Lois gave Clark's address to the cab driver. Then she turned to Clark and placed her hand on his arm. "It's going to be all right."
"Lois," he said. "Do you really believe what you said back there? That I didn't kill Mayson?"
"Clark!"
He figured from her expression that he was on the verge of trouble for even asking the question.
"I never believed for one moment that you had killed her," Lois said. She pointed at him fiercely. "And you should be ashamed of your lack of faith in our friendship."
"Everyone else seemed to believe I'd done it," Clark said in half-hearted self-defence. It was strange how little the tide of opinion mattered now. Now he was with Lois.
"I knew you couldn't have done it," she said.
"How could you have known?"
"Because I know you, Clark. You can be one of the most frustrating people to walk on this planet, but you don't kill and you don't run away."
A mighty ball of emotion rose up, choking his ability to speak. Clark took her hand in his, put his head back, and closed his eyes.
The thing he valued more than anything else in his life - his friendship with Lois - was still all right. So far, it had withstood the accusation of murder.
Whether it would withstand Lana's claims, he didn't know.
Whether it would survive his secret being blown to bits, he didn't know either.
But for now, they were together.
Her head landed softly on his shoulder. Clark hauled in a deep breath, allowed his mind to fade to nothingness, and wished the short cab ride could last forever.
Part 10
The cab pulled up at the kerb, and the weight of Lois's head lifted from Clark's shoulder. He shook himself from the temporary cocoon of peace and looked out of the window. They were at his apartment.
Where Mayson had died.
Lois's hand covered his, and he turned to her. Her smile - replete with understanding, support, and empathy - warmed his heart, further thawing its cold slab of isolation. "I thought you would like to get some different clothes," she explained. "I have your keys. I got them from Henderson."
Clark nodded mutely, and she directed the driver to wait for them.
A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk near his apartment. From their midst, a voice called out, "There he is," and the group swivelled towards him.
Lois's hand burrowed into Clark's again. She lifted her head high and marched them past the pointing, speculating crowd. She unlocked his door, hustled him inside, and shut it firmly.
Her hand slid down Clark's arm and rested on his elbow. "You OK?" she said.
"Yeah," he said. "Thanks." He turned from Lois, his eyes drawn to the place where Mayson had lost her life. There was nothing to testify to the horror of what had happened here - no lingering bloodstain, no dent in the dark timber.
Lois nestled closer against his side. "It wasn't your fault," she said in a low voice. "Whatever the reasons for her being here, whatever happened, it wasn't your fault."
"If I'd told her sooner, she wouldn't have been here," Clark said.
"Told her what?"
"That I didn't want to be with her like that."
"What happened to Mayson is a tragedy," Lois said. "But it wasn't your fault."
"I didn't pull the trigger, but perhaps I deserve -"
"You don't," Lois said. She clasped his hand again and moved forward, guiding them around the spot where Mayson's body had lain. At the bottom of the stairs, Lois released him and nodded to his bedroom. "Go and get some clothes."
"I could shower here," Clark suggested.
"No," Lois said. "I don't think you should be here any longer than necessary."
He glanced into the bedroom, but didn't move. His legs felt heavy, his feet felt melded to the floor. He and Mayson had spent time together. Here. Just a few days ago, she had cooked in his kitchen.
Now, she was gone.
Lois moved into his vision. "I don't think we should stay here," she said. "Get your clothes, and we'll go."
"Shouldn't you be working on a subway story?"
As he reached the end of his question, Clark realised how utterly ungrateful he'd sounded. He held his breath, dreading that he'd pushed her away and she would leave him.
"The cab is waiting for us, remember? And I told Henderson and Wolfe I would stay with you." Her smile appeared briefly. "It's not because I think you're a flight risk; I don't. But I do think the team of Lane and Kent needs to be together for a while. I've hardly seen you in a week."
On an intuitive level, Clark suspected there was something more to her insistence that they leave quickly, but his exhausted brain refused to cooperate, so he took the simple option and obediently moved into his bedroom. He gathered up jeans, a tee shirt, a jacket, socks, and underwear and shoved them into a bag. In the bathroom, he took his toothbrush from the shelf where Lana had discarded it.
When he turned, Lois was there. She reached past him and opened the cabinet. Lana's cosmetics were gone, leaving the shelves forlorn and bare. He figured the police had taken them as evidence.
"Let's go," Lois said as she closed the cabinet door. She walked through his bedroom and up the stairs, keeping to the edge. At the top, she waited for him. Averting his gaze from the place where Mayson had fallen, Clark climbed the stairs, and he and Lois left his apartment together.
The crowd was still there. Still whispering. Still theorising. Still playing judge and jury. After Lois had locked his door, she grasped his hand again, and swept him towards the waiting cab without even looking in their direction.
__|~|__
Lois stared out of the window as the cab took them towards her apartment.
She'd known this - Mayson's death in his apartment and being the focus of the subsequent police investigation - would be a harrowing experience for Clark. She'd sensed his lostness when she'd hugged him at the police station. She'd felt his tension and uncertainty as he'd faced the hostile crowd and the damning headlines. She'd wanted to storm into the group outside his apartment and berate them for their thoughtlessness and hasty judgement.
She'd expected Clark to be shaken. Shocked. Dazed.
But she hadn't expected the moment in the cab - the moment when he'd allowed her to glimpse his desperate need to know what she believed regarding Mayson's death. The last time he'd been so vulnerable, so open, so unguarded, she'd rejected him.
She'd thought he would never again let her see past that barrier of self-preservation.
But he had. It had made her feel undeserving. It had tugged at her heartstrings, releasing little streams of her love for him - the love she had kept so tightly bound for so long.
The love that - by her own decree - would never grow into something more than friendship.
As she had surreptitiously studied him, she'd discerned something else. Clark was worried.
About something. Or, more likely, someone. Probably the Prada woman. The woman from Clark's hometown. His former girlfriend. Lana Lang.
The woman he still loved. He was concerned about her, about where she was, about whether she needed him. About what she might have done.
Lois suspected that every instinct within him was primed, ready to spring to Lana's defence.
Perhaps that was why he'd wanted to stay at his apartment - hoping she would call, or come to him, or find a way to contact him.
Perhaps that was why he'd suggested Lois should be writing the subway story.
Perhaps that had been a hint that he'd wanted to be alone.
Perhaps he'd felt uncomfortable about his earlier moment of openness.
But, unless he stated outright that he wanted her to leave him, Lois was going to stick with him. In her estimation, having him worried about Lana was preferable to giving Lana the opportunity to convince Clark to sacrifice his freedom on her behalf.
The cab stopped, and Lois paid. They took the elevator to her floor in silence. As they reached her apartment, her cell phone rang. It was from Perry, but she cut the call without answering it. She pushed open her door, walked in, put her bag on the sofa, and turned to Clark with a smile she hoped would claw back a little of the normalcy of their working partnership. "How about you go and have a shower?" she said. "Are you hungry?"
"A bit," he said, although it looked as if he'd only given her an answer because he thought she expected one.
"It's morning, but I don't feel like breakfast," Lois said. "I could order in a pizza."
"OK," he said with no discernible enthusiasm.
"And then, maybe we can talk?"
A little of the tension drained away in the glimmer of Clark's wry smile. "I figure you must have questions."
"Not about whether you killed Mayson," Lois said quickly. "But I think we should use this opportunity to share what we know. I'm sure that, together, we'll be able to find answers."
"Lane and Kent," he muttered.
Her phone rang, and Lois moved over to it. "I think this is Perry," she said. "Have a shower. Help yourself to anything you need. I'll order the pizza. We'll talk while we eat."
Clark nodded and took his bag into her bathroom.
Lois waited until the door had shut and then answered the phone. "Lois Lane."
"Lois." It was Perry's voice. "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.
"Sure," Lois said, wondering what had worried him. "Why?"
"Are you with Clark?"
"Yes."
"My source told me he left the police station."
"Yeah. It finally dawned on Wolfe that his case isn't as solid as he had imagined it was."
"How is Clark?"
Upset. Disoriented. Hurting. Every time I look at him, I just want to hold him until he feels better again. "He knows this isn't over," Lois said, strangling her jangled emotions to keep them from clouding her words. "He's worried about what is going to happen. He's been questioned by the police as a suspect in a murder case. He's tired. And one of his friends was shot dead in his apartment. Altogether, he's not in great condition."
"But he seems … OK?" Perry persisted.
"What are you worried about?" Lois asked as fear leapt up her throat. "Have you heard something?"
"Superman came here earlier."
"Oh?" Lois said. She turned away from the bathroom door and lowered her voice. "What did he want?"
"He was worried."
"About Clark?"
"About you. He said you were in danger."
"Danger from what?"
"That's the thing, Lois," Perry said. "He wouldn't tell me. It was as if he wanted me to know something, but he wasn't willing to come right out and say it."
"What feeling did you get?"
"I ..." Her editor paused with uncharacteristic indecision. "I didn't know. But I've been thinking about it, and ..."
"And?"
"And it seemed possible he was trying to say that ... that Clark ... He seemed to be hinting that Clark ... might not be himself exactly."
"He said *Clark* might hurt me?" Lois hissed, trying to keep her voice down.
"No, he didn't say that," Perry said. "But he took time out from the subway rescue to come to my office, so obviously, he thought it was important. He was worried about you. He said threats had been made by someone who was out of control."
"But he didn't actually say that person was Clark?"
"No," Perry admitted.
Lois slowly shook her head. Had the entire world lost its mind?
"I knew Clark was at the police station," Perry said. "But then I heard he had left ... and I ... Darn it, Lois, today has been a terrible day, and it's not even nine o'clock yet. I'm not taking any risks with your safety."
"You *really* think Clark would hurt me?" Lois asked, not bothering to temper her indignation.
"No. But then I didn't think Clark would be accused of murder."
"He wasn't charged," Lois said quickly. "He wasn't even arrested."
Perry sighed deeply. "Lois, just be careful. Please. I don't know what is happening today. I don't know what Clark did or his mental state, but I know Superman was worried, and if anything happened to you ..."
Lois softened her tone. "Clark won't hurt me," she said. "In fact, if Superman was right and someone has made threats against me, Clark is -"
"Lois, I hated calling about this. I hated even thinking it was a possibility, but in the last twelve hours the safest subway system in the US has collapsed and the most decent upright man I know has been implicated in a murder."
"I appreciate your concern," she said. "But there's nothing to worry about. What's happening with the subway?"
"A few lines are open, but the city is going to be in chaos for most of the day. Probably for most of the week."
"I guess Superman is still there helping," Lois said.
"I haven't heard," Perry said. "But when he was here, he indicated he would be occupied for a considerable time. That's why he wanted me to look out for you."
"I'm sorry I'm not there, getting you the story."
"You look after yourself. And Clark, too."
"OK. Bye, Chief."
Lois returned the handset, her thoughts in turmoil as she tried to assimilate this new development into the tangled landscape of her mind. She quickly picked up the phone again, dialled the number of the twenty-four hour pizza store, and absently ordered breakfast.
What did Superman know? Had he had contact with Clark?
Why had he gone to Perry with his concerns?
Why not come directly to her?
And when Wolfe had taken him to the station, why hadn't he used that opportunity to proclaim Clark's innocence?
__|~|__
Clark buttoned up his shirt, glad to be doing something so mundane that it didn't make any demands on a mind that felt as if it had been battered to mush.
Lois didn't believe the accusations. He didn't understand why she hadn't spoken up for him in Perry's office, but that was a minor detail.
She'd investigated on his behalf. Wolfe had said he'd received 'new information'. Clark had no doubt it had been Lois who had uncovered that new information, brought it to Wolfe, and demanded he consider it.
Clark had felt trapped. Defenceless. Defeated.
But he hadn't known Lois was fighting in his corner.
That thought diffused sweet warmth through his heart, and his love for her surged again.
They were friends, Clark reminded himself.
Friends. Partners. Nothing more.
She'd said so when he'd thanked her for coming to the police station.
As he finished brushing his teeth, his mind wandered ahead.
Instead of facing Wolfe's questions, he was going to face Lois's.
Clark hadn't had answers for Wolfe.
Would he have them for Lois?
How much should he tell her? If she asked where he had been at the time of Mayson's murder, should he tell her the truth? The whole truth? If she asked where he had been all night …
He had to tell her.
They were friends.
She believed in him. But her belief was based on her assumption that she knew him.
When she discovered she didn't know him at all …
When she realised he'd been hiding things about himself …
Would that change everything?
He had to tell her. He owed her that much.
But actually saying the words. Lois, I'm Superman. Clark had imagined saying them so many times. And he'd imagined her response - dozens of them. And every single time, it had been enough to make him want to stay in the shadow of half-truths.
He could not imagine Lois feeling anything other than angry. And hurt. And very betrayed.
Right now, it seemed as if she were his only ally in an intimidating world of accusation and hostility.
He needed her friendship more than ever before.
But the time had come. He had to tell her he was Superman.
__|~|__
Lois waited for Clark to finish in the bathroom, trying to sort and catalogue the myriad of ideas and half-formed thoughts into something that would provide a framework for their investigation.
She knew Clark hadn't killed Mayson. She also knew that doubt would not be enough to save him. Doubt might keep him from a murder conviction, it might even keep him from being charged, but now that the Star had linked Clark Kent with the murder of Mayson Drake, the stigma of it would remain on him, contaminating his life, his work, and his reputation.
They needed proof. Incontrovertible proof.
Why had he been so uncooperative with the police?
Why hadn't he come right out and said where he'd been at the time of the murder? Where had he been last night?
Although she'd given answers to Henderson when he'd raised those questions, in her own mind, they weren't enough.
What was Clark hiding?
How was Superman involved?
Did Clark know Lana had killed Mayson? He must suspect. Or was there something else - another twist that Lois hadn't uncovered yet?
Lois searched every corner of her mind, trying to formulate an alternative explanation for Clark's behaviour.
Every time, she came back to the same conclusion.
He loved Lana Lang. He knew she was in trouble. Being Clark, he wouldn't save himself if that meant hurting her.
Lois was a little surprised he hadn't suggested trying to contact Lana. Surely, he would want to be with her. Perhaps he didn't know her whereabouts. Or perhaps he did know and was deliberately staying away to avoid leading anyone to her.
Clark emerged from the bathroom, looking breath-taking in his jeans and casual shirt. Lois swallowed down her army of regrets as she asked, "Are you feeling any better?"
The smile he gave her was tinged with pure Clark, and she realised afresh how much she had missed being with him. "Yes," he said. He moved closer to her. "Lois." He took in a deep breath. "Thank you. Thank you for everything."
Her tears surged. Tears for what she had lost. Tears for what he had endured. Tears because he wasn't hers and never would be. She brutally thrust them aside and said lightly, "You know you're the only person I could ever bear to work with. I couldn't let Wolfe charge you with something you didn't do."
His hand lifted towards her, but it dropped before making contact.
Lois gestured to the sofa. "Let's go and sit down," she said. "The pizza will be here soon."
They moved to her sofa and sat, both perched on the edge, both turned slightly towards each other, both looking ill at ease.
Something had changed between them.
He was no longer just her best friend. He was another woman's lover.
"Who goes first?" Lois said, trying to sound cheerful, trying to get them back on the easy footing they had been slowly reconstructing in the aftermath of the Luthor debacle.
"I will," Clark said. "I figure I owe you that, at least."
Lois fortified her heart, knowing that his declaration of love for Lana Lang was going to feel like an assault with a blunt club. She moulded her face to an expression she hoped was appropriately poised between concern and detachment. "How about you start around the time you arrived home last night?"
Clark was staring vacantly ahead. "They think I murdered her," he said. "They believe I could do that."
"They're cops," Lois said dismissively. "They're trained to be suspicious of everyone."
Clark didn't respond verbally. He stared at the floor, the depths of his anguish laid bare. Lois watched him, yearning to reach over and touch him. His leg. His arm. Perhaps take his hand as she had done in the cab.
But she had to remember. He was just her friend. Her partner. His heart belonged to someone else.
"Start at the beginning," she prompted.
"I left the office about nine-thirty," Clark said woodenly. "I walked home, so it was almost ten o'clock when I arrived. My neighbour, Mrs McCreadie was also coming home. She had taken her cat to the vet."
Lois reclined into the sofa, hoping it would relax both of them. She waited as Clark gathered his thoughts. She wondered if he were thinking about how good it had been to return home and find Lana there to welcome him after a long day.
"After we'd talked for a minute or so, I went into my apartment. I heard a noise in the bedroom. It was Lana."
He'd said her name without a trace of feeling, good or bad. "Were you glad to see her?" Lois asked cautiously.
"I was surprised."
"But ... but her cosmetics were in your bathroom."
Clark nodded grimly. "Yeah."
"You didn't want her there?" Lois asked as hope butted against her heart.
"I didn't want her moving in with me," Clark said. "But she had other ideas."
"So *she* wanted to be with you?"
Clark released a long breath. "Yeah," he said. "We used to date in high school, and she said she wanted us to be together again. She said we were going to get married. She had the whole future planned."
If Lana's plans had pleased Clark then, he didn't look pleased now. Perhaps he'd realised that those plans were now unlikely to come to fruition. Perhaps he was in shock that his future with Lana had been swept away so abruptly. Or perhaps … "Is that what you wanted?" Lois asked.
"She said she was pregnant," Clark said dolefully.
Pregnant? The word resonated around Lois's mind as her heart gave up the tiny seed of hope it had been nurturing. Whatever his feelings, Clark would never abandon the woman carrying his child.
"She said we were going to get married and raise the child together."
Clark had always wanted a family. "I'm sorry, Clark," Lois said.
He pulled his eyes from their sightless stare and looked at her. "I hadn't seen her in over a year. And suddenly, she's back in my life and telling me that we're going to be together."
"It ... it isn't your child?"
"No."
Lois's hope leapt onto the top of her heart and executed a little dance. "So ... what you feel for her is ... loyalty ... not love."
"I'm not sure what I feel for her," Clark said sadly. "Pity, perhaps."
Lois slumped into the sofa and stared at Clark. Lana Lang's reintroduction into his life had induced pity. "Why pity?"
"Because she was behaving erratically. She was almost manic. Happy one moment, angry the next."
"Did you consider her offer? Did you think there was any possible way it could work?"
"It wasn't an offer," Clark said. "It was a demand."
"Had you decided what to do?"
"I could never marry her," he said. "But I was trying to work out the best way to help her."
He would. He was Clark. "Why couldn't you marry her?" Lois asked gently.
"Because I don't love her. I will never love her."
He didn't love Lana.
He would never love her.
"Then why are you trying to protect her?" Lois asked. "Why didn't you tell the police she was in your apartment? You must have known she could have done this. Where were you last night. Why didn't you -" Lois stopped, realising Clark's tension had cinched tighter with every questioning dart she had flung. "Sorry," she said. "Keep going."
"I hadn't seen her since I left Smallville. I'd barely thought of her. I don't want a future with her. I told her that, but she wouldn't accept it. She said that if I didn't do what she wanted, she would ..."
"She would what? Kill another woman who was interested in you?"
"No. She said she would tell -"
"*That's* what the screaming was about? It wasn't an argument between you and Mayson? It was between Lana and Mayson?"
Clark nodded.
"And Lana accused you of cheating?"
"Yes."
"But you don't love her?"
"No."
"And you didn't love Mayson?"
Regret washed across Clark's face. "No," he said sadly. "I didn't love Mayson."
"But you hadn't told her that?"
"No. I tried. But I just couldn't find the right words."
Because Clark knew what rejection felt like, Lois thought grimly. He knew what it felt like to watch the person you love be with someone else.
She had to tell him. The timing was all wrong, but she had to do it. The last thing Clark needed was another woman pressuring him into something he didn't want. But she wouldn't demand anything of him. She would just undo something she had done and had regretted ever since.
With her heart thundering against her resolve to break down the wall of emotional isolation, Lois shuffled closer to Clark. He eyed her, his face a mass of questions.
When she was close enough that her knee was almost touching his, she smiled. She dragged in a deep breath. And then she said the three hardest words in the English language.
"I was wrong."
His face closed, shuttered by pain. "About what?"
"About you. About what I said." Lois smiled, but Clark didn't smile back. She inched a little closer. "That day in -"
A sharp knock to the door broke into her nascent confession.
"That'll be our pizza," Lois said.
"What were you saying?" Clark asked. "What were you wrong about?"
"I'll get the pizza, and then we'll -"
"Open up," came the harsh cry from the other side of the door. "Police. Open up."
Clark groaned.
"Don't worry," Lois said as she rose from the sofa. "They've probably come to tell us they've found the murderer." She opened the door.
Wolfe was there. Henderson was there, his face pulled taut. A third cop was there.
"Is Kent here?" Wolfe snapped.
"Yes," she said, hearing Clark's footsteps come up behind her. "We told you we would be here."
Wolfe stepped forward, past Lois. He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and slipped them on Clark's wrists. "Clark Kent," he said. "You're under arrest for the murder of Mayson Drake. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you say ..."
Lois tuned out. She grabbed Henderson's arm and pulled him away. "What is he doing?" she barked. "What do you have?"
"The murder weapon," Henderson replied tightly. "With Clark's fingerprints."
