Courage Under Fire

By Meredith Knight <meredith@putwet.demon.co.uk>

Rated: PG

Submitted: October 2002

This story was lurking in the darker corners of my mind for  some time.  After my muse had been on strike for a couple  of months, I decided to try writing this as a birthday fic  for Yvonne, and see if the muse would come out of her coma.   Touch wood, it seems to have worked. <g>

Many thanks to Wendy for a lot of help and encouragement  with the tough spots, and also to Laura for BRing the first  section at top speed.

The characters are not mine, and no copyright infringement  is intended; I just borrowed them for a little fun.  I used  scenes, events and at least one line of dialogue from the  show Lois & Clark, for which I owe particular thanks to  Gene Miller & Karen Kavner.

**********

~ Courage Under Fire ~

The brooding midnight silence of one of Metropolis's less  salubrious areas was broken by the roar of a car engine  fast approaching. Moments later, a pair of yellowish  headlights split the darkness, as the car turned into the  mouth of the alley without indicating or even slowing  appreciably.

Fifty yards on, at a sharp bend in the alleyway, one rear  door swung open and a large sacklike object hurtled out  into the darkness. It skidded and rolled across the roadway  to fetch up in a pile of rubbish overflowing from a skip.

The door slammed shut, and the car picked up speed and  vanished once more into the night.

**********

In the shelter of the skip, Clark Kent sat up and watched  the car speed off.  As it disappeared around a corner, he  rose to his feet and started to brush the dust and a few  stray pieces of rubbish from his suit.

His expression was completely blank, like that of a man in  shock, but his mind was seething with the thoughts that had  been obsessing him ever since he had fallen to the floor in  the nightclub.

He was dead.  Oh, physically he was still walking around,  but everything that made life worthwhile had been snatched  from him in that brief second when Clyde Barrow had pulled  the trigger.

Clark Kent was no more; all that was left was Superman, the  remote, aloof, lonely hero.  No more job at the Planet,  once Clark's highest ambition in life.  No more friendly  banter with his colleagues, no more ball games with Jimmy  or poker under Perry's eagle eye.  And above all, no more  working alongside Lois, cooperating with her to bring home  the best stories, teasing her over who was the better  reporter... secretly euphoric every time she got the bit  between her teeth and set off on one of her crazy rambles,  talking all around the subject and yet, somehow, still  getting to the very heart of it.

No more quiet evenings with takeout and a video, in the  company of the woman he desperately wanted to spend the  rest of his life with.

It would even be difficult to visit his parents, now that  their son was officially dead.

His parents!  Someone would be calling them soon with the  tragic news.  He needed to get home first, to warn them.   And maybe, just maybe, they'd be able to say something to  soothe the bitter ache in his heart at the thought that  everything he'd worked so hard for was lost.

With a last glance after the gangsters' car, Clark drew his  jacket around himself and turned away into the darkness,  where he could safely spin into the Suit for the flight to  Smallville.

Even as the spin ended, though, his super-hearing kicked  in.  A mile or two away, there was a sudden angry blare  from a horn, and at the same moment a woman's voice uttered  a shrill scream.  Clark frowned, recognising the  distinctive sound of the horn from the gangsters' vintage  Ford.  He'd heard no impact, and he didn't really want to  have to face his murderer again so soon.

And yet...

How could he turn his back on Metropolis?  The thugs had  already killed once tonight, as far as they were aware -  would they have any greater respect for the lives of  ordinary citizens?  If anyone but Clark had been in the  gambling club tonight, there would have been a real body in  the alley now... and then there was Georgie Hairdo, who had  almost certainly been eliminated because he stood in Al  Capone's way.  And Perry might well be next on the list...

A simmering rage was growing inside Clark.  Did these guys  really think they could murder him in cold blood and get  away with it?  They were about to discover their mistake,  then.

Clark shot into the air in a blur of red and blue, and  headed for the sound of the Ford's engine.

A few minutes later, the gangsters pulled up next to an  anonymous warehouse in the Old North Road.  They piled out  and sauntered inside, discussing the events of the evening  and their plans for the next few days.  Clark stopped to  listen for a while, and was rewarded when the conversation  turned to Emil Hamilton, the scientist he and Lois had  already linked to the appearance of the cloned gangsters.   He quickly learnt that Hamilton, who was locked up in a  laboratory in the warehouse, had resurrected the criminals  as part of a scientific experiment and not in order to  establish a reign of terror in Metropolis.

Relieved, Clark swooped down on the warehouse.  Within  seconds, the gangsters were trussed up and on their way to  safe custody.

**********

"Hamilton is still locked up in the warehouse," Clark  concluded his lengthy statement.  "He doesn't seem to have  had criminal motives for cloning these crooks, but the  medical ethics guys might want to talk to him about  experimenting on unwilling human subjects."

Henderson nodded, and continued making notes.  He looked  exhausted - as well he might at one in the morning - but he  wasn't letting it get in the way of taking a thorough  statement.  Once he'd finished writing, he leafed back  through his notebook, checking for inconsistencies and  holes, Clark guessed.

"How did you identify the car?" Henderson asked suddenly.

"It was being driven dangerously, and well over the speed  limit," Clark replied.  For a moment he was tempted to add  that he'd detected Clark's blood on the back seat, but he  caught himself in time.  Forensics would be all over the  car in the morning, and they'd know there was no blood.   "And it matched the description of the gangsters' car," he  continued.  At Henderson's surprised look, he hastily  added, "Clark saw it leaving the Planet, and gave me a  description."

Bad move, he realised just too late, as Henderson's face  set into grim lines.  The detective added a few words to  the notes in front of him and then, without looking up,  steepled his fingers carefully.  "You... knew Clark Kent  well, didn't you?"

Clark's grief rose in his throat, threatening to choke him,  but he concentrated on seeming unaffected.  He might as  well foster Superman's reputation for aloofness.  "We're  friends," he said, shrugging.

Henderson raised his eyes to meet Clark's.  "Were," he  corrected gently.  "Kent was shot in a nightclub tonight,  by one of Al Capone's henchmen.  The description matches  that of Clyde Barrow."

The pain in Henderson's eyes took Clark by surprise.  He  hadn't thought the detective had much respect for him at  all.  He found he couldn't keep up the pretence of  indifference any longer.  "I know," he said quietly.  "I  heard the shots, but by then it was too late to do  anything.  No one called for me in time."  None of that was  actually untrue, he reflected cynically.  "Is he dead?"

"Capone's gang got rid of the body," Henderson replied,  "but we're treating it as a murder.  He took three bullets  in the chest at close range."  He glanced down at the  statement again, then closed his notebook.  "That's all for  now, Superman.  Thank you.  We'll get your statement typed  up, then we'll need you to sign it."

Clark nodded and got to his feet.  "I'll drop in tomorrow,"  he promised.  Then a thought struck him.  "Has anyone told  Clark's parents?" he asked.

Henderson nodded.  "We contacted them as soon as we'd taken  the first few witness statements," he said.  "I think  they're clinging to the hope that he'll be found alive."

Clark needed to get to the farm quickly, then, to reassure  them... and to break the news that as far as the world was  concerned, their son truly was dead.  He turned to the door  and allowed Henderson to usher him out of the office.

"But Clark is dead... and it's all my fault!"

The voice was low and broken, but still instantly  recognisable.  One foot on the stairs, Clark turned back to  Henderson.  "Why is Ms Lane still here?" he demanded.

The detective's face creased with concern.  "She gave her  statement earlier, but she's still very upset," he said.   "We've got a police psychologist talking to her, but if she  isn't calm enough to go home soon, we'll have to take her  to the hospital to be treated for shock."

She certainly sounded distraught, Clark acknowledged  guiltily.  He'd been so bound up in his own misery that he  hadn't spared a thought for how Lois would be taking it.   And even though she didn't have the same depth of feeling  for him that he had for her, having her partner killed  right in front of her would have been a terrible shock.

His parents would have to wait a little longer...  "May I  speak to her, please?" he said, turning away from the  stairs.

**********

Lois seemed to have been talking for hours; her throat was  dry and she was getting hoarse.  Whenever she stopped,  though, her throat would tighten and her eyes start to  prickle as the dreadful scene replayed in her mind.

Clyde would raise his handgun, the disco lights twinkling  cheerfully off the barrel and then flashing once, twice,  three times as the trigger was pulled and the gun spat out  its vicious hail of death.  Clark would reach for his chest  uncomprehendingly, futilely, and then slump to the floor in  slow motion...

Lois blinked her eyes furiously to clear her vision and  then started talking again, almost at random.

The real problem was, she didn't want to be sitting in a  police station, talking to some anonymous police officer  about her partner... she wanted to fling her arms around  Clark himself and sob her heart out into his solid,  comforting shoulder.  He was the only person she'd taken  completely into her confidence... well, as close as she'd  ever managed to get... and he was certainly the only person  who'd never betrayed it.  Somehow, she'd never worked up  the courage to tell him what he'd begun to mean to her, and  now she'd left it too late.  He'd never know that he meant  far more to her than the "brother" she'd once described him  as.

Lois stopped talking long enough to blow her nose  defiantly.

Moreover, to add insult to injury, the latest person they'd  sent to talk to her was starting to sound suspiciously like  a counsellor rather than a policewoman.  She kept asking  the sorts of questions Lois had heard from Arianna  Carlin... intrusive questions about things she had no  business prying into, which Lois had absolutely no  intention of answering.  Lois got up from her chair and  started to pace nervously.

There was a discreet knock behind Lois, then the door  opened.  As she turned to see who it was, Lois glimpsed a  relieved smile forming on the policewoman's face.  <The  feeling's entirely mutual, sweetie,> she thought sourly.

Bill Henderson was framed in the doorway, looking tired and  careworn.  He'd been avoiding Lois most of the time she'd  been here, but Lois had seen his reaction when he'd heard  of Clark's death, and she had a pretty good idea what it  must be costing him to keep going.  Still, there was no  real reason for her to be here, adding to his workload.

"Can I go home now?" she said abruptly.

His gaze flickered to her face, and he came forward into  the room.  "Someone would like to speak to you first," he  said, and stood aside from the doorway.

Lois registered the identity of the man behind Henderson,  and felt her face grow cold with shock.  She'd been trying  not to think about Superman, trying to avoid asking herself  over and over where he could have been while Clark was  getting killed; why the hero of millions, the saviour of  thousands of lives, hadn't bothered to lift a finger for  his best friend.

She turned her back on him and walked blindly over to the  window.  "Where were you?" she muttered tonelessly under  her breath.  "Why didn't you save him?"

There was a brief pause, then she heard Superman's boots  approaching over the threadbare carpet and felt a gentle  touch on her shoulder.  She flinched away, and his hand  fell.

"Lois, I'm terribly sorry," he said softly behind her.  "I  couldn't get there in time.  I wish there was something I  could have done... but there wasn't."

She crossed her arms over her chest and hunched her  shoulders, fending off the bitter finality of his words.   She couldn't think of any response.

"May I take you home?" he asked.  "I need to talk to  you..."

She shook her head angrily.  "I don't want to talk to you,"  she snapped.

A stunned silence fell on the room.  Lois imagined the  shocked expression on Superman's face, and a hint of a  cynical smile curved her lips.  He wasn't used to being  turned down by mere humans, especially not by his most  devoted admirer...

His voice dropped to a confidential level.  "Lois, if they  think I'm looking after you, they'll let you go home.  If  not, they'll probably check you into the hospital, for  shock.  I suspect you'd rather be at home..."

She couldn't repress a shudder.  Only Clark had known how  she felt about hospitals - the way the staff made her feel  small and insignificant, and how the medical atmosphere  reminded her of her father's neglect.  On the bright side,  she reflected, talking to Superman would probably be an  improvement on Ms Nosy Policewoman - and if not, she could  simply ask him to leave.

She bowed her head in resignation.  "Okay," she said  grudgingly.  No need to let him know how accurate his guess  had been.

She stood at the window, huddled in her coat and wishing it  could do something for the chill in her heart, while  Superman spoke briefly to Henderson.  When he returned, he  opened the window beside her, and she braced herself to be  swept into his arms as so often before.  But her forbidding  body language had evidently put him off, because he simply  placed his hands on her hips and the tug of gravity dropped  away.

**********

Clark lowered Lois gently to her living-room floor and  stepped away with some trepidation.  She hadn't said a word  all the way home, but he'd felt the tense shivers running  through her slight body.

Still, at the moment he'd rather she got angry with  Superman than continued to blame herself.  She would never  be able to let go of Clark and move on if she held herself  responsible for his "death".

"Lois, I know you don't want to talk to me," he began, "but  there are some things I need to tell you.  Then, if you  want me to, I'll go.  I promise."

Her face completely shuttered, Lois moved to a couch and  sat down stiffly.  "Go on," she said.

Clark felt a surge of blind panic.  It was one thing  deciding what he needed to tell Lois; quite another  actually doing it.  She was going to be so angry...

"First of all, I want to tell you how sorry I am about  tonight," he hedged.  "I wanted to do something to save the  situation, but there was nothing to be done after the shots  were fired.  I'm so sorry, Lois..."

As he spoke, her face slowly crumpled until, by the time  he'd finished, tears were coursing down her cheeks.  Clark  quickly retrieved a box of tissues from the bedroom and  pressed one into her hand.  She lifted it to her eyes and  then sat there, hunched in on herself, her hands covering  her face.

"It isn't your fault," she said wretchedly.  "It's all  mine.  I bullied Clark into going there; I hung around  looking for my stupid nickels when he wanted to leave and  call the cops; I tried to get away from that... that  Neanderthal when he started pawing me, so that Clark had to  defend me.  If I'd even thought to yell for you, you might  have arrived in time.  But no, the mighty Lois thought she  had everything under control.  And it cost him his life..."

Her voice broke down completely into sobs.  Clark stood  awkwardly for a moment, feeling helpless, then sat down  cautiously beside her.  When she didn't turn away, he  reached out a tentative arm and placed it around her  shoulders.  Finally she moved, turning towards him and  burying her face in his shoulder, her sobs gradually  abating.

"Lois, you didn't force Clark into the situation," he  ventured when she seemed to be calm enough to listen.  "You  have nothing to blame yourself for."

"Know what the worst thing is?" she blurted out  incoherently, completely oblivious to his words.  "He died  without ever knowing... I never told him..."

Told him what?  Clark found his heart pounding, his palms  starting to sweat.  What could Lois have been hiding from  him?  Was it possible that she felt something for him after  all?

It no longer mattered, he reminded himself harshly.  Clark  Kent no longer existed, and there was no way Lois could  have a relationship with Superman.  He had to rescue her  from this guilt trip she was caught up in, and then walk  out of her life forever.

"Listen to me," he insisted, gently turning her face up to  his with a finger under her chin.  "Clark walked into that  nightclub of his own free will.  And as for protecting you,  neither of you could possibly have known Barrow would  shoot.  But even if you had - Lois, you were Clark's best  friend.  He wouldn't have hesitated to give his life for  you."

Her mouth set mulishly.  "You're just saying that to make  me feel better," she objected.  "And we'll never know now,  will we?  Anyway, how come you claim to know so much about  what he thought?"

The panic rose up inside him again.  There was no way he  could possibly say this to her while he had his arms around  her.  He gently disengaged himself, stood up and walked to  the window, where he turned to face her, folding his arms  across his chest in a futile attempt to ward off what was  coming.

"Lois -"  He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.  "Clark...  isn't exactly dead."

Her eyes grew wide and her mouth trembled.  "What are you  saying?" she demanded.  "Have they found him?  Is he... oh  god, he's not in a coma, is he?"

He held her gaze and spoke with careful emphasis to stem  her rising hysteria.  "Clark wasn't shot tonight."

She leapt to her feet and planted her fists on her hips.   "Don't try to mess with my mind, buster!" she growled, her  eyes flashing.  "I saw it myself, remember?"

He shook his head.  "You saw Barrow shoot at him.  You  didn't see the bullets hitting him.  You didn't see any  blood."

Her mouth worked silently, her eyes clinging desperately to  his.

"Clark caught the bullets," he said deliberately.  There.   It was done.  This was where she flew into a fit of rage  about his deception, both tonight and for more than a year  before that, and then ordered him out of her apartment for  good.

She was still looking stunned.  "But... but you're the only  person who can do that," she quavered uncomprehendingly.

He inclined his head slightly.  "That's true," he said.

Her eyes went blank as realisation dawned; then she was  searching his face for confirmation.  "Clark?" she said  disbelievingly.

At his nod, she flew across the room to fling her arms  around his neck and hug him tightly, whispering "Oh,  Clark!" over and over into his ear.

**********

Clark wasn't dead.  She hadn't killed him.

Dimly, somewhere at the back of her mind, Lois was aware  that she still had a lot of questions for Clark...  Superman... to answer, and that she was going to be very,  very angry with him.  Some time.  For now, all that  mattered was that she hadn't lost her best friend after  all.  He was here with her, a dream come true, his large,  warm body solid against hers.

The first inkling that something was wrong came when she  realised that he wasn't responding to her embrace.  After a  moment she drew back, her embarrassment intensifying as he  disengaged her hands from around his neck and stepped back.

He still looked every inch the superhero, she thought, his  expression stern and remote; nothing like the open,  welcoming expression she was used to seeing on the face of  the man she... loved.

Suddenly there was a roaring noise in her ears.  "Oh my  god," she whispered, "you're Superman!"

The room went grey, and then she felt a brief moment of  vertigo.  A few seconds later her surroundings swam back  into focus, and she discovered that she was seated back on  the couch, her head between her knees.  Superman's red  boots were planted firmly on the carpet next to her, at the  edge of her vision.

"I made you a cup of sweet tea," he said anxiously.  "It'll  be good for you... you've had too many shocks for one day."

That was Clark all over, she thought.  Always concerned for  her wellbeing before anything else.  She sat up and reached  for the mug he was holding out.  It was hot, but not too  hot to drink.  There hadn't been enough time to make tea,  she thought in confusion.  But then, Superman wouldn't need  much time...  The room began to spin again.

"I never faint," she said firmly.

"Of course not," he agreed.  "But you should drink the tea,  anyway."  There was an undercurrent of laughter in his  voice; he sounded like Clark again.

She sipped obediently, grimacing at the sweetness but  grateful for the warmth.  Then she fixed her gaze on the  steam rising from the mug.

"I'm sorry about flinging myself at you like that," she  said painfully.  "You obviously don't feel the same way  about me as I feel about... Clark."

The red boots shifted nervously.  "Clark is dead," he said  after a moment.

She flung back her head and stared at him.  "But he isn't -  you aren't!  What are you talking about?"

He turned and paced away from her, his cape swirling about  his ankles.  "Think about it, Lois.  I was shot three times  at point-blank range, in front of dozens of witnesses.  If  I came back to life, everyone would know I was Superman."

"And would that..."  Her voice trailed off as she  considered the implications.  "No, of course you couldn't  allow that to happen.  So are you going to start a new life  somewhere else, under a different name?"

He ran his hands distractedly through his hair.  "How could  I possibly do that?  The only thing I ever wanted to be was  a journalist.  What respectable paper would ever hire me  with no track record, no portfolio, no degree... and what  would happen the first time I went to a big news conference  and someone recognised me?  I'll carry on being Superman,  but I can't have an ordinary life any longer."

"Then why did you tell me Clark wasn't dead?"

He grimaced.  "I couldn't let you keep blaming yourself for  my death."

With his worried face and rumpled hair, he looked so much  like Clark that it was difficult to understand how she  could ever have been fooled.  Realising that the  magnificent spandex-clad body pacing her living room  belonged to her partner gave Lois a warm, tingling feeling  in the pit of her stomach.

She suddenly realised something else as well.  "You didn't  give me a straight answer, did you?  How *do* you feel  about me, Clark?"

The question hung in the air, and Lois wished fervently  that she'd never spoken.  Clark was gnawing his lip and  looking acutely unhappy.

The words, "Forget I asked," rose to her lips, but before  she could utter them Clark halted and turned to face her,  arms akimbo.

"You must know I... care for you, but..." he said.  She  waited for the fatal words, "... only as a friend," but  they didn't come.  Instead, he continued, "... from now on,  Superman is all I am.  And Superman can't have a  relationship with anyone.  No girlfriend, no... wife.   She'd just be a target.  You must see that."

Wife? After what he'd said to her, both before and after  her near-marriage to Lex, he still thought about marrying  her? What *was* he trying to do to her feelings?

She forced her mind back to the main issue. "So what do you  want me to do?" she asked incredulously.  "Just forget I  ever knew you?"

There was another strained silence, then Clark nodded.   "That would probably be for the best," he said.

Lois gasped, feeling as though he had struck her.  Clark  had somehow wormed his way through all her carefully  constructed defences and made her fall head-over-heels in  love with him - and now he didn't want her?

Then, looking at his white, tense face, she finally  understood what he was doing.  The poor sucker thought he  was being noble.  A strong desire to smack him formed  inside her; only it wouldn't do her the slightest good to  use force against Superman.  But she had other weapons at  her disposal...

She stood up.  "So I should just carry on with my life as  though you never existed?"

"That's the idea."

She started to walk slowly towards him; the panther  stalking her prey.  "And I should date other guys?"

"Yes," he ground out.  It was working; he wasn't at all  happy about that idea.

"And kiss them?"  She stopped in front of him and ran her  fingers casually over the S on his chest.

His jaw muscles tightened, but he nodded mutely.

Her hands strayed up to his shoulders and around the back  of his neck.  "Like this?" she breathed huskily, standing  on her tiptoes and lifting her mouth to his.

For a long, agonising moment he didn't respond, but then  his arms came around her and his mouth sought hers  hungrily.

The kiss was like nothing she'd ever experienced before.   She could feel his passion matching her own, yet there were  no demands behind it.  Instead it felt like homage, and it  made her senses swim until nothing existed in her mind but  his body pressed against hers, his hands tangling in her  hair, his mouth moving delightfully over hers.

Then he was pushing her away from him, raising his head and  taking several deep, steadying breaths.

"Lois, please don't make this any harder than it is  already," he implored.

She snorted deep in her throat, and felt him quiver at the  sound.  "Clark, this is only difficult because you're  making it difficult," she said.  "For years I worked at  being self-sufficient, kidding myself I didn't need anyone  else.  You destroyed that illusion when you showed me what  real friendship was like.  Tonight I realised what my life  would be like without you, and I just couldn't bear it.   There's no way I'm going to let you go, Clark Kent."

His eyes pleaded with her.  "But I can't be with you any  more, Lois, and neither can Superman."

"Then I'll just have to go with you," she said resolutely.   "I'll live in a cabin in the mountains, or a beach cottage  in Hawaii, or an igloo in the Antarctic, or wherever you  want to be.  I'll herd goats, or... or rescue penguins, or  write novels under a pseudonym.  Anything, as long as we're  together."

His face was still worried, but she could see that he was  weakening.  Then an idea struck her like a bolt from the  blue, and she gasped.

"Clark, there wasn't any blood, right?  The police found  that rather difficult to accept...  Well, of course there  was no blood!  You were wearing a bulletproof vest!"

His eyebrows shot up, then snapped together.  "Come on,  Lois," he protested.  "Where could I have found a  bulletproof vest in a matter of a few hours?"

"You had one already," she said confidently.  "You acquired  one on your travels.  You went to some pretty dangerous  places, didn't you?"

He nodded slowly, still frowning.  "But why didn't I tell  you I was wearing it?  And why didn't you have one too?"

She laughed.  "Under this dress?  I don't think so!"  She  pulled her coat open to reveal her strappy red dress, and  noted his slight flush with satisfaction.  "And as for  telling me... well, we'd had a bit of an argument about  going to the club, so I would have been angry if you'd said  anything.  And you thought you could protect me if anything  happened... as you did."

There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes now.  "But where  can I get a bulletproof vest from?  The police will  probably expect to see it..."

She shifted her eyes, faintly embarrassed.  "I happen to  have one.  I, uh..."  She hadn't exactly stolen it, not as  such.  "... came by it a few years back, when I was working  under cover.  I think it'll even fit you - it's way too big  for me."

She quickly retrieved the vest from the back of her bedroom  closet and returned to Clark in the living room.  She held  it up against him and nodded.  "I think it'll do.  Want to  try it on?"

"Okay."  He hesitated, looking oddly uncomfortable, then  backed away.  "I think I'd better change first."

She opened her mouth to suggest using her bathroom, but  without further ado he began to spin on the spot, faster  and faster, until he was a colourful column.  The colours  faded, then he whirled to a stop wearing his glasses and  the brown trousers he had been in earlier in the evening.   His shirt, tie and jacket were hanging from one hand, and  his chest was... well...

"Are you all right?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow in her  direction.  She suddenly realised that she was gaping at  him, thunderstruck, and hastily closed her mouth.

"Fine," she said.  It came out in a throaty growl she had  never heard before, and she swallowed.  He held out his  spare hand; she passed him the vest and turned away to pick  up her mug, but not before she had seen the heated  awareness in his gaze.

"Where does the suit go?" she asked at random.  "No, never  mind - you can explain later.  You've got an awful lot of  explaining to do, but we'd better get you resurrected  first."

"Good idea," Clark said.  When she turned back, she found  he was already buttoning his jacket.  The suit looked  slightly bulkier than usual, but not so much that it would  be obvious to a casual eye.

He delved into his jacket pocket and brought out three  gleaming bullets.  "One last detail," he said, grinning.   He looked carefully around the room, then back at her.   "Keep quite still, okay?" he said earnestly.

She nodded, wondering what on earth he intended.  He stared  across the room for another long moment, then his arm  suddenly blurred into motion.  The next second he had  disappeared.  Even as her jaw dropped, she saw a flicker of  movement out of the corner of her eye.  Clark was standing  across the room, opening his shirt to retrieve three  misshapen metal disks.

"Perfect," he said with immense satisfaction.

It was going to take quite some time before she managed to  reconcile Superman's abilities with the Clark she had  thought she knew, Lois reflected.  She closed her mouth  again and summoned up a smile as he crossed the room  towards her, beaming.

"I'm alive," he said softly as he stopped in front of her.   "And it's all thanks to you.  I love you, Lois."

Her eyes filled with relieved tears.  She had won the  battle.  "I love you too, Clark," she said.  "Thank you for  coming back to me."

He dipped his head, but she put a gentle hand over his  lips.  "Go and see Henderson, and phone your parents.  Then  we'll have all the time in the world for showing each other  how we feel."

He smiled, a slow, sexy smile that set her heart pounding.   "Consider it done," he said in a husky voice.  Then he was  gone.

But this time she knew that he would always come back.

~ The End ~

(c) Meredith Knight, 2002

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