"Linda!" Barry's swift exclamation was driven by obvious frustration. "Surely you can see that if we keep on pumping pollutants into the ocean, we ..."

Lois tuned out. She had more important things to occupy her mind than another of Barry's environmental lectures. Tomorrow, her shift finished at three. By four, she would be here. Safely out of sight. When Mr Robert James realised he'd been stood up, she would track him.

At the very least, she should discover where he lived. Which hopefully would lead to a clue about why he wanted to speak with Paul.

It was unfortunate that she couldn't follow him now. But that would mean missing Friday lunch with Paul - leaving him alone with Linda and Barry and giving them the chance to press for an advantage in the relentless contest for the editor's approval.

And that was something Lois just wasn't prepared to do.

Not even for her Breakthrough Story.


Part 3

Clark landed on the balcony and slipped into the hotel room. Lois had rolled onto her back while he'd been away.

Was movement an indication she was beginning to regain consciousness?

He stood at the end of the bed, sank his hands into his pockets, grasped Lois's bracelet, and gazed into her sleep-smoothed expression.

Lois.

He would never forget opening the door of his bedroom in Smallville and seeing her for the first time.

Within seconds, she'd become permanently embedded in his mind.

Within minutes, she'd become grafted into his heart.

Now, he'd met a younger version.

And he'd felt ... something.

The younger version reminded him of the rosebuds in his mother's garden - lovely in their own right, but with the promise of a deeper, more exquisite beauty to come.

But it - the something - had been so much more than physical attraction. He'd been irrepressibly drawn to her. Fascinated ... unable to drag his eyes away. Unable to walk away.

If he'd met her in 1985, he would have fallen in love with her just as swiftly as he had in 1993.

But this second 'first meeting' had been particularly powerful, coming as it had when he was mired in longing for Lois.

He'd been wandering amid the young, carefree students at Met State, trying not to appear as old and out-of-place as he felt. His hearing had been locked onto his wife's heartbeat like an invisible lifeline of familiarity and belonging. Being reluctant to break that connection, he hadn't searched his surroundings for a similar, yet subtly different, rhythm of life.

Then, he'd walked around a corner ...

... And there she was.

His breath had snagged. His heart had hammered. His throat had dried.

Lois. Alive. Awake. Right there.

The volcano of his protective instinct had erupted inside him, and he'd wanted to rush up to her and sweep her into his arms. He'd wanted to clutch her against his chest and promise he would never let anyone hurt her again.

He'd known he should turn and walk away. He'd known going to her had been fraught with risk. Risk to the future. Hers. His. Theirs. Risk she would mention him to Tempus. Risk she would detect something in his manner that would prise open a crevice, revealing the storm of emotions barely contained inside him.

But he hadn't been able to stay away. Not from Lois.

Approaching her. Talking with her. Watching her. Hearing her voice.

Being with her such a short time after he'd witnessed her 'death' had been harrowing.

Enthralling. Poignant. Disconcerting. Wondrous. Dreamlike.

To be with Lois - alive. To see the little gestures and mannerisms he knew so well. To hear her voice. To watch, spellbound, as her hair played around her shoulders.

She had even smelled like Lois.

But there had been differences, too. So much that he loved about his wife – her joy, her compassion, her poise, her bubbly sense of fun - had been masked by a brittle shell that had made Clark long to hug the young woman. Or smile at her. Or laugh with her. Or gently tease her. Anything to draw out the real Lois.

Clark sat on the bed next to his wife. He took her hand and secured the bracelet around her slender wrist, trying not to think about how it was meant to represent the story of their lives; the story that was now in danger of being erased.

With the tip of his forefinger, he nudged the little sunflower to prominence.

"I found Lois," he said quietly. "She's alive but ..." He stopped as his mind worked over his memories. "... I don't think she's well. She looked tired and drained. Her eyes weren't as shiny as they should be. And she didn't smile at all. Her voice was harsh. She was pale, too. She had put on extra makeup - just like you do after a late night - but it didn't hide that something wasn't right."

His fingertip moved to the teddy bear charm with its ruby 'L'. "Were you unhappy in the first few months of college?" he said. "Or is it because of something Tempus is doing to her?"

Lois moved - a tiny movement, nothing more than a slight rotation of her head on the pillow. Clark stretched across her upper body to sweep gentle caresses through her hair. "Lois?" he said. "Can you wake up? Can you come back to me? I miss you so much. I need my partner. We have a story - it won't ever be written, but it's the most important story we've ever worked on. It encompasses the past and the future and everything that is important to both of us. I need you, honey. I need to know that you're OK."

"Mom?" Lois mumbled.

She'd spoken! But she didn't remember that her parents had died. "No; it's Clark."

Her other hand burrowed up through the blankets and appeared at her throat. She scratched her chin, and then her fingers fell onto his arm and curled softly around his wrist.

Clark froze, his skin tingling under her touch as he stared, hoping ... praying ... willing his name to her lips.

But Lois said nothing more.

With a little sigh, she settled into a regular breathing pattern.

Clark released the tourniquet from his own breath.

Perhaps Lois was improving. She'd moved. She'd uttered a word.

But what happened now?

He didn't know what to expect.

He was in *1985*. In a world with two Loises.

One didn't know him.

The other wore his rings but might not remember him.

He might have to start again ... earning her trust, building their friendship.

They were sharing a hotel room.

How would she react to that?

And that was just the first hurdle.

If her memories terminated at 1985, she was never going to believe that she had married him in the future and travelled back in time.

And it was only going to get worse if he claimed she had died in that future - because of something happening now.

Would she have the mind of an eighteen year old?

He wouldn't blame her if she concluded he was a pathetic older man with a crush on her. A sicko who had rendered her unconscious and taken her to a hotel room.

Clark groaned. She was going to be petrified.

If she had lost all memory of the past eight years, she would know nothing about Superman.

He was going to have to tell her about his powers again. His alien-ness.

How was he going to be able to convince a teenager that she had married an alien? A flying, super-charged, misfit alien? And had not only married him, but loved him?

When should he tell her? As soon as she awakened?

What about her parents? Should he tell her they had died in 1993? Why would she believe him when it was 1985?

Would she be willing to return with him to their present? And if she did, what would be the effects of travelling forward through time? Would her memory return? Or would they arrive with Lois distressed and desperate to be free from marriage to a man she didn't know?

A stranger who was an alien?

Clark dropped his head and ran his hand through his hair. He should have asked Wells so many more questions about what to expect. He should have listened more closely.

But his mind had been overwhelmed with one thing - Lois had died.

Nothing else had mattered.

At the lowest point of Clark's life, a stranger had offered him a solution. A way to bring life back to Lois.

Given the choice a million times, Clark would make the same decision every time.

But now they were here, the next few days and the leap back to 1993 seemed buried under a dark cloud of uncertainty.

And Clark felt utterly alone.

+-+-+-+

"I have an announcement," Paul Bender said with a flash of his megawatt smile.

Every eye turned to Paul, giving Lois the chance to return her partially nibbled sandwich to her plate in the hope that no one would comment on how little she had eaten.

"An announcement?" Linda said in a tone so flirty, it felt like grit being sifted through Lois's brain.

Lois slipped the plate onto the table. "You've been nominated for 'Best College Editor'?" she said, careful to match - or even exceed - Linda's enthusiasm.

Paul's smile in response to her comment was disappointingly brief. Obviously, this announcement was something important.

"Tell us," Barry said.

"Yes, Paul, tell us," Lois coaxed.

"Who's up for a weekend in Jersey?"

Lois stared at her editor as the implications of his announcement reverberated through the little group. "A weekend away?" she said, trying to pitch her tone past 'eager' but keep from pushing into the realm of 'desperate'.

"A weekend away," Paul confirmed. "I have to attend an editor's conference in New Jersey. I know it's short notice, but success in this business belongs to those who willingly seize every opportunity."

"I'll come," Linda squeaked. "I would love to come."

Paul's gaze slid past Linda. "Barry?"

"I could come," Barry said, although his tone was devoid of any overt enthusiasm.

Paul's eyebrow lifted as he regarded Lois. "What about you, Lois?"

Lois felt her cheeks turning crimson. More than anything in the world, she wanted to go away for a weekend alone with Paul. She had dreamed about exactly that so many times, she could have written the script.

Actually, hidden under her mattress ...

But, she had to work at the hotel.

So far, she'd managed to keep the humiliating details of her job from her friends at college. Most importantly, Paul didn't know anything about how she spent her weekend hours. "Sorry," she said with real regret. "I'm working on a story."

Linda snorted. "You'd rather chase a story than go to a conference with Paul?" she asked in delighted disbelief.

Lois nodded disconsolately.

Paul had dismissed her and was swinging his attention between Barry and Linda like a child in a candy store with a solitary nickel. "I have one spare ticket," he said.

"I have a story I'm working on, too," Barry said.

"Someone dumping a bucket of sludge into the ocean is *not* a story," Linda scoffed.

Before Barry could respond, Paul spoke. "Can you be ready in two hours, Linda?"

Linda spun from Barry to Paul, shedding her scorn as a snake sheds its skin. "Two hours?" she gushed. "Of course, I can be ready! Oh, Paul, thank you so much for this amazing opportunity."

Lois forced an empty smile in the direction of her sometime-friend, all-time-competitor, uncomfortably aware that she had just lamely handed over a mountain-sized advantage.

All because Lois had stormed out of her father's home three weeks ago, angrily informing him that she didn't want or need his money anymore. That outburst of misplaced pride meant she had to work at the hotel - and her weekends were no longer her own.

"Maybe I'll have an exclusive for you when you get back," she said, trying to sound optimistic but fearing she sounded small and dismal.

"I'll bring you home some of that root beer you like so much," Paul said with a heartening smile in Lois's direction.

Hoping to recover some lost ground, she picked up the bottle he had brought specifically for her and emptied it into her glass. She sipped it slowly, trying to tune out Paul's voice as he expanded on his plans for the weekend ahead.

"Aren't you hungry?" Barry asked, quietly slipping his question through the hubbub of Linda's escalating torrent of excitement.

Lois glared at him, hoping he would realise that his interference was unwelcome in her life. At the same time, she waved at the rejected sandwich. "There's something wrong with the ham," she said. "It doesn't taste right."

"It's a tomato and Swiss cheese sandwich," Barry noted.

It was? "I'm not hungry," Lois said. "When I heard Paul had been delayed, I got a smoked salmon and mayonnaise sandwich from the cafeteria."

It was a lie, but there was no way Barry Russo could know that. And what she ate was none of his business.

His eyes lingered on her for a few moments - as if he needed some time to comprehend that she was not - and never would be - answerable to him. When he didn't look away, Lois began to compose an appropriately stinging reply, but Paul stood and opened the office door, indicating it was time for them to leave. She gulped down the rest of her root beer and hastily exited.

"See you on Monday, guys," Paul said. Lois turned around in time to see him smiling at Linda. "See you in two hours, sweetheart."

Linda swooned. She actually dipped at the knees and swooned. Lois felt sick.

She'd felt vaguely unwell for a while, but right now, she felt positively nauseous.

A whole weekend. Linda. Alone with Paul. Driving together in his sports car. Arriving. Being acknowledged as Paul Bender's partner. Dining together. Attending the conference together. Discussing the conference together.

Lois was ripped apart with envy.

It was exactly the stuff of her dreams. Dreams for her and Paul.

But it wouldn't be Lois Lane with Paul. It would be Linda King.

While she, Lois, would be slugging away at the hotel.

Movement caught her eye, and she looked beyond the happy 'couple' to see Barry returning her plate - still containing most of her sandwich - to the table. Lois fixed a contempt-laden scowl on him, but he didn't seem to notice as he swung out of the office. "Have a great weekend," he said as he hurried off down the corridor, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jean jacket.

Paul brushed a light stroke down Linda's arm and endowed her with a smile that was pure, knee-melting ecstasy.

Lois spun around - in the opposite direction to the one Barry had taken - and sped away.

Before her rampaging jealousy could ruin her chances forever.

+-+-+-+

Clark slipped out via the balcony, shooting across the Metropolis sky and dropping behind a dumpster next to a department store.

He bought some necessities - toothbrushes, combs, shampoo - and a change of clothes for himself. That was the easy part. Then he bought a pair of jeans, a shirt, a sweater, underwear, socks, shoes, and a nightgown for Lois. He was reasonably confident he had estimated her size correctly but less hopeful of having managed to approximate her taste. His knowledge of women's fashion from the eighties was negligible.

But she would be clothed. And that was going to be important if she awakened to the reality of sharing a room with a man she didn't know.

He returned to the hotel room, conscious of the need to formulate a workable plan. He sat on the bed, trying to draw inspiration from Lois's nearness.

How was he going to find Tempus?

How was he going to foil the attempt on Lois's life?

How was he going to ensure that Tempus never threatened Lois again?

Tomorrow, he would look through the walls of Paul Bender's office and try to determine if the editor's appearance matched the man in the photograph. If there were evident differences, it would probably be advantageous to keep the appointment. But beforehand, he needed to prepare questions and invent a story to explain his interest in a female freshman.

It would be so much easier if Lois were awake. She would know what to do. What to say. How to get the information they needed.

Just having someone to discuss it with would be helpful.

Clark showered, shaved, and dressed in his new clothes. He returned to the seat next to the bed, determined to devise a way to save Lois. An hour passed, and he made no significant progress. His mind continually wandered, and he found himself staring at his wife, willing her to wake up. He doggedly pulled his thoughts back to Tempus and young Lois, but had to face the stark reality that his well of ideas was depressingly dry.

He needed Lois.

It was impossible to wrest his thoughts to anything else when her wellbeing had been the focus of every ounce of his concentration for the past three days.

She still wasn't out of danger.

She needs you to stop Tempus, Clark reminded himself for the hundredth time.

He'd been so overjoyed when he'd discovered she was alive, but now the shadows of anxiety were creeping back across his heart.

Had Wells expected her to stay unresponsive for this length of time? Or had something gone terribly wrong?

His worries escalated when, by late afternoon, Lois's condition had worsened. Her breathing had become more laboured, her face more flushed.

Clark hovered over her, trying to soothe her with soft words and a cool cloth on her forehead as his mind worked to determine the most likely reason for this development.

Was Lois's deterioration due to having travelled through time? Having been dragged from death to life? Or could it be the result of something Tempus had done to young Lois?

Should he stay with his wife?

Or should he go and look for young Lois?

Had she been affected, too?

Was Tempus doing something to her? Right now?

Even with superpowers, Clark couldn't be in two places at once.

He couldn't leave his wife.

He couldn't.

What if she woke up? Alone? Confused? Scared? Abandoned in a sea of forgetfulness?

But he might be forced to leave her. He might have to go and protect young Lois.

Because he knew with certainty that he couldn't face the utter cruelty of having to watch his wife die twice.

Clark paced up and down the room. Wells had said that Lois died on Tuesday. It was only Friday. How reliable were his tracking computations? Had Tempus struck? Was Lois being rushed to hospital right now?

Then from the cloud of his apprehension, he heard it.

Her heartbeat.

Not Lois's.

But *hers*. The same. But different.

She was somewhere nearby.

In the hotel.

Was she all right?

How could he check on her?

He couldn't look through walls. Not in a hotel.

Should he leave his room and sneak around, armed with a story to explain such suspicious behaviour?

No. That would require more creativity and composure than Clark currently possessed.

He hadn't eaten in two days. He picked up the telephone and ordered a meal from room service.

+-+-+-+

Lois shoved the ten-pound slab of cheese to the back of the shelf and glared at it as if it were personally responsible for everything that had gone wrong in her life.

During her afternoon class, she had begun to feel sick. The thought of Linda King with Paul Bender would do that to anyone.

But this had been more. The bone-weary queasiness that had become a constant drag lately had escalated so much that her stomach seemed to be teetering on the brink of eruption.

After her class, she had used the public telephone to call her boss at the North-Western. "I'm not sure I can come in, Mr Green," she'd said. "I'm feeling sick."

"You'd be surprised how many people feel sick at the thought of working on Fridays," he had replied coldly. "If you don't have a doctor's note, I expect you here at four-thirty for the start of your shift. I'm running a hotel, not a charity for lazy teenagers."

With that, he'd hung up.

Lois had dolefully replaced the phone.

The last thing she'd felt like doing was lumbering up and down the endless flights of stairs at the North-Western Hotel.

She'd trudged to work, her body aching, her head throbbing, and her mind smarting with the knowledge that Linda and Paul would have left for Jersey.

Tony Green had hijacked the first ten minutes of her shift to harangue her about the difficulties of running a profitable business while enduring the affliction of unreliable staff. Then, almost without drawing breath, he'd ordered her to clean both of the humungous refrigerators.

Lois had subdued her groan. All that squatting and stretching to reach the different shelves inside the fridges was going to be torture on her aching muscles.

And worse, it was a task requiring minimal concentration, so there was nothing to keep her mind from dwelling on Paul and Linda.

Had they stopped somewhere for a meal?

What were they discussing? Was it strictly business? Or something of a more personal nature?

Had Paul's dreamy eyes settled on Linda, making her heart race? Had he opened doors for her? Had he ordered her favourite drink? Were they laughing together? Were they revelling in the satisfaction of being truly willing to grasp the opportunities?

Had Paul been secretly glad that she, Lois, hadn't been able to accompany him to Jersey? Had he already decided that Linda was his choice? Did he think Linda was more talented? Did he prefer Linda's company?

Would their rooms be close together?

Would things escalate? Would Paul go to Linda's room and -

Lois couldn't continue with that thought. If she did, she was sure her heart would rupture into a hundred splinters and perforate her chest cavity.

She slammed the door of the first fridge.

Lois wasn't sure she would survive if Paul and Linda became a couple.

"Lois?" Steve, the chef, poked his head around the door separating the kitchen and the storage room.

"Yeah?"

"There's an order for room service. I'm just serving it up now."

"Already?" she grumbled, hoping the delivery would be to one of the lower floors. "Which room?"

"518."

"Two meals?"

"No," Steve said. "Only one. Steak, salad, fries."

"OK." Lois removed the plastic apron and washed her hands. She collected the tray containing the solitary plate under its cover and added the cutlery bundled in a napkin.

The fifth floor.

In a hotel with eight floors, it could have been worse.

But by the time she reached the door of room 518, Lois felt as if she'd dragged herself and a year's worth of supplies up Everest.

She knocked on the door and waited.

When it opened, she'd recovered enough breath to gasp.

She was face to face with him – Robert James. The stranger. The one who'd wanted to meet with Paul. The one whose secrets were going to become the Story that enabled her to claw back the ground she'd lost by not going to Jersey with Paul.

The stranger was staying in her hotel.

That could be good.

That was definitely good.

"Thank you," he said as he took the tray without any indication that he'd recognised her. Perhaps that was because she was wearing the hotel uniform and had bundled her hair into a side ponytail. Or perhaps he just had other things on his mind.

He reached into his pants pocket, removed a handful of coins, and tipped her.

"Thanks," Lois said as she accepted the tip. "Enjoy your meal."

He closed the door, and Lois walked away, her mind deep in thought.

He wasn't a local.

Why had he chosen to stay here? The North-Western Hotel provided cheap accommodation - although that didn't stop the guests from complaining about the rundown nature of everything from the intermittent heating to the lumpy mattresses.

The stranger had changed into jeans and a button-up blue shirt. Earlier, his pants and sweater had been a little ruffled, but they had looked to be of reasonable quality.

Although there was something not quite right about them ... as if they had come from another place. Could he possibly be a foreigner?

Lois hadn't noticed an accent when he'd spoken to her.

He'd ordered one meal.

Where was his wife?

Why wasn't she with him? Had he left her at home? Where was his home? Had he come to Metropolis solely to see Paul? A man he'd admitted he didn't know?

Why?

At the door to the kitchen, Lois stopped and listened for the sound of Tony's patrolling footsteps. Hearing nothing, she detoured into the lobby where Carol worked. They weren't friends exactly, but Carol was usually willing to chat if she didn't think Tony was in the vicinity.

Seeing the area was empty, Lois walked over to counter. "Hi," she began.

Carol looked up, her face blanked to its usual expression. "Hi, Lois."

"Busy day?" Lois asked.

"No. We're less than half full tonight."

"Did the guy in 518 come in today?"

"Yeah. With his wife."

"His wife?" Lois exclaimed. "She's here, too?"

"You sound surprised," Carol said. "Men do travel with their wives, you know."

"I just delivered his room service, and he only ordered one meal," Lois said. Did that mean his finances were limited?

"She's sick," Carol said.

"Sick?"

"Yeah; he was carrying her. He said their insurance wouldn't cover her hospital stay any longer, so he brought her here. She didn't look well at all."

"Did his wife speak to you?" Lois asked.

"Nah, she was asleep."

Asleep? Or unconscious? A chill slithered up Lois's spine. "You're sure she was asleep?" she said.

Carol nodded. "Positive."

"Did he say which hospital?"

"I didn't ask."

"Did he seem suspicious?"

Carol's eyes narrowed. "Suspicious? I dunno about that. My job is to find them rooms, collect their money, and try to make sure nothing happens that is going to cause Tony to explode."

"How long are they staying?"

"He paid for three nights in advance."

Three nights? Did he think his business with Paul would go beyond the initial meeting? "By credit card?"

"No; cash."

"What's his name?"

Carol checked the book. "Robert James," she said. "His wife's name is Mary."

"Where does he come from?"

"Tulsa, Oklahoma. Why all the questions?"

Lois gave a grin. "I'm bored," she admitted. "And I'm supposed to be cleaning out the fridges."

"Why that particular guest?"

"He sparked my interest because he ordered a single meal. I've taken it to him already - and it's only just after five."

"Perhaps he was hungry."

But what about his wife? If she was sick, shouldn't she eat, too? "I should get back to the fridges before Tony chews my ear off," Lois said. "He's even crankier than usual today."

She made it back to the storage room without encountering her boss and began unloading the second refrigerator, grateful now for the monotony of her task. Her mind was buzzing with Robert James.

His wife was sharing his room. Why had he ordered only one meal? Was that all he could afford? Was it because she was too sick to eat? Or something more sinister?

His wife had been in the hospital. How did that involve Paul? If Robert James wanted publicity for a complaint about the hospital or the insurance company, he would have gone to the Metropolis Star, not a college newspaper.

Would he be at the proposed meeting at four o'clock tomorrow? He had seemed eager to meet with Paul. Lois was sure he would be there.

But she wouldn't be.

She didn't need to track Robert James.

She needed information about his wife.

Paul had said that success belongs to those who are willing to seize every opportunity.

This was her opportunity - Lois could feel it - and she wasn't going to miss it.

Robert James had secrets. She would find them, write them, print them.

And then Paul Bender would realise he had taken the wrong person to Jersey.