"Come into my office," Browny invited quietly.

His tone caused an icy river to flush through her. Browny never spoke like that ... not unless something was very wrong.

"You come, too, Rubber," Browny said, in that same soft tone.

Lois walked into the office and heard Clark shut the door. "What is it, Browny?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"You haven't heard, have you?" he said.

Clark's hand was again on her back. "Heard what?" Lois said as her heart roared in her eardrums.

"Hawthorn and Melbourne have announced their intention to merge," Browny said. "To form the Melbourne Hawks."


Part 28

Mayson Drake rolled over, turning away from the lump in the bed beside her.

He had served his purpose. Initially, he'd been fun. He'd gotten her attention with his victim-of-unrequited-love persona and kept her interested with a vaguely entertaining balance of flirtation and skittish reluctance. In short, he had managed to somewhat mitigate the bitter taste left by Clark Kent.

How dare Kent - a no-name, inconsequential, hayseed from Kansas - embarrass her like that? And then, he had scurried off to Australia like a frightened rabbit.

But no matter. He would return to Metropolis, and then, the games could resume.

But for now, she had bigger fish to fry.

Much bigger fish.

Superman.

Where was he?

Surely, he couldn't be dead. Or worse, unpowered.

Perhaps he was still recovering. That was possible if - as she had strongly suspected at the time - Trask had gotten it wrong.

Mayson had spoken at length with the eyewitnesses who had seen the alien slumped and writhing in pain. Many of them believed that the green rock, far from empowering him, had had a debilitating effect on the alien.

But Trask, of course, wouldn't listen. Before his death, he'd achieved his goal to rid the world of the alien rock.

Or thought he had.

After Superman had dumped Mayson at the hospital door and flown away, Perry and Dan had hustled her into a room to await treatment. She had stayed there less than a minute before slipping out of the window and taking a cab back to EPRAD. Using a combination of charm, feminine wiles, lies, the ability to pick locks, and rat cunning, she had slipped through security and managed to get into the now-deserted room where Trask had 'enlightened' the world with his particular brand of lunacy.

And there she had found it ... Lying on the floor - less than three feet from the blood stain - looking as innocuous as any other colourfully hued rock.

Just a pebble - smaller than a golf ball and oddly shaped.

But - in the right hands - more powerful than dynamite.

And more than able to make up for any damage done to her reputation over the Trask debacle.

Had he kept it as insurance? Or had one of the dissenting voices managed to procure the piece while Trask's collection of green rock was being readied for its journey into space? Perhaps it had dropped from the dissenter's pocket as his body had been removed.

Mayson didn't know.

Didn't care.

What she *did* know was that the piece of green rock - now securely hidden in her apartment - gave her so much power she couldn't think of it without wanting to screech in delight.

Whatever the truth, she now held all the aces.

If Trask had been correct, she had the only known source of power for the world's strongest man. She could control him.

If Trask had been wrong, and the green rock actually incapacitated Superman, she could threaten him with it ... and still control him.

The ideas just kept piling up ... ideas that would secure everything she craved - power, control, success, fame, and wealth ... ideas that would launch her way beyond a mere reporter and into the stratosphere of being America's most powerful person.

And, as a satisfying aside, Mayson was confident there would be a way to use Superman to rattle Clark Kent's home-spun attitudes so severely, the Kansan hick would beg her for a date.

Assuming the alien was still alive.

And powered.

It had seemed expedient that the world accept Trask's beliefs about the green rock. Mayson certainty didn't want a frenzy of crazed criminals hunting for a means to control Superman.

So, she'd written a story that Superman had confirmed Trask's assessment.

If he were dead, there would be no one to contradict her.

If he were alive, she had the green rock. He wouldn't dare cross her.

He was alive. He had to be alive. She couldn't come this close to attaining real power only to be thwarted by an incapacitated alien.

But if he were alive, why hadn't he responded to the financial carrot? Her rich and malleable uncle - whose position on the Planet board had never been more propitious - had responded magnificently to her less-than-subtle prodding.

Dan Scardino rolled over and brushed against her. Mayson leapt from the bed and looked down at him with aversion.

He'd served a purpose - but no more. She had moved on to far greater things than needing an unsophisticated Australian to restore her bruised ego. She was weary of maintaining the pretence of being impressed by his grating accent and his weird sense of humour.

As she watched him, his eyes opened, and he smiled sleepily. "Whatcha doing, Ducky?" he asked. "Come back to bed. It can't be time to get up yet."

That sealed it. Not for anything would she tolerate him calling her 'Ducky' one more time. "I have a hot tip for a story," she said, her tone dripping with distaste.

"Need any help?" he mumbled, already half-asleep again.

Mayson's lip curled. "Not from you," she said.

She hastily dressed and returned to her own apartment.

Her apartment that held the means to her future.

Now, if only the alien would get over his silly vanishing-act and play ball.

She was confident he would.

A million dollars.

Who could resist that?

||_||

Clark's hands spanned the slope of Lois's hips. She was trembling, and he could hear the galloping of her heart. She swayed a few degrees, and he tightened his hold. He leant forward so he could see her face. She was deathly pale; her eyes were fixed ahead, her mouth was open, and her breath was coming in short, sharp jabs.

"Do you want to sit down?" Browny asked. "Perhaps you should."

Lois shook her head. "Tell me," she demanded, her voice thin and strained.

"The Melbourne Hawks," Browny said. "Announced earlier this morning. Both boards in agreement."

"So ..." Lois gulped. She closed her eyes and took two steadying breaths. "No more Hawthorn."

Browny looked at her with genuine sympathy. "Melbourne were never going to give up their name," he said.

Lois swallowed and then sucked in another colossal breath. "I'm going to Glenferrie," she declared.

"I knew you would," Browny said. "Rubber, you go with her."

"No!" The word shot from her mouth with such force it seemed to propel her into action. She turned to Clark and put both hands on his chest. "No," she said. She searched his eyes and silently pleaded for his understanding. "I need to do this alone."

"Lois -"

"Please, Clark," she begged. "Please just let me do this. Please."

He wanted to argue, he wanted to stake his claim that, after everything they had shared, his place was beside her. He wanted to beg her not to push him away.

She took his face into her hands and looked deep into his eyes. "This changes nothing," she whispered. "Not between us."

Clark realised he must have been holding his breath, because he let it loose. "Lois, can I come with you? Please?"

She shook her head. Her manner had become business-like, purposeful, driven. "I'll see you tonight."

"You'll come to my place? I can cook for you."

Lois reached into her bag and gave Clark a key. "Go to my place. Please? I'll come home. I'll need to be close to my phone."

She stretched up and took his mouth in a desperate kiss. Then, without so much as a glance at Browny, she hurried from his office.

Browny slumped into his chair. If Lois kissing Clark so openly had surprised the editor, he didn't show it. "Sometimes, I hate football," he said.

Clark stepped forward and sat opposite Browny.

"I hate how the people in control think it's OK for them to force their vision for the future on the entire football world. And I hate how it's always so tightly bound up with money and personal profile and *growth*." The final word was uttered with patent disgust. Browny slowly shook his head. "They said our game must grow. They said our game must move forward. They said we must have a national competition. They never mentioned that the road to such glory was littered with sacrifices."

"Do you think there is any chance for Hawthorn?" Clark said.

Browny lifted his eyes. "No," he said dejectedly. "No, I don't. From what I'm hearing, most at Hawthorn believe it's a choice between merging and going under completely."

"And Melbourne wants this?"

Browny grunted. "Of course they want it - they get to keep their name, their colours, their home ground, and a free pick of Hawthorn's best players. They also get concessions from the AFL - concessions that will practically gift-wrap them a flag within five years. Their last premiership was 1964 - this is like offering a banquet to a starving man."

"And what does Hawthorn get?"

"They get to avoid a slow and public death."

"How could it have gotten this bad?" Clark asked.

Browny shook his head. "I don't know. Five years ago, that club had just won its fifth flag in nine years. Now, they're in debt, their membership is low, and they seem to have accepted their fate."

"Lois won't accept it."

"I know," Browny said glumly. "And that is only going to make it harder on her." He looked directly at Clark. "Stick by her, Rubber; try to help her through this."

"Of course."

"And don't *ever* tell her it's only a football club."

"I know it's far more than that."

Browny sighed and picked up his notepad. "I need you to do a story, Rubber," he said. "There's a rumour that St Kilda have been hit by gastro. Can you get out to Moorabbin and find out if it's true? They should be training soon."

"Sure."

"Do you know how to get there?"

Clark stood from the chair. "Yeah," he said. "I've been there before."

"Rubber ..." Browny stared at his notepad as if it suddenly held the answers to all of life's questions. "... as the new kid on the block, I won't be asking you to write any stories about the merger."

Clark searched his editor's face. It was impassive - but his interest in the notepad strongly suggested his words carried further meaning.

"Make sure Flinders knows," Browny said. "You're too new to this. Anything you find out wouldn't be worth printing."

Clark felt a surge of affection for the crusty editor. "Thank you," he said.

"Now, get your Yankee butt out to Moorabbin," Browny barked. "I'm one reporter down, and I need the rest of you out there finding me stories."

||_||

Clark bent low to check the meal he'd placed in the warm oven. He straightened and paused, listening again for that one special heartbeat.

Still nothing.

He meandered out of the kitchen and picked up his cell. Should he call her? Where was she? When would she be home?

She had said that nothing would change between them.

In the hours since Lois had stormed from Browny's office, Clark had tried to cling to that.

But when Lois had spoken, she'd been in shock. *Would* this change anything? Would it change *everything*?

Then Clark heard it - her heartbeat.

Lois was coming.

He pushed his hand through his hair and straightened his glasses. He hurried to the door and opened it.

She was at the bottom of the driveway, walking towards him. He searched her for clues to how she was feeling. Was she tired? Dejected? Disheartened? Emotional?

She looked up, saw him, and gave him a tentative smile. "Hi, Clark," she said.

He rushed forward to meet her and put his hand on her arm. "Hi, Lois," he said. "Are you all right?"

She went into her unit, and Clark followed. He shut the door and waited, unsure what Lois wanted from him. Then she turned and slid into his embrace.

Clark held her close as his relief escalated through him. She wasn't shutting him out. "Aw, honey," he said. "I'm so sorry this has happened."

Lois clung to him; her breaths came evenly, and her heart rate was only slightly elevated. Then she eased away and looked up at him - composed and calm. She inhaled deeply. "Is that dinner I smell?" she asked.

Clark nodded and went to the oven. He filled the two plates with chicken casserole and put them on the table. "What did you find out?" he asked as they both sat down.

Lois slowly chewed the first mouthful of the meal he had prepared for her. "It's not looking good," she said. "We're in a hole, no doubt about it."

"Do you think there's any hope of avoiding the merger?"

"There's always hope," she said.

"Has it been signed off?"

"No. September 16th - there's an Extraordinary General Meeting of members."

"So the members get to vote on this?"

"Yes," Lois said. "Our members. And Melbourne's members. If we both vote 'yes', that's the end of Hawthorn."

"How do you think the vote will go?"

"Melbourne will vote 'yes'. There is absolutely no reason for them not to."

"And Hawthorn?"

"The feeling I'm picking up so far is that most people believe we have no choice. Either we merge or we die."

"Is it that bad?"

Lois sighed deeply. "Information was hard to come by, but I managed to find out that our player payments are behind. I reckon that means we're in pretty deep financial trouble."

"Did you have any inkling that things were this bad?"

Lois shook her head in bewilderment. "No." She sighed. "But I've barely been at the club all this year. I let myself get distracted with other things."

"Lois, this isn't your fault."

"It's not about whose fault it is. It's about what we can do about it."

"What are you going to do?"

Lois reached into her bag and withdrew a bulky notepad. "I have made a list of past players, past board members, past coaches, and as many supporters and members as I can think of. First thing tomorrow, I'll give Browny my resignation and then -"

"Lois ..." Clark paused, feeling like he was standing on a solitary rock in a raging river. Whatever he said next, he was likely to be swept away in the torrent.

"What?" she asked, dangerously quiet.

"Are you sure it's necessary to resign?" Clark asked gently. "Perhaps you could take leave?"

"It's coming up to finals," she said. "Browny doesn't need an absent reporter. If I'm not there - and I won't be - he needs to be able to replace me."

"Lois ... are you sure you want to give up everything you've worked for?"

"It's not worth squat if there's no Hawthorn."

"Lois ... "

She put down her fork and covered Clark's hand with her own. "Clark," she said. "I know you mean well, and I can see you are trying really hard not to upset me - but this is *Hawthorn*."

"I'm trying to understand that," he said softly.

Lois stroked the back of his hand with her fingertips. "I know," she said. "But what I really need from you is that you let me do this my way. You haven't even been here for a month ... you can't possibly understand what I'm feeling ... you won't be able to understand my decisions. We both need to accept that."

"I'm worried that this will tear us apart."

"We won't let it," Lois said.

Clark didn't want to argue, but his fears were strong enough that he said, "I feel like you're being called back by your first love, and as much as I am going to support you in that ... it scares me."

Lois's hand tightened around his. "Hawthorn are my first love time-wise. Nothing will change that. But that's not the same as having the first place in my heart. That place is yours, Clark. Nothing will change that either."

"Thank you," he said, forcibly shutting down his internal howls of doubt.

"It's six weeks, Clark," Lois said earnestly. "We Hawthorn supporters have six weeks to see if there is any way to save our club. I *have* to give everything - my time, my energy, my passion. I have to give Hawthorn *every* chance to survive. I can't take everything the club has given me and just turn my back now."

"Lois," Clark said. "Do you really believe that Hawthorn has a chance? Do you believe that if you avoid the merger, there is any possibility that your club can fight back from this and still survive five, ten, twenty years into the future?"

"I know the odds are against us," she said. "I know that many good Hawthorn people believe the merger is our only viable option. I know they have had weeks, maybe months, to plan how to present this as a fait accompli to the members."

"Do you think it's possible?" Clark persisted. "Not only to avoid the merger, but to continue as a single club?"

"That depends on how much we want it," she said.

"What are you going to do? After you've given Browny your resignation?" Clark tried so hard to keep any trace of censure from his voice.

"I'm going to ask everyone who has a connection with the club whether they are willing to fight. It was only announced today. They chose their timing carefully - with Cathy Freeman running in the 400 metre final later tonight - they hoped it would slip under the radar."

"What will you do if you find enough people who think Hawthorn can continue without merging?"

"We will fight," Lois stated. "We will fight with everything we have."

"And if most people believe Hawthorn need to merge?"

"I will stand alone," she declared.

Clark felt despair drape his heart. Lois was going to get hurt - badly hurt. And there was nothing he could do - nothing except wait and hope he would be able to find a way to lessen the devastation of losing her club. "Lois," he said. "I know I won't fully understand ... I know that I don't love Hawthorn the way you do ... but I *do* love you ... and I give you my word that I will stand with you. You won't have to stand alone."

Her chin wobbled, and her eyelids fluttered against rising tears. "Thank you," she said shakily. "Thank you."

Their eyes met and held - until a loud tap on the door broke them apart. Lois glanced at her watch. "Who could it be this late?" she said as she went to answer the knock.

Clark looked through the door, so it was no surprise to him when Lois exclaimed, "Seb!"

She stepped into his arms, and they held each other for a long moment.

"Come in, Seb," Lois said after they had parted.

He followed her into the unit.

"Seb, you remember Clark Kent?" Lois said. "Clark, this is Seb Wilton."

Clark nodded and offered his hand. Seb took it, but his gaze didn't waver from Lois.

Lois sat with Seb on the couch. "I guess you've heard," she said.

Seb nodded. "I caught the first flight down to Melbourne. I was at the club today."

"I was, too; I didn't see you there."

Seb hesitated. He looked uncomfortable. Clark took advantage of the break in conversation to crouch beside Lois. "Would you like me to leave?" he asked.

"No," Lois said with a little smile.

Clark sensed that Seb would prefer to be alone with Lois. "Is that OK with you, Seb?" he asked.

Before Seb could answer, Lois spoke. "Seb, Clark and I are together now. Anything we say, we can say in front of him."

Seb didn't respond, and Clark turned back to Lois. "Honey," he said. "It's OK; I can come back later - after you've talked with Seb."

"No," Lois said firmly. She turned to Seb. "Clark's staying."

Seb accepted that with a terse nod. He looked squarely at Lois. "The reason you didn't see me today was that I was in a meeting with some of the board members."

Lois's mouth dropped open. "You were? How did *you* get into a meeting? Nobody would tell me anything."

Seb shifted uneasily. "The board invited some members to a meeting so they could explain their position."

"*Some* members?" Lois asked.

Seb looked down. "Those with the financial capacity to -"

"Oh, Seb," Lois squealed delightedly. "They *are* trying to find a way around this merger."

Dismally, Seb shook his head. "No, Lois," he said. "There *is* no way around this merger."

Lois stared at Seb. Cold horror had swamped her fleeting delight. "Seb?" she said in a small voice.

"Lois, I've come here to beg you not to fight this. I know how persuasive you can be. I know how people gravitate towards you. I know how much this is going to grate against every instinct you have, but please, Lois, please don't fight this. No good can come of it."

"Seb?" Lois said in a voice that choked.

"Lois," Seb said desperately. "Lois, I've seen the books; we haven't paid our players in weeks. The merger is our only hope."

Lois stared at him from the cloud of her bewilderment. "Seb," she gasped. "I can't believe that you - of all people - would accept this so easily."

Seb clenched his hands. "You know I love Hawthorn," he said wretchedly. "My family has been Hawthorn since my grandfather was ten years old. But Lois, we need to accept the facts. If we try to fight this, there are only two possible outcomes."

"Which are?"

"We will be split. It will get very ugly, and the final memories of our club will be filled with pain, and anger, and resentment. Lifelong friendships will be shattered."

"And the other outcome?" Lois said.

"If the members vote against the merger, by Round 1 next year, there will be no Hawthorn."

"If the members vote for the merger, by Round 1 next year, there will be no Hawthorn," Lois said. Clark could hear the steeliness creeping into her tone.

"Lois," Seb said, his voice raising a notch. "I know this is hard for you. That's why I came here - to tell you what I know. To help you understand that resisting the merger will spell the certain death of our club."

Lois stood abruptly and marched to her bedroom. When she returned, she was holding a Hawthorn jumper. As she sat down, she thrust it at Seb. "Have you forgotten what *this* stands for?" she demanded.

"Of course I haven't," he shot back.

"Seb," Lois insisted. "We are *Hawthorn*. We *don't* give up. We *never* give up. No matter what. The tougher it gets, the more determined we get. Think of the '89 Grand Final. Think of the years and years without finals. Think of everything we have faced and overcome."

"Lois, we will have nothing. If the merger proposal is defeated, there will be a spill of the entire board. The players and the coaches will look elsewhere - who can blame them? Who would commit to a club with a lifespan measured in weeks?"

"I would," Lois stated defiantly.

"We will start the pre-season with no board, no money, very few players, no assets, and a debt that will strangle every last gram of life from us."

"The club does not belong to the board," Lois said heatedly. "The club belongs to every single person who loves it. And if those people want to fight to keep their club, *nothing* will stand in our way."

"Lois, things have changed, and this is just the beginning. Footy isn't what it once was. It's a business now - a brutal, cut-throat business - and only the strongest survive."

"You want to see how strong Hawthorn are?" Lois challenged bitterly. "Then you just stand back and watch."

"Strength used against each other is not really strength at all."

"So we just give up?" Lois snapped at him.

"No," Seb said. "We don't give up. We realise that we have an out, and we take it."

"A merger is not an out," Lois said scornfully. "It's a surrender."

"Lois, we don't have on-field success. We don't -"

"We won the flag five years ago."

"We don't have enough members," Seb continued. "We have less than thirteen thousand members, Lois. We need thirty thousand. We don't have the money. We are a million dollars down the gurgler."

Lois stared at him, breathing heavily. "I will find the members," she proclaimed. "I will rattle tins on the streets if I have to. I will find the people who love this club, and together we will take back what is ours."

"The people who love this club know that the merger is the best possible outcome."

"No!" Lois said, shaking her head. "No, I will *never* accept that."

"Lois, I could give you fifteen iconic Hawthorn names - and every one of them believes we have no choice but to merge."

As Clark watched, he saw a little of Lois's resolve melt away. "Kennedy?" she ventured in a voice heavy with trepidation.

"No," Seb admitted. "He is refusing to align with anyone."

"Which means he doesn't want the merger," Lois said with a measure of triumph.

"Nobody *wants* the merger, Lois."

"Then *fight* it, Seb." She leant forward and put her hand on his knee. "Fight it with me, Sebby Boy."

Seb's eyes slid shut and he slowly shook his head. "I can't, Lois."

"Don't give up," Lois begged. "Please, don't give up."

"I'm not giving up. I'm being realistic."

Lois removed her hand from his leg and clutched the Hawthorn jumper to her chest.

"You're ignoring the facts, Lois."

"You're ignoring your heart, Seb."

Silence cloaked the impasse as Lois and Seb stared at each other.

Eventually, he stood and looked down at Lois. "If you do this," he said coldly. "If you choose to stand against this, and you manage to convince enough members to vote against the merger ... if Hawthorn miss this opportunity to keep a tiny remnant of what we once were ... I hope you realise that you can't just hightail off to the States after the vote. If you're going to fight this, it has to be a long-term commitment. And, believe me, it is a long, long way back - I don't think you have even begun to understand the enormity of what you are trying to achieve."

He strode to the door. By the time he reached it, all the anger had drained from his step, and when he turned, Clark could see tears glistening in his blue eyes. "Please, Lois," Seb pleaded. "Please let Hawthorn move into the next phase with dignity. Please don't tear this club apart."

"If we merge, there is no Hawthorn - there is no club to tear apart."

"You wouldn't barrack for the Melbourne Hawks?"

Lois snorted - harsh and uncompromising. "If we merge, I will never watch another game of football," she declared bitterly.

"Lois -"

"Get out, Seb. You've said what you came to say. I've listened, and I don't want to hear any more."

"Lo -"

"Get out, Seb."

He turned, looking so defeated that Clark couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Seb walked out and softly closed the door behind him.

Clark turned to Lois. The tears of anger had splashed onto her cheeks. With the sleeve of her Hawthorn jumper, she fiercely brushed away the dampness. "I have a lot of work to do," she said as she moved to the table.

Clark cleared away the plates and sat beside her. "What can I do to help?" he said.

She slid the pile of papers across the table. "You can help me find phone numbers for all these people," she said. "I'm going to contact every last one of them and see how they feel about this. I'm going to find out if Hawthorn people care enough to save their club."

Clark lightly touched her arm and gave her a tentative smile. "Lois, I love you."

She returned his smile, and it seemed almost genuine. "I love you, too, Clark," she said. "I promise you nothing is going to change that."

"I'll help you however I can."

Lois snatched at the tissues and dried her eyes. "Thank you," she said.

"Will Seb be all right?"

Her tears welled again and she dabbed at them. "Yeah," she said.

"It's none of my business, but perhaps you should call him," Clark said. "Tomorrow, maybe?"

"No," she said firmly. She smiled tightly, as if she were the one reassuring Clark. "We'll be fine. We'll be on different sides in this battle, but whatever happens to Hawthorn, nothing will threaten what Seb means to me."

"He said that lifelong friendships will be destroyed."

"But not ours," Lois said. "Not Seb and me." She pulled her notepad closer and picked up a pen. "We need phone numbers for all of these people."

"OK."

Lois suddenly lifted her gaze from the papers and stared enquiringly at Clark.

"Yes?" he asked.

She smiled with sudden glee, and Clark felt its wonder flow through him. "Uhm ... are you able to do this ... *really* fast?"

Clark nodded. "I could have it done in less than a minute."

Lois tossed the pen onto the table and grinned. "Great," she said. "Because then I'd like you to fly me home."

"Home?"

"Yes, please," Lois said. "I want to talk with your mom."

||_||

Glossary

Down the gurgler - down the drain.

RL people

Cathy Freeman - Australian 400m athlete who that night won the silver medal at the Atlanta Olympics.

John Kennedy - has been called 'The Father of Hawthorn' - player, coach, mentor, guide.