticed it before? Or maybe it was just the serious, what-I-am-saying-may-save-your-life tone.

“Someone’s here?”

“More than one,” Clark returned, with a flash of a weak smile, sounding more like himself . . . however that was.

He was doing his best to keep up his strong face. So was Lois.

She grabbed his hand, not caring if he felt her shaking.

“We’ll be fine,” she said, with a confidence that she forced herself to fear despite the memories of this place. “What way should we go?”
Clark glanced at her, then suddenly put shifted lifted her into his arms.

Lois had to bite her tongue to keep from screeching in surprise. Her arms went around his neck automatically. “Up, up, and—”

“No!” Lois said sharply, slipping out of his arms before he could lift off the ground. Clark Kent, lift off the ground? Why did she suddenly not know whether to laugh at that or go mad with fear? They were cornered again. “Why do you even think they’re here, Clark? We probably triggered an alarm on the way in, or something, and if they saw us come in . . . ” She lifted her eyebrows, not wanting to finish in case they were bugged. If they saw us come in, they have to see us come back out.

She wasn’t going to risk Clark, and if Luthor got even a hint that he was Superman . . . . She cut off the thought. She was already feeling dangerously close to being sick.

“The electricity’s dead. I didn’t hear—”

“All right, then, but someone could have been watching. Some bum on the street, or somebody driving by, or anybody. You might be able to hear them, but you can’t read their minds.” She paused, giving him a look. “Um. You can’t, right?”

“What?” Clark gave her a startled look. “No, of course not.”

“Just checking. Is there another way out?”

Clark lowered his glasses again, staring through the walls, but then stilled. He took her arm, her grip strong yet gentle.

“Come on.” He pulled her into the hallway, but instead of moving left or right he stopped, letting her go and running his hands along the wall.

“Uh, Clark, what—?”

His fingers found what he was looking for. His fingernails slipped into the steel crack and he pulled. The wall slid open, and their shaking flashlight beams landed on steeply descending stairs.

“Well, this is original,” Lois said. “Let’s go down the creepy staircases to Frankenstein’s lab, shall we?”

She stepped down, and Clark followed, pulling the panel shut behind them. Pitch blackness, even darker than the halls above, fell over them like a shroud.

“What if they know about this place?” Lois whispered.

“Hopefully there’s another way out.” Clark turned from the door, shining his light down to the bottom of the stair a floor below. He choked suddenly, bringing a hand up to his nose. “Oh, no.”

“What is—?” But then, halfway down the stairway Lois smelled it too. Death, and the fetid reek of decay in a closed space. It came from below, blessedly distant, for now, but Clark sounded as if he were holding his breath to keep from gagging.

He probably could afford it.

She guessed that answered her question about his sensitivity of smell.

They headed down together, the increasing stench making her stomach twist as she focused on breathing through her mouth. They reached the floor and shone their lights in together.

“Cats,” Lois breathed, but the relief not to find a human holocaust was quickly swallowed up as bile rose in her throat. There was a cage just a few feet before her, what was left of a cat sprawled on the bottom of the glass holding. The stench was near unbearable.

Clark stepped forward, his back stiff. With anger? Yes, finding a bunch of dead animals that’d been experimented on and then left to starve would anger Clark Kent.

Before she might have found it petty or sentimental compared to the enormity of what they faced here. But not any more.

“Most of them died before they were left,” he said, his voice cold—too cold to be Clark’s, and cold even for Superman’s. “I can smell it on them.” He found a garbage bin and dumped it out, crouching down to sort through the clutter of papers and . . . needles?

Lois crouched down beside him, clamping down. Lois Maddog Lane was needed now. She sorted through the papers. “Different trials,” she said. There was no need to read the scribbled “FAILURE”s at the top of each page. “This is Logram’s work.”

Clark suddenly dropped one of the vials and jerked his hand back as if burned. He hissed softly.

The sight froze Lois’s heart still. “What is it?” she demanded.

“Kryptonite,” Clark said, staring at the duly glowing green residue on his fingers. “Why was he giving them kryptonite?”

Lois swore, grabbing a wad of tissues from her purse and attacking his hand and rubbing the poison off him. A small smear of a red burn was all that was left behind, but her anger rose like fire nonetheless.

“Don’t touch anything!” she said. “We need to get you out of here.” She’d sworn she wouldn’t let him get hurt again.

“There’s not much of it,” Clark said, though he was pale in the darkness. “I think it’s diluted.” He stopped, straightening slowly. Lois stood as well, tossing the kryptonite-smudged tissues in the pile of garbage.

“We should get some samples, see what he was giving to them,” she said. “That is, I should.”

Clark had walked around the cold-metal counters, his eyes still hard as he walked past the back row of cages. He bent down, and there was the sound of something opening—a fridge? “No need.”

Lois came around, and grimaced as the sickly-sweet stench of rotting foot mingled with the stink of death. Clark pulled out a thin metal canister, his expression grim.

“What is it?”

“Lead.” He started to unscrew the top.

Lois hurried forward. “What are you doing?” There was probably kryptonite in there, and—

Clark pulled off the top and went still. The cloying scent of fresh copper wafted through the air.

Blood. But something was wrong with it, and it took a second for Lois to pinpoint it as she stepped forward, her flashlight beaming unsteadily into the scarlet mix.

The electricity’d been out for weeks. It should be coagulated, clotted—rotting, like everything else in here. But as Clark turned away, putting the top back on with careful hands, she knew.

“Oh no,” she gasped. “That—that’s . . . .” Blood. His blood.

Clark glanced at her, his eyes dark. “This isn’t enough. They probably used the rest, or Luthor’s keeping it somewhere else.”

Lois knew that already. That was maybe enough to fill one syringe, and she’d seen them take far more than that.

Scarlet oceans full, it seemed.

She was going to be sick.

Clark stepped forward, putting the lead vial in his pocket. He swallowed before he spoke. “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes dark and clear in the shadows of his pale face.

Lois could've kicked herself. She shouldn’t be causing him any reason to worry. Heavens, she didn’t know how he wasn’t running screaming right now, away from this torture-chamber of nightmares, never to look back. She knew the only thing keeping her from bolting was her pride.

Her pride? No, she’d lost that long ago. It was him that kept her there. “L-l-let’s get what we need and get out of here.”

Clark glanced towards the stairs. Lois couldn’t hear anything, but she wondered if he was listening to whoever had interrupted them.

“Hopefully not all of Luthor’s goons know about this place,” Lois said.

But Clark kept frowning, and slowly stepped around her, padding down the wall of stinking cages. Lois didn’t bother stepping any closer. She could see (and smell) well enough from here.

Just what she needed. More nightmares.

But Clark stopped at one of the cages, reaching out to test the door. It was locked, but a tug solved that problem and the door eased open.

“This one’s still alive,” he said, reaching in and lifting it up with a gentleness that didn’t seem possible. Lois thought she heard a soft mew as he stepped forward slowly.

“Come on. He needs help, and I know a good vet just a short fl—drive away.”

“But what about—”

“Never mind,” Clark said. “He doesn’t have much time. And Luthor wouldn’t have left anything here if any of it could have been brought back to him.” His voice was firm, unyielding, confident. Superman. He was in his essence again, just like when he was helping little Julia from the tree.

Curse the man. They were this close to tagging Luthor and a half-dead cat was the thing that made him throw everything into the air, just to save that one, miserable, worthless life.

It was ridiculous. Typical. Unreal. Unbelievable. Awe-inspiring, even.

That was what he did, after all. That was who he was.

Was there no end to the wonders of Clark Kent?

(What a weird thought. She’d feel much more comfortable thinking of Kal-El that way, or Superman, of course . . . . )

Clark always had been a sentimental fool. She should have known all along that he and Kal-El were one and the same.

She shook her head.

And curse him again for very likely being right. Any evidence of Luthor’s involvement was already long gone.

Still, she stalked to the nearest filing drawers, ignoring the computer and its shattered screen. She grabbed an armful of folders there and turned around, she with her burden and Clark with his.

“All right, cat-man,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Clark looked up. “There’s still here, but they’re watching the front, by the sound of it. They’re . . . they’re calling Luthor.”

“What are they saying?” Lois demanded, then shook her head. That wasn’t important. “Never mind. What’s important is that they don’t know we know they’re there,” she said, feeling a rush of smugness. Luthor might have been a step ahead of them all this time, but they were gaining, and with Super-Clark-El on their side nothing could stop them from keeping a half a step closer than Luthor thought they were. “Is there a way out the back?”

“I heard some come in that way, so . . . I think so.” Clark started to the stairs, his steps quick but carefully aware of the limp, tiny burden curled gently against his chest. “There’s a couple people back there, but I can’t tell if they’re Luthor’s or just. . . .”

“Typical Metropolis trash. Got it. Well, it’s either that or wait until Luthor tells them where this place is.”

Clark grimaced, still staring upwards as if trying to see through the lead walls and ceiling with force of will. “Too late. We need to go.” He headed towards the stairs.

She wished she hadn’t taken so many folders, so she could reach over and touch his shoulder without dropping her carefully-balanced flashlight from the top of the stack.

She wasn’t going to waste the energy figuring out if that was for her own comfort or his. Again, it wasn’t like it mattered.

Clark reached the top of the stairs and hesitated before reaching forward with his free arm and sliding the wall aside.

He stepped out, holding it open for her as she followed, and let it slide shut, leaving hardly a seam behind. But enough for him to see, even in the darkness, apparently.

He paused, shutting his eyes for a short moment and breathing out the rest of an impossibly long breath. Lois understood. Even with that stench locked back behind metal doors, it was still sharp and pungent in her memory.

Had he been holding his breath that whole time—even while he’d been speaking?

Well, if anyone could, it was him.

They started forward together, with Lois more conscious than ever of her loud steps in their haste. They echoed down the bare hallway, and she felt awkward with her burden of papers. She hoped it didn’t come down to a chase or a fight.

She couldn’t hear anything else, though, and while Clark seemed as alert as ever, his Superman mask was on, although pale. And though it irritated her, now was not the time for her to lecture him on it, though it might be a good distraction.

She was shivering bad enough, after all.

They all needed their masks, sometimes.

They headed together left, following what they guessed was the outside wall, and at last their search proved fruitful when they passed a locked solid door, grey-painted and firm. Lois swore mentally, trying to figure out how to balance the papers, the light, and still reach her picklock in her pocket, when Clark just stuck his thumb into the lock and popped it clean through.

Okay, that worked too.

She stepped around him into the cool night air.

BAM! BAM!

Clark grabbed her, pushing her around the open door. Her flashlight spun from her stack along with a flurry of papers. She heard a bullet ping off the door, and the second hit something odd.

“CLARK!” She scrambled up, trying to reach him, but he was already behind the door with her, and then running, pushing her before him.

Someone swore loudly behind them, and but they had bolted into a side alley, and Clark wasn’t slowing on where to turn, and she knew why.

He could see now—he could see through these buildings, and knew where they were going. And he was getting them out of there.

There were no more gunshots--no more sounds, except for Lois's heart, which she was sure was trying to pump right out of her chest from the sprint.

Finally Clark pulled her into a narrow alley and let her go, and she stumbled aside, another handful of papers slipping from the few she had been able to keep a hold of. She couldn’t seem to care enough to pick them up at the moment.

Clark might have been helping her along, but she’d still been running, and she didn’t think she’d ever run so fast.

She coughed, gagging on her own breath.

He stood up, looking at the wall—no, through the wall. The cat was still nestled against his chest, and as he shifted it carefully she noticed an odd hole in his suit, just beneath his shoulder . . . .

“Clark! You were shot—!” Lois gasped.

Clark’s eyebrows rose and he gave her a look. Lois immediately stopped, her eyes narrowing.

Still . . . .

“Are you okay?” she demanded, still short of breath, and feeling a bit jealous of his completely unwinded and calm self, standing there like they hadn't just run half a mile faster than the fastest Olimpic runner.

On the other hand, that was great. It hadn't been so long ago that he hadn't been able to make it to the bathroom without using up all the energy he had.

Clark’s eyebrows lifted higher. “Um . . . maybe you missed the part of the conversation, Lois, but—”

“I know who you are, Clark. But I know better than anyone else that that really doesn’t matter,” Lois snapped, the sudden rush of panic at the sight of the holes giving way to angry concern. “Now, are you all right?”

“Yes, Lois,” Clark said softly. He paused, then lifted his hand and opened it, letting two bullets fall to the ground with two soft clinks. “I’ve been catching bullets since my dad got me a .22 for my twelfth birthday. I’m fine.”

“Twelve?” Lois stared at him. “Are you insane?” But she couldn’t help her own curiosity. “What did you do?”

Clark shrugged. “We should go. They aren’t following us any more.”

“My car—”

“—Can wait. We can get it in the morning.”

He interrupted her. Again. Good for him.

They started walking again.

“You still haven’t gotten off the hook about your explanation,” Lois said.

“What?”

“Twelve?” she prompted.

“Oh, that,” Clark said, but didn’t answer immediately as he reached up to lower his glasses, glancing back the way he came. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he slipped his glasses back up and continued forward. “I was shooting with a friend of mine. We were just being stupid when one of his shots ricocheted off a rock back towards him. Didn’t even think before knocking him aside, but it hit my shoulder. Hardly left a bruise, even if it did scare me to death. After that, though, I had some fun shooting my gun and seeing if I could catch the bullet before it hit the target.”

Lois was staring at him, her jaw slightly slack. “What did your mom say to that?” Somehow she couldn’t see Martha being supportive of Clark essentially shooting himself, no matter how invulnerable he seemed. What if something had gone wrong, just one of those times?

“Uh . . . well, actually . . . she didn’t—doesn’t—really know.”

Lois stared at him for a moment without speaking. “You are so strange.”

From anyone else, it might have hurt. Hearing it from Lois, however, just made him smile as he settled the skin-and-bones cat under his coat, running a large hand gently down its sharply-ridged back. It purred weakly, nuzzling his hand.

It made him smile because she knew he was strange. She knew he was different. But it didn’t matter to her.

“They’re far enough away. Do you mind if . . . .” He trailed off, looking at her expectedly.

“Mind what?”

“Well, uh, you know, if we . . . .” He made a swooping motion with his hand. “It’ll get us to the vet faster.”

Oh. He meant fly. Fly with Clark Kent.

It was insane. Strange. Completely crazy, wonderful, and exciting enough that she would beg, if it was necessary.

Thank goodness it was not.

“Sure! I mean, of course that’s fine.” She wasn’t nervous, or overly excited, and her heart wasn’t beating out of her chest like a lovesick girl.

Puh-lease. Get a grip on yourself. You were quivering in your shoes just seconds ago. You have evidence, work to do, and more nightmares to face. This is business. Mad Dog Lane business.

Shut up, she told herself.

She was going flying with Clark Kent.


TBC . . .


Please remember to review!