Between Floors 7 and 8

By Jessi Mounts <jessi@bmounts.com>

Rated PG

Submitted April 2000

Before I do anything else, I need to thank Ann for editing this and  the people at the boards for reminding twice to finish.  Without you,  this story never would have gotten past the first scene.  Then thank  you again to the people at the message boards and on the list for  your encouragement and the crash course in dealing with constructive  criticism.  The a-plot used to be a disjointed mess.  Now, hopefully,  it's a little less messy. <g>  Feedback is still more than welcome  (a.k.a. desperately begged for <g>) in any form you want to give it.

_________

"Oh!  Oh!  Hold that...door...open."

Lois didn't actually expect anyone on the elevator to grant her  request.  It was all the way across the food court she was standing  in, and unless someone on there happened to be a lip reader or was  fluent in the language of Lois-Lane-arm-waving, there was no way  anyone would know she was even making one.  So she was surprised to  see the doors slide back open when they'd been just inches from  sealing shut.

Lois snatched her Chinese take-out off the counter before she rushed  across the mall's food court to eye the elevator's sole passenger  suspiciously.  He was staring at her, looking a little stunned, but  holding on to that Doors Open button like it was the most important  task of his life.  That alone was enough to make her nervous.  Why in  the world would this guy wait for her to walk all the way across the  food court unless he *really* wanted to be alone in that tiny space  with her?

The man apparently saw her hesitation.  He finally remembered to  remove that stunned look from his face and replace it with a very  reassuring and convincing smile.

Oh well, Lois thought, as she stepped into the elevator.  The mall  closed in half an hour, she had to get Lucy's present by Tuesday, and  she really didn't want to deal with another round of saleswomen  explaining why their perfume was a life necessity.  And if he tries  anything, I can always show him what I know about self-defense.

Lois gazed absently at the red digital numbers counting up the floors  and tried to ignore the part of herself insisting that she didn't  actually mind being alone in the elevator with this man.  He wasn't  bad looking, after all.  Well, okay, the hair needed some work.  It  reminded her of a fourth grade kid who never realized his short  haircut had outgrown itself until his mother dragged him off to the  barber shop.  But you could forgive the hair for the sake of those  deep, dark eyes that looked like their owner could never hurt anyone.  And the smile that made her feel like she was the most important  thing in his world.  And...and...um...and he'd noticed she was  staring at him.

She whipped her head back around to examine the digital numbers that  were taking their own sweet time in rising.  Just where were you  going with that anyway, Lane?  she questioned herself.  Get a grip!  The man is not a manic serial killer who lures innocent women into  abandoned elevators, and he is not madly in love with you!

***

If Clark Kent could have heard Lois's thoughts, he could have told  her she was possibly only halfway right.  A serial killer he was not,  but whether or not he was in love with her was still open for debate.  He had no problem with falling in love, of course.  He *wanted* to  fall in love.  But love at first sight?

He glanced at this gorgeous, bewitching woman, only feet away from  him, who seemed so fascinated by the interior of the elevator and  utterly uninterested in him.  No, he wasn't in love.  There was a  perfectly logical explanation why he was still fighting off the urge  to soar into the air.  Or sweep her into his arms.  Or soar into the  air with her enveloped in his arms.  That would be good too.

But not in love.  And this feeling that he'd finally found what he'd  been searching for his whole life?  That these few minutes would  decide whether he'd never be lonely again, or he'd be more alone than  he ever had?  That wasn't love.  It was...it was...relief that he'd  survived the vulture salespeople of Metropolis?  Okay, that was a  pathetic excuse, but it was the only excuse he could come up with  because he was *not* in love.  He wasn't! He  couldn't...possibly...be...

His overworked defiant voice wavered as he turned to catch just one  last look at her, and his eyes met hers.  She seemed so stubborn, so  independent.  So unneeding of anyone, least of all him.  It didn't  matter.  No amount of stubbornness could hide the warmth and passion  he was sure he saw behind it all.  He loved her.  Later he might  laugh at this fairy-tale idea or be terrified for his sanity.  Right  now, there was no doubt in the world.  He'd fallen in love at first  sight with a stranger in an elevator.

***

Lois was now glaring at the digital six, threatening it to change to  a seven, or else.  Honestly, she'd walked right into *the* slowest  elevator in the history of the earth!  She should have taken the  stairs.

Her perky little voice disagreed.  "But then you never would have  met--"She promptly made the thing shut up, and then sent her negative  energy in the direction of the glowing red number, which had finally,  on pain of death, changed to a seven.  And then remained a seven,  much to Lois's disgust.  Did the thing plan on staying on floor seven  all night?

The elevator responded with an exhausted gasp and an indignant jolt.  Yes, apparently that's exactly where it was going to stay.

"I think it's stuck," the stranger offered timidly.

Lois turned to glare at him as if this whole thing were entirely his  fault.  It wasn't.  It could have been, if he'd thought of it.  He  hadn't.  Luckily.  Clark was getting the uncomfortable feeling that  the death rays this woman's eyes were shooting could disintegrate any  innocent look he conjured up and see right through to his guilt.

Lois turned her lethal gaze back to the poor, abused numbers.  "Yes,  it's stuck!  Computerized numbers, plush carpet on the walls, and -  and  - cheesy music, and the thing can't get from one floor to  another!  Even elevators in Bate's Motel don't get stuck!"

Clark wisely decided not to encourage further wrath by pointing out  the Bate's Motel didn't have elevators and instead quietly pressed  the Emergency button.

This wasn't really an emergency, he admitted.  They weren't in any  danger; and if they were, he could have them out of there before she  had time to realize how she'd gotten out.  But that would involve  doing something extremely suspicious on his first day in Metropolis;  and that was the type of thing he was trying to avoid, not practice  at the drop of a hat.  Besides, why would he want to have them out of  there?  Hadn't he just been wishing they were in a nice, slow  elevator in, say, the Sears Tower?

Why would he want them out of there?  Because this woman, who may or  may not be the love of his life, looked like she was quietly planning  the execution of whoever was responsible for the faulty elevator.  And if she couldn't find the guilty party, he was getting the  distinct impression he would do just as well.  Really, he scolded  himself, if you insist on falling in love at first sight, couldn't  you have picked someone a little less homicidal?

By this time, Lois's rage was narrowing from the world in general to  the makers of this elevator in particular.  She glanced at her  elevator companion and thought he'd be happy to hear that.  His  mysterious, stunned look was steadily changing to wild-eyed fear.

There was no reason for him to be afraid.  Okay, well, maybe she'd  yelled a bit, but she hadn't yelled at *him*.  Had she?  She reviewed  the last couple of minutes and realized, yes, actually, she had.

Darn.  She had no problem with scaring people.  She just wanted the  scaring to be her idea.  Really, she thought idly, the guy hadn't  done anything deserving a scare yet.  He'd held the door for her.

How he'd known to was beyond her.  He'd stayed well on his side of  the elevator, and he'd known better than to interrupt her tirade.

She could be nice in return.

Unconsciously, she lifted her chin in determination and then relaxed,  sliding down the wall into a seated position and loosely wrapping her  hands around the knees of her slacks.

She hesitated for a second and then let out a half timid "So..."  Oh, brilliant Lane.  That's got to be the most creative conversation  starter you've come up with yet.

The man stared at her, hands thrust deep in his pockets. She couldn't  read his expression, but she guessed he was trying to decide whether  her sudden change in attitude was a good or bad thing. Finally, he  seemed to come to a decision and followed her example.  "So..."

************

"That's not a fortune!"

Lois's eyes sparkled as she went into a parody of the infamous Mad  Dog Lane mode. Lois would have been appalled if she had realized her  eyes were showing anything at all, let alone sparkles, but at the  moment, she was having too much fun to care.  It turned out that her  mysterious stranger, though maybe a little odd, was certainly not a  serial killer.  Or if he was, at least he was a charming and  thoughtful one on his off time.  Anyway, once he'd- they'd- relaxed  enough to share the Chinese food that had almost made her miss the  elevator in the first place, she'd discovered there wasn't anyone  else she'd rather have been stuck in an elevator with.  For some  reason completely beyond her, she actually *liked* debating the  authenticity of fortune cookies.

"Oh, it is so a fortune," she said stubbornly.  "'Your life will be  taking an interesting turn.'  It comes from a cookie.  It tells the  future.  That is a fortune."  With each of her closing arguments, she  rhythmically snapped the offending slip of paper to punctuate the  phrases.

Clark slowly shook his head, partly in disagreement, but mostly in  amazement at this complex, wonderful woman.  After those first  awkward few minutes, he'd discovered he was more than justified in  falling in love with her.  Oh, it was still a crazy fairy tale  notion, but now, at least, he wouldn't have to tell his parents he  was in love with someone who hadn't spoken ten words to him.

The passion he'd sensed in her wasn't imaginary.  Each word she'd  said, every gesture she made was done with all she had.

She hadn't given him her life story.  In fact, they'd skipped right  over the basic getting-to-know-you information.  He didn't know her  job, her friends, her opinions on the weather.  He didn't even know  her name.  He wasn't going to complain.  What she had said told him  so much more than her thoughts about that morning's rainstorm.  Between teasing, bad puns, and her Chinese take-out, he'd met a  person he guessed she let few people see.

Her favorite TV shows were a "sappy" soap opera, The Ivory Tower, and  a sixties spy show.  She didn't like the movie based on the former,  proclaiming it a "cheap rip-off" and "completely out of character."  She loved to write.  He'd already half guessed that by the time she'd  said so.  She worded herself so eloquently that, if she didn't write,  she should.  Since the age of nine, she'd had the long held dream of  publishing a novel.  At nine, the heroic main character of said novel  would single-handedly save the world.  Over fifteen years later, that  heroine was still saving the world, but now it was at the expense of  her chance to find her prince of all Prince Charmings.

She'd dropped one barrier after another, each one revealing yet  another quirky, charming aspect of her personality.  She often tried  to out-sing her not so melodic hair-dryer in the mornings.  She was  an expert in self-defense and had considered using it on him if he  got out of line.  She loved cats, but didn't own one, for the  protection of her elderly goldfish.  She couldn't cook, hated most  salespeople, had recently learned to roller-blade.  She never let  herself trust her coworkers.

With each barrier she dropped, Clark felt himself falling more deeply  into her unintentional trap, and he really couldn't have been happier  about it.  In other words, he had fallen head over heels in love, and  whatever logical, rational thought process he had left had fallen  right along with him.

Meanwhile, Lois was working up an amused irritation at his apparent  disagreement with her.

"Oh, you think I'm wrong?  And I suppose you, farmboy, are a frequent  visitor to China and a world renowned expert on fortune cookies!"  Clark gave her his best devastating grin, knowing he had this debate nailed.  "Well, I don't know about being a 'world renowned expert' but I have  been to China.  Twice."  And innumerable other times to pick up a  quick meal, he thought to himself, but those don't really count.  Lois's expression slowly changed from mock irritation to sincere  interest.  The guy from Kansas said that so matter-of-factly, like he  was telling her he had been to the Grand Canyon.

"You're kidding!  How?  Why?"

Clark felt his world crashing down around him as the meaning of her  question hit him.  She wanted to know how he'd gotten to China, and  he couldn't tell her.  He was completely, helplessly in love with  her, and he couldn't tell her something as simple as his means of  transportation.  This wasn't that big of a deal, but what about next  time?  What about when she wanted to know why he never got hurt,  never got sick, could hear things he shouldn't, could bruise her with  a careless caress? What then?

Anyway, he had to give her an answer to this particular question now.  She was getting suspicious!  As he struggled to force his world back  into it's rightful place, he stole a panicked glance in her  direction. She didn't *look* that suspicious.  Really, she just  looked interested in finding out why a farm kid...oh...  Clark grinned sheepishly, which matched what he was about to say  pretty well anyway.

"Why'd I go to China?  Mostly because it was there and I'd never  been. My version of teenage rebellion, I guess."

At Lois's incredulous raised eyebrows, he hurried to continue, "Oh,  my parents were - *are* - wonderful.  They wouldn't have objected if  I announced I was visiting the moon, as long as I knew how to get  there."  Which I do, he thought, wishing for the first time that he  had a way to share that with someone.  Namely, her.  "It was just  about everyone else in town who said I couldn't do it alone.  Which  made me that much more determined to try.  Silly, I guess."

The corners of Lois's mouth slowly turned up into a charmed smile.  He was such a walking contradiction.  He had obvious physical  strength, but he moved with all the careful grace of a jungle cat.  He kept his shoulders slightly slumped, and his smiles were almost  cautious.  She'd think him timid, if she hadn't watched him hold up  his fair share in every playful argument they'd had.  She had no  doubt he'd fare just as well in a real one.  He was ridiculously  kind-hearted, but here he was admitting to a stubborn streak.  No, she corrected herself.  That wasn't a contradiction.  If his  "rebellious" trip to China had caused any harm to anyone other than  to mystify a couple of people, he wouldn't have thought about going.  Knowingly hurting someone was even more impossible for him than  flying to the moon.

"No, not silly at all," she said, finishing her reverie and  remembering he was waiting for her to answer his question.  "I've  spent my entire life pulling stunts like that."

As Clark took his turn at eyebrow raising, Lois gave a short laugh.  "No, not China!"

Feeling reassured by the return to the playful mood, she continued.  "I can't resist a challenge.  If someone says I can't do something, I  can't resist the urge to show them I can.  I've got this monstrous  teddy bear packed away somewhere that my sister bet me I could never  get.  So I saved my money for two months and bought it.  I didn't  want it, but that wasn't the point."

She tipped her head back against the wall and tried to dredge up a  memory to further explain herself.

"Then there was the time I joined the drama club after Daddy teased  me about being a shy little bookworm.  And the time I became the  school's spelling bee champion because he said I couldn't."

She stopped abruptly, feeling uncomfortable for revealing so much and  ridiculous for revealing it so bitterly.  She was talking about a  contest where nine-year-olds ponder the correct spelling of  "mosquito" using the same rueful tone most people use when telling  about failed marriages.  If her elevator companion didn't already  think she was off her rocker, he certainly did now.  She reluctantly  started to meet his eyes which, by this time, were undoubtedly  showing cruel laughter mixed with shock.  She got a shock of her own  to see none of it.

She could see by his barely present smile that he was still trying  valiantly to sustain the light mood.  Somehow he'd guessed early on  that she needed that, and so every time she'd slipped and said more  than she'd meant to, he'd counter with a story about the time his dog  ate two and a half boxes of crayons or something equally silly.  And  every single time, his eyes betrayed him a little more.  At first,  she'd convinced herself it was only her over-active imagination, but  by now there was no denying that look in his eyes.  He was falling in  love with her.

She viciously squelched the thought as quickly as it came up.  No,  she could deny it.  And she would deny it.  There's no such thing as  confident, intense love like that.  Not for him, and most certainly  *not* for her.

"Spelling bees," he was saying now, his voice far too low for such a  flippant remark.  "I always hated those."

He was still trying desperately, and failing miserably, to break the  intimate mood.  She met his gaze for the thousandth time that  evening, the face only inches from hers, and her careful denial of  true love fizzled.  Oh god, she thought, feeling a sharp stab of  panic, he's going to kiss me.  The panic sharpened as she realized  that's exactly what she wanted him to do.  Would it be such a bad  thing to let herself go, to let him hold her and feel his lips  against hers?  Would that be so wrong?

And now she was entirely sure it couldn't be, as her face was already  cradled tenderly in his hands and his lips were-

-smashed unceremoniously into the cheap carpeted walls as a deafening  clap of gunshot tore through the air and a bullet burst up through the  floor.  Well, she'd wanted someone to kill the mood, hadn't she?

"Uh," she stuttered, trying to recover at least some composure after  the startling change in atmosphere, "you're squishing me."

The pressure enveloping her lessened instantly.  Her protector's  voice came from behind her sounding half-frantic.  "Oh, I'm so sorry.  Are you all right?"

Lois giggled, finally recognizing the absurdity of the situation.  She'd only wanted to buy a gift for her little sister.  Instead,  after spending hours having an amazing conversation with a man who'd  tried to kiss her, she'd found herself wrapped entirely in that man's  protection as he dodged the bullets whizzing around him.  And *he*  was the one apologizing?  Yup, just another day in the life of Lois  Lane. "I'm just fine," she said, surprised to find herself laughing  good-naturedly.  "But just what makes you thing that *you've* got the  right to protect *me*?"

"Well, I'm, uh, bigger than you, and - and there's really no sense in  putting both of us in danger."

"Oh."  There was something wrong with that logic, but Lois didn't  feel like sorting it out.

"So," he said, sounding for all the world like someone still having a  leisurely conversation over Chinese take out.  Just a Kansas farm  boy, huh?  "Are you shot at often?"

Lois smiled, unable to resist her chance to tease him again.  "And  just what makes you so sure they're not shooting at you?"  He wasn't so easily thrown off balance this time.  "Oh, darn.  I  forgot.  I never should have robbed that bank.  Those Smallville cops  will track to the ends of the earth.  No, really, the mall's closed,  so it's gotta be me or you, and I seriously doubt it's me.  Why *are*  they shooting at you?"

"I'm a reporter," Lois stated matter-of-factly.

There was a beat of silence from his end of the conversation, broken  only by the sound of yet another gunshot ripping through the air.  "Uh huh," he finally said.  He paused for another beat and then asked  brightly, "So, have you seen any good movies lately?"

Lois responded by probably confusing the poor man half to death with  a laugh and gentle elbow in the ribs.  "Shh!"

"Why shh?" came the whisper in her ear.

"Because--" she whispered, doing her best to be insistent while her  grin stretched from ear to ear, entirely with her permission.  Since  when did she have *fun* being shot at? -- "if our shooters can  somehow hear anything at all over that racket, we want them to think  that they've got us, mission accomplished, and go home."

"Oh, but you forget," he said, managing to sound sly in a low  whisper. "Those aren't just the run-of-the-mill shooters out there.  That's the Smallville police force, not to fooled by such amateurish  tactics as-"

Lois cut him off with another good-natured elbow and a "Shh!"  "Yes ma'am," he whispered and obediently fell into silence.

And promptly fell back out of it to announce, "Bet they're shooting  up the elevator shaft from the doors at the floor below us.  They're  probably the ones who stopped the elevator in first place.  Just how  much ammunition do these people *have*, anyway?"

"Shh!"

"Is it even humanly possible to-"

She laughed and said "Shh."

"Do they always-"

Lois gave up her shushing, which wasn't much fun anyway and  announced, "If they're after me, they do.  Anyone after me is always  relentless, illogical, or nuts.  It's some kind of curse."

He said simply "Ah," and fell back into silence, apparently intending  to stay there this time.

He didn't have to for long.  With his silence came one last, lonely  gunshot, a few muffled shouts, and then nothing.  Lois waited a good  thirty seconds, and then turned to face her unlikely hero.  His arms  were still wrapped protectively around her.  She could get used to  that, she reflected.  She tilted her face to smile up at him, and was  greeted by an adoring grin.  Oh, she could definitely get used to  this.

"Well, sir," she teased, playfully resting her hands on his  shoulders, "you've just survived your first attack by the bad guys.  Welcome to Metropolis.  Now--"

Later on, Clark realized there were probably other ways to handle  what was to happen next.  What exactly those ways were, he wasn't  sure, but there had to be something, anything, less obvious and,  well, less idiotic, that he could have done.  At the time, he was  only conscious of a pang of horror as he realized the floor was  literally falling out from beneath him and the desperate thought that  he'd finally found the woman of his dreams and he would *not* lose  her now.  From there, his subconscious took over and he suddenly  found himself soaring into the air with her held tightly in his arms.

The woman of his dreams didn't seem to realize exactly how romantic  the situation was.

Lois gasped as the elevator she'd been in a half a second before was  demolished at the ground dozens upon dozens of feet below, followed  by what she recognized as the remnants of a bomb.  Of course.  they  could just cut the elevator's supports like normal villains, could  they?  Oh, no.  They had to show off and use a bomb.  What else?

Her shocked gaze lingered on the scattered wreckage and then shifted  back to the dozens and dozens of feet of empty space.  Very empty  space.  In fact, there was nothing at all between her and the ground.  Absolutely nothing to stop her from plummeting to that ground.  Nothing but...

Lois suppressed a panicked shriek and instead snapped her head  upwards to sputter, "You...how...you put me down!"

He had the nerve to give her an irritating, smug grin.  "Sorry.  Can't do that."  How dare he!  When they were...when she was...

"Oh, yes you can!" she screeched, not caring in the least bit how  panicky she sounded.  She had a right to be panicky.  "You got us up  here; you can get us down.  So put me down!"

He only smiled cheerfully and announced. "Sorry.  Can't.  I'd be  happy to, but," Lois stifled a gasp as she felt one of his hands  leave her to motion to the empty space beneath him, "it'd be a long  way down.  Wait a second and--"

"No, I will not wait!" she snapped, whatever cool she had left going  out the window.  "I don't care who or what kind of thing you are.  You get me down now!"

Lois wanted desperately to steal back the words the second she'd said  them.  She'd always known exactly what to say to more than get her  point across, and she'd certainly done it now.  She wanted to  frantically assure that he was not a "what" or a "thing".  Unique,  intriguing, amazing, wonderful, yes, but never, *never* a thing.  The  stiffening of his once-playful hold told her it was too late, and the  damage was done.

Lois looked into his face in time to watch it crumble.  His  expression froze into a pale blankness, only his eyes betraying how  badly she'd just hurt him.  Then his eyes, too, iced over, hiding  every trace of emotion and of the joyful man she'd known.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking a bit and then falling into  awful, stiff formality.  "I'll have you down as soon as possible."

Lois watched numbly as they both glided down to the elevator door  she'd walked through hours before.  He effortlessly pried it open  with one hand, set her on the solid ground of the dark, deserted food  court, and then disappeared to the wreckage at the bottom of the  shaft.  She barely had enough time to wonder what he was doing before  he reappeared, silently holding out her tattered purse.

She stared into his unwavering gaze that seemed to be memorizing  every detail about her for the last time and tried to come up with  the brilliant words to put things back where they were just five  minutes before.  So what if the guy could fly?  He was also  ridiculously wonderful and was looking at her right now as if she'd  broken his heart.  Her own heart broke as she realized she couldn't  bring herself to say a thing.  Instead, she found herself reaching  out mutely for her purse with only a murmured "Thank you."

For a second, neither of them moved.  He only stared with that same  wistful gaze, and Lois couldn't bring herself to look away.  Finally,  he took a shaky breath and said softly, "Goodbye."  And suddenly he  was gone; and Lois was left alone, staring into dark, empty space.

She reached mechanically for her cell phone, but her fingers fell  motionless over the speed-dial.  What exactly was she planning on  telling the police?  "The elevator car I was in crashed down seven  stories, but I'm okay.  The flying man with me got us out in time."

Uh-huh.  She didn't need Perry to tell her that they wouldn't even  print that in the National Whisper, let alone use it for a police  report.  And if they did?  The man was obviously keeping his unusual  abilities secret for a reason.  She could not betray him like that.

And why not, she questioned herself.  This was only a fascinating  experience and nothing more.  Logically, she knew that.  Knew that  she didn't *need* anyone, especially not someone she barely knew.  But logic didn't have a thing to do with the tears welling up in her  eyes as she dropped to the cold tiles.

She thought that there, at least, no would hear her cry.

Hovering just above the building, Clark Kent couldn't block out the  sound of her sobs, and his heart broke with every one of them.  Fighting off every instinct in him, which told him to go to her,  *now*, and never leave her again, he shot aimlessly off into the  night sky to leave her behind forever.

*******

She hadn't meant it.  Couldn't have.  Never mind that he was in love  with her.  He understood other people.  He knew how they thought, and  he knew how to identify with them.  That was one fact he'd always  clung to.

He'd given her more rapt attention than he'd given any human being in  his life.  He'd *know* if she could mean something that unfeeling.  She couldn't.  And she wouldn't stop thinking of him as a person just  because he could fly!  Would she?

He found himself at the same place he'd started from a thousand times   over and was forced to admit he didn't know.  Wherever she was  concerned, he had no idea how to think clearly.  Oh, he knew the  sound of her laughter and would know it in his sleep.  He knew  exactly how her dark tendrils fell around her face and how her eyes  came alive when she smiled.  He knew every single word she'd said to  him.  Knew?  He couldn't forget any of it if he tried; and if this  morning and the endless night before were any indication, that  wouldn't ever change.  She constantly invaded his thoughts,  indiscriminately tossing out whatever practical matter he'd managed  to keep her out of for, say, two minutes.   He wouldn't really have  it any other way.  He didn't *want* to forget.  He loved her.  And as  much as it scared him to admit it, he didn't care if she'd meant it  or not.  He'd still love her anyway.

He should leave Metropolis.  His dramatic promise to leave her behind  forever had only lasted the five minutes it took to realize he'd left  her in an abandoned building with people who wanted her dead.  Then  he'd gone hurtling back to find the thugs making their escape and  gloating over how well they'd done their job.  Apparently, the job  had been to scare the nosy reporter as much as possible before  killing her, and they figured leaving her stranded for hours before  shooting her and ultimately sending her crashing to a violent death  had been a brilliant touch.

He had never in life wanted to hurt someone more than he had at that  moment.  He hadn't.  He hadn't even tried to stop them from leaving,  since he wanted them away from her as quickly as possible.

He had no doubt that she was more than capable of taking care of  herself once they realized they'd failed, but he still couldn't leave  Metropolis.

He tried to tell himself that it was only because he wanted to be  there for her when they came after her again, but the truth was that  was only half of it.  Leaving would involve giving up any chance of  seeing her again, and he couldn't do that.

But he should leave.  Whisking someone into the air was never a good  idea.  He'd known that someone was a reporter, one who'd apparently  risk anything for a story, if the bullet holes in his clothing were  any indication.  He'd whisked her into the air anyway, and that had  been a worse idea.

And, he admitted wearily, he'd do it again in a heartbeat.  "Son, if you want this job, you've gotta come to the interview too."

The gruff voice jolted him rudely out of his thoughts.  Clark  struggled to get her out of his head for just a minute and focus on  the reason he'd come to Metropolis in the first place, his interview  with the Daily Planet's editor-in-chief, Perry White.  If he didn't  pull himself together, the decision of whether to remain in  Metropolis would be made for him.  If nothing else, he had to pay the  rent.

As the man regarded Clark intently, his look of irritation gave way  to one of amusement. "You didn't hear a thing I just said, did you?"  Clark groaned inwardly and forced himself to smile apologetically.

"No, I'm sorry, sir."

Mr. White afforded him a sympathetic smile and began again.  "Now,  son, I'm sure these are fascinating stories, but this is-"

"All right, Chief, I fixed the horn on your golf car!"

"Not now, Jimmy," Mr. White didn't bother to raise his voice at the  young man throwing himself through the door.  The tone of his growl  said plenty.

Jimmy didn't get the message.  "The tone's still off."

The editor's growl escalated to a roar as he shouted, "Jimmy, not now!"  The scared-looking kid got it that time and hastily retreated through  the open door.

Clark wished he could follow his example.  He'd heard enough of what  Mr. White had said to know what was coming next.

The man focused his attention back on Clark and shook his head.  "The  boy never learned to knock.  Now where was I?  Oh, yeah.  Kent,  you've gotta understand, this is the-"

"Chief!"

Clark leaped to his feet at the sound of the word.  He would know  that voice anywhere.  That was her voice.  Her voice!  That did it.  She really was driving him crazy.

He found himself hopelessly frozen in place as the owner of the voice  burst through the door and proved she was no dream.  "I know there's  a story here, and we should have...this...guy..."  She trailed off as  her flashing eyes widened into shock, and her expression began to  mirror Clark's.

What explosion would have come from the editor was diffused by the  sight of his unshakable star reporter standing motionless in the  doorway.  "Uh, Lois, honey," he began tentatively, "I'm really in the  middle of this here."

If Lois heard a word of it, she gave no indication.  Her eyes never  left Clark's.

Thoroughly baffled, Perry tried a different tactic.  "Uh, Lois Lane,"  he said, feeling an introduction was somehow redundant at this point,  "Clark Kent."

That, at least, she heard.  The word "Clark" formed in a whisper on  her lips, and then she went right back to gazing.

Oh, well, this was getting ridiculous.  He looked between Lois and  the young man who appeared to have forgotten the world existed at all  outside of Lois and tried his final course of action.  "Lois," he  sighed, doing his best to sound exasperated, "can I help you with  something, or are you just going to stand there and decorate my  office?"

Lois's focus snapped abruptly back to Perry.  "Yes, Perry.  Yes, you  can help.  Can I borrow him for a second?"

Perry chuckled and motioned to the door.  "Be my guest.  Just both of  you get out of here."

No one was left to hear the tail of his sentence.  The two were  already well out the door.

Outside, Clark watched fascinated while Lois's eyes darted across the  newsroom.  She scanned the hectic sea of desks and glared at the  occupied conference room.  Suddenly, her eyes lit up as they landed  on...no.  She couldn't be serious.

She was.  Motioning at Clark to follow, she strode purposefully off  towards the elevator.

As the doors sealed shut, and he found himself staring into the face  of the woman he loved, he knew he should take the chance to do  something.  In the sleepless night before, he'd gone over and over  again exactly what he'd say if he could find her again.

"Lois Lane," he'd say, and now he knew her name.  Her name was Lois!  "I have fallen in love with you.  I know it's crazy, and I keep  trying to tell myself that, but nothing ever changes.  I'm still in  love with you and terrified at the thought of losing you.  Please  don't be afraid of me.  I'll explain whatever I can.  Just don't be  afraid of me."

And then, ideally, she'd declare her undying love in return.  Or  something like that.  Well, he hadn't worked out exactly what it was  he was hoping she'd do, and now it didn't matter.  He discovered that  any chance at all of forming coherent phrases had left him, leaving  him with only a delirious grin.  She was here; she was smiling; he  knew her name; he had not lost her!

And even if he'd had the presence of mind to make his grand speech,  Lois began speaking soon enough to beat him to it.

"Clark," she began, smiling almost shyly at the name before starting  again.  "Clark, I never meant to hurt you.  I need you to believe  that.  But I felt something for you I didn't understand and didn't  have any control over, and that scared me.  I'm not very good at  being scared.  I wasn't ready to be swept off my feet, and believe  me, mister, you were doing a pretty good job of it.  So really being  swept into the air and dangling there was a bit more than I was ready  to deal with."

She smiled again, and Clark tried desperately to kill the hope  brought on by that smile.  He didn't really know where she was going  with this, and he didn't know how he'd survive thinking his world was  finally in one piece, only to have it shatter again.

"I have no idea how you did whatever it was you did," she went on,  "and we're going to have a long talk about that sometime soon."

We.  She said "we".  That had to be a good sign, didn't it?

"But what matters more to me than anything right now is that you  understand I didn't mean to hurt you.  I couldn't.  And I'm not going  to tell you I'm in love with you, because I just met you, and that  kind of thing only happens in sappy love stories, right?"

Without waiting for his opinion on that, she pressed on.

"But I do know that if you walked out of my life right now, because I  was too afraid to let you stay, I don't think I'd ever forgive  myself."

"And I can't promise that I'm not going to panic sometimes and try to  push you away again, but Clark, I want to try.  So I guess the point  is," she took a deep breath and looked intently into his eyes, "do  you?"

She was asking him if he wanted to try?  He had to be dreaming.  Did  he want to try?

"Yes!" he said, surprising even himself at the intensity of his  response.  "Yes, of course I want to try!  I-" He stopped himself at  the last second from saying, "I love you," and finished more softly  with, "I don't want to lose you."

Lois's cautious smile widened into a broad grin.  "Okay.  Well, then,  I'd say we pick up where we left off."

Clark eyed her warily.  He could think of several places they'd left  off, not all of them particularly pleasant. "And that would be...?"  he asked carefully.

If the mischievous glint in her eye didn't tell him exactly where she  intended to pick up, her comment and the actions that followed left  no doubt.  "Clark," she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck as  she raised her face very pleasantly close to his,  "I thought you had  a better memory than that."

And just in case she really had robbed the poor man of all thought  process, she proceeded to demonstrate by jerking away as the elevator  dinged cheerfully.  To their dismay, the doors glided wide open to  reveal the mercifully deserted lobby.

That does it, Clark groaned inwardly.  We're cursed.  There just  isn't any other explanation.

Lois echoed his sentiments aloud.  "No.  Uh uh.  No way.  Not this time."  In one sweeping motion, she jabbed at some buttons, watched the doors  seal securely shut, and then turned her arms and her attention back  to Clark.  "Now where were we?"

"I think you were about to refresh my memory," he prompted softly.

"You know, I think I've just had a lapse in concentration.  Care to  help me out?"

And not a thing, including crazed elevators or gunshot, could have  kept Clark from very happily complying.

*******

"Twenty bucks says she's in there, ah, welcoming the new employee."  "Dylan, this is *Lois* we're talking about.  You know, Lois.  As in  everyone, especially rookies, are possible sources for her next  brilliant story.  Period."

"Don't care.  I saw that look."

"So did I.  And it said, 'Ha!  Now I've-'"

Jimmy broke off in mid-sentence as the elevator announced the arrival  of the topics of conversation.  He turned to see the two standing  side-by-side, looking decidedly pleased with themselves, wearing wide  grins and...lipstick?

No way.  He rubbed at his eyes in hopes that his obviously faulty  vision would fix itself.  Miraculously, it did.  Sort of.

When he ventured to look up again, Lois was marching purposefully off  towards Perry's office and the guy, entirely lipstick-free, looked  pretty thrilled to be following.

And he was sure his hearing couldn't have been playing tricks as he  heard her announce, "Chief, you just can't brush this guy Kent off!"  "Well," a voice said over his shoulder, "I'd say you owe me twenty bucks."

Had it been anyone else, he would have paid up on the spot.  Anyone  else and, after one look at the way she looked at that guy, he would  have had to agree that of course she was in love with him.  But Lois?  Lois Lane?

His eyes were drawn to Chief's office, where he could see her  gesturing furiously.   Was it possible that she...?

Nah.

The End

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