Clark stood as well. "Are you ticklish?" he asked.

She raised her hands towards him, fending him off. "Don't you even think about tickling me," she said, grinning despite her warning tone.

"I get to choose the activity tonight," Clark said. "Remember?"

"But not tickling," she said.

He paused long enough to let her think he was considering arguing the point. "OK," he agreed easily. "Do you want to use the bathroom first?"

"Yes," she said. "Give me about ten minutes."

Clark picked up the empty cups from their evening drinks. "See you soon." He watched her leave the living room.

Ten minutes.


Part 25

Lois waited for Clark in the bedroom, wondering what he would choose for them to do. Wondering if he would take them further than she had. Wondering if her question would affect his choice.

He tapped on the door.

"Come in, Clark," Lois said.

He did. And carefully shut the door behind him. When he turned, Lois examined his face. He was doing a good job of appearing unflustered, but she could see from the tiny spasm in his cheek that he wasn't completely relaxed. She smiled as he walked forward and sat on the bed, facing her.

"The question first?" he said.

"OK," Lois said. "There's a lot I'd like to ask you, but I've decided to use my question to answer something I think you would like to ask me, but that you probably wouldn't be able to bring yourself to actually vocalise."

He swallowed roughly. "OK," he said hesitantly.

"Remember," Lois said. "It's just us in here - and we can trust each other implicitly."

He nodded but didn't look totally convinced.

"I think that if you felt free to ask absolutely any question of me, you would ask how far I am willing to go. Tonight. Not in the far-off future, but tonight."

He stared at her, his face a carefully maintained mask of blankness.

"So I'll answer you," Lois said. "As far as I'm concerned, when that door is shut, nothing is off-limits unless it makes you feel uncomfortable." She smiled, hoping to ease the look of trepidation that was creeping into his face. "I'm impatient, as you know. I'm in love with you, as you also know. I don't see you as either alien or human - you're just the man I love. So, whatever you have planned for tonight, I want you to know that I'll be OK with it."

Clark cleared what sounded like a humungous lump from his throat. "You'd do *anything* I asked?" he said.

She nodded. "I trust you. I know that I don't have to set restrictions on what is appropriate. You'll do that."

"But ... but ... I have absolutely no experience in this," he burst out.

"You have Clark Kent honour. You have Clark Kent gentleness. That's more important than all the experience in the world."

"If ... if I asked ..." His eyes darted away, he took a breath, and his eyes crashed back into hers. "If I asked that we ... make love ... tonight ... would you do it?"

"Yes," she said. "I would."

"I ... I'm not going to ask that," he said hurriedly.

Lois put her hand on his arm, and the heat sizzled from their contact. "I don't know what Moyne did to you," she said. "But I know that you struggle to believe you are entitled to a full relationship with a woman. All I'm trying to do is show you how I see things."

He sighed. "Lois," he said. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to overcome this. I wish I could. I wish I could just wake up one morning, and all the feelings of being different - of not being human - were gone. I wish I could do that for you."

"I wish you could do it for you," she said.

He stared at the sheet, not saying anything.

"Can I ask another question?" Lois said.

Clark nodded, but his gaze didn't budge.

"You said that you enjoyed me touching you. You said that you noticed when I stopped and loved it when I started doing it again. You asked me if you could hold my hand at the beach. I want to understand why this is different."

"I've asked myself that a thousand times," Clark said disconsolately. "I have a possible reason, but I don't know if it's really the truth."

"Tell me the possible reason," Lois encouraged softly.

"The touching ... to my shoulder and arm and even my chest ... they feel like ..." He stopped speaking as he adjusted glasses that didn't need adjusting. "I have some memory of that ... My mom, my dad ... they hugged me and put a hand on my shoulder and tousled my hair. Those memories ... they provide some resistance to the memories from the cell - the beatings and the pain of exposure to the poison."

Lois thought she could see where this was going - and nausea snaked through her stomach. "But touching of a more intimate nature ... you have no good memories?"

"I want to forget," he said. "I want to be able to push all that aside and not let it affect what I could have with you. I know that with you, it's different - so very, very different. But I just can't separate the two."

"You will," Lois said. "We'll keep doing this every night - until you have enough good memories to stand against the bad ones."

"How long are you willing to wait for me?" Clark asked.

"As long as it takes."

His eyes shot into hers. "Weeks?"

"Yes."

"Months?"

"Yes."

"Years?"

She couldn't falter. "Yes."

"I ... I can't promise anything, Lois," Clark said.

"You can promise that you'll keep trying," she said. "That will be enough."

"Do you ever wonder ..." He stopped, doubts filling his expression.

"No, I don't," Lois said. "I don't ever wonder if this would be easier with a *human* man. I don't want to be with anyone but you."

His smile flickered for a brief moment. "You read me so well," he said.

"I'm trained to read people," she said. "And I've never been more motivated to understand someone than I am with you."

"Thanks," he said. "Thanks for trying to understand. Thanks for not demanding details."

"Moyne is dead. He can't hurt you anymore." She smiled, but Clark didn't look convinced. "So - question time is over. What are we going to do now?"

"Would you mind lying down?" he said. "Leave your pyjama top on and lie on your stomach."

"OK."

He positioned two pillows horizontally, about four inches from each other. "Will it be comfortable to have your face here?"

She twirled around and stretched out on the bed, placing her chin and her forehead on the pillows. "That feels good," she said.

He carefully brushed aside her hair, gathering it above her head and letting it splash down onto the pillow. "May I touch your neck?" he asked.

"Uh huh," Lois said as the skin of her neck began to tingle in anticipation of his touch.

His fingers landed softly on her hairline and began to move across her skin.

Lois felt each individual muscle flutter as he passed over it. He gently - almost reverently - explored every inch of her neck, edging into her hair and slipping down towards her throat. When he moved to her shoulders, his pressure deepened, and his thumbs rounded the top of her spine, delving into the ridges, seeking and finding all the hidden modules of tension and releasing them. His fingertips swept along the ridges of her collarbones, dipping into the valleys with sweet caresses.

His touch had covered such a small part of her body, but Lois could feel the tension draining away from her legs, her back, her arms. Everywhere.

But as that rigidity waned, another - very different - ache began. She wanted him to go further. She wished he would continue, extending the enthrallment of his touch to any other part of her body.

"Lois?" His voice came from directly above her, and she realised that she couldn't feel his weight pressing into the mattress. He must be levitating. It was funny how normal that felt.

"Uhmm?" she said, hoping he wasn't about to finish.

"Would you mind if I slipped my hands under your top and massaged your back?"

*Mind*? Her back was panting for his attention. "I don't mind," she managed, congratulating herself on not sounding completely desperate.

His hands left her, and the muscles of her body tensed in delicious suspense. She felt her pyjama top being lifted, and then Clark's fingertips slowly skated up each flank of her back, his thumbs hugging her spine.

He stopped abruptly two-thirds of the way up, and his hands jolted from her back.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Ah ... nothing."

"Keep going," Lois said. "It feels sensational."

His hands landed on her again, and he continued up to her neck.

The next minutes blended into a haze of pleasure as his hands worked up and down her back. She noticed that although he was very careful not to drift to her sides or past her waist, his confidence seemed to increase with every stroke.

If this was what he needed to gain confidence, Lois was willing to offer herself as his subject for as long as he wished.

Her brain was pretty much comatose, but with the few cells that hadn't completely surrendered to Clark's touch, she managed to wonder if her massage of him had felt anywhere near as good as this. She hoped it had. Perhaps, because his back had taken the brunt of much of the brutality, it had felt even better than this.

Eventually, his hands slid down her back, and she felt the material flop onto her skin.

"Thank you," Lois murmured, although she was sure it wasn't too clear.

The blanket came over her, the light went out, and she felt the bed depress as Clark slipped in beside her.

"I hope you enjoyed that," he said as if there was a real possibility that she hadn't.

Lois prised open her eyes as she rolled onto her side. "It was heavenly," she said.

"It was?" He sounded surprised.

"Absolutely," she said emphatically. "Why did you stop the first time you went up my back?"

She heard a shuffle. "It's kind of embarrassing," Clark said.

"When a man can make a woman feel the way I'm feeling, he has nothing to be embarrassed about."

He cleared his throat, and Lois figured that she had just escalated his embarrassment. "I expected you would be wearing a bra," he said.

"Oh," Lois said, ensuring there was nothing in her tone to suggest she was laughing at his misconception. "I only wear a bra during the day - not at night."

"Is that the same for all women? Or just you?"

"All women, I think," she said.

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

"How would you?" she said. "It's no big deal."

"I guess so. I felt a bit silly, though."

"Don't," she said. "When the door is shut, it's just us. This is our trust time. Our time to ask questions. Our time to get to know each other."

She heard him chuckle softly and was relieved that he seemed to have overcome his discomfiture. "I have to trust you with a whole lot more than what we do here," he said. "You know stuff about me that no one else in Smallville knows."

"I hope you know you can trust me with that, too."

"I do," he said. "Thanks for going to church with me today."

"I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. The people of Smallville are wonderful."

"Yeah. I thought ... if you want to go and see your dad tomorrow and you want me to come in with you, I will."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Clark said.

"You know that meeting a girl's folks is the first step in being committed to her for the term of your natural life," she joked.

"I'm already wholly committed to her," Clark said.

Lois stretched her arm across the sheet, looking for his hand. It landed on hers, soft and warm and protective. "Goodnight, Clark," she said.

"Goodnight, Lois."

||_||

~~ Monday ~~

Lois had expected to sleep well.

She hadn't.

And when she had awakened, she'd been suffering from a lurking headache and an oppressive feeling of heaviness.

During breakfast, she tried to smile and chat chirpily enough that Clark wouldn't notice anything amiss.

But despite her efforts, she caught a few questioning glances, so she wasn't surprised when, at the end of their meal, he asked if she were all right.

"Yeah," she said, although she knew she didn't sound all right.

"What's wrong?" he said. He didn't ask what he'd done wrong - which Lois took as progress.

Not that it made her feel any better. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I just feel really down." To her dismay, she felt tears well into her eyes. "Last night, I dreamed that I went to Linda's funeral. Somehow, it just made it seem more real."

Clark stood from his chair and held his arms towards her.

She stood also, but refrained from going into his arms. "If you hold me, I'm going to cry," she warned him. "It might be better if I go to the computer and start working on my novel."

His arms didn't drop. "I don't mind if you cry," he said.

Lois couldn't resist any longer and allowed herself the comfort of falling into his chest. Her tears had begun to flow before his arms even closed around her. Clark held her, saying nothing, stroking her hair in support and sympathy.

When she finished crying out her pain, he gave her a tissue, but it was too late. There was a damp patch on his shirt.

"I'm s...sorry," she said, reaching for another tissue and trying to mop up the mess.

"Don't worry," he said. "It will take less than a second to fix next time I'm near a mirror."

Lois managed a shaky smile. "You really are the most remarkable man," she said.

His eyes were steady in hers. "Lois," he said. "I'd much rather you cry than trying to bottle it up. And if you're going to cry, I'd much rather it was on my chest than anywhere else in the world."

"Thanks," she said.

He moved his hand from her shoulder and slid it under her hair and behind her neck, eliciting sweet memories of last night. Lois lolled back her head and gave him a watery smile.

"Was there ever a memorial service for Linda?" Clark asked as his fingers renewed their acquaintance with her neck.

She nodded. "I didn't go. I made excuses and said I wasn't well enough, but the truth was that I couldn't face Linda's parents and her brothers, knowing that I had left her. Knowing that I had survived and she hadn't."

"I'm sure they don't see it like that," Clark said.

"Maybe," Lois said with a sigh. "But I wasn't seeing anything very clearly then." She rested two fingers on the side of Clark's chin. "I didn't know then that something vital was missing from my life."

He smiled warmly. "Are you feeling better now?"

She dried her eyes and tried to smile. "Yes. Thanks to you."

"Are you going to write now?"

"Yes. Unless you wanted to do something together."

"I'm going to check the entire barn and make sure it's watertight and ready for winter," he said. "Do you still want to go and visit your dad?"

"Yeah. Is that OK?"

He smiled. "We'll leave after lunch."

Lois removed her hand from his chin and gave him a smile. "See you later."

There was a blur as Clark cleared away their breakfast. Then he materialised at the door. "Be nice to your hero," he said. "Don't let your heroine give him too much grief."

"OK," Lois agreed.

"See you later."

As soon as Clark had left, Lois went upstairs.

She sat on the bed, remembering last night. Wondering about tonight. Wondering how long it would take for Clark to feel more relaxed. Wondering if there was anything she could do - outside of the bedroom - to help him heal.

Her mind drifted back to the cell.

What had happened there? Before she'd arrived?

She deliberately veered away from those thoughts and concentrated instead on her earliest times with Clark.

The memories of their bumbling awkwardness brought a smile to her face.

They had come such a long way. And in such a short time.

She shouldn't push Clark. He needed time.

But -

Lois lurched from the bed as an idea illuminated her mind. She went to her bag and retrieved Uncle Mike's apple pie recipe.

She unfolded it and quickly read the instructions. It would be a risk. Clark had said that apple pie was his favourite food, but he'd also said that it carried poignant memories of his mom. How would he react if she had a nicely browned, wonderfully aromatic apple pie for him when he came in at lunchtime? Was this also pushing too hard? Would it aggravate his anxiety for his mom? Or would it help him see how far he'd come?

Perhaps, like her, he needed to face some things. Things that, when faced, were stripped of their power to loom so large and menacing.

She should have gone to Linda's memorial service. She should have faced Linda's family and grieved with them. If Clark had been with her then, she would have gone. But being alone - it had just seemed too difficult.

Now, they had each other.

However Clark reacted to the pie, she would be there for him.

Fired with purpose, Lois took the recipe downstairs and laid it flat on the table. She quickly gathered together everything she would need. She peeled and cored the apples and put them in water in a saucepan on the stove. Then she began making the pastry.

The entire process took longer than she would have thought possible, but nearly two hours later, she slid the pie into the oven, feeling a sense of achievement as she imagined Clark's surprise when he came in for lunch.

She quickly cleared away the mess and swept the flour from the floor. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she had just enough time to write a couple of scenes while the pie cooked.

||_||

Eric Menzies slammed down his phone, inundated by anger - which wasn't uncommon. But what was uncommon was the paralysing fear that threatened to overwhelm his anger.

It wasn't possible.

It just wasn't possible.

It couldn't be happening.

But it was.

Right now. Right here. And they had less than two days.

His phone shrilled again, and a curse erupted from his mouth. "Menzies," he barked.

"Hello, Mr Menzies. It's Daniel Scardino."

"What is it?" Eric demanded brusquely.

"I've received the autopsy report regarding -"

"That was quick."

"I asked them to make it a priority."

"What does it say?"

"That there were significant quantities of methamphetamine present in Mr Moyne's body."

Drugs! Eric swore under his breath. "Anything else I should know about?"

"No. I'll fax you a copy of the report. I thought you might appreciate a warning about what it contained."

"OK," Eric said. "Thanks," he added.

He put down the phone. Things had been much better with Phoebe this morning when he'd visited her. She was even talking about coming home. But she didn't need this piece of information. It was too close to Malcolm.

The phone sounded again. Eric picked it up. "Menzies," he growled.

"Hello, Mr Menzies," came an unknown female voice. "I'm Ruby Rhodes, Daily Planet."

His fear and anger translated into exasperation. How the hell did she know? She was the leading reporter at the top Metropolis newspaper, but this was so confidential that *he* had only just been informed. And why was she calling *him*? "I don't talk to anyone from the media," he said curtly.

"I think you need to make an exception in this case," she said in an irritating tone of voice that made it sound as if talking to her would benefit him.

"I said -"

"I received a letter this morning," she cut in. "From a Mr Neville Moyne. A letter that outlines the details of a recent operation by your agency."

Eric felt the sweat prickle his brow as the profanities he wanted to say rammed against his skull. "What allegations?" he said, drawing on his long years of experience to sound dismissive rather than aghast.

"I don't wish to discuss it over the phone," she said. "I need to meet you. May I come to your office?"

Eric had no choice. Moyne had been a loose cannon in life. It wasn't entirely unexpected that he would leave an unexploded bomb to be dealt with after his death. "When?"

"Now," she said briskly. "If there is a story, I want it headlining this afternoon's edition."

*If* there was a story. That sounded more hopeful. "Fifteen minutes," he said.

"I'll be there."

"Do you know the location of my office?"

She didn't reply, and the line disconnected. Eric thumped down the handset, only to pick it up again before it had stopped vibrating. He jabbed the button for his PA.

"Mr Menzies?" she said.

"Ruby Rhodes from the Daily Planet will be here in fifteen minutes. Bring her directly into my office. While she is here, there are to be no calls. No visits. I don't care who they are or where they are from, I am not to be interrupted. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

He slammed down the phone again, cursing the day Neville Moyne had been born.

||_||

Clark straightened from where he was replacing a rotted plank in the barn wall. He sniffed again - and recognised the smell of smoke. He pushed down his glasses and looked through the walls of the barn and the house. Lois was at the computer, working on her novel.

He quickly scanned the entire house and within seconds had discovered the source of the strange smell. In the oven was ... well, he wasn't entirely sure what it was. It was round and very black. He readjusted his vision and was able to determine that it had been an apple pie ... once.

As he watched, Lois suddenly leapt from the chair with such force that it tumbled backwards. She scrambled helter-skelter into the kitchen, yanked open the oven door, snatched a tea towel, and pulled out the blackened disk.

She thumped it down, and charcoal fragments splattered onto the table. She stared at it with such despair that Clark yearned to fly to the kitchen and tell her it didn't matter.

Before he could decide whether his presence would be welcome, Lois grabbed the tea towel, picked up the charred mess, and hurled it into a bag. She rolled up the bag and shoved it into the trashcan. She threw open the window and then collapsed onto the chair and put her head in her hands.

Her shoulders shook.

And Clark watched her - at a total loss about what he should do now.

||_||

"Ms Rhodes is here," Eric's PA informed him.

"Send her in."

Eric quickly gulped the last of his whisky and hid the glass in his desk drawer. He walked to the door, trying to focus the chaotic ramble of his thoughts. If Moyne had revealed details of the alien operation, it was very likely going to blow up like a volcano.

But the alien was dead. Perhaps Rhodes planned to fuel her story with outrage over human rights breaches. If that were her intention, it would cause a furore. But it would have a limited life. Unless a miracle happened, by tomorrow, no one was going to care anyway.

Eric opened the door and nodded in subdued welcome. "Ms Rhodes," he said. "Come on in."

She entered his office - an impressive figure dressed in a high-quality suit that screamed she was the quintessential nineties businesswoman and no one had better get in her way. She sat in the chair, folded one black-stockinged leg over the other, and took out a notepad and pencil from her bag.

Eric sat in his chair. "Can I offer you a drink?" he asked. "Coffee? Something stronger?"

"No. Thank you," she said in a tone that suggested his offer had offended her.

"Then perhaps we should begin," Eric said smoothly.

"This morning, I received a letter from Mr Neville Moyne. In that correspondence, he makes several serious allegations regarding the lax procedures in your agency."

"Lax procedures?" he echoed, managing to keep any emphasis from sounding on the first word.

"You allowed a dangerous alien to escape."

Escape? "An alien?" Eric said.

"Are you denying any knowledge of the existence of an alien living on our planet?"

Eric straightened in his chair. "Ms Rhodes," he said. "I work for a government agency. Every day, I deal with highly confidential information that could affect national security. I don't have the time for scaremongering tales that have no basis in fact."

Ms Rhodes reached into her bag again and withdrew a sheet of paper. She held it up for him to see.

The hairy, unkempt face of the alien stared back.