Clark lifted her into his arms. "Ready?"

"Yep."

"We'll have to be more careful than last night. We won't have the cover of darkness."

"Do you have a plan?"

"I noticed a tall building," Clark said. "If we land on top of that, I should be able to see into Barry's apartment and also track Lois as she walks to the hotel."

Lois put her arms around his neck. "Tempus doesn't stand a chance," she said. "Not against the combined forces of Lane and Kent."

Clark smiled, looking more relaxed and confident than he had since they'd found themselves in 1985.

And her heart soared. This was a battle they were going to win.


Part 10

"Thank you, Mrs King," Lois Lane said to Linda's mother. "I need to call Paul Bender about a story."

"You're welcome, Lois."

Lois replaced the public phone at the bottom of the stairs in her apartment building and inspected the piece of paper in her hand.

Paul and Linda were at The Scotsburn Convention Center, and she, Lois, had the number.

Should she call? It wouldn't hurt to remind Paul that she was his best reporter. That she was the one tracking down stories while Linda was ...

It was morning. They'd had an entire night together. Not knowing how *together* was eating away at Lois's peace of mind.

If she were to call, ostensibly to report on the progress of her story, she might be able to discern any changes.

In Paul's attitude to her.

In Paul's attitude to Linda.

She wouldn't do it now. She would do it after she'd seen Mrs James - then she'd have real information to give Paul. Lois folded the paper, carefully placed it in her bag, and stepped into the dull Saturday morning to begin her walk to the hotel.

+-+-+-+

Barry Russo emerged from the train station and headed up the slight hill with long purposeful strides.

He'd never considered himself to be a particularly intuitive person, but last night a thought had lodged in his mind and refused to budge. As he'd considered it in light of everything he knew, he'd become convinced he was right.

Why hadn't he noticed earlier? He'd been looking for it, but in the wrong place.

He saw Lois nearly every day.

He had to check a couple of things first - although his newly awakened instincts were in no doubt about the outcome of his investigations.

He should have the first part of his proof within an hour. Then he would go to the North-Western Hotel.

And find Lois.

+-+-+-+

"What can you see?" Lois Kent asked her husband as he slid her to her feet on the top of the building.

Clark pulled in a quick breath. "He's gone."

"Who? Barry?"

"Yes. His apartment is empty. The bed has been roughly made. A couple of bottles of Dr Pepper and a bag of Fritos have gone. It looks like he left in a hurry."

"Can you see him? In the elevator? Somewhere on the street?"

Clark scanned the area. "No. I can't find him anywhere."

"Look for Lois."

He was already doing that. Suddenly, his face cleared. "She's about a block from her apartment building. She's OK."

"Any sign of Barry? Is he following her? Is anyone following her?"

"No."

"How does she look? Tired? Sick?"

Clark took a couple of moments to reply as his eyes darted around the city streets below them. "She's walking with a bit more energy than she had last night."

"Perhaps a night's sleep has made a difference. Perhaps it was just tiredness."

But Clark didn't believe that. Lois could see the concern scrawled on his face as his gaze trailed the tiny figure weaving in and out of the crowds below.

"Is she eating?" Lois said. "I often ate breakfast as I walked to the hotel."

"No. She doesn't have anything except her bag."

"I hope she's already eaten. Those hotel stairs get tiring on an empty stomach."

"I'll get something before she comes. Perhaps I'll be able to convince her to eat."

Lois hid her smile. It was weird seeing her husband's concern for another woman. What was even weirder was her reaction - it warmed her heart, as if she were seeing another, usually hidden, dimension of his love for her.

Clark continued his scrutiny until Lois reached the door of the North-Western. "She's there safely," he announced. "But I still can't find Barry."

"Let's go back to our room," Lois said. "I want to call the conference centre again."

Clark gathered her into his arms, and they flew across the Metropolis sky. "What are you going to say?" he asked as they arrived back in the hotel room.

"I'm going to inquire if there's a conference this weekend. And ask who's hosting it."

Her husband studied her for a moment. "Is there another reason why you want to call? Something that doesn't have anything to do with Tempus?"

"You're getting good at that."

"At what?"

"At realising things I wasn't necessarily going to volunteer."

His smile unfolded slowly, and his hand caressed the curve of her cheek. "You've been good at it from the first day I knew you."

"I think Paul and Linda had something going on a long time before she stole my story," Lois admitted. "I think that is the real reason why Paul refused to believe me."

"Would that make you feel better or worse about the situation?"

"I don't know." Lois slumped onto the bed. "It's silly, isn't it? It doesn't matter anymore. It never really mattered."

"Go on," Clark said. "Make the call."

"Why?"

"Because I think you'll feel better if you can move on."

"It's ridiculous," Lois said. "But it's more about losing the story than losing the man."

"It never feels nice to have something stolen from you."

"Or to be accused of lying."

Clark picked up the phone and held it towards her.

With a smile of thanks for his understanding, Lois stood. She dialled the number and waited. This time, a human voice answered.

"Scotsburn Convention Center," the receptionist said with a crisp manner. "How may I help you?"

"I'm calling to inquire about the conference this weekend."

"We are hosting the Young Editors' Association. Is that the right one?"

"Yes," Lois said, feeling her excitement build.

"The delegates are just arriving in the main hall for breakfast. Did you want to speak to someone?"

Did she? Did she want to speak to Paul? Would she recognise his voice? Would she be able to tell if the man living as Paul Bender was the man she had known? At the very least, she would know for sure that Paul was in Jersey. "Yes, please," Lois said with a rush of recklessness. "Paul Bender. It's Lois Lane, one of his reporters."

As the line went quiet, Clark moved into her sphere of vision. "Lois," he hissed. "You shouldn't have any contract with him."

She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "There's a much greater chance I'll notice a discrepancy in his voice than he'll notice one in mine," she said. "I'm still Lois. He might not be Paul."

Clark conceded with a nod. But he still looked worried.

"I'll keep it short," she promised.

There was crackle as someone picked up the phone. "I'm sorry," the female voice said. "Mr Bender isn't available."

"Could I speak to Linda King, please?"

"I'll check. She is the one who informed me that Mr Bender couldn't come to the phone."

"Thank you," Lois said. She glanced to Clark and saw that he had been listening to both sides of the conversation.

A few moments later, the phone clunked again. "Hi, Lois."

The sound of Linda's voice transported Lois more effectively than Wells' time machine had. Suddenly, it was real. She was back in 1985. And she had to think of something to say. "Is Paul all right?"

Linda giggled. "He's just a bit tired. It was a loooong night."

Lois discerned something instantly. Whether Linda King had slept with Paul Bender or not last night, she wanted Lois to think she had. With her memories of her night with Clark still fresh in her mind, Lois could only smile. "Oh, good," she said brightly. "I'm glad it's nothing too serious. Would you tell him my story amounted to nothing?"

"You called to tell him *that*?" Linda asked.

"He's my editor," Lois replied lightly. "Have you actually seen him this morning?"

"Of course I've seen him," Linda said with a little snigger.

So, assuming Linda wasn't lying, Paul was in Jersey. "I hope you both have a great weekend," Lois said.

The silence hummed with Linda's confusion. "Is everything all right, Lois?" she asked. "You sound ... different."

"Everything's fine. I just hope the news about my story doesn't ruin your weekend together."

"Why would it?" Linda asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"Well, you know how Paul gets when a story doesn't work out."

"No."

Yeah, Linda had it bad. Lois felt a dash of genuine sympathy. Escaping Paul Bender more than balanced the loss of her story. "I hope you have a great time, Linda."

"Ah ... thanks." From amid the background noise, Lois distinguished the low rumble of a male voice. "I have to go," Linda said in a rush. "See you Monday."

The line dissolved to beeps.

Lois replaced the handset. "They're both in Jersey," she said.

"Are you sure Paul's there?"

"Yes. I heard a voice. It was muffled, but I could tell it was male."

"Could it have been someone other than Paul?"

"Linda's reaction was a giveaway. As soon as she heard the voice, she finished the call. She didn't want me to speak to Paul."

"Did you recognise it as *Paul's* voice?" Clark asked. "The Paul you remember?"

Lois shook her head. "I could tell the voice was male. And he is definitely the person Linda thinks of as Paul."

"Which could be Tempus?"

"Yeah," Lois said. She stared at the phone as the conversation replayed in her mind. "Paul and Linda were together *before* she stole my story."

Clark put his hand on her shoulder. "They were in this time," he said. "If Tempus is impersonating Paul, it might not have been like that when you lived through 1985."

"I think it was like that," Lois said. "It explains so much." She grimaced. "I was even more naive than I thought."

Clark took her into his arms. His empathy seeped into the buried bruises her ego had suffered so many years ago and brought healing. Long moments later, he said, "I think you're brilliant. I would never have guessed they were away *this* weekend."

Lois eased back from the refuge of his chest. "Linda didn't seem to think Paul would be upset that my story had amounted to nothing."

"Perhaps young Lois hasn't told him about any story."

"Linda didn't seem surprised that Lois was supposedly chasing a story," Lois said. "Back in 1985, I was humiliated at having to work in a place like the North-Western. I didn't tell anyone for ages. If Paul suggested the conference in Jersey, I'm betting Lois wouldn't have wanted to give the real reason why she couldn't go with him. She would have used a story as her excuse." Lois smiled at her husband. "Particularly as she figured she was closing in on a mysterious man with a woman hidden in his hotel room."

"I still think asking to talk to them was risky," Clark said with a smile that softened his words. "If Linda tells Paul you called ... If either of them speaks to young Lois ... If she denies she made the call ..."

"We don't care what Linda thinks," Lois said. "If Paul isn't Tempus, we don't care about him either. But if he is, and if he's poisoning me, he's hardly going to be surprised if I get a little forgetful."

"I'm impressed," Clark said. "You thought of everything."

Lois draped her hand on his neck. "If I can't work out what Lois Lane is thinking, I'm never going to win that Pulitzer."

"You'll win the Pulitzer," Clark said. "I have no doubts."

Lois kissed her husband. "And we'll get Tempus, too," she said. "I have no doubts about that."

+-+-+-+

"Well?" Barry Russo said impatiently. "What does pink mean?"

Eddie Henderson looked up from the paint flakes Barry had picked up from the sidewalk near the wall of the North-Western Hotel. "It means the presence of heavy metal."

"But not lead necessarily?"

"No," Eddie said. "Applying hydrochloric acid solution will confirm the presence of lead. Assuming it's there."

"Confirm? No doubts?"

Eddie looked at Barry, a slight smile on his face. "This test is used to determine the presence of gunshot residue," he said. "I dunno how well it works for paint peelings." He took a Q-tip and dunked it in a container of liquid.

"But the cops use it? They think it works?"

"It works for confirming the presence of lead and therefore gunshot residue."

"So you know what you're doing?"

Eddie chuckled good-naturedly. "Uncle Bill showed me how to do it. It's called the Sodium Rhodizonate Test. Other than paying out the coin for an EPA test - which will take about two weeks to get the results - this is your best option."

That was precisely why Barry had sought out his science-nerd friend from high school. "Thanks," he said. "I appreciate you doing this for me."

"What I don't understand," Eddie said as he rubbed the damp end of the Q-tip over the peelings, "is why it is such a biggie whether or not there is lead in this paint."

"Did you read the May edition of the EPA Journal?"

Eddie looked bemused. "No," he said.

"There's a rad story in it outlining the history of lead poisoning."

"You're on a one-man campaign to clean up Metropolis?" Eddie said with a grin.

"No," Barry said defensively.

"Then why is it so important to know whether there is lead in this particular paint?"

"Well ... I have a friend."

Eddie's eyes catapulted from the paint flakes and into the face of his friend. "A woman?"

"Well, she's a woman," Barry said. Figuring he should be honest, he added, "But she probably doesn't consider me to be her friend."

"And she wants to know if there's lead in this paint?"

"No." Barry felt cornered, but he owed Eddie some sort of explanation. "You know about the community house for the kids who live in Suicide Slum?"

"Yeah. You've been going there for a few years now, haven't you?"

"Just on two years. Well, we decided it needed a new paint job."

"But the old paint was probably lead-based," Eddie guessed.

Barry nodded. "So the kids were banned from coming to the house for a month, and an EPA expert came to talk to us about safety procedures and the symptoms of lead poisoning."

"How does the woman fit into this?"

"Last night, I realised that she has all of the symptoms."

"Has she been helping at the community house?"

"No. This paint is from the place where she works."

"What are the symptoms?"

"She always seems tired ... and she rarely eats anything ... and she has no energy ... and last night, I saw her in the drugstore buying pain pills."

"That doesn't mean much," Eddie said. "My sister is always buying pain pills. Perhaps ..." He turned a little red in the cheeks. "Perhaps ... it's that time, you know?"

"But she's been irritable," Barry said.

Eddie nodded sagely.

"And she never smiles anymore."

"Perhaps she just doesn't like you," Eddie said. He pointed to the flecks of paint. "I can't tell you what's going on in the woman's head, but I can tell you that this paint contains lead."

"It does?" Barry whooped.

"Yep. Look at the colour."

"It's gone bluish purple."

"And that confirms the presence of lead." Eddie grinned. "Congrats, bro - you've proved that the building was probably painted before 1978."

"If the exterior paint has lead, that probably means the interior does, too, right?" Barry said.

Eddie shrugged. "I'm just the scientist. You're the environmentalist." He grinned again. "Or the gallant knight trying to rescue the grumpy damsel."

"It's not like that," Barry said quickly.

"But you wish it was?"

"I think she's interested in the editor of the college paper."

Eddie groaned with what could have passed as sympathy. "Wanna come and veg out at the campus with me?" he said. "Five new Amiga 1000s arrived last week. They have *256* kilobytes of RAM. That'll totally take your mind off any woman."

"Wicked," Barry said, trying to sound appropriately impressed. "But, I can't come. I have stuff I need to do."

"Stuff involving the damsel?"

"I think she's working." Barry nodded to the paint peelings. "Can I take those with me?"

"Sure." Using tweezers, Eddie picked up the flakes and put them in a small glass container.

"Thanks for your help, Ed," Barry said. "I owe you."

Eddie screwed the lid onto the container and handed it to his friend. "Good luck with the paint." He grinned. "And the woman."

+-+-+-+

Lois Lane continually checked her watch as she prepared room 307 for the next guests. At five minutes to ten, she slipped out, closed the door, and crept down the couple of flights of stairs and into the lobby. "Carol," she said, "has Robert James gone out?"

Carol turned on her with that slightly ditzy expression she wore whenever anyone asked a question she didn't believe she could possibly be expected to answer. "I've been dealing with the checkouts," she said coolly. "Robert James has paid for two more nights. It's not my job to keep tabs on his comings and goings." She picked up a piece of paper and stared at it as if it held something particularly disagreeable. "But I did take a phone message for you."

Lois guessed it was from her father. And it probably meant he wouldn't be coming. He was a doctor. Doctors had emergencies. And, as she had realised many years ago, emergencies had a propensity for arising at the most inconvenient moment imaginable. "From whom?"

"I am not paid to take your personal calls," Carol said.

It occurred to Lois that Carol was still upset about the barrage of questions last night. "I know Tony doesn't allow personal calls," Lois said in her best reconciliatory tone. "I didn't give this number to anyone." That was true. "Who called?"

Carol squinted at the paper as if she were having a problem reading her own writing, but Lois figured it was probably more a clumsy attempt to teach patience than failing eyesight. "He said his name was Dr Samuel Lane," the receptionist said with heavy emphasis on the final word.

"What was the message?" Lois inquired. Although she really didn't need to ask.

"He said he wouldn't be able to meet you at ten o'clock," Carol said. "He must have been mistaken about the time because your shift doesn't finish until three."

Lois's empty stomach collapsed a little. "Did you tell him that?"

"Yes."

So her father knew his daughter was working at a hotel in one of the slummiest areas of Metropolis. "Did he say if he'd be able to come later?"

Carol sniffed. "After I told him when your shift finished, he said he would try to come before three if he could."

That would be too late. Robert James would be back by then, and he was so paranoid about keeping the woman hidden, Lois doubted he would permit even a doctor into his room. Now was her chance to crack open her story. If she could get proof the woman was being held against her will, she would have something concrete to take to the police. "Thanks, Carol." Lois gave the older woman a smile, hoping to mitigate any lingering annoyance. After all, unobservant though she was, Carol was in the perfect position to provide a steady stream of useful information about the guests.

One guest in particular.

Carol gave a stilted smile and turned her attention to the couple who emerged from the stairwell, both lugging large suitcases.

Lois hurried up the stairs, arriving a little breathless at the door of room 518. She put her hand on the wall and pulled in a couple of breaths to offset a wave of dizziness. She really needed to eat. Perhaps she would be able to convince Steve to put together something appetising from last night's leftovers.

But for now, it was imperative that she push aside her hunger. Robert James had secrets. She could feel them - they were like a tangible cloak that surrounded him. But she was a reporter, and she was going to uncover those secrets. Starting with the woman in his room.

Lois lifted her hand to knock, but stalled. No, she decided. There was a chance she would find out more if she didn't announce her arrival.

She took the rudimentary tools from the pocket of her plain blue dress. She had practised with them, using them to enter rooms she'd been sent to clean until she'd become proficient.

The lock - old and of inferior quality - gave easily. Lois gently pushed at the door, and it swung open. "Mrs James?" she said in a hushed voice. She crept into the room, and -

Came face to face with Robert James.

"What are you doing here?" she said, surprise sharpening her tone. "You're supposed to be meeting with Paul. You said you would be there."

Robert James folded his arms across his chest. "I think I should be the one asking what *you're* doing here," he said.

A series of possible fabricated replies flittered through her mind, but deciding that attack was her best form of defence, Lois said, "Knowing you wouldn't be here, I came to see if there was anything I could do for the woman you've imprisoned."

Robert James gave no noticeable reaction to her blatant accusation. "I thought that might be the case," he said mildly. He gestured to the table and two plates - one containing sandwiches and one containing chocolate cookies. "Why don't you sit down? Have something to eat?"

Surprisingly, the food didn't look too bad. The sight of it tugged on a stomach that was vehemently protesting its state of near destitution. Lois was tempted to stay. Work on her story. Ask questions. Eat. But Tony would explode if he caught her in a guest's room. "I can't," she said. "I just want to know that the woman is all right."

"She is. Thank you for your concern."

The reporter in her rose up, brushing aside the visions of Tony's anger. "Why should I believe you?" Lois asked.

"Why should I care whether you believe me?" His words could have been fired like a challenge, but they weren't. They came in quiet waves of reason.

"Because I'm a reporter."

He already knew that. He'd said yesterday that he thought she was a fine reporter. "A reporter needs to have accurate facts before she can write the story," he said.

"That's what I'm trying to do," Lois said, her tone crusted with scorn. "Get the facts."

He gestured to the table again. "Why don't you sit down and have something to eat?"

"Why don't you let the woman come out of the bathroom?"

"I haven't locked her in there."

"Dead people don't need locks."

"She's not dead," he said with no more expression than if he'd been announcing that she wasn't asleep.

"Then why not simply let me see her?"

"Because I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"My wife is making a wonderful recovery," Robert James said quietly. "We will be able to return home as soon as we have dealt with the present situation."

The shroud of secrecy was still there. Lois wanted to dismiss every word he uttered as a lie - wanted to mercilessly shred his quiet assurance and expose the putrid truth.

But there was something about him.

Something in the way he spoke about his wife. The way his voice softened. His earnest sincerity when he vowed he would never hurt her. His unshakable determination.

He wasn't going to let Lois see his wife. He wasn't going to budge. When something was important to him, he couldn't be swayed.

She had to admire that.

Hate it.

But admire it.

"You're never going to let me see her, are you?" Lois said, trying to make it sound as if that represented his shortcomings not hers.

"No."

"And you're not going to give me a reasonable explanation?"

"Sit down," he said, indicating towards the table for a third time. "I can answer some of your questions."

Lois eyed him, trying to decide if he were genuine in his offer to give her information or if this were a tactic to divert her attention from his wife.

Paul had said that good reporters seized their opportunities. This was an opportunity. Lois took a step towards the table.

Robert James sprang forward to pull out a chair for her. When she didn't move any closer, he looked towards the half-open door. "Would you feel more comfortable if we left the door open?" he said.

Yes. Because no one knew she was here. No. Because if Tony found her here, it would be worse than anything Robert James might do to her. "Close it," she said. Because for reasons completely incomprehensible, she felt safer with Robert James, whom she didn't know, than she did with Tony Green, whom she did.

He closed the door, and Lois took advantage of the short lapse in his attention to slide into the chair he had pulled out for her. She looked at the plates. The cookies caused her stomach to protest, but the sandwiches looked soft ... fresh ... appetising.

Robert James came across from her.

"Why didn't you keep your appointment with Mr Bender?" Lois asked. "Yesterday, you seemed very keen to speak to him. What changed your mind?"

Robert James pushed the plate closer to her. "Eat if you're hungry," he said.

Lois picked up a sandwich and examined it closely. It was smoked salmon with a thin layer of mayonnaise. *Exactly* how she liked it. "Why didn't you go to the meeting with Paul?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you."

So he'd guessed she would use his absence to sneak into his room. He'd outplayed her. Lois loathed the - thankfully infrequent - feeling of having been outplayed. Particularly when the person doing the outplaying was someone she'd figured wasn't as smart as she was. "Yesterday you were adamant you needed to see Paul," she reminded him coldly.

"Now I need to see you."

"Why?"

"Because you've been trying to find out why I'm really here."

Was that an accusation? Or an admission? "I know you lied," Lois said. "I know you're hiding something."

He nodded, not looking in the least perturbed. "As I said, you're a natural reporter with great instincts."

Lois didn't respond to flattery. Not unless it came from someone important. Like Paul. But she couldn't help feeling just the tiniest trickle of satisfaction. It wasn't his compliment, she told herself. It was the fact she had been right. "How do you know?" she asked, deliberately hardening her tone to eradicate all trace of gratification from her words.

He sighed. "Lois," he said in a soft voice. "You're not the only one who can investigate."

"You're investigating me?" she spluttered.

He gave an infuriating little shrug as if it should have been obvious. "From what I have learnt about you, it wasn't difficult to predict that you would use my absence to check on my wife," he said. "And all I can say - again - is that I have not, and will never, hurt her."

There it was. Again. The strong sense that he would stand like a pillar against any threat to his wife.

There was definitely something about him - something that spawned a traitorous thought that it wouldn't be totally awful to know him.

To work with him.

Which was ridiculous. Lois Lane didn't need a partner.

And she certainly didn't back away from a story just because someone put up a flimsy barrier to the truth. She scavenged through her mind for another way to phrase a question - something incisive enough to drive a crack in Robert James' cool composure. "What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you," he said. "I'm trying to make sure you don't get hurt."

Lois snorted. "How could I get hurt?" she said. "It's the woman in the bathroom who's in danger."

"You don't really believe I would hurt her," he said, the softness of his voice only serving to emphasis his certainty.

"I know she was sick. You admitted that. I've seen no evidence that her condition has improved."

"But you don't believe I would hurt her," he insisted. "Because if you believed I was capable of hurting a woman, you wouldn't be in here now."

"Any reporter who is overly concerned with personal safety is going to have a short and unsuccessful career."

"Any reporter who is not concerned with personal safety is in danger of having a short life," he retorted.

The realisation hit her like a crashing wave. There was more. This was bigger than she'd ever thought. More involved. More complex. Perhaps more dangerous.

At least, that was what Robert James wanted her to believe. She scrutinised his face. He'd been blessed with features that suggested inherent trustworthiness. He was kind of good looking - although his hair was too short to be fashionable which made him look older than he probably was.

"You still haven't said why you want to talk to me," Lois said. She took a bite from the sandwich, indicating she was going to listen and she expected him to talk.

He took a breath, and excitement shimmied up her spine. This was it. This was the moment her career really began. She was going to get the answers she sought.

Her Breakthrough Story started right here.