"Can I have a shower now?" Lois asked.

"Do you agree to our deal?"

What choice did she have? If she left Clark now, she would break both of their hearts. She couldn't see how a future could work for them, couldn't see how she could ever be whole again, but she was too drained to fight anymore. "OK," she said. "Two days."

Clark's mouth didn't move, but his eyes smiled. "Good," he said, taking his hands from her. "I'll get the water."

"Excuse me?"

"The water," he said, with an innocent look as if she really should understand his meaning.

"What water?" Lois asked.

"The wound on your head has been seeping," he said. "Your hair needs washing. I'll get the water."

"You're going to wash my hair?" she gasped.

He winked, shattering his nonchalant manner. "It works brilliantly," he said. "I should know - I was taught by the very best."


Part 17

Lois stared as Clark's back disappeared through the door.

She wasn't sure she could have uttered a sound to save her life.

Never could she have envisioned that "I'm leaving, Clark," would conclude with "I'll get the water, Lois."

Not that she had taken the time to think through how he would respond. She'd succumbed to her compelling need to escape. The same need that had driven her to flee from the unconscious young guard. The need, primarily, to escape from herself and what she had done.

Scardino had offered her a way, and she'd grabbed it without thought.

But Clark hadn't accepted her decision. He had met her at every turn. He hadn't given an inch. He hadn't wavered. And he'd done it all with that mannerly Clark Kent charm that was becoming so captivatingly familiar.

He swung back into the room and pulled the mattress from the bed, allowing it to flop on the floor. "OK," he said as he crouched to straighten the sheet. "Get yourself settled, close your eyes, and relax."

She didn't move. "Clark ..."

He turned towards her, and his eyes settled in hers, causing her heart to bounce. "We could discuss this for the next twenty minutes," he said dispassionately. "Or we could just do it. I vote for the latter."

"Where did you ... What are you ..."

He waited, giving her the chance to complete her question.

But she didn't have the will to continue. Disorder clouded her mind, strangling her purpose. She wanted to give in to the aching weariness of her body. Right now, lying down seemed like a wonderful idea.

Lois dropped her gaze from Clark and shuffled to the mattress. She collapsed onto it, not caring that she wasn't in a position where her head would be easily accessible. If Clark wanted to do this, he was going to have to do it without her cooperation.

She closed her eyes, shutting out the world.

She wanted to sleep. She wanted to curl up and slip into the world where she didn't have to think. Didn't have to feel. Didn't have to decide. Didn't have to deal with the consequences of her mistakes.

Clark's arms slid under her body and lifted her. With exquisite care, he repositioned her on her back and straightened her legs. He raised the top half of her body a few inches, arranged a towel around her neck, and eased her down onto a stack of pillows. He placed a blanket on her and grasped her hand. After holding it for a moment, he tucked both of her hands under the blanket.

"I'm going to dab the wound with warm water," Clark's voice said, coming from behind her.

The touch came. The wound was tender. Lois twitched.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She wondered if he'd stop now. He didn't. His touch came again. Soft. Careful. Loving.

Lois refused to dwell on that.

How had she sustained the injury?

She couldn't remember.

Had Moyne pushed her?

Had she hit her head against the bed? Or the corner of the desk?

Trying to remember was too hard.

Thinking about Moyne felt like pus oozing through her mouth.

Lois cleared everything from her mind - even Clark's touch - and let sleep seduce her into the place of forgetfulness.

||_||

Half an hour later, Clark dropped onto a bale of hay in the barn, and his head sagged into his hands.

Lois had said she wanted to leave him.

She was sleeping peacefully now. His hearing was tuned to the steady breaths coming from his parents' room.

They had come so far together. Made such progress.

Until Moyne had come and tainted their lives again.

So many times, Clark had imagined the moment of utter despair when Lois would tell him that she wanted to leave him. He'd expected it. He'd dreaded it. Yet when it had happened, he hadn't been able to accept it.

His reaction had been fuelled by pure desperation. He'd astounded himself. Replaying their conversation now, Clark couldn't believe that he'd sounded so staunch, so resolute, so composed.

Inside, he'd been nothing of the sort. He'd been petrified.

He'd resisted Lois. For a short time, he'd forgotten he was an alien with no rights. He'd forgotten that he was less than human - unworthy of a woman's love. He'd walked into the bedroom, and despite having no firm plan about what he was going to do or say, he'd managed to procure a promise of two days.

Two days.

Would that be enough?

He lifted his head and slumped back against the rough wall of the barn.

Snippets of their discussion clattered through his mind.

Lois was scared of him - but not in any way that he could understand.

She had said she'd wanted to kill Moyne.

She had said she'd wanted to kill the young guard after Ivica had murdered Linda.

But she hadn't done either.

Somehow, Clark had to make her see that what she had done were not the acts of evil but the understandable consequences of someone pushed to their limits of endurance.

Until last night, he hadn't questioned her illusion of wellness. It had been easy to overlook her heartache when his gaping wounds had been so conspicuous.

He should have realised earlier. Perhaps he had known in part after the night in the motel when she'd told him how Linda had died. But that vague understanding had only served to highlight his own inadequacies. He'd sensed that she had held something back, but he hadn't had the confidence to pursue it.

Now, he knew - the young guard ...

Clark groaned. If he'd been human ... a real man ... would he have noticed her hidden anguish? Would he have been able to do *something* that could have averted what had happened with Moyne?

He didn't know the answers. But he took solace in his memories of last night. He looked at his hand and remembered how Lois had clung to it as her fears had receded.

She had always found the strength to help him. Every single time he had stumbled, she had been there for him. Steadfast. Patient. Reassuring. Optimistic.

Lois Lane was a phenomenal woman.

And Clark loved her.

He'd told her so. He hadn't planned to. It had just come out.

She hadn't responded. But she hadn't resisted him, either.

Lois couldn't do this alone. She'd tried to after Linda's death, and it hadn't worked. She needed to talk about what had happened. She needed someone she trusted to listen as she unravelled her confusion.

She needed ...

... him.

Lois needed him.

Could he be what she needed?

Somehow, he had to find a way to help her see that she couldn't do this alone. She couldn't leave him.

And not just because he needed her.

Clark stood and scanned the barn, looking for something to provide an escape from the turbulence of his mind.

He opened the door of the storage cabinet and was deluged by a raft of memories. He took out the old hand-turned milk separator. The large bowl was cool and smooth in his hands. He gripped the handle and was surprised that it still turned easily.

It had been old-fashioned when he was a child. His mother had kept a solitary dairy cow and had turned the provision of milk into seemingly endless supplies of cream, butter, and an ever-expanding array of ice cream flavours.

His mom ... his dad. Being home had intensified his yearning for them. Everything he saw, everything he touched, evoked memories of them.

Would he ever see them again? It seemed unlikely that his dad was still alive. But his mom ...

He would begin looking soon - just as soon as Lois was well enough that he felt comfortable leaving her.

Or she had left him.

A motor sounded in the driveway, and Clark walked out of the barn.

As he'd expected, it was Scardino. What if Lois said she wanted to leave? In front of Scardino? He would take her. If she asked to go, Clark would be powerless.

But Lois was asleep.

Clark approached the car as it stopped. "How is she?" Scardino said as he climbed from his vehicle.

"Asleep."

Surprise crossed Scardino's face. "Has she decided not to come with me?" he asked evenly.

"Yes," Clark said.

Scardino paused, searching the ground, as if the right words could be found in the dust. "Ah ... Mr Kent," he said. "Lois is my agent, and it's my responsibility to make sure she's all right."

"I understand that," Clark said.

"Would you mind if I went into the house? To see her for myself?"

Clark did mind. He didn't want Lois to wake up. He didn't want her to retract her decision to give him two days. But if Clark were in Scardino's position, he wouldn't leave without checking on Lois. "Come this way," he said.

Clark led Scardino through the front door, up the stairs, and into the bedroom.

Lois didn't stir as they entered.

Instead of crossing to the bed, Scardino turned around and quietly left the room. "I can see that Lois has changed her mind about coming to Metropolis," he whispered as he started descending the stairs. "When she wakes, will you tell her that I came and to call me if she should need anything?"

"Of course," Clark said, relieved that every step took Scardino further away from Lois.

At the front door, Scardino stopped and held out his hand. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for looking after Lois. And ..." Scardino's eyes briefly intersected with Clark's. "And thank you for not pre-judging me the way I pre-judged you."

Clark wasn't sure how to respond, so he shook the other man's hand. "Thank you for not waking Lois," he said. "She needs to rest."

"If *you* should need anything, I hope you would consider contacting me," Scardino said.

They stepped out of the house and walked down the path. "Do you know anything of my parents - Martha and Jonathan Kent?" Clark said.

"I have asked questions," Scardino replied. "I went to Anstruther - the assistant to my predecessor. The information he was given proved to be incorrect."

"You investigated?" Clark asked, trying to keep his surprise from being too obvious.

"Yes. Lois insisted."

"But you found nothing?"

"I'm sorry," Scardino said with what appeared to be genuine regret. "Every avenue of investigation resulted in a dead end."

"She *must* be somewhere," Clark insisted.

"She?"

"My mother."

"You know the whereabouts of your father?"

"No," Clark said, as grief rifled through him. "We think ... Lois found information that suggested he has passed away."

"I'm sorry," Scardino said.

"Is there anyone else?" Clark persisted. "Anyone who could possibly know?"

"There is one person," Scardino said cautiously.

"Who? Have you asked?"

Scardino sighed. "There's a man called Eric Menzies. He seems to know something about most operations."

Clark's hope died. "Moyne's uncle?"

Scardino nodded. "There are risks in asking him. Particularly now."

"He knows of Moyne's death?"

"Yes. The sheriff called him."

"Is he going to ask why Lois was in the exact place where the alien was captured?"

"He held all of Trask's records for a short time. I don't know how extensively he read them before having them destroyed." Scardino reached his vehicle and opened the door. "I don't think I should speak to Menzies yet. Not until every other possibility has been exhausted."

"My mom *can't* have just disappeared," Clark said desperately.

Scardino winced. "It happens," he said. "People are given new identities. Records are destroyed."

"But you'll keep trying?"

"Yes. But it has to be done with great care. I can't say anything that could cause questions about the relationship between Clark Kent and the former prisoner," he said quietly. "I won't be admitting to anything other than one is a friend of Lois Lane and the other died at the conclusion of her last assignment."

"Thank you," Clark breathed.

Scardino slipped into the driver's seat. "Goodbye, Mr Kent," he said. "And good luck."

Clark watched the car pull away. Nothing had been said about the poison, although Clark was sure Scardino hadn't brought any with him.

Was it too much to hope that it was gone forever?

Menzies could disrupt their lives; he could ask questions, he could try to chase them down, but without the poison, his effectiveness would be limited.

Without the poison, Clark was truly free.

Free from possible capture.

Free from imprisonment.

Free from being incapable of protecting Lois.

He sighed.

But would she stay with him?

If she didn't, his freedom meant nothing.

||_||

Eric Menzies walked sombrely towards his wife's room, fearing that any meagre progress made yesterday in the truce-like aftermath of her revelation would have been lost already.

He had arrived later than usual. Deliberately. He'd been dreading this since the local sheriff had called late last night with news of Neville's death. Eric swallowed nervously as he tapped on Phoebe's door. He couldn't predict how she would respond to the news, but coming now, with her grief for their son still so acute ...

Would she insist he conducted a thorough investigation? Would she expect him to find proof that Lois Lane had provoked Neville? Eric fervently hoped not. He just wanted this to end.

He heard a small sound and opened the door.

Phoebe looked up at him. She didn't smile or greet him, but acknowledging his presence was a giant leap forward.

Eric perched awkwardly on the seat next to hers. "Phoebe?" he said. "I have some bad news."

Her expression didn't change. Perhaps, in her current state of mind, she expected all news to be bad news.

"It's about Neville."

There was nothing in her face to suggest that she had even heard.

Eric faltered, not knowing how to continue.

"The phone call?" Phoebe said in a dull voice. "The phone call about the agent who had tried to rape someone?"

Eric nodded, unsure what to say.

"Was it Neville?"

Relief swamped Eric ... and also shock. He had never imagined that his wife would suspect Neville of anything untoward. "Yes," he said.

"Who was the woman?"

"Lois Lane."

"The woman who had him removed from the operation in Metropolis?"

"Yes."

"Where did it happen?"

"Kansas."

"Do you need to go there?"

"No. Scardino has already gone."

She didn't react, and Eric couldn't determine whether she would have preferred that he had gone. "Did Neville chase her?" Phoebe asked. "Or did she chase him?"

"He chased her."

Phoebe said no more.

Eric, however, couldn't leave it there. "There's something else," he said.

"He's dead."

Eric pulled in a breath as he studied his wife's impassive face. "Yes," he said, hoping she would sense his sympathy.

"Did she kill him?"

"Lois Lane? No, Neville attacked the sheriff and was shot by her two deputies."

Phoebe swiftly turned to him, and Eric's heart leapt in consternation at her sudden movement. Her eyes bored into his. "Have you covered for him before?"

"Yes," Eric admitted.

"Why?"

"For you. I didn't want you to be upset. After Malcolm ..." Eric's words drifted away. Malcolm was not a subject that sat easily between them.

He waited, but his wife said nothing.

"You ... you don't seem surprised," Eric ventured.

"Malcolm was given a kitten when he was four years old," Phoebe said in a remote voice. "A week later, I found the kitten's mutilated body. Neville told me that the boy from the Latino family that lived down the street had done it."

"Did you believe him?"

"Yes," Phoebe said. "That night, Malcolm cried when I turned off the light, and for the next few weeks, he wouldn't sleep in the dark. I figured he had seen what had happened. I asked him, but he wouldn't tell me."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you," Eric said ruefully.

"About a month later, the boy from the Latino family knocked on our door. He told me that they'd been playing a ball game in the street and the ball had come into our garden and broken a branch on one of the shrubs. He apologised, and it seemed strange that he would care about a plant after what he'd done to the kitten."

Eric knew who had killed the kitten. And he had a hunch that his wife was thinking along similar lines.

"Malcolm came running to me as I stood at the door," Phoebe said. "I picked him up, expecting him to be frightened. He wasn't. He smiled at the Latino boy, and the boy shyly smiled back."

"How old was the boy?"

"About fourteen. The same age as Neville."

Realisation hit Eric. "That was when you insisted we pay for Neville to go to boarding school."

"Yes," Phoebe said. "I didn't want him near Malcolm." She said nothing more, staring ahead, her face blank.

Eric thought of the two agents who had died. Thought of Neville's claims that they had been killed by the alien.

The silence stretched. Eric wondered what Phoebe was thinking. Was she remembering her little boy? Her nephew? Long and quiet minutes later, she broke from her trance with a start and looked at him. Eric held his breath, wondering what was coming.

"Would you get me a cup of tea, please?" she asked.

"Tea?" he spluttered.

"Yes, please," she said placidly. "That would be lovely."

||_||

When Lois awoke, she was in the double bed. The curtains were closed, but she could see the brightness of daylight pushing against them. She lethargically cast around for a clock and, not finding one, closed her eyes again.

Thoughts poured into her brain like floodwaters.

Trask was dead.

Moyne was dead.

Menzies thought the alien was dead.

She doubted that either Shadbolt or Longford had been privy to the details regarding the termination of the operation. If they'd given it any thought, they probably assumed that the alien had been moved or killed.

Which left Scardino.

He'd said he had destroyed the rods.

He'd said he would search for more of the Achilles and see to its disposal.

Suddenly ... improbably ... the way ahead seemed clear for Clark.

He could resume life as Clark Kent. He could search for his mother. He could stay in Smallville and be a farmer. He could finish school and become a journalist. He could travel.

His dream of a regular life - an unthinkable impossibility for seven years - had come true.

Clark had everything he could want.

Except ... Lois knew that wasn't true.

He wanted her.

He wanted to be with her.

He loved her.

He had said he would always love her. And as he'd said it, his eyes had blazed with unmasked sincerity. He would always love her.

She knew that.

She knew that it wouldn't matter whom Clark met ... wouldn't matter how many beautiful and sophisticated women flirted with him or offered him their numbers ... Clark would never waver in his love for her.

Just a few days ago - before Moyne had shattered her colossal charade of wellbeing - it was all she had wanted.

Now ... she felt too empty to want anything.

Too disillusioned to need anything.

Too numb to feel anything.

She heard a sound and opened her eyes. Clark was crouched low, his hand resting on the bed, his face lit with a gentle smile. "Hi, Sleepyhead," he said.

"Hi." Her voice was gravelly and her throat dry.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked.

She swallowed but decided not to trust her voice again, so she merely nodded.

"Water? Tea? Both?"

She nodded again, hoping Clark would understand.

He stood, gave her another smile, and walked out of the bedroom.

He was back quickly. Lois wasn't sure if she'd drifted off to sleep or if he'd used some super-speed. She didn't have the energy to ask. Didn't have the heart to wonder.

Clark put the glass of water next to the bed and helped her sit up. "I'll make your tea now," he said as he handed her the glass. "Would you like anything to eat? I can get you anything you want."

After taking a few sips, Lois shook her head.

"Are you sure?" Clark said. "Are you hungry?"

"No," she croaked. "Just the tea."

"OK." He smiled. "I'll be back soon."

Lois finished the glass of water and hunkered back down in the bed.

The whirlwind of thoughts rushed back. She shut them out and closed her eyes.

She was still so tired.

So bone-wearily tired that she couldn't imagine ever wanting to leave this bed.

||_||

When Clark arrived back in the bedroom with Lois's tea, she was asleep.

He stood there - just looking at her - as the tea slowly shed its warmth.

The first time he'd seen her - when Moyne had thrown her into his cell - he'd known. He hadn't known her name ... hadn't expected he would ever know her name - but he'd seen immediately that she was beautiful and strong.

Beauty and strength - such an enchanting combination in a woman.

And Lois Lane had both qualities in abundance.

Clark picked up the empty glass and took it and the cold tea downstairs. He returned to the barn, but his attention did not leave Lois.

||_||

The next time Lois awoke, the brightness behind the curtains had faded to grey.

Scraps of information were rustling through her mind like leaves caught in a strong wind. Before she could try to piece them together into a coherent whole, she realised that she needed to use the bathroom.

Lois pushed back the covers and stood, giving herself a minute to see if she was going to be hit by a wave of dizziness. She felt all right - better than she remembered feeling before she had come to bed.

She slipped to the bathroom, and as she was heading back to the bedroom, she stopped on the landing and stared at the closed door. Was Clark in there? Asleep?

She checked through the open door to the curtains. It wasn't dark yet ... late afternoon perhaps, but not late enough that Clark would be in bed.

Lois reached for the door handle, and her heart vaulted into frantic commotion. It was here that she had faced Moyne. It was here that she had nearly killed him.

With a quick, jerky movement, she opened the door and forced herself to enter.

The room had been totally restored. The bed had been made. The curtains were pushed aside, and the window was open, allowing free passage to a cool breeze. Lois shivered and rubbed her hands along her upper arms.

She scanned the floor.

It was clean now, but she remembered blood.

Had it been her blood?

Or Moyne's?

She lifted a hand and prodded the back of her head.

There was a lump, and it was sore.

Moyne had been bleeding, she remembered.

There had been a smear of blood across his cheek when she had seized his throat.

Lois spun around and sped from the room - and straight into Clark's chest.

His hands clasped her shoulders to steady her, and his face carried the look of concern that was becoming very familiar. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

She didn't know. Or, more accurately, the words needed to convey how she was feeling seemed unreachably distant.

"Are you hungry?" Clark asked.

"I don't think so."

"You haven't eaten much all day."

"What time is it?"

Clark twisted his wrist to look at his watch. "Just after four o'clock."

She remembered Scardino coming. He had said he would come back and take her to Metropolis. "I ... I slept all day?" Lois asked.

Clark smiled cheerfully. "Most of it." He removed his hands from her shoulders and slipped them into the pockets of his jeans. "I think you should try to eat," he said. "I'll go down and get you something."

He didn't ask what she wanted, which was a relief.

"Would you like to eat up here?" he said. "Or have you had enough of bed, and you'd like to come down to the kitchen?"

Lois glanced past Clark's broad body and into the bedroom. "I ... I'd like to stay here," she said. Her voice still sounded like rocks grating against each other. She wasn't sure why. It hadn't been *her* throat that had been mauled in a death grip.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

Somewhere in the nebula of a mind that was still floundering for clarity, she remembered that Clark had offered her tea before. She couldn't remember drinking it. "Yes," she said. "Please."

He smiled as if in appreciation for something she'd done something for him. "I'll be back soon." He bounded down the stairs, and Lois returned to his parents' bedroom.

She climbed into the bed and angled back against the pillows. Her head touched the headboard, and she felt the slight soreness there. She reached for it. Her hair was limp and grimy.

Hadn't Clark been going to wash it?

Before she had time to ponder that, he swung into the room, carrying a tray. He placed it on her lap. Lois looked at it, and tears rose into her eyes. She fought them down, blinking rapidly.

On the tray was a small plate containing a sandwich of soft, white bread. Ham, cheese, and lettuce peeked out from the edges. There was also a cup of tea and a neatly folded blue and white napkin.

But what had caused her tears was the little vase - plain white in colour and with a few stems of cheerfully simple mauve flowers.

It was so evocative of Clark.

"Asters," Lois murmured. She brushed at her eyes before looking up to discover he was watching her.

"Do you need anything else?" Clark asked.

She shook her head, not willing to trust her voice.

"I'll leave you to eat," he said. "I'll be back soon to collect the tray."

"Th...thanks."

He smiled. "If you need me, you just have to say my name. I'll hear you."

She nodded and watched him leave the room, not sure if she were relieved or disappointed.

Relieved, she decided. The foremost thing on Clark's mind would be whether she was going to leave him, and she certainly wasn't ready for that conversation yet.

*Could* she leave him? Knowing how much it would hurt him?

*Could* she stay? Knowing that by staying, she risked hurting him even more?

Lois didn't feel particularly hungry, but she should try to eat something. Clark would be disappointed if he came back and found an untouched tray. She sipped from the tea, and once its warmth had had a few moments to seep through her, she put down the cup and picked up one half of the sandwich.

From the first mouthful, it was surprisingly good. Five minutes later, the plate and cup were empty.

She felt a little better.

Still jaded.

Still dazed.

But it was as if a tiny stream of life had begun to penetrate the sludge of her lethargy.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Clark came in. His eyes flew to the tray, and his smile appeared. "Feeling any better?" he said.

"A bit."

His smile widened. "Would you like anything else?"

"I'd like a shower." She put her hand on the bandage below her throat. "This is starting to feel uncomfortable."

"Will you do something for me?" Clark asked.

It was an impossible question to answer, so she waited for him to elaborate.

"Please don't wash your hair," he said. "I'd like to do it."

"Why didn't you do it earlier?"

"Because you fell asleep," he replied. "I figured that it wouldn't be ideal trying to dry it, so I just cleaned up around the wound on your head and carried you to the bed."

Lois shrank back from the intimacy of having Clark wash her hair. But ... it needed to be done, and the thought of standing long enough to do a decent job wasn't appealing. "OK," she whispered.

Clark smiled. "I brought all of your clothes in here," he said. "They're in the closet."

"Thanks."

"Put these on the scratches after your shower," he said, indicating the tube of Neosporin and fresh bandages on the bedside table.

"OK."

Clark picked up her tray. "Remember," he said. "If you need anything, just say my name."

Lois nodded, wondering if he'd deliberately intended for it to sound as if his offer extended far beyond the next few minutes.

When Clark had gone, Lois went to the closet to get some clothes.

In the bathroom, she tied up her hair and stepped into the warm flow of water, hoping it would somehow possess the ability to wash away more than the physical grime that seemed to be embedded in every pore of her body.

||_||

Milk separator - http://dairyantiques.com/Cream_Separators_2.html My family had one like this when I was a kid smile