He wanted to think about Lois.

And he had so much to think about.

Her head on his shoulder.

The rose scent of her perfume.

The feel of her fingertips on his neck.

Her smile.

Her laugh.

Her head on his shoulder.

The rose scent of her ...


Part 19

"Clark?"

He dragged himself from sleep and sat up. He was alone in the prison.

"I'm in my office, but I can't sleep. Would you mind if I came down to you?"

Would he *mind*? He loved being with Lois ... but in the middle of the night? What was she wearing? Nightwear? What sort of nightwear?

"It's all right. I'm being silly. Good night, Clark."

Clark hastily raised his hand and beckoned to the window. "Come on down," he said, although he didn't know if she would hear him.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded vehemently.

He heard a series of shuffling sounds, and a few moments later, the door opened, and Lois walked in - dressed in modest mauve pyjamas and with a few strands of her dark hair endearingly tussled - clutching her pillow and sleeping bag under one arm and her camp mattress under the other.

Clark rose from his bed, glad that he had decided to wear the tee shirt as well as the shorts. "Hi," he said when he reached her.

"Sorry if I woke you."

"It's OK."

"*Were* you asleep?"

He smiled. "Don't ask personal questions."

She smiled, too. "Sorry," she said.

Clark slid her mattress out from under her arm. "Where do you want this?"

She pointed to the space next to where he'd been sleeping. "There?"

He placed it on the concrete, and Lois stepped into her sleeping bag and lay on her side - with her head perched on her flattened hand.

Clark slipped back into his bed and faced her. "You OK?" he asked.

She nodded. "I couldn't sleep. I was trying to remember O'Brien's first name - I knew I'd heard it once."

"Did you remember it?"

"Yup," she said with a satisfied smile. "Reuben. I kept thinking it was Benjamin, but Ben O'Brien just didn't sound right."

"Reuben O'Brien," Clark mused. "Did you remember anything else about him?"

"Only that he was in the job long enough to be considered a living legend, and this operation was a part of his portfolio before Scardino took over."

"Do you think it's worth trying to find him?"

"Yes, I do," Lois said. "I'm just not sure about Scardino."

"If Menzies ordered you to leave, do you think Scardino would challenge that decision?"

"No," she said. "I don't."

She was so desperately alone in this. And Clark was powerless to help her. Or protect her. "You should try to get some sleep," he said. "You must have caught an early flight this morning."

"Yeah," she agreed. "But I can't sleep when my mind is wrestling with something."

"Well, you can relax now that you've remembered his name," Clark said.

Lois grinned. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Mr Kent?"

"I would never try to do that, Ms Lane."

"That's what I used to call you, you know?" Lois told him. "Before I knew your name was Clark - in my mind, I thought of you as 'Mr Kent'."

He remembered the note. He'd thought the paper bag would contain food, but there had been so much more. Four unforgettable words ... 'Thank you, Mr. Kent.'

Four words that had shone like a beacon into his bleakness.

Four words that would never fail to resonate through his heart.

Lois was smiling, as if she, too, were reliving a pleasant memory.

He sent her an unspoken question.

"The paper airplane," she answered. "You must have thought you were being attacked by a madwoman."

"I was a little surprised," Clark admitted. "But I was impressed by your resourcefulness."

"We never did fly the plane you made," she said.

"Where is it? Did you take it away when we cleared this place?"

"Yeah," she said. "It's on my desk - a bit crumpled, but still a magnificent example of aerospace technology."

He raised an eyebrow, and she giggled in response.

"Well, you could fly my rather pitiful effort with amazing skill," Lois said. She adjusted her pillow and resettled her head onto her palm. "You cheated, didn't you?"

"Does using a few extra skills count as cheating?"

"Absolutely."

"Then, yes, I cheated."

She laughed. "I thought so."

"Sorry." Except he wasn't. He wasn't sorry about anything he'd done that had inexplicably led them to this moment - when, unbelievably, a gorgeous woman was chatting to him as if the time, and the place, and their entire association was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Actually, that reminds me," Lois said. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you. Would you make a paper airplane for me to take to my dad?"

"Of course I will. I still have the notepad you gave me."

"We used to fly them together when I was a kid. He liked the elaborate ones, too."

Did that mean she had spoken about him to her father? "I'll make it first thing tomorrow," Clark said.

"Thanks. I'll take it to him. And I have the tray you made for him as well."

Clark fell quiet as a parade of Lois-memories passed through his mind - the airplane, and the candy, and the food, and the clothes, and the water, and all the other things she had given him.

They were wonderful ... but they were *things* - things anyone could have given him.

His greatest treasures - the memories that would always have the most-visited place in his inventory - were more obscure. Like her smile. And her openness. And the fact that she'd never, ever recoiled from him. Had never done anything in word or deed to make him feel as if he were different.

Or strange.

Or unacceptable.

Lois sighed suddenly. Her head had dropped onto the pillow, and her eyes were closed.

Clark smiled.

Someone would have to stay awake to ensure that they were not still here when Shadbolt arrived.

That someone would be him.

He could relive his memories. And watch her sleep.

As he settled more comfortably into the sleeping bag that belonged to Lois, Clark realised the profound depth of her trust in him.

She was here ... asleep. Totally vulnerable.

He was strong enough that he could do anything to her, and she would be powerless to defend herself.

They were alone - it would be hours before anyone else came.

But he knew that if he queried her trust, she would say that although he *could* hurt her, he never would.

And she would be right.

Her trust meant everything to him.

There was nothing in his life that he valued more.

||_||

~~ Thursday ~~

"Lois?"

Lois groaned and hoped that whatever was intruding into her sleep would have the good grace to fade away and leave her alone. It could *not* be time to get up yet.

"Lois?"

She accepted her fate and prised her eyes open.

Clark was smiling at her. "You have to wake up," he said. "Shadbolt will be here soon."

Lois lurched to a sitting position and looked around the cell. "Uh oh," she said. "I didn't mean to fall asleep here." She turned to Clark and giggled. "Can you imagine the look on Shadbolt's face if he'd walked into the staffroom and found the door open and both of us asleep in here?"

A gleam of amusement sustained Clark's smile. "You should get all of your stuff out of here before that happens."

A dusting of dark stubble shaded his chin and cheeks. Lois wriggled out of her dad's sleeping bag to evade the temptation to run her finger along the rugged terrain of his jaw line.

"Take your sleeping bag and pillow," Clark said. "I'll bring the mattress to the door for you."

"Thanks." She bent low to gather her bedding and met his eyes. "If I embarrassed you by falling asleep in here, I'm sorry. I did intrude uninvited."

"You didn't intrude," he said. "And I wasn't embarrassed." But it was what his expression said that gave her heart its first tremor for the morning. He appreciated her trust. He valued it. He didn't *expect* it, and it hadn't gone unnoticed.

"I should go," Lois said - before she could get lost in the vista of his brown eyes.

Clark nodded, and she walked away.

In her office, Lois changed into jeans and a sweater. Her red dress lay across the desk, a conspicuous reminder of the previous evening and her date with Clark.

It had been in a cell.

Sitting at a foldaway table.

And on camp mattresses.

Watching a tiny screen.

With a prisoner.

Who was also an alien.

But none of that mattered - it had been the best date of her life.

And - she thought with a wry smile - it had finished with her sleeping next to her date.

She probably should be mortified by her indiscretion.

Falling asleep *in* the cell, with the door wide open, and the prisoner right there next to her.

But ... it had been a long time since she'd thought of Clark as a prisoner.

And she knew with certainty - if she was with Clark, she would always be safe.

Knowing that Shadbolt would be here soon, Lois hauled her thoughts away from Clark and hurried back to collect the mattress. When everything was safely stowed in her office, she returned to the staffroom and filled the bowl for Clark.

He met her with an outstretched hand that held a paper airplane. "This is for your dad," he said.

Lois put the bowl on the concrete, took the airplane from him, and examined it. "Thanks, Clark," she said. "It's great."

"Thanks for the water."

"I'll be back this afternoon. Hopefully, I'll have a lead on Reuben O'Brien's whereabouts."

He smiled - although it didn't hide his despondency at their parting. It was only a few hours until she would return, but it must seem like a canyon of emptiness to Clark. "See you, Lois."

"Thanks for waking me," Lois said with a small smile. "See you soon." She locked the cell door and turned on the coffee machine.

Ten minutes later, Shadbolt arrived. He was scowling as he entered the staffroom. "Everything OK?" he said gruffly.

"Everything's fine," Lois said. "The pet door is in. His breakfast is in the fridge. And I've just turned on the coffee machine."

He grunted in reply.

"Do you want me to be here while you push the breakfast through the door?"

"I thought that's why you had the door installed," Shadbolt said grumpily. "So we can do it without needing someone else here."

Lois figured now was a good time to leave. "See you later," she said.

She detoured to her office, but only stopped there long enough to pick up her bag and lock the door. Then she slipped back down the stairs and into the cool Metropolis morning.

||_||

"Reuben O'Brien."

The woman behind the desk at the Vital Records office looked at her askance. Lois pulled out her purse and handed over the card that usually facilitated her access to information she needed.

The woman stared at the card as if unconvinced of its legitimacy.

"Reuben O'Brien," Lois repeated.

With a puckered expression, the woman returned the card and began tapping on her computer keyboard.

"There are three," she said after a silence of close to a minute.

Lois took out her pen and notepad. "Born in which years?"

"1856, 1878, and 1915."

"The last one," Lois said. "Could I have his full name, please?"

"Reuben Robert O'Brien."

"Current address?"

"I am not at liberty to divulge that."

"Could you check the deaths register, please?" Lois asked.

The woman tapped again. "There is no entry of his death," she said.

"Thank you." Lois turned and walked away.

1915.

That meant he'd been seventy-seven when he'd retired two years ago. It wasn't unheard of to retire at that age, but it cast significant doubts on whether this was the Reuben O'Brien she needed.

Lois had driven halfway to her father's nursing home when she remembered that the paper airplane was still on the counter in the staffroom at the compound.

She groaned in frustration. She'd promised her dad that she would bring it. It was such a small thing - something he possibly wouldn't even remember - but she'd learnt from Clark that small things could hold great importance.

Lois couldn't risk disappointing her father. She would have to go to the compound and get the plane.

||_||

Lois stepped into the staffroom and stopped.

Shadbolt was sitting at the table - with the frame of a sewing machine towering over a sprawl of disassembled parts.

His head shot up as she entered, and his expression darkened.

"I forgot something," Lois said in hurried explanation. She glanced past him and saw the plane on the counter - untouched and undamaged. She edged past Shadbolt and picked it up, trying to hide it in her hand as she backed towards the door.

"You came back to get a paper airplane?" Shadbolt derided.

"I made it for someone who's in the hospital."

"You couldn't just make another one?"

"It's quite complex," Lois said as she held it up for him to see. "I followed pages of instructions. It seemed easier to come and get it."

Shadbolt grunted and returned his attention to the scattered components of what had once been a sewing machine.

"Do you ... ah, need any help?" Lois said.

"Do you know how to put this contraption back together again?"

"No."

"Then you'd be no help at all."

Lois slid into the seat at the table and ignored the cold stare that Shadbolt flung in her direction. "Is it your wife's?" she asked timidly.

"I don't have a wife," he retorted.

"Oh." She made a vague gesture towards the muddle of gears and cranks and circuit boards. "Do you know how to put this back together again?"

"Nope."

"What are you going to do?"

Shadbolt pushed back in the chair and glared at the table. "I don't know. It stopped working, and I said I'd have a look at it ... but I think I've destroyed it completely."

Lois decided to take a risk. After all, Shadbolt's mood couldn't get any worse. "Who does it belong to?"

He said nothing for such a long time that Lois became convinced that he intended to disregard her question. "My daughter."

"You have a *daughter*?" Lois said before she could mute her surprise.

Shadbolt's gaze slowly switched to her, and he nodded. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Is that why you can't swap any shifts? Because you have to be there for her?"

"She's seventeen."

"Then why?"

"My other daughter. She's only four years old."

Her surprise sharpened to shock. "You have *two* daughters?"

"Is there a law against that?"

"I ... I didn't know. I assumed ..."

Shadbolt exhaled as if he'd given up trying to keep his private life private. "I have two daughters," he said stoically. "One is seventeen. This is her sewing machine, and she needs it working by this afternoon because her college entrance submission is due tomorrow. My younger daughter is four. She is the reason why I won't change my hours. She needs routine, and I need to be with her every afternoon."

"You're a single father?"

"Two daughters, no wife," he said caustically. "I guess that makes me a single father."

"Shadbolt," Lois said. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have under -"

"I didn't tell you because it doesn't affect my ability to do my job."

"When I asked you if you'd requested this assignment or if you'd been ordered, you said 'both'. Was that because of your daughters? Because you can't work an assignment that would take you away from home?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"Sorry." Lois stood from the seat and looked at the parts. "I hope you find a way to fix it."

"Not much chance of that."

Suddenly, Lois had a thought. It was another of her ridiculous, outlandish ideas. One of those ideas that probably should have been suffocated before it had a chance to draw first breath. "What are you going to do?" she said.

"I can't even put it back together," Shadbolt said disconsolately. "There is no hope of it ever working again."

"I have a friend who could probably repair it."

His face lit with immediate interest. "You do?"

"If you go and get lunch for the prisoner - I forgot to - I'll make a call, and then I'll pack away all of the pieces and drop it off on the way to the hospital."

Shadbolt only hesitated for a moment. Then he sprang from the seat. Lois took a ten-dollar bill from her purse and offered it to him.

He shook his head. "If you can get that machine fixed, I'll buy him lunch for a week," he said as he scurried towards the door.

As soon as Shadbolt had gone, Lois took an old plastic container from the shelf above the fridge and packed all the bits of the machine and Shadbolt's meagre supply of tools into it.

Then, she unlocked the cell door.

Clark hurried over to her, concern on his face at her unexpected appearance.

"Do you know anything about sewing machines?" Lois asked.

"I know a bit. Mom had one."

"And you could see into it and locate the problem, right?"

"Yes."

"And if any wires were broken you could ..." She gestured towards his eyes.

"Yes."

She pushed the container at him and then darted back to get the frame. "Could you try to repair this, please?"

Clark took a few seconds to peruse the pieces before shrugging easily. "I should be able to."

"Thanks." Lois squeezed his arm. "I have to go. See you later."

"Bye, Lois."

Lois locked the cell door. As she sat down to await Shadbolt's return, doubts assailed her.

Had she just helped someone who needed it?

Or had she just done something that - if Shadbolt asked difficult questions - could lead to uncovering her association with Clark?

||_||

Lois - the tray under her arm and the paper airplane and jigsaw puzzle in her bag - crossed the common area of the nursing home. As she passed, an elderly woman looked up from her knitting.

"Good morning," Lois said.

The lady smiled. "It's a moighty foine mornin'," she responded in a broad Irish accent.

"It is," Lois agreed. With a smile, she continued to her dad's room.

He was sitting in his wheelchair, wearing the green sweatsuit.

"Hi, Dad," Lois said as she bent down to kiss him. "How are you?" She covered his hand with hers and smiled. "I missed you," she said.

He blinked once.

Lois put her bag on the ground and then lifted her dad's inert left arm and slid the wooden tray onto his wheelchair. "This is for you, Dad," she said as she gently lowered his arm. "Remember how we used to do jigsaw puzzles together?"

She pulled up a chair, took the box out of her bag, and held it up for him to see the picture of a 1950s Ford Thunderbird parked under a towering oak tree. She opened the box. "Do you want to start with the edges?"

Her dad was looking at the tray.

"I'll get them out for you, and you can start putting them together." She picked out three pieces and put them on the tray.

Her dad didn't move - and Lois had an awful feeling that she had misjudged what he would be able to do. She kept searching through the pieces. "Ooh, Dad," she said with feigned enthusiasm. "Here's a corner."

For the next few minutes, Lois surreptitiously watched her dad's hand as she picked edge pieces out of the box and placed them on the tray. His lack of response caused a rocklike lump to expand into her throat. She had pushed too hard. She had expected too much.

Lois looked up into her father's face, an apology already on her lips. It was detained by movement - movement of his hand as he shakily approached a piece and clasped it between his thumb and forefinger.

Lois smiled and returned her attention to the box.

When she put the next few edge pieces on the tray, two bits of the puzzle were hanging precariously together.

"Well done, Dad," Lois said with a smile.

She continued searching for the pieces, deliberately slowing her pace so as not to overwhelm him with too many. "Hey, Dad," she said. "Guess what I did yesterday? I went to a lovely little farmhouse. The leaves on the trees are turning - I saw so many beautiful golden yellows and flaming reds. It was nice to get out of the city for a while. It was a long day, and I should feel tired today, but I don't."

Her dad - a piece of puzzle in his hand - lifted his arm, moved it horizontally, and then let it drop onto the tray where the jigsaw puzzle was just beginning to take shape.

Lois grabbed her bag from the floor and took out the paper airplane that Clark had made. "I brought this for you, Dad," she said. "I remembered."

Her dad opened his hand, and the jigsaw piece dropped from it. Lois put the airplane in his palm. He turned his hand so the plane fell onto the tray, slowly clenched his fist, and tapped it against his heart. Then his forefinger gradually unfurled, and he pointed at Lois and then at the plane.

And, this time, Lois understood. She smiled.

"You're asking if I love the man who made the paper airplane?"

Her dad blinked once.

"Yes," she said, her smile irrepressible. "Yes, I do love him, Dad."

It felt so good to say it aloud. To admit it.

Her dad straightened his fingers, and Lois put her hand in his.

"You seem happy about it, Dad."

He blinked once.

"This man is different from anyone I've ever met," Lois said. She tried to identify the questions her father would ask if he could. "He's kind, and he's caring, and he's strong, and he has such a good heart. Yes, Dad, it did happen quickly, but I know it is right. When I'm with him, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm meant to be. He makes me feel ... secure ... grounded ... happy. When I'm with him, everything is all right even when it's not." She looked into her dad's eyes. "Does that make any sense?"

His eyelids dropped once.

Lois squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Dad," she said. "Thank you for understanding."

As they worked together on the puzzle, Lois chatted about the movie 'Beethoven'. Other than her father's total silence, it didn't feel significantly different from the times they had shared in her childhood.

Half an hour later, a patch of pieces expanded out from the corner. "We've done well, Dad," Lois said. She placed the box on the end of his bed within easy reach of his chair and bent to kiss his cheek. Her dad's hand lightly gripped her arm. Lois paused, and in his eyes, she saw the essence of the man who had always been there for her. In them, she saw his love.

Lois swallowed down the rising lump in her throat. "And I love you, too, Dad," she said. "I'll come back tomorrow to see how you've done with the puzzle."

Ronny was at the nurses' station when Lois walked by. "Ms Lane," she said cheerily.

"Call me 'Lois'."

"How is your dad this morning, Lois?"

"He's great. I brought him a tray and a jigsaw puzzle."

Ronny's face lit with enthusiasm. "What a wonderful idea. How's he doing with it?"

"It's going to be slow, but I think he'll be able to manage. It's only one hundred pieces, but they're larger and thicker than normal. I thought I could get him another one - either harder or easier - depending on how he copes with this one."

"I'll watch him and let you know."

"Thanks." Lois scanned the large open area. "Ronny, do you know any agency nurses? Someone who fills in whenever one of the regulars has a sick day?"

"I know a few," Ronny said. "In fact, we have one here today. She's just over there, talking to the two men playing checkers."

"Is it OK if I go and talk to her?"

"Of course. Would you like me to introduce you? She's very friendly. You don't really need an introduction. Her name is Angie."

"Thanks." Lois walked over to Angie. "Hi," she said. "I'm Lois."

"I'm Angie," she said with a warm smile.

"You work in different nursing homes and hospitals?"

Angie nodded. "Mostly nursing homes, but occasionally I do a hospital shift."

"I was talking with a friend who knows that I come here to visit my dad," Lois said. "She asked if someone called Reuben O'Brien was in this nursing home. I don't think he's here, but I wondered if perhaps you knew of him."

Angie smiled. "Reuben's at Everglen House," she said. "That's the nursing home on the east side of town, off Central Avenue."

Lois wondered if this was just too easy. "Can he have visitors?"

"Of course." Angie's smile died. "But warn your friend that Reuben might not remember her - he suffers from dementia."

Lois let out a soft groan. "Oh, no," she said.

"It came on quickly," Angie said. "I've been told that he was still in full-time employment only a couple of years ago."

"Thank you," Lois said. "I'll pass that on to my friend."

Lois walked from the nursing home, her thoughts tumbling over each other. Was this the Reuben O'Brien who had worked as an agent? How much did he remember? Would the dementia work in her favour and loosen his tongue? Or would it render his information totally unreliable?

It was almost midday when Lois climbed into her Jeep. She had a couple of hours to get to Everglen House and be back in time for her shift. It would be tight.

Perhaps she should leave it and go early tomorrow morning.

No. Deep inside her, the feeling was strong that Clark didn't have much time.

Lois reversed out of the parking bay and turned east.