In Dreams

By Kaylle kaylle@bigfoot.com

Rated PG-13

Submitted November 2002

Author's Notes:  I have so many people to thank, I don't  know where to start!  A huge thank you first and foremost  to my beta-readers, Amac, Ray, Merry, and Irene, who were  tremendously reassuring, supportive,  and patient while I  tried to piece this together...  Thanks to the numerous  naggers on IRC and Zoom's boards who commented and cheered  me on and let me know someone was still reading this...   Thanks to my parents, who spent several hours helping me  brainstorm the a-plot ("If I wanted to smuggle guns into  Africa, hypothetically speaking, how would I do it?"  <g>)...  Thanks to RL friend Shada, for reminding me the  lynching party was always just outside the window... And  special thanks to Wendy Richards, for GE'ing on short  notice and being the very best cheerleader I could ask for.   I would never have finished this without your constant  support <g>.

This story does start with a few WHAMs, although I don't  think they're too bad. Rest assured that things are not  what they seem. I wanted to tell a different kind of story,  and to be honest, this was the first solution I came up  with when I decided to find a way to make alt-Clark happy.

The quotes at the beginning of each chapter are credited at  the end of the story.  * denotes emphasis, <> denotes thoughts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CHAPTER ONE

"Love is the sweetest of dreams, and the worst of  nightmares."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 16TH, 1976

SMALLVILLE, KANSAS

[ALTWORLD 2]

The roads were icier than he'd expected for this time of  year, but the little car wasn't having too much trouble  navigating the rain-slicked streets.  He turned the wheel  carefully, knowing that the ditches in this part of the  countryside were deep and that in this weather it would be  all too easy to lose control.

Martha made a small sound as she shifted in the passenger  seat, her head resting against the window as she slept.   Jonathan smiled at her and peeked over his shoulder to  check the backseat.  Their ten-year-old son was also  asleep, his little body stretched out full length.   Jonathan chuckled a little at the sight, then turned his  attention back to his driving.

It was certainly no fault of Jonathan's that the driver of  the van couldn't slow down fast enough.  It wasn't his  fault that the roads were wet and slick, that the other  driver had indulged in one too many drinks before he left  his party.  But the slightly inebriated man in the other  vehicle hadn't counted on the condition of the pavement  beneath him, hadn't thought to allow for the spring rains  and the unusual chill in the air that made them dangerous.   He missed the stop sign entirely, tires skidding, and shot  into the intersection just as the Kents entered it.

The van caught the front end of the little car, spinning it  sharply around.  The passenger side crumpled inward, and  then the entire vehicle was skidding off the road, landing  hard in the ditch with a crash of shattering glass and  screeching metal.  The impact was jarring enough to turn  the car over, its momentum carrying it forward, until it  came to rest upside down in the grass.

The driver of the van called the police, and was taken to  the hospital.  He was treated for a broken rib and received  three stitches along one eyebrow.  He was released into  police custody that very night, his injuries far from life- threatening.

If it had been a different car, one police officer at the  scene commented.  If the Kents had been driving something  larger, more massive, perhaps things would have been  different.  He shook his head regretfully.  There was  little point to wondering what could have been different.   He wiped the rain out of his eyes and turned away.  There  were arrangements to be made.  But try as he might, he  could not banish from his mind the sight of that mangled  car, and the three innocent passengers that had died within  it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 16TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 2]

She stretched out on the sofa, settling her nightgown  carefully around her.  This was her favorite one, a pale  silk sheath that stretched nearly to her ankles.  She  always wore it on nights like this, because it made her  feel beautiful.  And on nights like this, she sorely needed  to feel beautiful.

She pushed her spoon deeper into the sludge of mostly  melted chocolate ice cream, suddenly uninterested in it.   That alone was enough to show her something was wrong, she  reflected wryly.  <Not even going to finish your ice cream,  Lane?  What's wrong with you?>

She knew, of course, what was wrong.  It would be easy if  she had had a bad day at work, if someone had said  something to hurt her or humiliate her.  If she had seen a  romantic movie, or dug out one of her well-hidden romance  novels, or otherwise been reminded of how utterly alone she  was.  If there had been some tangible reason for her misery  tonight, she would almost have been grateful.

But it was April 16th.  She supposed that was reason  enough.

The dreams had started when she was fourteen.  She'd  started her period that year, too, and at the time she had  just assumed it was her overactive hormones kicking in.   But the dreams hadn't been overtly sexual, not at that age;  so, looking back, she doubted that was the reason.  She  didn't know what had caused them, or what made them return  year after year.

But come they did, every night for nine days, and then once  in a while throughout the year.  Dreams of gentleness and  intimacy and pure, untainted affection with a man she had  never met.  Dreams in which she could feel entirely safe  and entirely loved, and dreams that left her with an  incredible sense of loss when she awoke.

Because always, always, she knew that this man did not  exist.  That first year, she had realized that.  She was  mourning his loss, the loss of a man she had never known.

Even as she acknowledged it, she knew the thought was  absurd.  The man in her dreams was only that-- a dream.  He  had never existed, and therefore it was silly to imagine he  had died before she could meet him.  But her rational logic  did not distract her from the feelings of loss and anger at  a fate that would take from her the only chance she would  ever have at happiness.

Some years, she was able to look forward to this first  night of dreams, eager to immerse herself in his fantasy  world and the unconditional, unrestricted love she could  find there.  Eager to feel that fiery passion for a man,  and the soul-deep tenderness, and to know he felt the same.   If only in a dream, if only for a handful of nights every  year, she wanted-- needed-- to feel cherished this way.

But sometimes the joy of the dreams was bittersweet; their  simple sweetness was tempered by reality when she cried out  his name in the night and awoke alone in her bed.

Once, when she was in college, she had tried to overpower  the dreams, the loneliness.  She had tried to banish them  by surrendering to another man's arms on the 16th, hoping  that reality, however inferior it might be to her fantasy  world, might be enough to hold the dreams at bay.  Her  boyfriend at the time had been elated at her invitation,  something she hadn't offered before.

He hadn't been so happy with her when, before he'd had a  chance even to unbutton her blouse, an immense wave of  revulsion and guilt rose in her chest and she had to insist  that he stop.

The dreams were something sacred; she knew that now.   Something she could never share, and something she would  never forsake.  Even if they made her miserable, she could  not have given them up.  She could not give up the once  chance in her life, real or imagined, to be truly, wholly  loved for who and what she was.

So every year on this most sacred night she was alone,  half-anticipating and half-dreading her next encounter with  the man of her dreams.  She would put on her favorite  nightgown and go to bed early, hoping to catch a few extra  hours before dawn cut away the shadows and fancies of the  night.

She had never seen his face.  Or rather, she had never  remembered it on waking the following morning.  She could  just see his eyes, if she concentrated very hard, warm  brown eyes that made little secret of his feelings for her.   She knew his name, had known since the beginning.  It was  always *his* name she cried out when she awoke, flushed and  feverish, from tangled dreams of passion.  She knew,  instinctively, the sound of his voice, his laughter; the  way his arms would feel around her; the warmth of his chest  beneath her cheek; the touch of his lips on her own.  But  she did not know his face.

The fact that she could not remember him had disturbed her  at first-- what if she were to meet him someday, and not  recognize him for who he was?  What if she passed him in  the street without a second glance, and never had the  chance to really know him?  But then she had remembered  that he did not exist, or at the very least was dead.  So  she would never need to recognize him.

She looked at her watch; it was barely ten o'clock.   Sighing, she rearranged the folds of her gown around her  legs, gathering her strength.  It hurt, of course; it  always did, knowing that she was going to dream of her one  true love and awaken to find him still only a dream.  It  got harder every year.

She drew another deep breath, closing her eyes, and then  levered herself off the couch.  Lying here, she was only  preventing the inevitable, and, despite herself, she felt a  warm tingle of anticipation thrill through her at the  thought of one more precious night spent with a man who  loved her.  A man she had never met, nor even put a face  to-- and a man more dear to her than anyone she had ever  known.

She padded softly to the bedroom and climbed into her bed,  pulling the covers up to her chin and curling into them  comfortably.  She smiled a little, sadly, and closed her  eyes, trying to calm her breathing and drift into sleep.   "Oh, Clark," she whispered softly into the pillow, wishing  he could somehow hear her.  "I need you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 16TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 1]

April 16th.

He closed his eyes, uncharacteristically weary.  Physical  strain rarely affected him this much, unless he was at a  full-blown emergency.  Only the emotional pain could reach  so deeply into his soul and leave him so profoundly  drained.

April 16th.

That was reason enough for a much-needed night off, he  decided, taking another tasteless sip of the lukewarm tea  he'd hoped would soothe him.  Tonight, the world could tend  to its own problems.  And he could tend to the great aching  emptiness within him.  Although he knew very well that  nothing could ease it.  The one person who could have never  would.

It had been hell to see Lois again.  To watch her with her  husband, happy and confident in his love, to see the  emotion in her eyes for that man who so strongly resembled  him, and to know that no one would ever look at him that  way.  It had nearly killed him.

And yet, he thought that this perhaps was somehow worse.

"I think that your feelings for me are really meant for  her-- your Lois," she had said.  "I just think that somehow  you're meant to be together."  And he had tried to believe  her, or at least to pretend, for her sake, that he still  held out some hope.

He didn't, of course.  He hadn't for a very long time.

He was going to dream tonight, he knew that.  It was, after  all, the 16th.  But he couldn't look forward to the dreams  anymore, couldn't thrill in the knowledge that he was going  to be with her again.  Such occasions were rare, certainly;  he got perhaps twenty dreams with her each year, and nine  of those were concentrated into as many days.  So he had  always cherished them before, anticipated their coming  eagerly.

But he thought it might cut a little too deeply this time.   It would certainly slice into the old wounds and scars on  his soul, pain and pleasure mingled.  But this time, he  wasn't sure they would heal.  He might simply bleed away  through those old, bruised scars.  This had never been a  good day; it had held been painful memories for him even  before the onset of his dreams.  But this year would be  worse than most.

Lois had told him of her and Clark's adventures in time,  the way their souls had clung throughout their lifetimes.   It was painfully unfair, he reflected bitterly, that the  mate to his own spirit had been taken from him.  How could  he go on, incomplete as he was?  He gave a humorless laugh  at that; even his thoughts were turning maudlin.  But, on  the other hand, he supposed that on nights like this he  could allow himself the indulgence.

He'd never understood the dreams, until a few years ago.   They haunted him these nine days out of the year, and  occasionally throughout the other months.  If they hadn't  been so regular, so predictably rhythmic, he would probably  have passed them off as a fluke, a product of testosterone  and loneliness.  But as it was, he couldn't pretend them  away so easily.

His mysterious companion had never had name nor face.  His  hands knew the silk of her hair, and his mouth certainly  knew the taste of her.  He knew the way her body would fit  against his own, the rhythm of her heartbeat mingled with  his, the cool, clean scent of her.  But his memories  centered mostly on touch; his eyes could not conjure up her  smile, and he could not recall her name.

At least, he never had been able to before.

With no real identifying characteristics for the ethereal  woman who haunted him, it had been easy to project her on  someone else. He'd tried to imagine Lana in those visions,  tried to make her the person he'd dreamed of.  His body,  however, had rejected the assimilation.  Simply put, Lana  didn't feel the way the dream woman always had.  Her hair  was just a fraction too long when he ran his fingers  through it, too wavy; she was taller than she should have  been, and the heavy floral scents of perfume she wore were  alien to him.

He hadn't realized who this new stranger was immediately,  of course.  At first she had seemed unusual, to say the  least-- she'd run up and kissed him out of the blue!  So he  had of course thought her very strange.  But she was not  familiar, really.

Obviously she knew a good deal about him-- that had scared  him at first.  But gradually he had started inexplicably to  trust her, without reason but without doubt.  His  subconscious had recognized her first; the scent of her  perfume was just a little too familiar, the sound of her  laughter echoing a moment too long in his ears.  He had  been immensely attracted to her, without quite knowing why.   But she had her own life to live, her own love to go home  to, and nothing he could say or do would change that.  So  he had let her go, aching inside to lose her.

If he had known, then, just what it was he was losing, he  wasn't at all sure he'd have let her go so easily.

He dreamed that night, vividly.  Of a raven-haired siren  who called to his soul, a flickering flame of beauty that  faded away when he tried to touch her, hold her, keep her  for his own.  He'd awakened the next morning with her name,  her face, for the first time.  And though the images and  sensations of the dream faded with the dawning of the day,  the ache of loss did not.

Lois was right, of course.  What he felt for her could not  be real.  She wasn't his, had never been intended for him.   What had existed between them had been only an allusion to  what would have been, between him and his own soulmate.   Too bad she wasn't available to him.  He had never been  able to decide whether the dreams were a blessing or a  curse.  True, they gave him a few moments of joy with her,  moments he'd never have the chance to know in life.  But  they also reminded him, in the most painful way possible,  of the immeasurable loss he had suffered.

He glanced at the mug in his hand, and with a grimace he  put it aside.  For a moment he was tempted to lash out, to  smash the fragile ceramic into splinters and dust, to  manifest his rage and sorrow in a tangible way.  But there  was a resigned sort of melancholy in him, too; the  knowledge that such a display of anger would be pointless.   It would not bring his Lois back to him.  He fisted his  fingers tightly, nails digging painlessly into his palm,  and tried to let the rage drain out of him.  When it was  gone, only the resigned despair remained.  Closing his eyes  against the pain, he stood up, absently flipping out the  lights, and made his way to the bedroom.

He was too weary to change at superspeed; he shrugged out  of his clothing and stepped into a pair of shorts.   Climbing into bed, he lay on his side, trying not to  imagine what it might have been like to feel her there  beside him, to hold her in his arms all night long and to  awaken still entwined with her.  He turned onto his stomach  and folded his arms beneath his head, daring his  imagination to find something painful about that position.   Mercifully, it didn't.

He lay there for a long moment, his breathing slow, his  eyes closed.  "God, Lois," he said softly into the  darkness, as if somehow beyond the grave she might hear  him.  "I need you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His hand was warm in hers, the touch of his fingers firm on  her own.  There was a tender reassurance in that miniature  embrace, the knowledge that she was something fragile,  something to be carefully guarded, something infinitely  precious to him.  It was the same reassurance she felt when  he held her completely: that he cherished her, wanted her,  cared for her.  That her well-being came before his own.

She squeezed back, her fingers tightening briefly, trying  to return the simple message in his gesture.  She wasn't  sure how to tell him that he was everything to her, that  she cherished him, too.  But he looked over at her and  smiled, raising their joined hands to his lips, and she  knew he understood.

The little club they'd chosen to come to tonight was nearly  deserted at this hour, but she was not at all inclined to  leave just yet.  She didn't want their evening to end; she  never wanted their time together to end.  She scooted a bit  closer to him in the circular booth, her body pressed  warmly to his side.  Closing her eyes, she lay her head  absently on his shoulder and let the simple sensations of  being together soothe her.

He seemed content to sit this way with her, his arm draped  around her and his lips buried in her hair, watching the  few remaining couples swirling on the dance floor to the  low sounds of a small jazz band.  On another night, the two  of them might have danced, too.  He loved to hold her close  to him and move gently to strains of music only they could  hear.  But tonight it was enough simply to feel her beside  him, warm and solid.

The club really was emptying out, though, and they would  have to be on their way sooner or later.  He pulled away a  little, smiling gently at the look of regret that crossed  her face.  "We should get going," he said, smoothing her  hair where his absent kiss had tangled it.  "They'll be  shooing us out any minute now anyway."

Lois nodded, pulling back to get her purse, muttering  something about inconsiderate wait-staff.  Clark laughed  softly at her show of indignation as he left the table to  pay their bill.  She met him at the doorway, and together  they went out into the night.

It was warm this time of year, warm enough that she wasn't  cold in her sleeveless dress.  Nevertheless, he settled his  suit jacket around her shoulders, insisting that she would  catch a chill if she wasn't careful.  She laughed at his  protective chivalry, but she accepted the jacket.  Somehow,  there was an intimacy in the gesture that appealed to her.

They walked hand in hand for a while, traveling aimlessly  through the waterfront.  The bay was beautiful this time of  night, but they were barely conscious of it.  Lois noticed  only the way the electric lights caught in Clark's hair,  threw his face into planes of shadow and softness, trickled  gently over his lips.

At last he pulled his hand from hers and looped it around  her shoulders instead, pulling her gently against him.   "What do you want to do now, Lois?"

She glanced around them, not really very surprised that she  had lost track of their surroundings.  They were only a few  blocks away from her apartment.  It was late, but they  didn't have to part just yet.  She looked up into his face  hopefully.  "Do you want to go back to my apartment?  For  coffee or something?"

He hesitated, then smiled regretfully.  "It's late, Lois...  We both have work in the morning."

She knew what he was saying, and could accept it for what  it was.  When she'd invited him for coffee or something,  they'd both known what she meant.  They were deeply in  love, and they both knew it. His decision tonight was not a  rejection, even though she would have taken it as such from  any other man.  No, she knew he was concerned that their  passion might carry them through the night, and she'd be  tired the next morning at work.  He wanted to be with her--  she could see it in his eyes, his smile-- but he cared for  her well-being above all.

So it was relatively easy for her to nod her agreement.   She was disappointed, but she knew there would be other  nights for them.  "You're right," she said.  "It **is**  late."

Clark nodded back, frowning at the disappointment on her  face and knowing the same regret was probably painted  clearly on his.  "Come on, I'll walk you home," he said,  tightening his arm around her.

Their walk was mostly silent, each concentrating on the  scent and feel and beauty of the other.  When they'd  reached her apartment building, Clark insisted as usual on  accompanying her all the way to her door.  She paused there  in the hallway, fumbling to find her keys, and turned to  look up at him.  "Are you sure you don't want to come in?   Just for coffee?"

He grinned.  "I'd love to, Lois, but I don't think that's  such a good idea."  He raised a hand then to trace the line  of her face with one finger, moving slowly from temple to  cheekbone to lips.  She was so beautiful, he marveled, for  perhaps the thousandth time.  The way her hair curved  across her face and swayed gently at her collarbone, the  way her eyes lit up when she smiled at him... She was the  most exquisitely beautiful creature he had ever known, and  it took everything in him not to accept her invitation.  He  curled his fingers under her chin and raised her face to  his.  "Goodnight, Lois," he whispered, drawing nearer to  kiss her.

There was a wealth of promise in his kiss, a gentle vow of  things to come.  His hand moved to cradle her face, his  palm spread warmly across her cheek, his thumb stroking  gently over her cheekbone.  She raised herself up on her  toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his free  arm come around her waist.

He caught her against his chest and held her tightly,  suddenly needing to feel her there, close in his arms, real  and solid and beautiful and his.  The flash of  possessiveness was unexpected, but he couldn't deny that he  saw her that way.  Only his, just as he was only hers.

But abruptly he could feel it all fading away around him,  the dream world eroding rapidly away.  Desperately, he  clung to the last sensations of her in his arms, her silken  hair tangling in his fingers, her lips warm and inviting  under his as she faded away, reality soaking through the  distant kiss....   ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Awakening alone in her bed, Lois Lane rolled onto her  stomach.  She balled her pillow under her head and wept  bitterly into it.  She would sleep no more this night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CHAPTER TWO

"It's the heart afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance;

It's the dream afraid of waking

That never takes a chance..."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 25TH, 1993

MWERANA, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF CONGO

[ALTWORLD 1]

Lois Lane was in no mood to be trifled with.  She'd been  traveling for thirteen hours straight now, and she was hot,  sticky, and tired.  Unfortunately, the sweating customs  officer in Mwerana was not observant enough to notice her  mood.

"What do you mean my visas are invalid?  I just got them!"

The man shrugged indifferently.  "No good.  Can't let you  into the country."

"There must be some mistake," she insisted.  "Maybe you're  just out of touch; maybe they've changed something and you  haven't gotten the news yet.  What kind of customs office  is this, anyway?" she continued, looking around the tiny  ramshackle building with disdain.  "I didn't have any  problems in Mbandaka last year."

"Should have flown to Mbandaka then, hmm?" the man replied  with an impertinent grin.

Lois rolled her eyes.  "Look, you've got a phone somewhere,  right?  Go call someone, figure out what the problem is."

The man held up his hands in an indulgent gesture.  "All  right, all right.  I'll call the main office in Kinshasa.   But I'm not making any promises."

Lois nodded, pleased.  "I'm sure they'll be able to clear  up the problem."

The man shrugged again and turned away to use the phone.   Lois wandered back out onto the rickety porch, desperate  for a breath of moving air.  She got her wish as the tiny  propeller plane that had brought her here from Brazzaville  took off, but the backwash of wind that assailed her was  gritty and hot.  She'd been traveling for two days now; she  didn't even want to think about what would happen if she  didn't get this visa problem taken care of.  Her clothes  were dirty, her skin damp, her shoes ruined.  She wanted  nothing more than to get away from here and take a long  shower.  She wondered if that was wishful thinking.

<Next time Perry has a lead on a gunrunning ring in  Africa,> she vowed, <I'll tell him to send someone else!>   But she knew that wasn't true.  She always wanted the  story; she always did whatever it took.  And the attitude  paid off: she always got the story.

Inside, the man cupped his hand over the mouthpiece of the  phone.  "Yes, sir, just as you said."

The man on the other end sighed.  "I'd hoped she'd start in  Kinshasa and we'd be able to fool her there.  If she headed  straight for Mwerana, she already knows too much.  You'll  have to take care of her."

The burly man bit his lip.  "But, sir--"

"No buts," the other chided him firmly, an edge of steel  behind the controlled calm.  "You do not want to disobey  me.  You have a family to support, do you not?"

The man gulped a yes.

"I'd hate for something... untoward to happen to them."   There was a pregnant pause, and then the voice continued,  "Take care of her."  With a click, he ended the  conversation.

The customs officer hung up the phone with shaky hands.  It  was one thing to look the other way for the gunrunners, but  it was something else entirely to kill someone.  An  American reporter, no less!  Her disappearance would surely  attract a lot of attention.  Still, he knew that what the  boss had said was true; he had a family.  If it were a  choice between them and the American, it was really no  choice at all.

His hands still trembling, he reached for the gun under the  counter.  The woman was still turned away, and he aligned  the crosshairs carefully with the back of her head.

He fired a single shot, and she fell.  This was a story  Lois Lane would never get.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 17TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 1]

Clark Kent dropped breathlessly into his chair, exhausted.   He hadn't started the day with much energy-- he'd been  unable to sleep after waking from the dream, and had spent  the remaining hours until dawn flying aimlessly over the  city.  Since then, he'd foiled a bank robbery, cleaned up  an accident site on the East Side, and put out several  fires in Honolulu.  It wasn't even noon yet!  By tonight,  he suspected, he'd be too tired even to dream.  He wasn't  sure if that would be a good thing or not.

He reached across his desk to turn on his computer, smiling  and waving at Mr. Olsen as he passed with the newest  editor-in-chief, Corrie Andrews.  After Perry left his  position to become mayor of Metropolis, the Planet had gone  through a string of new editors.  Many had refused to put  in the long hours Perry had always worked, or simply  couldn't handle the strain and responsibilities Perry had  thrived under.  Miss Andrews, however, seemed to be having  no such difficulties, and Clark was relieved to see that it  looked as if she might be a more permanent fixture than the  others had been.  The Planet had certainly suffered through  the multiple changes, and since he'd become Superman, there  had been plenty of complications with his job.  He  certainly couldn't work as an investigative reporter the  way he used to.  Each successive editor had given him  different assignments and made different arrangements to  allow for his Super abilities and limitations.  It had been  difficult keeping up with all the changes in the last year.

For now, Clark was mostly writing accounts of his Super  activities.  Corrie allowed him to work whatever hours he  could, provided that he kept writing his rescues for the  paper.  To supplement those articles, he had started a  biweekly column to address some of the issues he faced  around the world.  His first piece had been about the  decreasing need for civilians to carry weapons for defense;  he'd noticed that far too many of his rescues were of  children or even adults who were playing with or misusing  them.  Crime in Metropolis had certainly taken an amazing  decline in the last year-- he attributed this partly to  Perry's leadership and partly to Superman's influence-- and  it just wasn't as important to carry a gun anymore.  He was  glad that his world was beginning to turn around, and he  wanted to use his column to encourage that change.  What he  did now wasn't as interesting as investigative reporting  had been, but he strongly felt that he was still making a  difference this way, and that was far more important.

He had another column in mind for this weekend, a discourse  on the need for more powerful drug and alcohol resistance  programs in the public schools.  But for now, he had plenty  of Superman incidents to write up, so he wanted to finish  them first.  He was still feeling rather exhausted and  hungry after his busy morning; perhaps when he'd finished  his stories, he would go out to lunch.  Then he could  patrol the city for a few hours in the afternoon, write up  whatever he did, and head home early.

Except... Lois was waiting for him at home.

He sighed.  He didn't think he was ready just yet to face  that pain again.  Maybe that patrol would take a bit longer  than he'd planned.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 17TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 2]

Lois Lane was early to work that morning, her hair neatly  brushed into place and her clothing stylish and immaculate.   If one didn't look too closely, it wasn't apparent that  she'd been up for several hours.  The makeup under her  eyes, slightly heavier than usual, concealed the darker  circles, and she walked with a deliberate strength in her  step that wasn't too obviously forced.

She was polite and almost cheerful to those she passed;  most of her coworkers were unaware that anything was wrong.   She settled herself at her desk and shuffled half-heartedly  through the notes scattered there, trying to look busy but  not feeling motivated enough to actually accomplish  anything.

"Morning, Lois," called a voice from across the newsroom,  and Lois looked up to find Catherine Grant striding easily  toward her.  The outfit the other woman wore could almost  be considered conservative, but Lois could remember a time  when her colleague had been much more flamboyant and  flashy.  Life had mellowed her a little since then, and  Lois wasn't sure that the change had been a good thing.  It  was true that she and Cat got along much better now, but  there was a part of her that missed the spirit and fire  that Cat had once possessed.

"Good morning, Cat," she replied politely.  "How are you  this morning?"

Cat shrugged nonchalantly, seating herself on the corner of  the desk.  "Not too bad.  I'm not sleeping much lately, but  I guess that's to be expected.  Colic, you know."  Lois  didn't know, not really, but she nodded understandingly.   "Anyway," Cat continued, and Lois could sense that she was  eager to change the subject, "how are you?  No offense, but  you don't look so good today."

Lois dropped her gaze, embarrassed.  She should have known  that Cat, of all people, would notice the imperfections in  her appearance.  She was a society columnist, after all,  and the closest thing she had to a female friend.

Cat misunderstood the gesture; by the sudden spark of  playful interest in her eyes, Lois was pretty sure she had  done it deliberately.  "Actually, you look like *you*  didn't sleep too much last night, either," she commented  speculatively, a mischievous smile on her face.  "Probably  for a different reason than me...  Something-- some*one*--  you want to talk about, Lois?  Who is he?"

Lois shook her head, smiling a little at Cat's insinuation  in spite of herself.  "Nothing so exciting as that, Cat.   Just... bad dreams, I guess."

Cat frowned.  "Oh.  Well, I hope you get some rest tonight.   No reason for both of us to be overtired."

Now it was Lois' turn to be grateful for the change in  subject, and she nodded.  "What are you working on today?"

Cat smiled indifferently.  "Luthor's ball is coming up on  Tuesday, so I'll be able to report on that.  Until then,  it's just the usual gossip and scandals."  Lois nodded  again, inwardly noting the lack of enthusiasm in her  friend's voice.  As little as a year ago, Cat would have  been thrilled about the newest rumors and indiscretions.   She certainly had changed.  "You're going to Lex's ball,  aren't you, Lois?" Cat continued.

Lois frowned; she didn't really want to go, especially this  week, but Lex Luthor owned the Planet and she didn't think  it would look good if one of the star reporters didn't  show.  "I don't know yet," she said.  "I got an invitation,  but I don't know if I'm going to go."

"Well, I hope you do.  It'll be fun.  Maybe you can bring  this mysterious guy that's keeping you up at night," she  added with a smirk and a wink.  Before Lois could correct  her once more, she hopped down from the desk.  "I should  get going, though; Perry will have both our heads if he  catches us at girl-talk in the office."

Lois watched her go, marveling at the differences in her.   A year ago, Cat had been the perfect society columnist,  glamorous but flirtatious, thriving on a steady diet of  infidelities, indiscretions, and intrigue.  Then she'd done  the one thing no one had ever expected of her.  She'd  fallen in love.

Claude Rochert had been a star reporter in France; they'd  all been excited-- if a bit competitive-- when he'd joined  the Planet staff.  He'd worked a good deal with Lois in the  beginning, and it was Lois whom he'd attempted to ensnare  with his Parisian charms.  She was honest enough with  herself to admit now that she'd been attracted to him; he'd  been handsome, charming, and charismatic.  But the memory  of that April night in college had been enough to stifle  any romance that might have developed between them.  No  matter how alluring he was, how romantic, he wasn't who she  wanted.

So instead he'd turned to Catherine Grant, who'd been more  than willing to indulge him.

No one had expected their affair to last long.  Cat wasn't  in the habit of staying in relationships for more than a  few dates.  She lived and loved casually, and commitment  wasn't something she offered or requested.  But somehow,  something had been different this time.

She and Lois hadn't gotten along very well at the time, but  as her outlook changed, Cat began to speak more civilly to  her, and they had painstakingly built up something  approximating a friendship.  In very vague terms, Cat  confided to Lois a few times that she had begun to wonder  if maybe it was time to settle down a little.  Suddenly,  commitment didn't seem such a bad thing.

By the end, their nebulous friendship had changed into  something far closer.  Lois was the first to know when the  pregnancy tests came back positive, and Lois was the one  who comforted her when Claude walked out.

Claude left the Planet shortly thereafter; there were  rumors that Perry had fired him, but no one could confirm  them.  To everyone's surprise, Cat chose to keep her baby;  her daughter, Anna, had been born two months ago.  She had  spoken very little of her child at work since her return  from maternity leave, although her desk bore several  pictures of the infant.  It was clear that she wanted to  continue working the way she always had, and she was still  a good columnist.  It was only her attitude that had  changed.  For the loss of that fire in her, Lois hated  Claude Rochert.

For a moment Lois allowed herself to wonder what might have  happened to her if things had been different, if she hadn't  been so resistant to Claude's advances.  If not for her  dreams, she supposed things might have turned out very  differently.  *She* would have been the one who got hurt.   But Claude wasn't Clark, could never be Clark.  <Clark  would never have done that to me.  If we'd ended up in that  situation, he'd have stood by me.>

She'd never wanted children, but for a moment she imagined  holding a baby close, seeing it look back up at her with  those familiar, enthralling eyes.  She could always  remember his eyes.  She let her fingers drift absently over  her belly, wondering what it might be like to feel it swell  beneath her hand as a child grew within.  She supposed she  wouldn't ever know.  If she were going to have a baby, she  couldn't imagine doing it with anyone but Clark.  And there  was precious little chance of that happening.

Unexpected tears stung at her eyes, and Lois shook her head  abruptly, trying to clear it.  Cat was right, Perry would  have her head if she didn't get some work done.  She had a  small follow-up to work on, after last week's string of  murders on the East Side.  There were still no suspects,  still no leads, but the Metropolis police were still  investigating.   For several hours she was somewhat  successful in burying herself in her work.  She finished  the follow-up and then began the preliminary research for a  few other small stories she was working on.  However, her  mind refused to remain on the tasks at hand, flashes of  last night's dream flitting through her head.  The way his  arm had felt around her shoulders, his jacket warm and  rough on her skin, the subtle scent of him enveloping  her...

She set the tangle of papers aside and simply stared at her  desk for a long moment.  She felt today as if she'd been  buried in sand; she was disconsolate after another night  with her dream-love, awaking with the knowledge that he  could only ever be a dream.  But the depression was a very  familiar emotion, and she didn't have the strength to fight  it any longer.  It was easier simply to sink deeper into  the sandy depths of despondency and let the sorrow take  her.

Part of her recognized the dark turn her thoughts were  taking, and she rallied against the encroaching despair.   <Clark wouldn't want this for you,> she thought, though it  offered only dubious comfort.  <Clark would want you to be  happy...>

<Clark isn't a real person!> she snapped back, a tiny spark  of anger rising in her.  Anger was a safe haven, she knew  unconsciously; anger would give her the strength to fight  back the dejection threatening to overcome her.  <You've  got to quit wallowing in your self-pity and get to work!>

With that conviction planted firmly in her mind, she turned  back to her work.  However, her change of heart didn't come  quickly enough.  Perry's voice cut across the city room.   "Lois!  In my office, now!"

She looked up, trying not to appear guilty, and turned in  the direction of the call.  "Coming, Perry," she replied,  standing.

She met her editor in his office, standing almost nervously  at attention as he moved around his desk to sit down.  He  leaned back in his chair and eyed her appraisingly. "Lois,"  he began, his voice tentatively gentle, "do you want to  tell me what's bothering you?"

Lois looked down, not really surprised that he knew she was  upset.  She'd tried very hard to hide her melancholy from  the others in the newsroom, but Perry was far more  observant than most.  "I don't know what to say," she  answered, stalling for time.  That much was true; she had  no way to explain her problem to him without sounding  crazy.  She hoped he would hazard a guess, and then she  could confirm it.

Perry raised an eyebrow.  "Now, look, Lois, I know  something's got you upset.  I can tell you didn't sleep  much last night.  And I know that whatever it is that's  come back to haunt you, it comes back every year about this  time, and every year it kills you just a little bit more."

Lois simply stared at him, appalled.  He knew far more than  she would have suspected.  She'd figured he would know she  was unhappy, but she never thought he'd make the connection  year after year.  She couldn't deny the truth of his  statement, but she still didn't know what to say to him.   "Listen, Perry..."

He held up a hand.  "No, Lois, I know you aren't gonna tell  me the truth, and I'd just as soon you not make up some  cock-and-bull story for me.  So here's what I think.  I  want you to get out of here.  You get some rest, take care  of things, do whatever you have to do.  Tomorrow, I want  you back in here and I want you to try to get some work  done.  I have a new lead I want you to check out, and if  you play your cards right you might even get a Kerth out of  it.  I need you at your best to follow it up.  So go on,  get out of here, and tomorrow you can get started."

Lois hesitated.  Even the lure of an award-winning story  wasn't enough to cut through the haze of misery surrounding  her.  That alone told her enough.  But she knew she would  be just as miserable at home as she was at work.  She also  knew that she wouldn't be any less distracted by tomorrow,  and she didn't want to mislead Perry on that account.   "Perry, this... thing that's wrong with me...  It won't be  gone by tomorrow."

Perry looked at her for a long moment.  He, too, had  noticed her lack of excitement about the promised lead.  "I  know, sweetheart," he said at last.  "But I'm counting on  you to pull yourself together.  And you've never let me  down before."

Lois nodded.  "Okay.  I'll try."

He nodded back.  "Go on, then.  See you tomorrow."

Lois drifted out of the city room in a thoughtful daze.   Perry had realized that her bouts of misery came at the  same time each year.  She supposed she shouldn't be too  surprised; she'd realized after only a few years that April  16th seemed to be significant.  She wasn't sure what it  meant, exactly, but it didn't take too much analysis to  realize that the dreams were cyclical.  Still, what Perry  had said worried her a little.  "Every year it kills you  just a little bit more."  Was that what was happening to  her?  Was she dying, ever so slowly, of a broken heart?

<Don't be so maudlin!> she scolded herself sharply.  She  tried to put the matter out of her mind as she walked to  her car in the parking garage.  It would be good to go  home, if only to give up the charade she'd been carrying on  all day.  She could take a nice long shower, she thought,  or try to watch some television.  Anything to distance  herself from the depression.  She wondered where she'd last  hidden her tapes of The Ivory Tower.

And eventually, when she had the strength, she would have  to go back to bed and face Clark again.

She sighed, and bit her lip to hold back the tears.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was almost too warm tonight, the air heavy and humid  around them.  In the distance there was an ominous growl of  thunder; Clark barely noticed it.  His attention was  focused entirely on the slim woman at his side as she  smiled up at him.

"...And when I was *very* little I wanted to be a nurse,  like Mother," she admitted with a grin.  "Until I found out  that nurses had to give people shots, and then I knew that  wasn't for me!"

He laughed with her, one arm slung low about her waist as  they walked.  "When I was little I wanted to be an  archaeologist," he admitted.  "I wanted to travel the world  and study the people.  I guess I did a little of that  anyway."

She nodded thoughtfully.  "And when did you decide you  wanted to be a writer?" she asked.

Clark shrugged.  "I always knew I liked to write.  I was  pretty good at it, and it was something I enjoyed doing.   When I was fourteen there was this program at school that  matched students with professionals in the area.  I got to  shadow a reporter for the Eagle in Wichita.  After that, I  knew journalism was what I wanted to do."  He smiled  reminiscently.  "And you?"

"Well, I knew I wanted to make a difference.  I wanted to  help.  I realized medicine wasn't the best way for me to do  that, no matter what Daddy said.  So I looked for other  ways.   Being a reporter meant that I could bring the bad  guys to justice and still solve all the puzzles my own way.   Reporters don't have to follow the same rules that cops do,  and we get more recognition, too.  I have to admit, I've  always wanted a Pulitzer," she said with a sheepish smile.   "That was always a big motivation."

He opened his mouth to reply, but his words were cut off by  another sudden rumble of thunder above.  Without a moment's  pause, the skies opened and a heavy torrent of rain poured  down on them.  In seconds they were each soaked to the  skin.

Lois gave a squeal of astonished laughter at their  misfortune and pulled away from him.  Skipping ahead a few  steps, she flung her arms out and spun around.  Her head  tossed back exultantly, her smile beaming up into the  dripping dark, she laughed at the storm.

He could only laugh with her.  "Lois," he chided  reluctantly, "Lois, we should head inside.  You'll catch a  cold for sure...  Your apartment is just up the street...  Lois!"  Her name was the last thing he managed to say, for  at that moment she flung herself into his arms with a last  giggle and kissed him deeply.

His mind clouded instantly, his arms coming up to enfold  her.  They were both drenched; every curve of her was  outlined clearly for his gentle exploration.  With both of  them soaked, there seemed almost no barrier between them.   She seemed to have noticed this, for she was already  mapping out the planes and contours of his chest with  impatient hands.

He allowed one hand to drop to her waist and then lower,  cradling her gently against him.  His other hand slid  smoothly up over the fragile bones of her shoulder to  settle at the back of her head, his fingers threaded deeply  into her hair as he met her kiss with increasing intensity.

Clark broke the kiss at last, breathing hard.  It was all  he could do not to swoop down to her lips once more, and he  could tell by the rapid rhythm of her heartbeat and her  breathing that she was equally entranced.  Her hair was  beginning to curl in heavy, wet ringlets about her face,  and he was taken aback by how stunningly beautiful she was  to him in that moment.  He wanted to tell her so, but it  came out in tangled whispers against her skin as he  surrendered once more and moved to string a line of kisses  along her cheekbone.  "Beautiful... Lois... so  beautiful..."

She closed her eyes, her breath rushing hot against his  neck.  "Clark," she whispered.  Her arms had risen around  his neck to pull him closer and tighter to her; now she let  one of them fall slowly down his back, her fingers  following the sharp arc of his spine, noting every tendon  and sinew that trembled at her touch.  He slanted his mouth  against hers once more, wanting to hear her whisper again,  wanting to hear his name in that breathy, mindless tone.   The rain was still pounding down around them, and they were  standing in plain sight on a deserted but public corner.   He should have been embarrassed at their behavior, but  embarrassment was an emotion that was foreign to a dream  world such as this.  At this moment he wanted nothing more  than to scoop her up into his arms and fly away with her.   He would find a quiet, private place, and then he would  surrender himself entirely to her and the emotion between  them.

But something was wrong.  Terribly wrong.

It took him a moment to realize what it was that had  bothered him, but at last it came to him and he had to pull  away.

He couldn't retreat very far.  He was able only to break  the kiss and rest his forehead against hers.  Even then, he  had to kiss her twice more, desperately, before he could  find the strength simply to meet her gaze and hold it.  He  found, incredulously, that he needed that contact with her,  physically needed it as he needed nothing else.

It wasn't real.  None of it was real.

She looked up at him breathlessly, her smile coy.  "What  was that you were saying about my apartment being nearby?"  she whispered, her voice low and alluring.

It wasn't real.

He closed his eyes, surprised at the sudden sting of tears  in them.  Sorrow had always been another emotion that was  out of place in this dream world.  It seemed the rules had  changed.

That was the problem, of course.  Suddenly, he was achingly  aware that he was dreaming.  Always before, he had known  intellectually that these were dreams.  But always before,  while in the dream itself he had been entirely immersed  within it, at least until it began to fade.  He had always  been able to totally accept the dream realities, blissfully  unaware that it was all artificial.  The knowledge weighed  heavily on him now, for reasons he couldn't fathom, and  suddenly the dream had become an exercise in torture rather  than seduction.

Damn it, this wasn't supposed to hurt!  He rebelled  bitterly against this sudden change in protocol.  The  dreams were supposed to be a safe haven.  He was supposed  to ache in the morning, when he awoke still alone.  His  heart wasn't supposed to break yet.

Lois had moved to cup one side of his face in her hand, and  she tilted her head backward, trying to catch his lips once  more.  He jumped at the touch, and pulled away hastily.   This wasn't supposed to hurt!  But he knew without a doubt  that to continue with her, to allow them to follow their  embrace to its logical conclusion, would hurt more than  anything he'd ever known.

"We can't do this," he said, his voice harsh as he  struggled to catch his breath.  "I... *I* can't do this."

She pulled away immediately, but she didn't back away from  him.  He had closed his eyes, and thus he missed the  expression in hers.  "Clark?" she asked at last, her tone  uncertain and soft in the sudden silence.  What had  happened to the rain?  It had ceased as quickly as it had  started, the spell it had woven abruptly broken, and the  sudden change only served to further devastate his grasp on  reality, such as it was.  Nevertheless, the confusion and  sudden pain in her voice cut deeply, and he opened his  eyes.

There were tears in hers, soft and shadowed, as she stared  imploringly up at him.  The magnitude of what he'd just  done struck him at once; he'd rejected her advances,  rejected *her,* with barely a thought of how it would seem  to her.

<What does it matter how it seems to her?  She's a dream!>

He was utterly certain of that, but somehow it wasn't  important.  Dream or not, he loved her, and he couldn't  hurt her this way.  He struggled for an explanation.

"Clark..." she said again, a little stronger now but with a  definite quaver in her voice, "Is something wrong?  Did  I... did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head fervently, allowing one of his hands to  settle comfortingly on her shoulder.  "No, Lois... It's  nothing you've done.  It's just that..."  He trailed off in  frustration; there was no way to explain this problem to  her!

But he ached to see the pain in her eyes, the self-doubt  and inadequacy, and he knew he had to assuage her fears  somehow.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "but I just couldn't let this  go on any longer.  It isn't real, Lois... and I don't think  I can pretend any differently."

If anything, the confusion in her eyes tripled.  "Not  real...  It felt pretty real to me, Clark," she teased  half-heartedly, trying to break the sudden tension between  them, but there was a look of desperation in her eyes.

He sighed and closed his eyes.  This wasn't supposed to  hurt!

"You're a dream, Lois!" he blurted out at last.  "You  aren't real!"

She stared at him in utter and total shock, and then, to  his own surprise, she disappeared entirely.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CHAPTER THREE

"When I wake I see

One more mystery

While our lives run

Is there someone

Dreaming you and me?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 18TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 2]

Lois sat up sharply, her breath rushing in time with the  sudden pounding of her heart.  If she'd moved any faster,  she would probably have fallen out of the bed.  What had  just happened?

"You're a dream, Lois!" he had said.  "You aren't real!"

She had no idea what to make of that.

<*He's* a dream!  Why on earth would a dream of yours say  that?>

Her first instinct was to dismiss the dream entirely, to  pass it off as a fluke and ignore his strange proclamation.   The entire thing had been unusual, in more ways than one.   Toward the end, she'd been vaguely aware that she was  dreaming, something she wasn't usually able to realize.  To  drown out the unpleasant knowledge, she'd pushed their  embrace a little farther, trying to distract herself with  the sensations he could arouse in her.  It had almost  worked, too, until he'd pulled away.

Maybe it had just been a weird night, and tonight things  would go back to the way they were.  But she couldn't  forget it so easily.  It had just been too unsettling to  ignore.  She shook her head, wondering what other  explanation there might be.

A stray thought crossed her mind, and she frowned as she  examined it.  When she'd been very young, she'd taken a  writing course at a local writers' club. The class had been  called Dragons and Dreams, and she'd chosen it partly  because of the description in the brochure.  "Do dragons  exist only in our dreams, or are we all just the dreams of  a dragon?"  At the time, she'd been intrigued by the  fanciful suggestion that the reality she lived in might  exist only in the imagination of someone else.  Now, the  idea seemed frighteningly real.

Was that what Clark's accusation meant?  Was it even  possible?  Could she exist only in his imagination?  She  laughed humorlessly; this was absurd.  She knew she  existed.  Cogito ergo sum, right?  It was ridiculous to try  to envision herself as a figment of imagination.

On the other hand, if she was real, did that make Clark the  dream?  Did he exist only in *her* imagination?  Even  though that seemed the most likely explanation, it didn't  feel quite right either, when she thought about it that  way.  Rationally, she'd always believed it, but her heart  had felt differently.  She'd always felt he was dead, that  he'd died before she could ever meet him.  Her heart had  never considered him imaginary.

So if she wasn't imagining him, and he wasn't imagining  her, where did that leave them?  Two real people, meeting  only in dreams?

She dragged a hand across her face, reluctant to continue  that train of thought any further.  She wondered if she  were losing her mind.  Lois rolled over to look at the  clock; it was almost time to get up anyway.  Resolutely,  she put thoughts of Clark and the dream out of her mind,  and set about preparing for work.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Lois!" Perry shouted as she came into the city room.  "I  want to see you in my office!"

"Coming, Chief," she called back, rounding the corner at  the top of the ramp.  She left her jacket at her desk, then  headed toward the editor's office.  There was another man  there already, sitting quietly by the door.

Perry eyed her critically as she entered.  "How're you  feeling today?"

Lois considered for a moment.  The numbing depression that  had dogged her yesterday was nearly gone, replaced by the  roiling confusion of last night's dream.  She stubbornly  steered her thoughts away from that maelstrom, and managed  a smile for Perry.  "Um, better, Chief.  I think I'm  feeling better."

He looked her over carefully once more, then he nodded.   "Well, good.  You've got a lot of work to do today.  I'd  like you to meet someone."  He gestured to the other man,  who stood and offered his hand.  "Lois, this is an old  friend of mine, Gary Keane.  Gary, my best reporter, Lois  Lane."

"Nice to meet you," she said, taking the offered hand.   Gary Keane was a tall, older man with graying brown hair.   She smiled politely at him, but his answering grin seemed a  little forced.

"Gary and I were in college together," Perry explained.

"I'm retired now," Gary added.  "But I work as a night  security guard at the New Eden warehouse."

"I see," Lois said, though she wasn't sure she did.  This  was Perry's big lead?

"Last week, one of my friends was murdered," Gary  continued.  "Samuel Hathoway."

Lois frowned.  The name was familiar, but she couldn't  place it.... "One of the East Side murder victims," she  said at last, remembering.

Gary nodded.  "Sam was another guard at New Eden.  He and I  work the same shift, but he and I alternate nights in the  control room.  Anyway, the night he died was my night off,  so Sam was walking the route.  He called me at about ten  o'clock; he was on his break and he wanted to know how the  baseball game was going."  The man smiled briefly, sadly.   "Sam was a big Chicago fan, and we were playing the White  Sox that night.  He knows I'm a Metropolitan, born and  bred, so we tease each other when our teams are playing."

"I told him the Sox were leading four to three and filled  him in on some of the details, and he ribbed me about it  for a while.  Then he said he'd better go, because he could  see some lights on in one of the loading docks in the back  of the warehouse.  A lot of times there are workers there  late at night, since some of our shipments have to go on  red-eye flights.  Most of the time we don't worry too much  about them.  But Sam said he'd taken a look at the schedule  and he didn't think there was a shipment going out.  So I  let him go so he could check it out."

The man looked down for a moment, then he raised his eyes  again.  "I should have checked up on him.  Should've called  back to make sure he was okay.  The next morning, they  found him in an alley, half a block down."

Lois nodded.  "I'm sorry," she said, not sure what else she  could say.  The man was obviously feeling responsible for  his friend's death, but she doubted he would appreciate any  reassurance from a stranger.

He nodded back.  "The police said it was possible that Sam  sneaked outside to smoke a cigarette or something and came  across a crime scene of some sort.  There've been several  murders on the East Side lately.  I didn't mention that  he'd seen lights *inside* the warehouse.  I have a wife and  a family, Miss Lane; my youngest isn't out of high school  yet.  I can't afford to end up the way Sam did.  So I kept  my mouth shut."

Lois bit her lip, suddenly understanding where this was  going.  "You think Sam saw something he wasn't supposed to  see, and that someone killed him and tried to make it look  like part of that string of murders."

Gary nodded.  "We're allowed to smoke on our routes, Miss  Lane, and Sam doesn't smoke anyway.  I can't think of any  reason for him to have left the warehouse.  Since then I've  been walking the route through the warehouse.  I watched  very carefully for the first few nights, wondering if I'd  see any more suspicious activity, but everything was in  order.  I thought maybe whoever it was had gotten scared,  and stopped working in the warehouse.  But two nights ago,  there were more lights in the loading docks."

"What did you do?" Lois asked, intrigued now in spite of  herself.

"Nothing!" Gary replied emphatically.  "I told you, Miss  Lane, I have a family.  I'm not going to get myself killed.   So I ignored the lights and I stayed on my route.  And then  I came to see old Perry here."

Perry smiled grimly.  "I talked to Gary yesterday morning.   I wanted to get you on this right away, but," he glanced at  the other man and then at Lois, "you weren't feeling so  well yesterday.  So now that you're doing better, I want  you to take a look at this.  Why don't you take Gary to the  conference room and let him finish his story."

Lois flashed Perry a smile, grateful for his discretion.   "Thanks, Chief, I'll do that.  If you'll come with me, Mr.  Keane?"  He nodded, and allowed Lois to lead him out of the  office and into the conference room.  She pulled out a  chair at the table, and he joined her.  "So you think  Samuel Hathoway saw something he shouldn't have in the  loading docks, and someone killed him to silence him?  And  then disguised it as one of the string of murders on the  East Side?"

Gary nodded.  "And if they knew he'd been on the phone,  they'd probably come after me, too."

Lois frowned.  "There was someone working in the control  room, watching the displays from the security cameras,  right?  Don't they have a security camera in the loading  docks?"

The other man shook his head.  "We had one, but it  malfunctioned about six months ago and they disconnected  it.  Someone was supposed to come to replace it, but it  never happened."

"So the management knows that it doesn't work, and it  hasn't worked in months, but they still haven't had it  fixed?"  She smiled grimly; there was certainly a story  here.  "It sounds to me like they're in on it, whatever it  is that's going on."

Gary sighed.  "That's what my wife said.  So what do we do  now?"

Lois bit her lip.  "Well, you need to go back to work  tonight and pretend that nothing has happened.  You can't  let anyone know that you've spoken to me.  You were right  about not mentioning the lights Sam saw; you don't want  anyone to suspect that you know anything about it."  She  thought for a moment, trying to plan her attack.  "In the  meantime, I'm going to get some information on New Eden and  see what I can find out about its latest shipments."  She  reached in her bag for a pad and pen.  "Why don't you give  me your phone number, and I'll keep in touch with you over  the next few days, okay?"

The man complied, and she showed him the way back to the  elevators.  "Thanks for the information, Gary.  I'm going  to do everything I can to get to the bottom of this."

She called for Jimmy as she moved back to her desk, a new  fortitude in her stride.  There was a good deal of work to  be done today, but she knew that Perry had been right to  give her this assignment.  This was just what she needed to  get her mind off of her miserable-- and confusing-- dreams.   Mentally, she began to compile a list of the information  she wanted, and who she might contact.

She *would* get to the bottom of this; she always did.   Lois Lane always got the story.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 18TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 1]

Clark lay in bed for a long time after he awoke, his eyes  closed tightly.  He suspected that if he opened them, he'd  cry.

The dream had been beautiful, as always.  Even now he could  feel her in his arms, a shadow of her body cradled against  him and her lips under his.  He groaned at the sensation,  raising his hands and covering his face.

He wasn't sure he could keep doing this.

This time had been worse than most, of course.  He wondered  if it had been a mistake, if tonight he would be able to go  back to his blissful ignorance.  He wanted to believe that,  but part of him was doubtful.  Things had changed, and they  weren't going back to the way they were.

Clark balled his hand into a fist and struck out at the  mattress, trying to vent his anger without actually  damaging his furniture.  Sometimes, he wanted simply to  destroy everything within reach.  But it wouldn't help, he  knew that, and he restrained himself.  He rolled over and  levered himself out of bed.  Silently, he moved through his  apartment; he showered, dressed, and ate within a few  moments, and launched himself into the early morning sky.

It was raining outside, a steady, chilling drizzle.   Normally he wasn't affected by extremes of weather, but  today he thought he could feel the icy touch of the water,  letting it chill him through and through.  Last night's  rain had been warm, inviting.  The dawn was cold and  relentless, washing away the last traces of her touch as if  punishing him for finding some measure of comfort in the  dream world.

He flew for nearly three hours, drifting aimlessly through  the streaks of gray clouds over the city.  Sometimes it  felt good simply to float, numb and mindless.  At other  times the rage and sorrow would rise in him once more, that  desire to lash out.  Then he'd go shooting across the sky  as fast as he dared, and then faster, the rain slicing at  his face, the wind rushing cold and indifferent across his  shoulders.

The criminal population of Metropolis seemed to have sensed  his mood, for he saw no assaults or robberies, heard no  cries for help.  He would almost have welcomed the  distraction, but it looked as if the rain had kept many  citizens inside.

He was noticing, however, that many mornings were like  this; crime was still dropping rapidly in Metropolis and  even the surrounding cities.  He hoped it meant that his  world was on a better path, that things were going to keep  getting better.  He wished the thought could compensate for  even a small amount of the chill within him.

By the time he arrived at the Daily Planet, the rain had  trickled off into a light mist.  He changed clothes in the  employee restrooms on the first floor, wringing his Suit  out and scanning it with heat vision until it dried.  Then  he headed up to the city room.

The newsroom was as alive and busy as ever, a stark  contrast to the solitude of the sky.  He stood transfixed  in the doorway for a long moment, trying to adjust to the  sudden storm of movement around him.  He felt numb this  morning, sluggish; he couldn't think as clearly as usual.

Mr. Olsen passed him on the way to the elevator.  "Kent,  you okay?"

Clark started, and turned to face the young owner.  "Yeah,  I think so.  I just... had a rough night, I guess.  Not  sleeping well."

James quirked an eyebrow at him; he obviously thought it  odd that Clark would need to sleep at all.  "Well, I hope  things get better for you."

Clark nodded absently.  He knew James cared, but the two  men weren't really friends.  Since he'd become Superman,  Clark had effectively isolated himself from the world.   There were few people he would call friends, and he didn't  think he could confide his real problem to any of them.   For a moment he wished he and Lana were still on speaking  terms, but he didn't think she'd have been much help  anyway.  She'd have told him he was obsessing, that he was  reacting to the stress of being a superhero.  She'd have  patted him on the shoulder and told him to quit worrying  about it.  Sometimes he wondered how he could ever have  considered marrying her.  Or how he could ever have  imagined that it was she he dreamed of.

He walked down to his desk, trying to put his mind to his  work.  He didn't have any Superman stories to write up this  morning, since the city had been so peaceful, so he figured  he could devote the time to his drug education column.  He  had some statistics he wanted to cite, but his desk was in  disarray, and he shuffled through the papers there.

Corrie Andrews found him still sifting through the scraps  of paper, his mind not really focused enough to find what  he was looking for.  "Good morning, Clark," she said as she  passed.  "Looking for something?"

Clark flashed her as friendly a smile as he could manage.   "Good morning, Miss Andrews.  I'm looking for some  statistics I wanted to quote in my next column, but I guess  I'm disorganized."

She nodded amiably, leaning back against his desk.   "Well,  I'll be looking for that column for tomorrow's edition,  okay?"  He nodded, and she fell silent for a moment.  Just  as the pause began to feel awkward, she spoke up again.   "Um, Clark... are you free tonight?  I have some tickets to  the symphony, if you'd like to go."

Clark looked up at her, a sinking feeling in his stomach.   How was he to refuse her politely?  She was his boss, after  all, and he had no desire to alienate her.  He couldn't  even explain that he'd be 'seeing' someone else tonight.   "Um, Miss Andrews," he began uncomfortably.

"Corrie," she corrected him.

"Corrie," he repeated.  "I think you're a wonderful person,  and under different circumstances I'd probably take you up  on that.  But, as it is, I don't think it would be a good  idea to... extend our relationship beyond our professional  one."

She nodded, her short reddish hair swaying against her  cheek, and her smile was reassuring.  "It's okay, Clark,"  she said.  "I didn't really think you'd say yes.  It's just  that you always look so lonely.  Especially these last few  days."  She shrugged.  "I thought maybe you needed a  friend."

He sighed.  He'd told her the truth; Corrie was a very  attractive and friendly woman, and in another lifetime he  could have dated her, maybe even loved her.  But he knew  all too well that it wasn't what he needed now.  "I  appreciate that, Corrie, I really do.  I *have* been kind  of distracted lately.  But I don't think you can help me.   I don't think anyone can."

"It's a woman, isn't it?" she asked, tilting her head to  look at him.  "I bet I can even guess who she is."  At his  wary nod, her smile widened.  "Lois Lane."

He dropped his gaze, unwilling to openly confirm her guess,  but knowing that his silence would tell her all she needed  to know.

Corrie shook her head.  "I saw the two of you on the news  shows, back when you first started being Superman.  I don't  think everyone noticed it, but it was pretty obvious to me,  and probably to a lot of other women out there, that the  Man of Steel's heart was taken.  Engaged or not."

Clark shrugged.  "That wasn't her, though.  Lois Lane, I  mean.  Lois died four years ago in the Congo."

Corrie raised an eyebrow.  "Well, that's what they say.   But they never found her body, and no one knows exactly  what happened to her.  Maybe you should look into it.  Call  up Perry White and see if he can give you access to her  research.  It wouldn't bring her back, but you might be  able to bring justice to the people who killed her."

Clark nodded.  "I've been over there plenty of times,  looking.  But you're right about calling Perry; he might be  able to tell me more about what she was working on."  He  hesitated, then smiled ruefully at her.  "I should have  thought of that myself.  I appreciate the help, Corrie."

The editor shrugged again.  "No problem, Clark.  I *do*  want to be your friend.  No strings attached, I promise."

He laughed, beginning to relax once more.  "I will give  Perry a call," he assured her.

"You do that," she said, stepping away from his desk.  "But  you get that column finished first!"

"I will," he promised with a smile, and turned back to his  work.  Now that he had something constructive to work on,  he felt a little better about his situation.  As Corrie had  said, if he couldn't have Lois, he could at least avenge  her murder.

He wished that weren't such a cold comfort.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She was dreaming, and she knew it.

She was in her apartment, lying on the couch, watching some  inane soap opera on the television.  The dreams often  started that way, and then Clark would come over and they'd  spend the evening talking and cuddling in privacy.  But  after last night's painful separation, she wasn't sure what  to expect.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and she got up  to answer it.  She wasn't surprised to see Clark there when  she checked the peephole.  What surprised her was the  sudden anxiety that settled in her stomach at the sight.

<Relax, Lane> she chided herself as she unlocked the door  and swung it open.  <It's Clark.>

Clark met her nervous smile with a tight one of his own.   He looked vaguely apprehensive.  "I-- I brought dinner," he  said, holding up the cardboard cartons of food like a peace  offering.

"Come on in," she said as cheerfully as she could, closing  the door behind him.  He settled the food on the coffee  table and sat down at one end of the couch.  Lois  hesitated, then joined him, leaving a careful space between  them.  She folded her hands in her lap and studied them,  unwilling to meet his gaze.

Clark looked over at her.  She was obviously upset; her  posture spoke of caution and insecurity.  Vulnerability.   He knew that his retreat the night before must be the cause  of her unease, but that in itself was odd.  Though they had  both gotten older as the years passed, the dreams weren't  really linear or connected in any other way.  But  apparently she remembered what had happened, and it hung  heavily between them now.

"Lois," he said, tentatively, and then stopped.  He really  had no idea what to say to her.

"I want to know why you said that," she said evenly, still  not looking up at him.  "Why you said it... wasn't real."

Clark dropped his gaze.  Explaining last night, his  thoughts clouded with heady emotion, had been impossible.   Explaining now, in the calm of her apartment, was still  hopeless.

Well, he could tell her the truth; he supposed she deserved  that much.  But he wasn't sure how to go about that.  "When  I was sixteen," he began at last, "I had a dream.  Well, a  lot of dreams.  About... the most wonderful girl I had ever  met.  I could never remember her face, but I knew *her.*"

He paused for a moment, measuring his words.  "I dream  about her every year, and every year I learn to love her a  little bit more.  I got to watch her grow up into the most  intelligent, honest, fiery woman I've ever known.  But...  she doesn't exist in my life-- in my world-- and sometimes  it hurts too much to pretend that she does.  That's why I  couldn't... go on... last night."  He raised his eyes to  hers at last.  "I do love her," he said, his voice low.   "But she won't be there when I wake up."

She showed no reaction to his pained confession.  "I don't  exist in your world," she repeated.

Clark shook his head.  "You did," he admitted after a  moment.  "But... she died, four years ago."

"I died," she said, her voice still calm.

He nodded.  "She was a reporter... she died on a story.  I  never met her."

Lois sat back, her eyes focused vaguely on the coffee  table.  For a long moment she said nothing, and Clark  wondered nervously what she was thinking.

Lois, for her part, wasn't sure what she was thinking.   When she'd wondered idly earlier whether it could be  possible that she was communicating with someone real  through the dreams, she hadn't seriously considered it a  viable explanation.  But now... it somehow seemed  plausible.  She was at a loss to explain it any other way.

His story sounded remarkably like hers.  She dreamt of a  man that did not exist, or at least was dead.  She'd been  mourning him, she thought.  And he said she didn't exist  for him, either.  She was dead.  What did that mean?

She sighed, wondering if she'd have a terrible headache  from all of this when she woke up.

He'd been honest; she felt compelled to reward that honesty  in kind.  So at last she raised her eyes to his.  "I have  dreams, too," she said tentatively.  "The first one came  when I was fourteen.  I dreamed about an amusement park or  a carnival or something.  I was there with... a boy.  I'd  never met him in life, but he and I were like old friends  in the dream.  Like we'd known each other our whole lives.   And I can never remember his face, but I knew his name, and  his eyes..." she confided softly.  "Anyway, there was some  game at the carnival, one of those poles to test your  strength, and he won the prize for me."

"A bear," he finished for her.  "He-- I-- won you a little  black bear."

Lois stared at him.  How did he know that?

Part of her wondered if she was going crazy, slowly sinking  into madness.  After all, this was only a dream. It was  perfectly logical for a creature of her imagination to know  all the things she knew.  He could never offer her proof of  any kind.

But even as she tried to make sense of it all, a small,  detached part of her mind was noting the way his hair fell  across his forehead, the smooth, handsome line of his jaw,  the honest tenderness in his eyes.  Reminding her just what  it meant to be with him, if only twenty-odd nights a year,  what it felt like to be held and kissed and wanted.  If  there were a chance that it might all be real, that he  might be real somewhere out there, how could she dismiss it  so easily?

The madness beckoned....

"You're a dream," she said at last.  "I've dreamed you up.   And now, for some reason, I'm dreaming this too.  Maybe--  maybe it's the loneliness.  Maybe I just can't deal with it  anymore, and I'm inventing a way to make you real.  Maybe  I'm going crazy."

Clark slid closer to her on the couch, his expression  earnest.  "Lois, listen to me.  I know all this sounds  crazy.  It sounds crazy to me, too.  But... well, I've had  some experience with crazy things in the past, and they've  all been real.  And Lois, if this... thing between us is  real, I don't want to throw it away.  Even if we only get  twenty dreams a year, I don't want to lose you."  Something  inside him had the frightening suspicion that, if she  denied this now, there would be no more dreams.  No more  second chances.

She was watching him critically, tracing his face with her  gaze.  There were tears in her eyes, and behind them he saw  once more the vulnerability, the deep, lonely despair.   "Maybe I *am* going crazy," she said at last, her voice  soft and unsteady.  "But I want to believe it."

Relief flooded through him, and he felt weak with the  sudden force of it.  "Oh, Lois," he said, moving still  closer to pull her into his arms.  She melted into his  embrace, sobbing quietly into his chest, and he relished  the feeling of her in his arms.  Familiar, but somehow all  the more precious now.

But after a moment she stiffened, and though she did not  pull away he could feel her retreating into herself.  After  an awkward pause, he released her.  "Lois?" he repeated, a  note of uncertainty in his voice now.

She shook her head, raising a hand and, embarrassed,  dashing the tears from her cheeks.  "It's not you, Clark.   It's just that... all these years I thought you were just a  dream."  She looked away, and for a moment he thought she  might start crying again.  At last she cleared her throat  and continued.  "When you were just a dream, I could count  on your... feelings for me," she explained haltingly.  "Now  that you might be... real, I can't help but think that you  don't know me, and I don't know you.  Suddenly, I feel...  self-conscious in front of you.  I've never felt that way  before."

Clark pulled away, abruptly self-conscious himself.   "Okay," he said after a moment.  He hadn't anticipated  this, and he knew instinctively that he would have to tread  very carefully now.  "Then... let me get to know you.  And  you can get to know me.  I'm still the same man you've  known, Lois.  And you can *always* count on my feelings for  you.  They're unconditional.  But we'll take things slowly,  for both our sakes.  Okay?"

She looked up at him hesitantly, her eyes shadowed now, and  smiled a little.  She wanted to trust him, but she wasn't  sure she remembered how.  Perhaps she'd never known.

"Okay," she said at last.

"So... tell me about yourself," he said after a moment's  pause.  "You're right; I don't really know you.  But I want  to know everything."

Lois smiled wryly, taking refuge in self-deprecation.   "Where do I start?" she said.  "My whole life story in  fifty words or less?"

Clark smiled back encouragingly, and reached out to take  her hand.  "I want to know it all," he said, his voice  soft.  "Use as many words as you want."

She opened her mouth to reply, but something distracted  her.  A vague prickle at the edge of her awareness, soft  now but slowly growing more insistent.  By the stricken  expression of regret on his face, she knew he had felt it,  too.  "I guess the life story will have to wait," she said.   "We're fading."

"Tomorrow, then," he insisted.  "We have six more nights."

She nodded.  "It's a date."

Lois glanced about her, noticing that the colors of the  dream had begun to fade as well, looking gray and  whitewashed.  She hesitated, then opened her mouth to  speak.  "Um, Clark?" she said, unwilling to meet his eyes.   "Do you think... maybe... Would you hold me?  Until I-- we  wake up?"

She looked ashamed of the request, and his heart went out  to her even as his arms did.  "Oh, Lois," he whispered,  pulling her close once more and settling her against his  body.  He wanted to tell her he loved her, but he wasn't  sure she was ready yet for that.

Instead, he simply rocked her gently in his arms until  their shared world melted away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CHAPTER FOUR

"In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 19TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 1]

For the first time in fifteen years, there was no sorrow  when he awoke.  He lingered in bed for a few moments,  savoring the newfound peace of it.  He didn't think he'd  ever felt so good.

True, he still didn't have Lois in his life, not really.   But he'd connected to her in a way he'd never expected, in  a way that seemed extraordinary, unbelievable.  Although it  wasn't difficult for him to believe that she existed  somehow, somewhere.  As he'd told her, he'd seen plenty of  crazy things in his lifetime; he supposed a lot of people  thought a man that flew was unbelievable, too.  His entire  life he'd been looking for a person that could love him for  all that he was.  If Lois was that person, he was willing  to believe anything.

But she didn't exist in his world, he knew that.  So that  meant she existed in another one?  Another Metropolis  somewhere, just as the first Lois he'd met?

For a fleeting instant, he wondered just where H.G. Wells  was when he needed him.  He would demand that the little  man find Lois's universe, and take him there!  He'd  certainly done the time-traveler plenty of favors, and  doing so had irrevocably disrupted his life.  It seemed  only fair to expect something in return.

He dismissed the angry thought immediately.  For one thing,  he admitted to himself, he hadn't become Superman to help  Wells.  He'd done that for Lois, and to fulfill his own  need to help.

But for another thing, he didn't think he could up and  leave his universe.  As Superman, he was in a position to  do a great deal of good for his world.  He wasn't sure he  could ever justify leaving it.  How could he put his own  needs ahead of those of an entire planet?

For once in his life, he thought, he wanted to be selfish.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Clark arrived at the Planet that morning, he waved  hello to the few others in the office, but he didn't stop  to talk to anyone.  He had plenty of things he wanted to  get done today.  He called Perry White at the office first,  and was surprised to find that he wasn't there.  While it  wasn't required that the mayor be at work on a Saturday,  Clark knew Perry very well.  He knew that the older man was  very accustomed to working seven days a week at a  newspaper, and that he often put in extra days even now,  working to improve his city.

But the receptionist politely informed him that Mayor White  wasn't coming in today, and that perhaps Clark would have  better luck calling his home.  So Clark dialed the Whites'  residence instead.  Alice answered, and after a few moments  of small talk and catching up, she called for Perry.

"Clark?" Perry answered.  "It's good to hear from you."

"It's good to hear from you, too," Clark replied sincerely.   Perry had been one of the few people that hadn't regarded  him differently after he became Superman.  Clark sometimes  wished he saw his former editor more often.  But between  Perry's mayoral duties and Clark's Superman activities,  neither of them really had time to visit.

After another few minutes of small talk, Clark finally  cleared his throat.  "Actually, I called to ask you about  something."

"I figured as much," Perry answered, and Clark could almost  hear his smile.  "You don't have the time to call just to  chat.  So what's going on?"

"Well, I wanted to look into Lois Lane's death.  I want to  try to pick up that case where she left off, see if I can  find out what happened to her.  I don't think I'll find  her," he admitted regretfully.  "I think it's too late for  that.  But maybe I can bring some justice to the people  that killed her."

"You've been talking to Corrie Andrews, haven't you?" Perry  asked suspiciously.

"Yeah," Clark admitted, trying to stifle his surprise.   After all, Perry had always known more than he had reason  to.  "She suggested it, and I think it's a good idea."

"But you don't know where to start?" Perry asked.

"Right."

"Well," the older man said, "she was investigating some  gun-running in the Congo.  Something about civil war...  I  guess I'd suggest you talk to her family.  Her sister was  sharing her apartment at the time, so she may know  something about what Lois was working on.  She was pretty  helpful at the time; she probably wouldn't mind talking to  you now.

"And you should call down to the archives and ask about  Lois's computer files.  When we lose a reporter in action,  we back up their computer on CD.  That way we can try to  trace their logic backwards and find them.  But there may  not be any of the regular staff in archives over the  weekend, so you may have to wait till Monday to get the  CDs.  Now, I had plenty of people looking at those files  back in '93, but you're certainly welcome to look at them  again.  I hope you find something."

"Thanks, Perry.  I hope so, too."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By that evening, however, Clark was no closer to finding  anything useful than he had been that morning.  Perry had  been right, there was only a skeleton crew in the archives  for the weekend, though they'd promised to leave a memo for  the staff to find the backup discs first thing Monday  morning.

Lucy Lane no longer lived in Lois's former apartment,  although she was still in Metropolis.  He'd called her that  afternoon and arranged to meet her for lunch the following  day.

So Clark had spent the day looking through older editions  of the Planet, trying to figure out who else had been on  staff at the time.  He wondered if any of them would be  able to tell him anything about what she'd been working on.   Judging from what he knew of the Lois he'd met, however, he  doubted anyone would know anything.  The Lois of the other  dimension had been relatively friendly with her coworkers,  but she'd been rather tight-lipped about her stories.  He  suspected she'd been worse earlier in her career; he  imagined that her Clark had mellowed her a little.  So the  Lois of his own dimension had probably been just as bad.

Still, he wanted to pursue all his leads, so he began to  compile a list of the reporters that might have known Lois.   He was interrupted several times by minor Superman  emergencies; while they were time-consuming, there was  nothing serious.  By that afternoon he had his list of  reporters.  Many of them still worked at the Planet, but  very few of them were in the office on a Saturday.  He  called most of them at home and asked about her, but no one  had anything particularly helpful to say.

"She did keep pretty good notes on her computer," Eduardo  commented.  "So if you can get a copy of the backup files  from her hard drive, you might get something from that.   But she was really secretive, too, so she probably had  passwords on everything."

Clark wasn't too worried about that; he could go through a  large number of possible passwords in seconds.  But it  looked as if there wasn't anything else he could do  tonight.  He hoped that after he'd spoken to Lucy tomorrow  he'd have something more concrete to start with.   Otherwise, he'd have to wait on the archive staff to find  Lois's backup files.

He frowned a little as he hung up the phone.  He was used  to being able to work at superspeed, and he didn't like  having nothing to do.  It wasn't that he minded having to  wait, but there was a sense of urgency in him.  Ever since  he'd decided to examine this case, he'd felt a need to  conclude it as quickly as possible.  He chalked it up to  the fact that he was investigating Lois's death.  Even if,  as he was beginning to suspect, the Lois of this universe  hadn't been intended for him at all, he felt a strong tie  with her.  He hated to think that she had died violently,  and he couldn't stand the idea that her killers had gotten  away with murder.

He shook his head.  Well, they weren't going to get away  with it, if he could help it.  Tomorrow he'd talk to Lucy,  and he'd have the computer files by Monday or Tuesday.   Sooner or later, he *was* going to find out what had  happened to Lois Lane.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 19TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 2]

When she woke up, Lois was surprised to find she could  almost still see him.  She closed her eyes again quickly,  anxiously, and was rewarded with the newfound image of his  face, smiling gently as he encouraged her to confide in  him.  She gave a delighted laugh, half joy and half relief.   For fifteen years that face had eluded her.  Today, at long  last, she could see him fully.

She smiled as she rolled out of bed, but her mood was  thoughtful.  Why had things suddenly begun to change  between them?  Not that she wasn't grateful; this was  without a doubt the best thing that had ever happened to  her.  But the reporter in her wanted to ask questions.  For  fifteen years, she repeated to herself.  Fifteen years of  not remembering, not understanding.   Why were the rules  suddenly changing now?

<Never question a miracle> she reminded herself.  <What  does it matter why this is happening?  The important thing  is that it's happening at all.  You said it yourself, this  is the best thing that's *ever* happened to you.>

For a moment she bit her lip, a pang of sorrow cutting  through the joy.  The only thing that would be better would  be to have him truly there with her.  She was acting this  morning as if everything was going to change.  But it  wasn't, not really.  She was still only with him in dreams.   She was still going to be alone.

Resolutely, she turned her mind away from the thought.  She  was *not* going to spoil this.  The dream last night had  been beautiful.  Clark was simply the most wonderful person  she'd ever known.  She'd almost been able to believe him  when he said his feelings for her were unconditional.  And  she *did* believe that he wanted to get to know her.

<So focus on that!> she told herself firmly.  <For some  reason, things are changing with Clark, and it certainly  looks as if they're changing for the better.>

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lois straightened her skirt and glanced both ways as she  climbed out of the taxi.  The New Eden building was in a  quieter section of the East Side, so the traffic was  relatively light.

When Gary had called her yesterday with this suggestion,  she had her doubts about it, but she figured it was worth a  try.  If nothing else, it would get her inside the building  and give her some basic background information.  She hadn't  discovered much of anything useful in her preliminary  research the day before.  New Eden specialized in expensive  furniture and interior decorations.  It was a relatively  young company, still trying to establish itself in the  market, but they carried high-quality furnishings.  She'd  glanced at their online catalog and had been astonished at  the prices of some of their wares.  And it looked as if New  Eden would become even more upscale in the future; it had  been bought out by a larger company in February.   Apparently there was still some confusion about the  management of the smaller company; while it was going to  continue operating much as it had before the buyout, there  were several new openings for support staff.

Which was why she was here.  Gary had said there was a  secretary's position open in the main office, and wondered  if she thought it might be useful to apply.  Lois wasn't  sure she would find anything worthwhile by working in the  office, but after considering his suggestion for a moment  she'd thought of a way it could be very useful indeed.  She  had outlined her strategy carefully to Gary, and she'd  promised to call him back as soon as she'd made an  appointment.

So she was to meet with a Mr. David Campbell at two o'clock  this afternoon.  This morning she'd been busy with an  interview with the mayor; she'd barely had time to change  her clothes and catch a cab from City Hall.  As it was, she  was cutting it pretty close.

She made it to Mr. Campbell's second-floor office at three  minutes to two, relieved.  He greeted her at the door.   "Miss Kelley?  Please, come in."  She smiled and nodded an  affirmative, and let him usher her inside.

"I'm sorry about the mess," he said as she took a seat,  waving his hand at the scattered folders on the desk and  stacks of paper on the floor.  "We're updating our filing  system, and everything's a little disorganized right now.   That's something you'd be helping with in this position,  actually."

She nodded again, her manner assertive but polite.  "I see.   And I'd be acting as your secretary, Mr. Campbell?"

He smiled warmly, though there was a sense of appraisal in  his glance that made her uncomfortable.  "David, you can  call me David.  And yes, you'd be working in the next  office over, taking phone calls and helping me out.  I'm  the supervisor at this facility.  New Eden has an office  and call center on 23rd Street, but this is our main  building.  So it's important that we keep it going  smoothly."

Lois tried to match his smile.  "I understand.  So--"

She was interrupted by the telephone.  David gave her an  apologetic grin.  "Hold on just a moment," he said, turning  to answer the phone.

Lois strained her ears, but she could only just make out  the voice on the other end, and couldn't decipher what was  being said.  The look of annoyance that crossed David's  face was enough to confirm her suspicions, and she bit her  lip to hide a smile.  "The *power* went out?" he asked  incredulously.  "That's never happened before."  There was  a pause as the other person spoke.  "Well, it must be a  fuse.  You'll have to go to the fuse box and check."

There was another moment's pause, and his expression went  from annoyance to outright anger.  "You checked the fuse  box?  And you couldn't find the problem?  Who is this?   What kind of incompetent...." He trailed off, running a  hand aggrievedly through his hair.  "All right, I'll be  down in a moment."  He slammed the phone into its cradle  and, composing himself, gave Lois another oily grin.  "I'll  be right back.  There seems to be some sort of problem with  the fuses in one of the loading docks."

Lois gestured for him to go.  "Not a problem.  I can wait."

She listened to his footsteps as they disappeared down the  corridor.  Gary had assured her she'd have five minutes,  but he couldn't guarantee any longer.  When she was sure he  was out of earshot, she stood quickly and moved to the  desk.  David hadn't been exaggerating about the mess; the  desk was in total disarray.  She shuffled quickly through  the files, looking for anything she might be able to use.   Most of them were financial records of various sorts:  receipts, accounting ledgers, old purchase orders.  She  sifted through them as quickly as she could, looking  carefully at the dates written on each file, but they all  looked more than a few months old.

Watching the clock, she moved to sort through the folders  and loose pages on the floor.  At last, with barely a  minute to spare, she found what she needed: a file of  records for the last two weeks.  Inside, she was delighted  to find a shipping invoice from a local trucking company.   The time listed was 1:04 a.m., April 12th, the night Samuel  Hathoway had died.

By the time David Campbell had returned, she had stowed the  folder safely in her attach‚ case and tried to rearrange  the others on the desk as they had been.  He found her  waiting patiently, apologized for the delay, and continued  the interview.

Lois left New Eden with a satisfied smile.  The shipping  invoice wasn't a very big lead, but it was something to  start with.  She raised her arm to hail another cab, but a  shout from behind stopped her.  "Miss Lane!"

She turned to find Gary Keane waving at her.  "Did it  work?" the elderly man asked, his expression a mixture of  excitement and anxiety.  "Did you get anything?"

"It worked wonderfully," she assured him.  "You did a great  job."

He smiled and looked down, embarrassed.  "I wasn't sure if  the fuse thing would work, but I kept playing dumb until he  came downstairs."

Lois frowned.  "Won't you get in trouble?  I mean, you  aren't even supposed to be here during the day!"

Gary shrugged.  "Campbell doesn't know that.  I used the  loading dock with the bad security camera, and we don't  have any electronic security systems on during the day.  So  there's no way for them to see that I was here at all.  It  was easy to flip that fuse, and I just pretended I didn't  know how to fix it."  He gave her a sardonic grin.   "Campbell likes to believe the people around him aren't as  smart as he is, so it was easy to get him to believe it.   Anyway, he doesn't know who I am, so he can't fire me.  And  by tomorrow he'll have forgotten all about it."

"Well, it was great," she repeated with a grin.  "I was  able to get some paperwork from his office.  Not a huge  lead, but I think it might be really helpful."  She was  exaggerating a little, but she knew it had been difficult  for the man to go along with her plan, and she wanted to  reassure him.  "I'll have to follow it up, see what other  information I can get.  I'll let you know as soon as I find  anything."

Gary smiled a little and nodded.  "Thanks, Miss Lane.  I  just hope we find something soon.  If there's anything else  I can do, you let me know."

Lois nodded back.   "I will.  In the meantime, if you see  any more lights in the loading docks after hours, would you  call me?"  She fumbled in her case for a business card and  handed it to him.  "My home number is on there, so you can  call me anytime, okay?"

"Will do," he promised, tucking the card into a pocket.   "I'll let you get back to your work now," he said, stepping  back.  "Thanks again."

"Thank *you.*"  She bid him a polite farewell and turned  back to the street to hail a taxi back to the Planet.  She  wanted to try to follow up on this lead today if possible,  but she wasn't staying at the office all night.

<You have a date tonight, Lane.>  She smiled wryly.  <Okay,  it isn't a real date... but it's as close as you've come in  a long time!>  Despite her apprehensions, she couldn't help  but feel good about seeing Clark again.  She wanted to  believe he was real, crazy as it all seemed.  And she  wanted him to be the first person in the world to truly  know her, everything about her.  She closed her eyes and  summoned up his smiling face once more, relishing the  ability to truly remember him for the first time.  She was  going to bed early tonight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tonight the transition was almost seamless.  He lay down in  bed and closed his eyes, only to open them again almost  immediately.  It felt like blinking.

Clark found himself in his apartment, half-reclining on the  couch, his legs stretched out on the cushions.  The  television was on; some forgettable sitcom chattered at  him.  He flicked through the channels idly, waiting  impatiently for Lois's arrival.

He felt her presence a moment before she knocked, like a  sudden sense of warmth or peace.  A sense that all was  right in their tiny world.  Clark turned off the television  and moved to answer the door.

Lois stood in the doorway for a long moment, taking him in.   He was dressed fairly casually, in jeans and a cotton  button-down shirt.  Her eyes were drawn to his, locking  there as she tried to absorb his features.  She had  remembered him this morning, but she wondered if her memory  had done him justice.  He was the most attractive man she  had ever known, body and soul, and the knowledge made her  want to step forward into his arms.  He would let her, she  knew that; his arms would enfold her, and then she could  reach up and play with the hair at the back of his head,  thread her fingers through it and guide his mouth to  hers...

But she couldn't do that.  Not yet.  Despite their long- time acquaintance, she still felt she didn't know him,  really know him.  And therefore she couldn't really trust  him, either, much as she wanted to.

So she didn't step into his embrace, though she allowed her  eyes to convey to his her wish to do so, and the reasons  for her hesitancy.  There was understanding in his gaze,  tender reassurance, and she relaxed a little under the  caress of it.

He cleared his throat and stepped aside awkwardly,  motioning toward the couch.  "Hi, Lois," he said at last,  unsure of how to greet her.  "Come on in."

She dropped her eyes and complied, descending into the  living room. She waited as he locked the door and came down  to join her, her manner strangely reserved.  "Make yourself  comfortable," he said, wondering why she hadn't sat down.   He moved to the couch and sat, as if to give her an example  to follow.

That seemed to reassure her, and she moved to sit beside  him, close but not quite touching.  She smiled shyly at  him, and he understood.  He reached out tentatively and  took her hand, and she shifted a little to face him.  Her  eyes were wide and bright, with a touch of apprehension  behind them, but she didn't pull her hand away.  Then her  smile changed a little, became more wry, and she dropped  her gaze.  "I guess I owe you a life story," she said  lightly, embarrassed.

He smiled gently and squeezed her hand.  "That's right."

"Remind me why I'm telling you all of this?" she asked,  stalling for time.

He laughed a little.  "Because I want to get to know you.   I want to know everything about you."

Lois nodded, laughing nervously.  "Right.  Everything.   Okay..."  She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts.   "Well, I'm twenty-nine years old; I'll be thirty in  October.  I live in Metropolis, and I'm an investigative  reporter at the Daily Planet.  I've worked there almost ten  years now; I started as an intern in college and I hired on  full time when I graduated."

"You studied journalism?  Where did you go?"

"Metropolis University," she answered.  "And yes, I studied  journalism."  She smiled fondly.  "I was top of my class,  you know."

He smiled back, delighted to see her opening up a little.   He had worried for a moment there that she was going to  simply rattle off the basic, statistical details of her  life, trying to distract him from the deeper, more personal  information he wanted.  He didn't want her 'name, rank and  serial number.'  He wanted to *know* her, and he suspected  that deep down she wanted that as well.  He just wasn't  sure how willing she would be to open herself up to him.   "Top of your class, hmm?" he asked, with a carefully  measured amount of disbelief in his voice.

"I *was!*" she insisted with a smile, swatting at him.   "And I was editor of the university paper, too."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," he replied honestly,  glad that she'd taken his teasing in the spirit it had been  meant.  She wasn't so unsure of him as to mistake his tone  for cruelty, and he decided that was a very good sign.

"So after you got out of college, you went to work at the  Planet?"

Lois nodded.  "Perry offered me a job right away.  And I  won my first Kerth that same year."

"And you went into journalism so you could help people?" he  asked, remembering what she'd said two nights ago.

Lois blushed a little.  "Well, I know it isn't as helpful  as a doctor or a cop or something.  But I just didn't want  to do those things.  Daddy wanted me to be a doctor, but he  put so much emphasis on it that I was just as determined  not to do it.  I didn't get along so well with my father,"  she admitted.  "So I think I decided against medicine just  to spite him.  At least, that was part of it.  But... I  always liked journalism.  I wanted to *know* everything.  I  wanted to get to the bottom of everything, all by myself."

Clark smiled, but he was distracted by something else she'd  said.  "You didn't get along with your father?"

Lois drew a deep breath.  "Daddy was... he was difficult to  be close to.  He'd never wanted a daughter, but he got two  of them.  Lucy and I-- my younger sister-- were never quite  good enough for him.  He wanted a son to carry on the  family name and practice.  I think it really hurt him when  neither of us wanted that."

She tilted her head and dropped her gaze, lost temporarily  in her introspection.  "Of course, he wasn't the best of  role models, either.  I mean, he and Mother never got along  very well, either.  I know he had at least a couple  affairs, and I think that's what made Mother so depressed  all the time.  So he didn't exactly give us much of an  example to aspire to.  I mean, he's a fabulous doctor.  But  he wasn't a very good father, and he wasn't very happy.  So  why would I want to be that?"

Clark bit his lip.  "I'm sorry," he said, knowing it  couldn't help, but wanting to say it anyway.

She looked back up at him, startled out of her memories,  though her eyes were shadowed with some emotion he couldn't  decipher.  "It's not *your* fault, Clark," she said matter- of-factly.  "It's no one's fault but his."

Clark was surprised at the lack of anger or resentment in  her voice, but he didn't push the matter any further.  "So  you grew up in Metropolis, too?"

Lois nodded, smiling.  "Big city girl, born and bred," she  affirmed.  "I've lived my whole life here."  She looked  carefully at him.  "I guess you haven't, have you?  I mean,  I think you must live in Metropolis now, because almost all  of the dreams have taken place here for a while now.  But  you didn't grow up here, did you?"

Clark was mildly surprised by her insight.  He hadn't  expected to be on the receiving end of the questions  tonight.  But he wanted her to know him, to feel  comfortable with him.  So he supposed he should be doing as  much sharing tonight as she was.  "No," he admitted.  "I  mean, I live in Metropolis now, but I didn't always live  here.  I grew up in Kansas."

"Kansas?" she repeated.  "How did you go from Kansas to  Metropolis?"

"Well, I did it in small increments," he teased.  "So I  didn't go into shock or anything."  He shrugged.  "I did a  lot of traveling before I settled down.  I've told you  that.  So by the time I got to Metropolis, I was used to  living in a lot of unusual places.  But it is a big  difference from Smallville," he conceded.

She nodded.  "With a name like that, I guess it'd have to  be!"

Now it was his turn to be good-naturedly indignant.  "Hey,  Smallville was a great place to live!"

"I believe you," she said, raising a placating hand.  "Do  your parents still live there?"

He dropped his gaze.  "They died," he replied.  "When I was  ten.  Actually, it's almost exactly twenty-one years now."

Her eyes flew open wide.  "Oh, Clark, I'm sorry!"

"It's not your fault, Lois," he said, repeating her words.   "It was a long time ago.  It doesn't hurt so much anymore."

"Well, still... I mean, my family wasn't so great, but it  was better than nothing.  What happened to you after that?"

Clark shrugged.  "I went to a lot of different foster  homes... I stayed with my aunt and uncle for a while, but  they couldn't really afford to support me.  But I stayed in  or near Smallville, and most of the people were nice enough  to me.  I just didn't quite fit in anywhere."

"Oh, Clark," she repeated, reaching across to take his  other hand.  "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," he said.  "I'm okay."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, unsure of how to  continue the conversation.  At last Clark changed the  subject.  "So you're twenty-nine years old," he commented.   "And you've been dreaming about... me... since you were  fourteen?"

She nodded.  "Yeah.  And you said the dreams started when  you were sixteen.  That makes you..." She did the math in  her head.  "Thirty-one?"

Clark nodded back.  "So we've been... connected for fifteen  years?

Lois smiled fondly.  "Fifteen years...  And at least nine  dreams a year.  Usually more."

He smiled, too, remembering some of those.  "We had some  beautiful times, didn't we?"

She laughed.  "And some strange ones...  I used to keep a  journal of them, you know.  I have all of them written  down, except this last week.  After the first two or three,  when I realized you might become a regular player in my  dreams, I started to keep track of them.  That's part of  what helped me realize they were cyclical."

"I didn't do anything like that.  I wish I had," Clark  answered wistfully.  "I'd like to read it."

"Someday," she said softly, "maybe you will."

Clark dropped his gaze and didn't answer.  There was no  point in reminding her that the journal existed only in her  world, and he had no way to get there.  Besides, in a way  she was right.  Perhaps, in one of their dreams, he could  read it someday.  <Wouldn't that be ridiculous?  Reading  about your dreams in a dream?>

"I remember the first week of them," he said, steering the  conversation away from the journal.  "You were so young...   We both were, I guess.  But I thought you were the most  beautiful girl I'd ever seen."

"Since then, of course, you've realized the error of your  ways," she commented cynically; her tone was teasing but  Clark suspected there was a hidden question in her  criticism.  Was she testing him, testing his feelings for  her?

"Since then, Lois, I'm more convinced every night," he  replied softly, letting the emotion bleed through into his  voice.

She blushed and looked down at their joined hands.  "Oh,  Clark..."

Sensing he'd reassured her of his sincerity, and not  wanting to make her uncomfortable, he backed off.  "And you  were smart, and feisty, and I was amazed that you wanted  anything to do with me."

"Well, I thought you were handsome," she countered, a  little more relaxed now.  "And you certainly were strong,"  she teased.  "You won that bear for me pretty easily!"  She  was silent for a moment, her gaze turning inward once more.   "You were such a gentleman," she mused.  "And in your  arms... I felt safe.  Even at fourteen, I wanted that.   More than anything."

Clark squeezed her hands again.  "You *are* safe with me,"  he whispered firmly.  "I would never hurt you."

Lois's eyes focused on his, and she smiled a little. "I  guess I know that, Clark," she admitted.  "I guess I'm just  more skittish than most."

"That's okay," he said.  "We have all the time in the  world."

She nodded, almost absently, as her thoughts went back to  those first few adolescent dreams.  "We had such fun back  then.  Not that we don't have fun now," she hastened to  add, "but it was different then.  Innocent, I guess.  At  least, for a while."

Clark understood.  "We were young," he repeated.  "I hadn't  had any real romantic relationships by then.  So everything  you and I did was new.  Just being out together, alone, was  something new for me.  And, in dreams, you don't have the  same inhibitions you would have in life.  You're less  vulnerable, because dreams are safe.  So you let yourself  do... anything you want to do, innocent or not."

Lois flushed again, remembering the first intimate dream  they'd had.  "A safe way to yield to the lure of the  forbidden?"

Clark shook his head with a laugh.  "The lure of the most  beautiful, the most desirable woman I'd ever met!"

She laughed a little, embarrassed.  "Well, you weren't so  bad yourself...  You were the only boy-- man-- I'd ever  responded to that way.  It was a little scary," she  admitted, "the strength of what I felt for you.  And sad,  knowing I couldn't ever be with you the way I wanted."

Clark opened his mouth, ready once more to lead them away  from the pain and regret she was steering toward, but Lois  changed the subject on her own.  She gave a nervous laugh.   "It's embarrassing now," she said, "knowing you saw all  those dreams of mine.  A real person, watching them all."

"I wasn't just watching," he reminded her.  "They were my  dreams too.  I wanted them-- enjoyed them-- as much as you  did."  He laughed wryly, shaking his head.  "If you only  knew how badly I wanted them."

She looked up sharply, a flash of fear or uncertainty in  her eyes, and he smiled.  "I don't mean now," he assured  her gently, a touch of mild humor in his tone.  "I only  meant that you shouldn't be embarrassed about them.  They  were something we both wanted."

She bit her lip.  "I'm sorry," she said softly.  "It's just  that I'm still trying to absorb all of this.  That you  could be a real person, and that I've been dreaming of you,  with you, for fifteen years.  It's not that I don't care  for you.  I love you.  You're so good at saying that to me,  and I can't say it nearly so well."

"It's okay," he assured her.  "Listen, Lois, if I seem to  have accepted all this easily, it's only because I've been  waiting for you, searching for you, my whole life.  I'll  believe anything I have to.  But I still have to get used  to it all, too.  From here on out, we're back in unexplored  territory.  Everything is new again.  I want to take the  time to move forward slowly, and I want to give you all the  time you need to get comfortable again.

"I still want to be close to you," he admitted, daring to  raise a hand and cup her cheek gently in his palm.  "To  touch you, and to hold you, and to kiss you.  But we have  plenty of time for all of that."

"I know," she said, closing her eyes and leaning into his  touch.  "At least five more nights."

"That's right," he affirmed, though he didn't like to think  of it that way.  Five nights didn't seem like much time at  all.  "So for now we should just get to know one another.   For having been friends for fifteen years, we don't know  much at all."

Lois, reassured once more, frowned a moment.  "Fifteen  years," she repeated.  "I wonder what made the dreams start  then?"

"Well," Clark answered thoughtfully, "Maybe that's when we  needed them."  He frowned, trying to explain.  "I mean, we  didn't really need that sort of relationship when we were  kids.  But at some point you start looking for a... a  partner, I guess.  A soulmate.  And we couldn't find that  in our own worlds.  So maybe we dream to assuage that  need."

She nodded, considering.  "I guess that makes sense," she  conceded.  "But... it sounded like you needed a companion  when you were ten.  Why couldn't I have been there for you  then?"

"You're here for me now," he answered.  "That's more than  enough."

She smiled a little, and scooted a bit closer to him,  pressing her body into his side.  "I'll always be there for  you, Clark," she whispered.

Clark put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in  close against him.  "And I'll be there for you," he  promised, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

They sat thus for a long moment, growing reaccustomed to  the feeling of being close.  At long last Lois sighed  sadly.  "It's time to go, isn't it?" she asked, frustration  clear in her voice.

Clark nodded; he had felt it too.  She closed her eyes  tightly, burrowing into his shoulder, as if she could  postpone the inevitable.  "Lois," he chided softly.  "Come  here."

She raised her face to his, her eyes hesitant but wistful.   Clark reached out and gently lifted her to his lap,  wrapping his arms around her.  She laid her head against  his chest and closed her eyes once more, sinking into his  warmth and trying to memorize the sensation.  He buried his  lips once more in her hair, his arms tightening as the  apartment darkened.

"Love you," he heard her say, and then she was gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CHAPTER FIVE

"Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 20TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 2]

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, as if to match her  mood.  As she drove to work, Lois allowed her mind to  drift.  It had been strange to be so open with someone,  even if he wasn't really in her life.  But it had felt  good, too, in a way she hadn't expected.  Clark had been so  understanding, so accepting; she just wasn't used to being  able to trust anyone so fully.  But he made no secret of  his feelings for her, his admiration, his attraction.   Never had she heard scorn or derision in his voice, and  never had his manner been anything but gentlemanly, if  teasing.  Never had his eyes slid over her the way David  Campbell's would have, in appraisal or evaluation.  And, as  she'd confessed to him, in his arms she felt safe, safer  than anywhere she'd ever found in her waking world.

He hadn't said he lived in Metropolis, but he hadn't denied  it when she asked.  And she knew he was a reporter.  She  wondered if he worked for the Daily Planet of his world.   Parking her jeep and making her way through the parking  garage, she let herself fantasize about what it would be  like to work with him everyday.  She didn't usually work  with a partner unless Perry insisted, but she thought she'd  make an exception for Clark.  She wondered what it might be  like, tossing ideas back and forth, having him as her  partner on a stakeout or in an interview, fighting good- naturedly over the wording of their latest story....

And stealing a kiss or two when no one was looking, she  thought with a laugh.  Yes, she mused, it would be very  nice indeed.   It would never happen, she knew, but it was  a nice daydream.  Anyway, at the very least they had five  more nights together.  All things considered, that was more  than she'd ever expected to have.

"Lois!  In my office!"

"Coming, Perry," she called to her editor, smiling to  herself.  Today felt like a good day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lois stared at the various records scattered across her  desk.  After briefing Perry about the status of her  investigation, she'd gone through the folder and sorted the  pages carefully by date.  She'd found three invoices with  times in the middle of the night.  The first was from the  night Samuel Hathoway had died; another was a week prior,  and the third dated just a few nights ago, probably the  night Gary had seen the lights in the loading dock.

Further study revealed that each invoice was issued by the  same trucking company, although none of the daytime  shipments had gone through it.  The drivers had been  different each time, unless the signatures were false, but  all three deliveries had gone to the same address.

She turned to her computer and typed the address into an  online street guide.  As she'd suspected, it was in the  Waterfront District.  A search on another site revealed  that it was a private dock owned by an overseas shipping  company.

The second signature on one of the invoices was another  clue; while the other two were rather illegible, a Captain  James Tyler had received and signed for the most recent  shipment.  Searching for Tyler had been less successful, so  on her way to lunch she gave the name to Jimmy.  If she was  lucky, he'd have something useful by the time she got back.

Because it was Sunday, Lois wasn't really required to come  to work, and could thus take as long a lunch break as she  wanted.  She planned to use the time wisely, although she  wasn't sure how much could be done today.  She stopped for  a sandwich at a nearby caf‚, and then set out for the  Metropolis Public Library.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She stared at the map in her hand, not sure what to make of  it.  She'd gone through three different atlases to find one  detailed enough, but in the end she'd found what she was  looking for: Smallville, Kansas.

So it existed, even in her own world.  She knew that didn't  really prove anything, but it was as close to proof as she  had.  She hadn't dreamed it up, at least not that part of  it.  She wasn't sure how to react to that finding; while it  was somewhat of a relief, it felt strangely... final.  If  she looked up Clark Kent, and discovered he really was  dead, there was no going back.

<Of course, it sounded like he lives in Metropolis now,>  she reminded herself.  <You'd be able to find him here, if  he existed in this world.>  But she'd found no listing for  Clark Kent in any phone book, nor in the public records for  the last few years, not even for a driver's license or  voter registration.

The librarian looked up the name of the Smallville  newspaper for her, but the Post was too small a paper to be  carried by the Metropolitan library.  Instead, the  librarian advised her to check the online archives for the  information she wanted, and offered her use of one of the  public computers.  For such a small publication, the Post's  website was remarkably well developed and organized, but  when she searched the archives for his name, she came up  empty.  The online archives currently only went back to  1990, so Lois supposed there might be mention of him before  then.

Frustrated, Lois logged off the computer.  She'd hit  another dead end.  Short of going to Kansas to check public  records there, she wasn't sure what else to do.  She didn't  have any contacts in Kansas that might owe her favors,  either.  Frowning, Lois jotted down the phone number of the  Smallville Post's office, and on a whim she looked up the  number of the local library as well.  Perhaps someone would  be willing to check for her, she thought as she headed back  to the Planet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, as she lay in bed, Lois pulled out her dream  journal.  It took her nearly two hours to record the last  four nights' worth of dreams.  Usually she wouldn't have  waited so long to do it, but those last few dreams had been  difficult to handle.  After Thursday night, when Clark had  pulled away from their kisses in the rain, she hadn't felt  like recording that.  It was too painful.  And after the  confusing revelations of the following night, she hadn't  wanted to write anything down until things became clearer.   But she couldn't put it off any longer, if she wanted to be  able to remember things in detail.

When she was finished, she flipped randomly through the  pages.  This was only the latest in her dream journals,  covering the last few years.  She rummaged through the  small stack of them under her bed until she found the  first.  It was a red spiral-bound notebook with her name  printed across the cover in black marker; she'd bought it  after the third or fourth dream and started recording them.   She hid it under her mattress at first, wary of Lucy's  prying eyes, and then took to slipping it in among the  textbooks and such on her shelves.  On lonely nights, she'd  take it out and read from it.

Like tonight, although she wasn't feeling too lonely just  now.  She knew she had only to close her eyes and dream.   But tonight she had a few questions on her mind.  She  allowed herself to read a few random passages before she  actively began to search for what she wanted.  In the  entries for 1984, she found it.

In April of that year, they'd dreamed of flying.

That wasn't the only time, either; she thumbed through the  pages, counting.  Six times in this journal alone, and  probably twice as many in the next.  At the time it had  been easy to dismiss them as fanciful.  You could do  whatever you wanted in dreams, right?  Flying wasn't an  uncommon theme, she knew, but in light of her most recent  discoveries, it seemed a strange one for her dreams with  Clark.  Their dreams had always been fairly realistic.   Although at times she had found herself in unusual or  unfamiliar locations-- she supposed some of them had been  Smallville, and others the places he'd traveled-- the  settings had always seemed normal and earthly.

But once in a while they'd flown through the night skies.   Clark had gathered her into his arms, cradling her against  his chest, and held her close as he lifted gently into the  air.  She turned to another page and read of floating in  the clouds and then higher, into the star-dazzled darkness.   Of chasing the sun as it drowned in the ocean, and aerial  kisses against the sky.

The first time, she was pretty sure he'd been wearing a t- shirt and jeans, but she vaguely remembered something blue,  skintight, more recently.  She turned back to the most  recent journal and checked.  Yes, something soft and sleek  and blue, and a red silken cape streaming off his  shoulders.  What had that been?

She frowned a little, considering, then laid the journals  aside and reached over to flip off the bedside lamp.  It  was time to sleep.  Clark had a lot of questions to answer  tonight!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 20TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 1]

Clark arrived at the bistro ten minutes early, but Lucy  Lane had beaten him anyway.  He had no difficulty in  recognizing her, though he hadn't seen her in a year; with  her dark hair and pretty, expressive eyes it was very easy  to see she was Lois's sister.  He waved the hostess  politely away, pointing at the young woman waiting for him,  and made his way through the crowded restaurant.

"Nice to see you again, Miss Lane," he said, extending a  hand in greeting.

"Lane-Rosen," she corrected, taking his hand and shaking it  firmly.  "Paul and I got married last fall."

"Congratulations," he replied sincerely.  "I'm sure you'll  be very happy together."  Clark was vaguely acquainted with  Paul Rosen, a doctor in the emergency room at Metropolis  General, as he was often dropping in unexpectedly there  with rescue victims.

She nodded distractedly, looking down at her menu.  They  were silent for a few moments until the waitress returned  and took their lunch orders.  Then Clark turned his  attention to the dark-haired woman before him, a touch of  apprehension in his expression.  "I was a little surprised  you were willing to see me," he admitted.

She took a deep breath and then met his eyes unflinchingly.   "The first time you called me, last year, I didn't believe  you really wanted to find my sister at all."

Clark was mildly surprised at that, although he'd suspected  it was something along those lines.  "Why?  Why would I  look for her if I didn't want to find her?"

Lucy gave him an acerbic smile.  "I believe you wanted to  find *someone,*" she corrected him.  "The Lois Lane you'd  fallen in love with.  Not my sister."

Clark gave a sigh.  It looked as if Corrie had been more  right than he realized; his feelings for Lois must have  been very transparent indeed.  "Lucy, my feelings for that  woman notwithstanding, I wanted very much to find your  sister.  Whatever happened to her, it shouldn't have.  I  want to bring her justice, even if that's all I can do at  this point."

Lucy looked at him for a long moment, considering.  "You  love her, don't you?  The imposter Lois?  How can I believe  that you aren't looking for my sister so she can be *her*  for you?"

Clark shook his head.  "I *was* in love with her," he  admitted.  "But I'm not in love with her anymore.  She was  engaged, you know," he confided after a moment's pause.   "She didn't want me.  And I know now that she wasn't what I  needed, either.  So I'm not looking to replace her, if  that's what you're asking.

"But even if I were," he continued, a little more firmly,  "what difference does it make?  If I can find your sister,  or even just find the people who did this to her, what does  it matter why I did it?"

Lucy frowned, dropping her gaze.  At last she looked back  at him, and nodded a little.  "You're right," she admitted  reluctantly.  "I guess it doesn't really matter much at  all."

"So you'll help me?"

She sighed.  "I miss my sister," she said softly.  "I'll  help you in any way I can."

On impulse, Clark took her hand gently in his own.  "I  appreciate that, Lucy."

She nodded almost absently, her eyes focused once more on  the tablecloth, her fingers limp in his.  "Lois was the  best, you know," she said at last.  "She got any story she  wanted.  I used to think she was charmed or something."

Clark nodded.  <Not charmed, Lucy.  Just very good at what  she did.>

"But she was a very private person, too.  Half the time  even I didn't know what she was working on, and I lived  with her.  I used to worry about her, as closed up as she  was.  I thought she'd never be happy, if she went on that  way."

Lucy shook her head, remembering.  "She was writing a  novel, you know.  She'd kill me if she knew I was telling  you about it," she continued, laughing a little, bitterly.   "A novel about a woman who died without ever finding love.   I used to tell her that wasn't going to happen to her."   Lucy looked up at him, her brown eyes glassy with unshed  tears.  "I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?"

Clark squeezed her fingers, secondhand pain blossoming in  him as he realized what guilt and sorrow Lucy Lane still  carried with her.  And how utterly alone her sister Lois  had been in life and death.  "You couldn't have known," he  said, his voice abruptly hollow.  "You couldn't have  known."

Lucy shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes before  they escaped down her cheeks.  "It doesn't matter.  She  still died alone."

Clark wanted to tell her that they didn't know that, that  Lois might still be alive somewhere, but deep down he knew  that wasn't likely.  Deep down he knew false hope was not  what Lucy needed right now.  "I'm sorry," he said  sincerely.  "I wish I could have stopped it from  happening."

Lucy shook her head more vehemently.  "It doesn't matter  now," she said resolutely.  "What matters now is that the--  " She struggled for a moment with her language. "--the  people who did this to her are stopped."

Clark nodded.  "And that's what I want.  But I need your  help.  Is there anything you can tell me, anything at all,  that the cops and the FBI might not have known about?   Something you might have forgotten?"

Lucy shook her head.  "I told them everything I knew.  Can  you get the files from them?"

Clark shook his head in frustration.  "I have some contacts  high-up in the bureau, but they're all out of the office  for the weekend.  I'll try to talk to them tomorrow and see  if there's something they can do for me.  But until then  you'll have to tell me everything yourself."

Lucy nodded.  "I can do that," she agreed, "but maybe it  would be better to do it at my apartment.  And I guess you  could look at Lois's old notebooks and things.  They  probably won't tell you anything; the FBI went over them  all with a fine-toothed comb and they never found anything  worthwhile.  But you can look, if you want."

At that moment, their waitress returned with their orders.   Clark nodded politely at her, then turned his attention  back to Lucy.  "That would be great.  I'm not sure I'll see  anything the FBI didn't see the first time around, but it's  certainly worth a shot.  I've arranged to get the backup of  her work computer, too.  Did she have a home computer that  might have any information on it?"

Lucy shook her head.  "She had a laptop, but she took it  with her to the Congo, so we don't know what happened to  it."

Clark frowned.  He had a feeling that the laptop would have  had Lois's most up-to-date notes on it, but there was  nothing he could do about it.  He'd have to make do with  what he had, though he wasn't sure he would find any leads  the FBI hadn't already followed four years ago.  And even  if he did, four years was a long time; surely the trail was  cold by now.  He tried to quash those feelings of  discouragement, but he wasn't entirely successful.

"Well, that sounds like a good start," he said, his voice  sounding far more optimistic than he felt.  "We can finish  lunch here, and then head over to your apartment to look at  Lois's notes.  And then we'll just have to see where we can  go from there."  He smiled a little.  "In the meantime, why  don't you tell me about your sister?"

She looked up from her food, which she'd been absently  picking at.  "You want to know about Lois?  Why?"

Clark shrugged.  "She sounds like someone I'd have liked to  know.  And she was the best reporter the Planet's ever  seen."

Lucy looked surprised at that, but she didn't deny the  sentiment.  "Yes, she certainly was.  Okay, I'll tell you  about her.  But in return, you have to tell me about  yourself."

Now it was Clark's turn to be surprised.  "Why me?"

Lucy smiled back, traces of both sadness and amusement in  her eyes.  "You sound like someone she'd have liked to  know.  And you're the best superhero the planet's ever  seen."

He laughed in spite of himself, then nodded his agreement.   "Okay," he said, his smile growing.  "I'll tell you about  myself, and you can tell me about Lois."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Clark settled the box of books and papers on his coffee  table.  True to her word, Lucy had told him everything she  knew about Lois's disappearance four years ago, and  provided him with all of her sister's old notebooks.  He'd  borrowed those for further study, as he hadn't wanted to  take up Lucy's time while he read through them.

It had been more difficult than he'd expected, however,  just to hear about Lois and the way she lived and died.   Even though he'd never known her, never met her, he felt  connected to her.  Somewhere deep down, he still harbored  the secret thought that she should have been his.

Although, he reflected, she wasn't who he'd dreamed of.   Lucy's story had proven that.  His Lois had grown up in a  dysfunctional family, her mother depressed and apathetic,  her father absent and over-dedicated to his work.  The Lois  of this world had been similarly alone, but for different  reasons.

"Mom and Dad weren't the perfect couple," Lucy had said  later, at the apartment, "but they could have given them a  run for their money.  Daddy was a doctor, one of the best,  and Mother was his assistant.  They spent long hours  together at the lab or the hospital, or just being  together.  That meant me and Lois were home by ourselves  pretty often."

Lucy had smiled sadly, her eyes falling to the couch  cushions at her side, her fingers absently tracing the  patterned fabric.  "She used to try so hard to get their  attention.  She was top of her class, got a full ride to  college...  But it was never quite enough.  I guess they  were just a little bit too wrapped up in their work, and  each other, to see either of us."

He hadn't missed the pain in Lucy's voice either, but it  seemed less dynamic, less bitter.  He wondered if she had  lived in Lois's shadow in all things: feeling the same  emotions, the same pain, to a lesser degree.  The passion  that had driven Lois, the anger and the hurt, were less  volatile in her sister, but he suspected as he watched her  that they were still present and active.  Yes, it was easy  to see they were sisters, both physically and emotionally;  they were painted with the same brush.

He sighed and lifted one of the notebooks off the stack in  the box.  After spending the afternoon reminiscing with  Lucy, he was strangely reluctant to begin reading through  the evidence she'd provided him.  It had been an easy day  for him, very few rescues to perform and no major  emergencies.  But his heart was heavy, and he did not think  he had the strength to read about Lois tonight.

He was also acutely aware, after today's discussion, of how  difficult this investigation was going to be.  He had no  leads yet, and anything he found would be four years old.   He was certain that the FBI would have been very thorough  with the case, and he wasn't sure that he'd be able to find  anything they hadn't seen.  Yesterday, he'd been so  confident about this case; today, he could see how na‹ve  that was.

He'd looked for Lois last year, too.  His world had been in  turmoil, his secret exposed, his emotions raw and chaotic.   Lana had left him; Lois had deserted him.... He'd been hurt  and angry, and self-righteously he'd decided that the Lois  of his own world must belong to him, as the first Lois had  belonged to her own Clark. His search had been clumsy and  disorganized; he'd flown over the whole of the Congo Basin,  scoured the jungles and the villages alike.  He hadn't had  the presence of mind to mount an orderly and systematic  investigation, and Lucy's refusal to talk to him had only  fueled his anger and his impatience.  Instead, he'd been  brash and overconfident, and when he found nothing he was  uncharacteristically frustrated and outraged.  He'd turned  his back on the search and on Lois, and he'd thrust himself  into his work instead, trying to resign himself to his  loneliness...

But still the dreams came, a tiny handful of them scattered  throughout the year, at once a gentle reassurance that she  belonged with him and a harsh reminder that he did not have  her.  As wonderful as the last four nights had been, he  still didn't have her.  And, as wonderful as the last four  nights had been, they also seemed to be proof that he would  never have her.  Even if his search was miraculously  successful, and he found the Lois Lane of this world alive  and unharmed, she wasn't meant for him.  She wasn't who he  wanted anymore.  The woman for him was the woman he dreamed  of, an apparition he could never truly have.

Clark laid the notebook aside, too depressed and exhausted  to read it tonight.  The investigation would have to wait  until tomorrow.  For tonight, he very badly needed to see  Lois.  He rose from the couch and headed for the bedroom.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For a moment she felt suspended between her two realities.   She was aware first of the gentle movement of cool air on  her skin, the humid, saline scent of water and the rhythm  of waves on wood.  Then, so light she half-thought she'd  imagined it, the touch of his hands on her upper arms.   They moved soothingly over her shoulders, then trailed down  to her clasped hands, enfolding them in his own and pulling  her backwards into his embrace.

She felt him lean down to kiss her temple, and opened her  eyes to look up into his smiling face.  Lois smiled back,  shifting to pull his arms closer around her, crossed  beneath her breasts.  "Hi, Clark," she said softly, feeling  a little shy at the easy intimacy between them, but  luxuriating in the closeness of his body, the strength in  his arms around her.

"Hello, Lois," he replied warmly, tightening his arms about  her in a gentle hug.  They stood motionless for a moment,  watching the lazy movements of the tide against the dock  where they stood.  The lights of the city were reflected in  the uneven dark of the water, and she imagined she could  see the pinprick stars echoed there as well.

The stars... A faded memory flashed through her mind, an  image of the two of them floating effortlessly among those  stars, his arms close and tight around her, a scarlet  swathe of silk wrapped about her body to ward off the  chill... She flushed a little, remembering, but she  reminded herself that she would have to ask him about that.

But for right now, it felt too good simply to be with him.   She didn't want to spoil that just yet with questions and  conversation.  Apparently Clark was of the same mind,  because he sighed contentedly and lowered his head to bury  his face in the crown of her head; she could feel his  smile.  She closed her eyes once more, leaning back,  entwining her fingers through his.

There was something very comforting about this relaxed  physical affection between them, and each of them were  pleased at the ease with which it had been achieved.  For  Lois, it simply felt good to be near him, in his arms, warm  and safe and beloved.  And, she was surprised to find, she  was a little relieved that he had not tried to parlay that  innocent contact into something more intimate.  She had  believed him the night before about taking things slowly,  but it was reassuring to have this tangible expression of  his patience.

Clark, for his part, was pleasantly surprised at the sudden  closeness between them, and surprised too at the relief he  felt at it.  She'd told him twice that she loved him, the  night before, but a part of him had been hard-pressed to  fully accept that.  Part of him had still been unsure,  uncertain of her feelings and hesitant to expose his own  any further.  But the comfortable way she melted against  him, the simple pleasure he saw in her face, was reassuring  beyond measure.  He closed his eyes and absorbed the  sensation of her in his arms.

At long last he drew reluctantly away; much as he'd enjoyed  that, he did want a chance to talk to her again tonight.   He'd hate to miss that opportunity when they had only four  nights left.

<Four nights for now,> he reminded himself.  <You'll have  other dreams throughout the year.>  But for some reason, he  felt a disturbing sense of finality about the dreams, as if  four nights might really be all they had.

"So," he said, as much to disturb his train of thought as  to break the silence between them.  "How are you?"

She laughed at his mundane question.  "I'm fine, Clark; how  are you?"

He smiled sheepishly.  "Good.  Did you do anything  interesting today?"

Lois shrugged, stepping forward and out of his embrace to  lead him to the end of the dock.  She was dressed casually,  in shorts and sneakers, and as she spoke she sat down on  the wooden planks and began to pull off her shoes and  socks.  "Nothing much," she said.  "It was a slow day.  I  just did some research for some things I'm working on.  Did  you do anything?"

Clark hesitated; he should have known she would ask if he  brought up the subject.  "I had lunch with Lucy Lane," he  admitted.  He didn't want to talk about the Lois who had  died, but he didn't want to lie, either.

Lois's face registered surprise.  "Really?  There's a Lucy  Lane in your world?"

"Yes.  Well, she said Lucy Lane-Rosen now; she just got  married."

"To... Paul Rosen?  They just got married?  But my Lucy's  been married for two years now.  Three this fall."  She  laughed, folding her socks into her shoes and setting them  aside.  "Lucy always said she'd never be a doctor, but  maybe Daddy'd be satisfied if she married one."

Clark laughed as well, idly wondering if the Lucy of his  own world had ever voiced the same sentiment.

"So why were you having lunch with her?  Should I be  jealous?"

Surprised that she might think he was involved with Lucy--  and guiltily pleased that she might see him as someone to  be jealous over-- he glanced down at her, but found only  good-natured teasing in her eyes.  "Actually, I was talking  to her about her Lois.  I'm trying to figure out what  happened to her," he explained, sitting down beside her to  slip his own casual shoes off.

Lois frowned as she scooted forward on the dock to let her  feet hang over the edge in the water.  "I thought you said  she died."

"She probably did," he affirmed, following her lead and  letting his legs dangle.  "She was investigating a story.   But we never found her body, and no one knows what  happened.  I don't think I can find her, but I might be  able to figure out who killed her."

Lois watched him carefully as he explained, trying to  examine his expression, then slid awkwardly over to sit  closer to him and take his hand.  "You never met her?"

Clark shook his head.  "She died about a year before I came  to the Planet.  I had heard of her, of course-- she had  been at the Planet for a while before I got there.  But she  disappeared in 1993, and I didn't start at the Planet until  '95."

Lois nodded, leaning her head into his shoulder and lacing  her arm low about his waist, then admitted, "I looked up  the Clark Kent of my world today, too."

He pulled back to see her face, surprised.  Even though  he'd known there had been a Lois Lane in his own world, it  had never really occurred to him that there must be a Clark  Kent in hers.  For an instant he wondered if she would be  able to find that Clark, and he would be alone again.

"I didn't find him," she continued, unaware of his anxiety  but soothing it nonetheless.  "I did find Smallville, on a  map."  She shook her head.  "But I couldn't find anything  about the Kent family, or Clark himself.  What does that  mean, do you think?"

Clark shrugged, leaning into her loose embrace.  "I don't  know.  I guess it would be hard to get information about  him, if he's still in Smallville.  But he could be  anywhere.  I mean, I traveled a lot before I came to the  Planet.  Maybe he's still traveling."

"Maybe," she conceded.  "But I don't think so.  I think...  maybe... he's dead, like your Lois.  I think I've always  known that."  She sighed softly, her eyes falling to rest  on the rocking water below them. "It's hard, isn't it?  To  be alone, and to keep dreaming..."  She trailed off, but he  understood.

"Shh," he said softly, pulling his hand from hers so he  could loop his arm about her shoulders.  "It doesn't help  to talk about that.  It only makes us miserable, and I  don't want to spend my time with you feeling miserable."

She looked up at him, smiling a little, and nodded.   "You're right.  I don't want to waste it that way, either."

Clark smiled gently back, his arm tightening a little in a  brief hug.  He wondered what else he could say to change  the subject, but Lois beat him to it.

"Anyway, I researched something else today, too," she said  with a little smile.  "I went through my old dream  journals."

"Yeah?" he asked.  "Did you read anything interesting?"  He  fervently wished he could see those journals, to read her  thoughts and her reactions, to see their dreams-- and  himself-- through her eyes.

She smiled enigmatically.  "Well, actually, I did."

He frowned, a bit puzzled by her answer.  "What was it?"

"Well, all our dreams have been pretty realistic.  I mean,  we dream about Metropolis, or Smallville, or some city  you're traveling to, right?"

Clark thought back.  "Yes," he said slowly.  "I think we  dream about places where one of us is.  We dreamed about  other cities, but only when I was there."

Lois nodded; she hadn't known for sure, as she hadn't known  his schedule, but she had suspected as much.  "And we dream  about realistic events, too," she continued.  "Fairs,  dates, dinner, stuff like that."

Clark nodded, conceding that as well, but he was beginning  to wonder where she was going with all of this.

As if she could read his mind, Lois flashed him a  triumphant smile that told him she knew exactly where she  was going with it.  "But once in a while," she finished  pointedly, "we dream about flying."

She watched his reaction carefully, but he only blinked in  surprise, shook his head, and began to laugh.

"What?" she asked, beginning to feel as if she'd missed  something.

"Nothing," he reassured her, pulling away so he could see  her.  "You're brilliant, you know that?"

"I may have heard it once or twice before," she admitted  with a grin.  "But you still haven't explained the flying."

He sobered somewhat.  "Well, that's sort of a long story."

She frowned a little, hurt by his apparent reluctance to  confide in her.  "Well, Clark, I told you a few 'long  stories' yesterday," she snapped, her tone a bit more  accusatory than she'd intended.

Clark took her hands quickly in his own, his expression  conciliatory.  "I'm going to tell you," he assured her.   "I'll tell you everything, Lois, because that's the kind of  relationship I want.  I'm just trying to organize my  thoughts a little, okay?  It *is* a pretty long-- and  strange-- story.  Just give me a minute to think it  through."

She nodded, mollified by the sincerity in his voice and  eyes, and feeling a little sheepish for jumping on him so  quickly.  He was right-- they both wanted a relationship  based on honesty, as much of a relationship as they could  have this way.  And, she reflected, he probably really  could use the thinking time; this would have to be a very  unusual story indeed.

At last he drew a deep breath.   "Okay," he began.  "Did I  ever tell you I'm adopted?"

She shook her head, surprised at this apparently unrelated  revelation.

He nodded.  "Well, I was.  My parents-- the Kents-- were  never able to have children of their own.  But one night,  on their way home, they saw what looked like a shooting  star.  And when they stopped to check it out, they just  found a-- a little spaceship.  And inside was a baby."

Lois simply stared at him, her eyes wide as she absorbed  that information and its implications.  "They found you in  a *spaceship,* Clark?  Are you kidding?"

He smiled sardonically.  "It's no stranger than two people  meeting only in dreams," he commented.

Lois frowned, though she had to concede that their  situation was pretty difficult to believe, too.  "So...  they found you in this spaceship and they just took you  home, no questions asked?"

Clark shrugged.  "Well, the space program was just starting  to be big news back then.  There were all sorts of  experiments, both in the United States and around the  world.  So they thought I might have been some sort of  experiment or something.  They could see I'd been  abandoned, at any rate.  They weren't going to just leave  me there.  They pretended I was really their son, and they  got me a birth certificate and everything.

"But... as it turns out, I wasn't an experiment," Clark  continued slowly, watching Lois's reactions.  "As I got  older, I started to notice that I wasn't really... like  other kids.  By the time I was ten, I was starting to be  just a little bit faster, a little bit stronger, than  everyone else.  I didn't know what it meant at first, and  that was really scary.  I didn't know if I was an alien, or  a mutant, or what.  And then Mom and Dad..." He paused, his  eyes clouding at the memory.  "It was really hard for a  while there...  But when I was about sixteen I found out.

"See, there was a little glass globe in the spaceship with  me, and when I touched it, it used to glow.  When I was  sixteen, it started to... talk to me, too.  It would sort  of show little movies, messages from my birth parents."

"And they were... from another planet?" Lois asked  hesitantly.  He'd said he wasn't an experiment, and she  couldn't find any other conclusion if he'd been found in a  spaceship.

Clark nodded, his nervousness rising steadily as he watched  her.  "Yeah.  They were from Krypton, they said, but the  planet was dying.  It was going to explode.  They didn't  have time to build a ship to carry the three of us to  safety.  So they just built a little one for me, and they  sent me off to Earth."

Lois blinked, her brain trying to take in all of this new  information.  "So... they sent you away and they all died?   You're the only one who lived?"

"I think so," he confirmed uneasily, unsure what her  reaction meant.  She didn't seem upset or repulsed, but he  could tell she hadn't fully absorbed it all yet.

"So that makes you... a Kryptonian?"

"Yes," he answered, biting his lip.  Would that bother her?   The other Lois had never expressed any revulsion for him  because of his heritage, but he was certainly learning that  each Lois so far had been a very different person.

"And you can fly?"

He relaxed a little.  She'd moved over that topic pretty  easily and gone back to the evidence of his powers.   "Yeah," he admitted with a small smile.  "By the time I was  seventeen or so, I knew I was a lot stronger and faster  than everyone else, and I was starting to be invulnerable.   I don't get sick or hurt.  And when I was eighteen, I  learned to fly."

"Wow..." she said, dropping her gaze to the water again as  she thought it all over.  He was an alien.  He'd come to  Earth in a spaceship.  He was faster and stronger than a  normal person.  And he could fly!

"So you're pretty strong," she repeated.  "How strong,  exactly?  And how fast?"

Clark relaxed a bit more; he suspected it might be fun to  show off for her sometime.  "I've never found anything I  couldn't bend or break.  And I can fly around the world in  just a few minutes."  He was tempted to do something  flashy, like flying off and bringing back a lump of coal to  crush into a diamond, but he didn't want to overwhelm her.   "And I can see through most things," he admitted, deciding  reluctantly that it was best if all the revelations came at  once.  "Everything but lead.  And I can heat things with my  eyes, too."

"Show me," she demanded; there was a hint of challenge in  her voice, but the fascination in her eyes told him she  already believed him.

He focused his eyes on the water below, pointing, and  stared intently until a small patch began to boil and give  off steam.  It was as effective a demonstration as he  needed; Lois gave a small gasp of surprise, and turned to  him with wide eyes.  "You did that?"

He nodded.  She seemed to be taking this all very well  indeed.  Maybe too well?  "Yeah.  Lois, are you-- are you  okay with all of this?"

Lois shrugged, shaking her head in bewilderment.  "What can  I say?  It's a lot to take in," she admitted.  "I mean, a  *lot.*  If ever I was tempted to doubt that you were a real  person, this would be the time to do it.  This is most  definitely more like a dream than reality."

"Lois, no," he protested immediately, reaching out to cup  her face gently in his hands.  "You aren't dreaming this.   It's real; *I'm* real.  You have to believe that."

"I do, Clark," she said, raising one hand to lie over his.   "But you have to admit, this is definitely a strange thing  to learn."

His stomach tightened; her voice was hesitant, unsure.   "But... not *too* strange?" he asked, hope and panic  mingled in his tone.  "I mean, you-- you and I..." He  trailed off, unwilling even to voice his fear that she  might reject him over this.

It took her a moment to work out what was bothering him,  but there was insecurity in his eyes, and a large amount of  fear.  He was afraid?  Afraid that she'd find this too  strange, too much to accept?  She almost laughed at the  thought.  Even if she did, what could she do about it?   Stop caring for him, loving him?  She didn't think so.

And, she realized with some surprise, it *wasn't* too much.   Neither of them had understated; this was indeed a very  unusual story, and a difficult one to believe.  But he had  a point: they were two real people meeting in dreams.   She'd managed to accept that, without proof of any kind;  though it had been a lot to swallow, it had also been the  only conclusion she could draw.  So why should this be any  harder?  His story made sense, and there was certainly more  scientific support for aliens than for a link like theirs.   Despite what she'd said, she still believed that he was  real, their dreams were real.  So if she'd accepted that,  she had some 'proof' that his story was true as well.   She'd seen that water boil; she'd *flown* with him, for  goodness' sake!

And, she admitted with a small smile, she'd love to do that  again sometime.

So was it too much to take in?  Enough so that she wouldn't  want to be with him, given half a chance?

She pressed her hand a bit more firmly against his.  "What,  Clark, so strange that I'm not going to be your friend  anymore, not going to dream with you?"  She smiled gently  to show him how ridiculous that idea was.  "I don't think I  could stop dreaming even if I wanted to."

He relaxed visibly.  "Lois--"

"No, listen, Clark," she interrupted, knowing instinctively  what needed to be said.  She was gradually realizing that  however strong he tried to be, however reassuring, he was  still vulnerable to her.  She'd been so skittish, so afraid  of him, and he'd been so caring and gentle with her.  Now  it was his turn to be exposed, open, and she could see how  desperately afraid he was.  She wondered briefly who had  hurt him in the past, to make him so unsure this way; she'd  have to ask him sometime.  But for now, it was her turn to  be strong, to be caring and protective, to soothe his  vulnerabilities as he had soothed hers.

"I love you," she continued softly.  "I think I always  have.  What kind of love would that be, if I abandoned you  because I found out something I didn't like about your  past, something you had no control over?

"And I don't mean to say that I don't like what I've found  out tonight, either," she said firmly, cutting him off as  he tried to speak once more.  "I don't mean it that way at  all.  Yes, it's a lot to take in at once.  And yes, it's  hard to believe.  But the truth is, I don't mind it at all.   Especially the flying," she added with a teasing smile.   "It's made you who you are today, Clark, and I wouldn't  change that for anything."

She smiled tenderly, turning her head a little to press a  kiss into his palm, and then reached out to cup his cheek  the same way.  "I love you," she said again, and she was  amazed to find how easy it was to say.  "I love you for who  you are, for *what* you are.  For the way you've been so  gentle with me, and the way you make me feel about myself.   Beautiful, and desirable, and wanted.  I want you to feel  that way.  I want to make you feel that way."

He had closed his eyes for a moment as if to savor her  words, leaning into her hand.  When he opened them again,  she was shocked by the depth of emotion there, the love and  the amazement, and the huge weight of relief overshadowing  them both.  "Lois," he whispered fervently, "you *do* make  me feel those things.  More than anyone ever has."  His  hand shifted on her cheek, sliding deeper into her hair and  tilting her face up to his.  "I love you so much."  His  eyes met hers for a long, warm moment, and then he leaned  down to kiss her.

They were both acutely aware, as he pressed his lips gently  to hers, that this was in a way their first kiss, the first  since they had discovered what was happening between them.   So this first caress was shy, a sweet and simple touch  meant to reassure and soothe.  Clark let his fingers burrow  deeper into the silken hair at the nape of her neck, his  mouth moving softly, slowly on hers, undemanding and  unhurried.

He pulled away after a moment, a little nervous about the  liberty he'd taken.  He'd promised not to push her, not to  move too fast.  But he honestly didn't think he could have  resisted kissing her at that moment.  Her words had touched  him deeply, had eased fears he could not even have  articulated to her.  He'd felt an immediate and essential  need to show her what she meant to him.

"Mmm," she sighed as he retreated, her eyes still closed, a  tiny smile on her lips.  He could tell pretty clearly by  her expression that she wasn't upset or angry with him,  but, as if to reassure him of that, her own fingers curled  in his hair to guide his mouth back to hers.

He smiled against her lips, kissing her a little less  guardedly now.  Their twisted position was awkward, seated  side by side as they were, but he gently eased his arms  around her and held her as close as he could.  He could  hear the rapid beating of her heart, feel the flutter of it  against his chest, and he tightened his arms around her,  needing to feel it mingle with the rhythm of his own.   Cautiously, he eased them into the air and floated them  back from the edge of the dock, settling them once again on  dry ground and pulling her against him.  She made a tiny  sound of contentment, opening her mouth under the gentle  pressure of his.

They held that way for several pleasurable moments,  unguarded and unafraid, exploring gently with hands and  lips, patiently relearning what it meant to be close this  way, never pushing too hard to take their kisses any  further.  At long last Lois pulled back and tucked her face  into his shoulder, feeling the hurried cadence of her  breathing slow, letting the liquid desire rising in her ebb  and drain away.  Clark clasped one large hand against her  hair, his other arm still wrapped about her waist, and then  shifted to lift her fully into his lap.  She looped her  legs sideways over his, her body curled against his chest,  and he folded his arms about her.

"This is nice," she murmured, moving to circle her own arms  about his waist and burrowing deeper into him.  "Wish we  could stay this way forever."

He nodded, dropping his head to lay his cheek against her  forehead.  "Me, too."

He felt her sigh.  "It's hard, isn't it?" she asked, for  the second time that night.  "To be so alone..."

"Shh," he soothed her again.  "Shh, it's okay."

She shook her head.  "No, Clark, it isn't okay," she said  softly.  "It just can't be changed, that's all."

He frowned, drawing a deep breath against the pain.  "I  know," he said simply, because there was nothing else he  could say.

She shrugged a little, and he could feel the movement of  her shoulders.  "I guess we should be grateful for what we  have...  I mean, I'd give anything to be with you, really  with you.  But at least we have this."  She raised her face  to his, luminous in the darkness, and he smiled sadly down  at her.

"Yes," he agreed wholeheartedly.  "At least we have this."   He lowered his mouth to hers again to drop a kiss there,  and then another...

Lois pulled away suddenly, her eyes snapping open.  "What's  that?"

Clark frowned.  "What?"

She tilted her head, listening.  "Don't you hear it?"   Clark shook his head, but she was adamant.  "It sounds  like... a bell.  Or an alarm..."

And then she was fading in his arms, the stars winking out  one by one above them, and their world receded into  darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She awoke abruptly to the insistent ringing of her  telephone.  Cursing at the interruption of her dream, she  flung an arm out and fumbled about her nightstand until she  found the offending object.

"Lois Lane," she mumbled into the mouthpiece, glancing  absently at the clock.  1:27 a.m.

"Miss Lane?" came the agitated response.  "I'm so sorry to  wake you up like this..."

Her sleep-fogged mind cast about for a name to put to the  voice.  "Gary Keane?  What's going on?"

"Miss Lane, I think you'd better come out to the warehouse  right away," the older man confided urgently.  "There are  men in the loading docks again, and from what I could  see... there's something very strange going on."

Lois had already rolled out of bed, reaching for a pair of  sweatpants.  "Thanks, Gary.  I'll be right there."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CHAPTER SIX

"Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by  unexpected sparks."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 21ST, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 2]

Lois shrank down a little lower, dropping her head back  behind the crate.  The approaching worker took a box from  one of the stacks nearby, and turned to carry it back to  the waiting truck.  That had been far too close; she  wondered if the lack of sleep was making her careless, or  if it was simply the irritation at being interrupted during  a perfectly good dream with Clark.

She shook her head wryly.  Why didn't criminals ever  operate in the daytime?  Gary's call couldn't have come at  a worse time; things had just been getting good in her  dream!  Clark had kissed her, their first kiss since they'd  discovered the truth about their bond.  He'd been gentle at  first, hesitant, and she'd had to reassure him that she  wanted that kiss as much as he did.  She wanted a chance to  properly study the sensation that rushed up inside her when  his lips closed over hers, the incredible, sweeping heat of  the touch, and she'd pulled him back to her immediately.   She'd never imagined a single kiss could spread through her  entire body that way, warm and liquid and viscous...   Absently, her fingers rose to touch her lips, remembering.   If they hadn't been interrupted, who knew what might have  happened?  The thought made her blush, but she couldn't  pretend that she would have resisted.  Frightening as the  thought was, part of her wanted it to happen.

But thinking about *that* was likely to get her killed just  now, and she shook her head to clear it.  She tried to  focus her attention on the scene before her, but watching  men move boxes wasn't very interesting.

One man did catch her eye, though.  A rather stern, uneasy  David Campbell.

"That's why I called you," Gary had explained, meeting her  at the side door and hurrying her inside.  He only had a  few moments left on his break, but he wanted to show her  where the men were working.

"Campbell's a daytime supervisor.  He's never here at  night.  And he only oversees the loading of shipments when  they're extremely valuable or important.  According to the  labels on those crates, that's just some of the more casual  furniture.  There's no reason for Campbell to be watching  over them like a hawk."

Lois had nodded her understanding.  "So maybe there's  something else in those crates than just furniture." She  paused, biting her lip as she considered her options.  "I'm  going to try to find out.  You'd better get back to your  rounds, though, or the guard in the control room will  notice you're not on any of the monitors."

Gary had been unhappy about leaving her there to  investigate alone, but they both knew it was important that  he not call attention to himself by neglecting his duties.   So he had reluctantly gone on his way, and Lois had worked  her way carefully around the large arc of light spilling  across the loading dock, taking care to stay behind the  stacks of boxes and out of the sight of any of the still- functional cameras nearby.  She watched the pattern of men  moving across the floor, looking for an opening she could  exploit.  At last one of them took a short break to get a  drink of water, and the others joined him eagerly.   Campbell looked on disapprovingly, but Lois supposed he  couldn't deny them a drink.

Moving quickly, she slipped between the piles of boxes and  swung herself up into the open loading door of the truck.   She was careful not to make too much noise as the interior  of the truck would probably cast echoes, but she doubted  anyone would hear her over the men talking loudly in the  docking bay.  Once inside, she managed to shift a few of  the stacks aside and crouch down between them.

Painstakingly, she worked her way on hands and knees  backward through the interior.  The noise from outside the  truck faded the farther back she went, and she assumed the  effect worked both ways.  When she thought she had gone far  enough, she stopped and fumbled in her pocket for her  pocketknife.  The boxes surrounding her were crude wooden  crates, labels glued messily on the sides, and they were  held together by sturdy nails.  She eased the blade into  the seam along the edge of the nearest box and rocked it  gently back and forth, testing the strength of the nails.   It would be difficult to get the entire lid off the box,  but maybe she could pry off one of the planks along the top  and at least get a look inside.

Outside, the men had reluctantly ended their break and  started loading the truck once more.  Lois was careful to  stay behind the box as she worked, out of sight of the  workers.  So engrossed was she in her efforts that she  failed to note that the truck was nearly full.  She didn't  realize what had happened until the last worker had jumped  quickly onto the back of the truck, grasped the handle of  the door, and sealed her in the darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Gary Keane cursed under his breath.  Hadn't she been paying  attention at all?

He'd been careful to keep up the appearance of his route,  but he hadn't felt very good about leaving the reporter  alone.  Whatever Sam had seen had been enough to get him  killed.  He liked this young reporter of Perry's; he didn't  want the same thing to happen to her.

To that end, he'd cautiously modified his route; taking  care to make sure he showed up on the security cameras so  that Phil in the control room would see him, he slowed his  steps when he passed within sight of the occupied loading  dock and hurried quickly through the other areas of the  warehouse.

So he'd seen Lois climb into the truck, though he supposed  he'd only noticed because he knew what to look for.  With  her dark clothing and hair, she blended easily into the  shadows, and she had waited for a perfect opportunity.   Apparently no one else had seen her, and Gary was reassured  by that fact.  If she could get in without being noticed,  surely she'd get back out again.

Apparently his trust in her abilities had been misplaced,  because by the next time he'd come around, they were  closing up the back end of the truck.  He scanned the area,  a sinking feeling in his chest.  He knew she could be  hiding very well, but somehow he doubted it.  Somehow he  knew she was still inside, waiting to be taken away.

He slowed down, trying to give himself as much time as  possible to consider his options.  He wasn't sure where  this shipment was going, but the trucking company was a  local one, so he doubted it was going out of the city.   Could he follow it, and try to rescue her somehow?  He  shook his head ruefully; he was getting too old for games  like this.

He was approaching Campbell now; he knew it was risky to  dawdle at all.  If the younger man noticed him, and  recognized him from the fuse incident, Gary would lose his  job.  If Campbell was particularly perceptive, he would  lose more than that.

But as he walked as quietly as he could behind him,  something caught Gary's attention. Campbell stood beside a  stack of boxes, one hand resting absently on the top, a  sheaf of papers scattered beneath his fingers.  Gary  couldn't be sure, but he suspected those were receipts that  would accompany the truck to its destination, to be signed  by whoever received the shipment and returned to New Eden  for verification.

An idea struck him, and he stopped walking for a moment,  thinking it through.  He reached into his pocket, fishing  for something small and hard, and found a few coins.   Selecting the largest one, he circled until he knew he was  out of Campbell's line of sight.   Gary backed into the  shadows and flung the coin as hard as he could into the  darkness to one side of the truck.  It landed with a  satisfying clatter.

"What was that?" one of the men demanded.

Several of them moved swiftly to check out the disturbance,  and Campbell joined them suspiciously.  "Is someone there?"

Walking quickly, Gary hurried to the stack of boxes, took  about half of the sheets there, and retreated into the  darkness.  By the time the men had given up their search,  he was already halfway around the warehouse.  It was  several more minutes until the truck finally left, but the  dock was abandoned by the time Gary returned.  "Miss Lane?"  he called out, just in case, and then repeated the name a  bit louder.  "Are you there?"

There was no answer; it looked as if his suspicion had been  correct.  He reached for his radio and called instead for  the guard in the control room.  "Hello, Phil? Listen, I'm  sorry to do this to you, but can you hold down the fort for  a while?  I've got a problem here in loading dock six...  No, the shipment's gone but it looks like they left behind  some of their receipts.  I'm going to have to drive over  and return them... Yeah, the address on here is somewhere  on the waterfront, so it's not too far.  I'll be back as  soon as I can.  Thanks, Phil, I owe you one."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lois scrubbed a hand across her eyes.  She couldn't believe  this.

It had to be the lack of sleep.  There was no other  explanation for how extraordinarily careless she'd been.   And here she was, sealed inside a moving truck, on her way  to goodness knew where.

She wasn't sure what she would do when they got to wherever  they were going.  She didn't think sneaking out would be  nearly as easy as sneaking in had been; there would be men  coming and going from the truck constantly as it was  unloaded, and she'd be in unfamiliar surroundings.  A  trickle of fear was beginning to make itself known in the  pit of her stomach, and she tried only half-successfully to  quash it.  Worrying would not help her; she needed to keep  a level head if she was going to get out of this in one  piece.

Absently, she kept rocking the knife in the seam of the  crate, thinking wryly that if she were going to risk her  life she'd better at least get some decent evidence out of  the deal.  After several more long moments, she managed to  work her fingers into the crack and pry up the plank.  The  uprooted nails scratched angrily at her skin as she reached  inside the box, but she ignored the pain.

Inside, her fingers met packing foam and cool, smooth  metal; she'd have expected wood or cloth if the boxes  really contained furniture.  It felt far too small to be a  piece of furniture, and it didn't seem to be attached to  the rest of the cargo.  Perhaps the box was full of smaller  items like this.  She mapped out the surface with her  fingertips.  She couldn't encompass it entirely in her  hand, it was long and rather heavy.  She tried to identify  it by touch alone but did not have much luck.  At last she  remembered the tiny penlight on her keyring and reached for  her pocket once more, pulling it out and aiming it at the  crack she'd opened.

With all the stops and starts along the drive, she hadn't  noticed that the truck had stopped moving for good, and the  sudden noise behind her was a scant warning.  She dropped  hastily to the floor, extinguishing her penlight; she  couldn't believe she had once more been too absorbed to  take note of her surroundings.  With one raised hand she  tried to pull the plank back into place on the crate; she  succeeded just as the workers opened the large door behind  her.

Lois listened to the movements of the men outside,  wondering what possible chance she could have to escape  undetected.  The trickle of fear had grown stronger now,  tensing her muscles against her will, and she bit her lip.

From outside there was an abrupt commotion, and she tensed,  wondering if this might be her chance.  She allowed herself  a quick peek over the top of the nearest stack.  It looked  as if most of the men were gone, leaving just two behind to  finish unloading the truck. They were still fairly close to  the truck, but for the moment they were facing away,  talking to a third man.

"Bless you, Gary!" she sighed under her breath, relief and  gratitude flooding her.  She hadn't realized how frightened  she really was until that fear had been assuaged, and the  sudden reprieve left her feeling weak.  Moving as quickly  as she could, she slithered between the piles of boxes and  climbed silently back out of the truck.

She saw Gary's eyes flick over her once, but to his credit  he didn't focus on her or otherwise call attention to her  presence.  "Yeah, I found them on the floor," he was  saying.  "Must have gotten knocked off the stack."

She had only a moment to scan her new surroundings in  search of a hiding place, and she hastily circled the edge  of the garage, dropping behind another stack and watching  the others through the cracks between the boxes.

The other men exchanged glances as she watched.  "Campbell  would have had our necks," one of them admitted, shaking  his head.  "You've really done us a favor, buddy."

"Yeah," the other chimed in.  "We'd have lost our jobs."

<Or worse,> Lois added, wondering just how much these two  knew about the cargo they were moving.

"Can we buy you a drink or something, to say thanks?  We've  got to finish up here, but there's a little place around  the corner, if you want to wait," the first asked, but Gary  shook his head politely.

"I'd love to, but I'm not even supposed to leave the  warehouse this long.  I've got to head back.  It was good  to meet you, though.  Have a good night."  As he turned,  his eyes moved once more to her hiding place, fleetingly,  as if to reassure himself that she was all right now, and  then he headed across the garage to the exit.  Lois  shivered; to all appearances he'd been entirely focused on  the two workers he'd been speaking with, and yet he'd kept  close enough watch on her to find her even now.  She  remembered that he'd been a college classmate of Perry's,  and wondered distractedly what career he had chosen.

She dropped her eyes and focused once more on her  surroundings.  On impulse, she pulled her pocketknife out  once more and sliced the label from one of the newly- unpacked crates; she wasn't sure if it would be useful, but  the more information she could collect, the better.  The  two workers had by now turned back to the truck, and she  crawled cautiously through the haphazard boxes until she  too had made her way to the exit.  She eased the door open,  careful not to let it squeak or make any noise that would  call attention to her presence.  Climbing at last to her  feet, she stepped out into the darkness and closed the door  behind her.  For a moment she simply stood leaning against  it, letting her heartbeat slow down a little.

"Can I offer you a ride, Miss Lane?"

She jumped, her nerves already stretched to breaking, and  then calmed a little as she realized who had spoken.  Gary  Keane was looking up at her anxiously, his little car  waiting at the curb.  She made her way shakily to the  vehicle, surprised at how unsteady she was, weak from  tension and adrenaline.

"I can't even tell you how grateful I am," she said as she  climbed into the passenger seat.  "You could have lost your  job."

"You could have been killed," Gary replied instantly,  putting the car back into gear and pulling away from the  curb.  "That was incredibly dangerous, what you just did."

"I know," she said, trying not to sound like a scolded  child.  "But it was important that I get a look around in  there."

"Well, you be more careful next time," he insisted gruffly.   "I'm getting too old for this sort of thing."  But he  smiled reluctantly at her.  "Can I drop you off at home, or  do you want to go back to New Eden and get your car?"

"I should get my jeep," she answered.  "I wouldn't want it  to be found in the morning.  And I know you took a risk  leaving the warehouse for me, anyway.  I don't want you to  get in any more trouble."

He nodded, turning his eyes back to the road.  "Did you get  any useful info from all that, or did you risk your neck  for nothing?"

Lois smiled a little, pulling the crumpled label out of her  pocket.  "Well, I think this could be useful.  We'll have  to see."  She hadn't looked at it yet, but she didn't have  to.  She knew tonight's raid had been successful anyway.

"Well, good.  If you need anything else, let me know.  But  no more nights like this one!"

She nodded but did not reply, leaning back into the seat  and drawing a deep breath.  She wouldn't tell Gary, not  yet, but she knew what had been in those boxes.  She had  felt the weight of one in her hand, the cold length of it,  and, in the few seconds she'd had with her penlight, she'd  seen them, row after row nestled carefully in the packing  foam.  She didn't know what kind they had been, but there  was no mistaking what they were.

Weapons.  Row after row of shining metal guns.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Lois!  Hey, I got that information you wanted."

She smiled distractedly at him.  "Thanks, Jimmy," she said.   "What'd you find?"

He held up the a stack of pages and read aloud, "Captain  James Tyler, 41, captain of the *Atalan* of Samson  Transatlantic Shipping."  He flipped through them quickly.   "Makes a run to the Middle East once a month and Europe  twice a month.  Registered ports of call Metropolis,  Boston, and Quebec in North America, and London, Paris,  Lisbon, and Rome in Europe.  But it doesn't stop at all of  those every time it goes over; I think its route depends on  what it's carrying.  Oh, and it's registered in Casablanca,  Tunis, and Port Said in the Middle East, and a bunch of  little stops along the west coast of Africa.  It's all in  the file."

Lois frowned.  None of those ports sounded particularly  suspicious to her.  "Well, that's certainly a start," she  said as cheerfully as she could, considering how little  sleep she'd gotten the night before.  She took the sheaf of  papers and settled them on her desk.  "Thanks a lot,  Jimmy."

Lois shifted the pages before her until she found the list  of ports he'd recited.  Inspecting the shipping label  earlier had yielded few clues; the only shipping  information had been a few cryptic codes.  Frowning, she  pulled the wrinkled label from her pocket once more.   Nothing on it seemed to be connected with the ports of call  Jimmy had listed.

New Eden Imports/IE Inc.

Shipment #5664-2337

MET--CAB—MWN

"Hey, Jimmy," she called, halting his retreat.  "Take a  look at this, would you?"

The younger man returned to her desk.  "What is it?"

"It's a shipping label of some sort," she explained.  At  his questioning look, she smiled wryly.  "You don't want to  know how I got it.  But anyway, I'm pretty sure this  shipment or another one like it will be on the *Atalan.*   But I can't figure out what these three letter codes mean."

"Could be some sort of internal designation," he suggested,  frowning.  "Maybe they're supposed to go to another  warehouse, and the company identifies its warehouses that  way?"

She shook her head.  "I thought of that, but New Eden's a  pretty small company.  Their headquarters are here in  Metropolis, and I'm not sure they even have any other  warehouses."

Jimmy tilted his head to one side, squinting at the label.   After a moment he shrugged.  "Could be airport codes, I  guess.  MET, doesn't that stand for Metropolis' airport?"

She looked up at him in surprise.  "You know, you might be  right."  She considered, then shook her head.  "But the  shipments have all gone by boat.  Why would they use  airport codes?"

"Well, maybe they're just using them as a way to identify  the city.  I mean, MET is a lot easier than writing out  'Metropolis.'  So even if they're using the harbor, if the  cities all had airports they could still identify them that  way."

"Hmm..." she said, looking at the list of ports he'd given  her.  "I'll have to look at that.  Thanks, Jimmy, that was  a really good idea."

He smiled at the compliment.  "You're welcome, Lois."

Searching rapidly on the internet, Lois was able to  determine the airport codes for almost all of the ports on  Jimmy's list.  But none of them matched the three on the  label, so she was left with two stops unidentified.   Searching for cities with those codes didn't find anything  either.  Lois wondered if that meant Jimmy's theory was  wrong; maybe they weren't airport codes at all.  Or perhaps  these cities didn't have airports?  If not, what did the  codes stand for?

On the other hand, some of the smaller ports on Jimmy's  list weren't listed in any of the databases she had  searched.  She'd been looking mostly in commercial  directories.  Perhaps her lack of information only meant  that no commercial flights went to those airports.

Guiltily, she resettled the pages back into their file,  opening her mouth to call Jimmy back yet again and ask him  to see what he could find out about the remaining codes.   She was halted by the ringing of her telephone.

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet," she answered, balancing the  phone against her shoulder while she searched for pen and  paper.

"Miss Lane?  This is the Smallville Public Library  calling."

"Oh, yes," she replied.  She'd called the library yesterday  and the librarian had promised to look in their archives  for her.  "Did you find anything?"

"Well, we did find mention of a Clark Kent," the man on the  other end answered hesitantly.  "But I don't think it'll be  of much use to you.  He and his parents were killed in a  car crash in April, 1976, when he was only ten years old.   But that must be the wrong Clark Kent, right?  That can't  be the sort of information you were looking for."

<No, I guess that's not what I was hoping for.>  She forced  her voice to sound professional on the phone.  After all,  she'd half-expected an answer like this.  "No, that's fine.   Could you send me a copy of that article?  Thank you so  much.  You've been a huge help."

The librarian assured her it had been no problem and  promised to fax the article later that afternoon.  Lois  hung up the phone mutely, staring at it for a long moment.   She *had* expected news like this.  She'd always known he  couldn't be hers.  She'd always known she was mourning his  loss.

She hadn't expected it would hurt so badly to hear it  finally confirmed.

Lois closed her eyes and counted to ten, drawing a deep  breath.  When she could trust her voice, she called for  Jimmy once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 21ST, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 1]

Clark made it to the Daily Planet early, his steps light,  his smile brilliant.  After his dream had faded, he had  expected to awaken.  Instead, he had slipped into a deep  and dreamless sleep, and he had awakened this morning  feeling more rested than he had in weeks.  He was certain  the change had little to do with sleep, and everything to  do with Lois.

She knew.  She knew everything about him, and she loved him  just the same.

Clark would never have said that he worried about Lois  accepting him.  To be honest, the thought had never crossed  his mind.  Up until a few days ago it hadn't really been an  issue; he'd thought she was a dream anyway.  So given that  he'd never worried about it, he was totally stunned by the  weight of relief he felt now that she knew.

Then again, he supposed he'd worried enough last night to  last him a lifetime.

But she'd said it didn't matter, and he believed her.   She'd said, in fact, that it was part of him, had made him  who he was, and that she wouldn't change him.  She loved  him, just as and for all he was.  He checked to make sure  his feet were still on the ground.

And then she'd let him kiss her, or she'd kissed him...

They'd kissed plenty of times in the past, both as  teenagers and adults; there had been as many friendly  kisses as passionate ones over the years.  He thought this  was the closest they'd ever come to a mixture of the two.   The passion had been there, certainly, and he wasn't  entirely sure where that embrace would have led them if  they hadn't been interrupted.  But mingled with that heat  had been equal parts of tenderness, reassurance, and  promise.  That kiss had been an affirmation as much as  their words had been, a cementing of the bond between them  and a vow of eternity.

He didn't think he'd ever been so happy in his life.

There was still a disheartening voice in his head, if he  let himself hear it, that reminded him patiently that she  was still only his in a dream world, that he could never be  with her fully.  As he had done throughout the last few  days, he firmly silenced it.  He wanted to enjoy all of  this for a little while longer.  There would be time  enough, in four days, to face reality once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Working from the little information Lucy had been able to  give him, Clark tried to trace Lois's journey from  Metropolis to Africa.  Lucy had given him a date of  departure, April 24th, but she wasn't entirely sure where  Lois had been going, or what airline she'd flown on.

Corrie had been extremely helpful; she called down to  accounting and connected him with someone there who had  access to financial records from that time period.  Andy,  the young accountant, had seemed by turns intimidated by  and excited to work with Clark.  Clark found the young man  a bit overeager and optimistic, but he had to admit he  could use the help.

So with Andy's help Clark found the charges on Lois's  expense account that would have corresponded to the  purchase of her airline tickets.  "See, she was flying  Cirrus Air," Andy pointed to the printed record.  "There's  no flight number listed, but you could probably call Cirrus  and find out which one she was on."

In the end, it was hardly necessary; the FBI records came  by courier at noon.  Clark's contact had enclosed a note  with the folders, wishing him the best of luck with the  case.  Clark wrote a quick thank you and sent it back with  the courier.  Andy reluctantly went back to accounting;  Clark explained gently that the FBI files were classified  and not intended for general consumption.  Andy begged  Clark to keep him posted about the investigation, and the  older man was happy to comply.

Almost hesitantly, Clark opened the file and scanned the  contents at normal speed.  He wasn't entirely sure he  wanted to know what these records said; he didn't want to  know just yet how meager his evidence really was.  So he  gingerly paged through the typewritten notes, taking notes  of his own when he found something particularly useful.

She had indeed been flying Cirrus Air; the FBI had found  her on the passenger list of a flight to Paris.  However,  there had been no return ticket purchased, and the  reservation at a local hotel had been for one night only.   No phone calls had been made to or from her hotel room.   She'd bought breakfast at the hotel restaurant the morning  of the 25th and withdrawn a large amount of cash in local  currency from the expense account.  There were no further  purchases on her account after that; it seemed that after  breakfast she'd promptly disappeared.

So he was at another dead end; he was sure she'd caught  another flight from Paris, but the fact that she hadn't  charged it to her account probably meant she'd been flying  under an assumed name.  So he wasn't sure how to go about  tracing her any further.

The rest of the FBI file concentrated on unsuccessfully  trying to recreate her investigation into the gun- smuggling.  She'd been looking at a company called Intersea  Exports, he read, which had apparently been involved  somehow, but the details of her findings were never  uncovered.  There had been an extensive search through her  hard drive; the more recent of her passworded files had  been cracked and searched.  There were printouts of them  included in the file, so he skimmed through them.  Several  were old drafts of stories, especially large scoops she  hadn't wanted to leave unprotected even on her own  computer.  He blushed when, after confusedly reading a few  paragraphs, he realized one of them was her forgotten  novel.  Feeling a little like a voyeur, he put it quickly  on the bottom of the stack.

But none of the files had contained a rough draft or even  notes for the story on Intersea Exports.  She'd given Perry  a few updates on the status of her investigation, which  Perry had dutifully relayed to the FBI agents, but he  hadn't had any details, and no one had been able to uncover  them.  The editor had been able to name her source, an  employee at Intersea, but the man had been murdered three  days after Lois's disappearance, and without him no one  seemed to be able to find evidence of any wrongdoing on  Intersea's part.  The murder had never been solved, though  police had tentatively linked it with a larger string of  unsolved killings in the area.

He wondered how many flights went through Charles de Gaulle  airport in a day.  And there were a few other airports  relatively nearby; just because Lois had flown into de  Gaulle didn't mean she'd left from the same airport.  In  fact, from what he knew of her, he figured it would be just  like her to switch airports to confuse anyone trying to  follow her.  <It's working, Lois.  You managed to lose both  the FBI and Superman.  I wish you'd been just a little less  careful.>

Clark sat back in his chair, frowning.  He wasn't sure  where to go from here.  The FBI had been very thorough in  their search; he couldn't see any leads they'd neglected to  follow up.  He supposed once he had a copy of the hard  drive backup he'd be able to go through it himself, but he  didn't really think he'd be able to find anything there  either.  He'd tried very hard to be optimistic thus far,  but it was difficult not to get discouraged.

Another thought occurred to him, and he bit his lip,  considering.  He was pretty sure she'd been flying to  someplace in Africa, though he couldn't be entirely certain  she hadn't made more stops along the way.  And he had no  idea what name she might be flying under.  But it was a  starting point, at least.  He wondered if he'd be able to  get a list of passengers leaving de Gaulle for cities in  Africa on the 25th.  He smiled a little, grimly.  Sometimes  there were advantages to having lost his secret identity; a  little Super influence could come in handy now and then.   And he had some contacts in the Paris police force that  might be able to help if the airlines wouldn't cooperate.   In fact, perhaps it would be best simply to start there.

It wouldn't be enough.  Somehow he knew that.  But he  couldn't stop trying now.  Decisively, he reached for the  phone and dialed his friend in Paris.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He settled on the couch, reaching again for the stack of  Lois' belongings.  He already knew that one of her  notebooks was a journal, and while he felt like an intruder  reading through her private thoughts, he didn't know where  else to look for information.  He was sure the FBI would  have already picked through the book, but maybe they had  missed something.  He had to hope they had missed something  *somewhere,* or his search was bound to be over very  quickly.

She had disappeared on the 25th; when would she have  started her investigation?  He flipped a few pages backward  from that date and started there.  He quickly skimmed the  first few entries without any luck, but halfway through the  third he stopped.  Going back to the beginning, he read  through it properly.

April 17, 1993

Not much to report today.  I was pretty exhausted this  morning, and Perry just about bit my head off for being  'distracted' at work.  Made it up to him with an exclusive  interview with the police chief about that last string of  murders.  He had to leave me alone after that, even if I  was distracted.  Anyway, he wants me to meet with some  source of his sometime in the next few days; he won't tell  me what it's about but it sounds like something really big.

Dreamed again last night.  Knew I would.  I tried to stay  awake all night, just to get out of it.  Bless her heart,  Lucy offered to stay up with me.  I think she drifted out  around 2 o'clock, halfway through Dr. Zhivago (she let me  pick the movies).  I think I made it almost all the way to  the end before I dozed off too.

Poor Lucy woke me up again around four thirty.  Said I was  screaming and crying in my sleep.  Dream was same as  always; I'm not going to describe it again.  I've seen it  so many times it's like a movie now, instantly  recognizable.  But it's just a car crash, right?  Why does  it upset me so much?  It's not like I know or recognize any  of those people.  Cried a little anyway.  It hurts, but I  don't understand why.  But, God, does it hurt!  I keep  thinking I'll get used to it, one of these years, but I  never do.

Tried to go back to sleep; ended up watching some stupid  rerun on television.  Lucy tried to get me to talk about  it; I tried to explain to her but I don't really understand  either.  Eventually she went back to bed...

Clark closed the book softly, unable to read any further.   After a long moment he rose from the couch, replaced the  diary on the table, and went to bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He could feel the gentle weight of her in his arms, the  soft strands of her hair pressed into his cheek.  They  weren't quite flying, not really, just drifting aimlessly  through the sky, the wind gusting lazily around them.

"Mmm," he said softly, turning to press a kiss to the crown  of her head.  "I missed you."

She twisted a little in his arms until she could look up at  him.  "Missed you, too," she replied, a tiny smile playing  about her lips.  She strained up and he met her halfway,  kissing her lightly.

The smile bloomed a little brighter when he pulled away,  and she pressed forward once more.  He obliged her and  kissed her several more times, languorously, content just  to hold her and be close to her.  After a time she pulled  back, her sly grin changing to one of satisfaction.  She  laughed a little, splaying her hands across the muscles of  his chest and shoulders.  "This is different," she teased,  twisting slightly in his arms to look over his shoulder at  the city below.

"Different, but good," he replied.  "My two favorite things  in the world."

"What, flying and making out?" she asked archly, raising  one eyebrow and flashing him a clever grin.

"Flying and being with you," he corrected her, his  answering smile a bit sheepish.

"Mmm."  She snuggled in against his chest once more.   "Rapidly becoming *my* two favorite things in the world."

He laughed, tucking his face into the crown of her head  once more.  "I'm glad."

They let themselves float for a few minutes more, silent,  simply soaking up the sensations.  After a moment Clark  lifted his face once more so he could look at her.  "So  what was it last night that woke you up?"

Lois scowled.  "The telephone.  My source was calling me; I  had to go downtown and sneak into a warehouse."

"Nothing too dangerous, I hope?" he asked.

Lois shrugged as nonchalantly as she could, remembering the  long moments she'd spent trapped inside the truck.   "Nothing I couldn't handle.  I *can* take care of myself,  Kent," she assured him, slightly annoyed that he didn't  believe that.  "I've done just fine so far."

His arms tightened about her nonetheless.  "I know, but,  Lois, if something happened to you during the day, I  wouldn't even know.  The time between dreams would just get  longer and longer, day after day and month after month,  until I'd finally have to decide they weren't coming  back..." He trailed off, his voice soft.  "I wouldn't even  know what had happened to you, Lois.  So you have to be  careful, do you understand?  I couldn't go through that.  I  can't lose you."

Lois shook her head gently, her mild irritation melting  away.  She reached up to touch his cheek, tracing the bone  with her fingertips.  "I'm sorry," she whispered.  "I never  thought of that.  But I'm here, Clark, I'm fine.  And I'll  be careful."

Clark turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand.   "I'm sorry," he said, laughing a little.  "I didn't mean to  get so serious.  It's just... when I thought about what my  life would be like, without even being able to dream with  you, I couldn't even imagine it."

She smiled, deliberately trying to lighten the mood.  "It's  flattering, really," she replied, carefully brushing his  hair off his forehead.  "That I mean so much to you that  you can't even imagine life without me."

He shook his head wryly.  "Lois, I don't even want to try."

Lois cocked one eyebrow.  "Well, I should hope not!"

He laughed, and she calmed a little.  She'd been a little  worried that she was losing him to a bad mood; usually, she  supposed, it was his job to keep her spirits up.  It was  nice to see she could return the favor if need be.

"So did you find anything worthwhile, when you broke into  this warehouse?"

She shrugged.  "Nothing I can prove yet.  But I did get  some paperwork; I'm having Jimmy look into it."

Clark frowned.  "Jimmy?  Someone at the office?"

"Yeah, Jimmy Olsen.  He's officially a copy boy, but he  does a lot of research for me," she explained.  "You don't  have a Jimmy Olsen in your world?"

Clark laughed disbelievingly.  "James Olsen, young computer  genius, owns the Daily Planet."

"He *owns* it?  *Jimmy*?  Well, what about Perry?  You have  a Perry White, don't you?"

Clark shook his head.  "Not anymore.  He left the paper to  become mayor of Metropolis.  I assume he's still the  editor, in your world?"

Lois giggled.  "Perry, leave the Planet to be mayor?  No  way."

"He did," Clark assured her.  "Last year.  Won by a  landslide."

"Perry, the mayor," she repeated to herself, shaking her  head incredulously.  "I can't even imagine it."

"We live in very different worlds, I guess."

"Yeah... very different."  She sighed, her gaze falling,  and she was silent for a moment.

He studied her face, trying to discern what was troubling  her.  "What is it?"

Lois shrugged a little, wryly wondering what had happened  to that good mood she'd established a few minutes ago.  "I  told you I'd looked for the Clark Kent of my world," she  began, and he nodded.  Her face was troubled, and  reflexively he tightened his embrace once more.  "I  couldn't find any mention of him anywhere, so I called the  public library in Smallville.  The librarian said he'd look  in the electronic newspaper archives and get back to me."

Clark was fairly certain he knew where this was going, but  he nodded encouragingly.  "And?"

"And he-- he died, Clark!  In a car crash, when he was just  a little kid."

"I know," he admitted softly, dropping his gaze.  "I... I  read about it."

"You what?"

"I'm looking for Lois Lane, remember?  So I talked to Lucy,  and Lucy gave me Lois's old diary."  He paused, reluctant  to explain, as if to speak aloud what he had learned would  make it more real.  "She... she used to dream, too, Lois.   Once a year on the 16th.  Only... she dreamed of a car  crash, not a lover."

"God," Lois said softly, horror in her voice.  "What an  awful thing to imagine.  I mean... I used to dream about  you, and I knew you weren't real.  I thought you were dead.   But I never had to see it happen.  I never had to watch  you-- him-- die."

"I know," he agreed, holding her close.  "I don't know how  she could stand it.  She had to know what it was she was  losing.  Even in our first dream together, I knew you were  someone special to me.  I always knew that."

"We've been thinking of this as some sort of gift, a way  for us to be together in spirit even if we can't be  together for real."  Lois shook her head.  "But for her,  and probably for her Clark, it was a curse."

He nodded, dropping another kiss in her hair and nuzzling  his face into the fragrant mass of it.  He didn't say that  he'd never been sure it wasn't a curse for them, too.  It  wouldn't help to hear that.  He wasn't sure anything could  help.

"So... she was linked to him, the way you and I are  linked," Lois said slowly, thinking out loud.  "And the  16th was the important date, on both sides."

"The day your Clark died, I imagine," he suggested softly.   "You said a car crash, right?"

She looked up at him, surprised.  "Yeah, they were killed  instantly.  He and his parents."

Clark nodded, sighing.  "Yeah.  Like my parents."

Lois gasped, pulling back in his arms in horror.  "Oh,  Clark!  You never said-- I mean, I knew they died... when  you were ten..."  She shook her head as the pieces fell  into place.  "God, Clark, why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged.  "It was a long time ago," he replied after a  moment.  "In the beginning, being with you made me feel  better about it.  You made me feel less alone, I guess.   And then later, I guess I just tried not to think about it  at all.  I wanted it to be a day for you and me, and not a  day that reminded me of them.  Really, it doesn't hurt much  anymore, Lois," he assured her.  <Not half as much as it  hurts to lose you, again and again every year.>

She shook her head, unwilling to accept his easy dismissal.   "I'm so sorry," she said.  "I wish I'd known."

"Hey," he said, jouncing her gently in his arms, trying to  reassure her.  "What would you have done differently?  You  were never insensitive.  You were never inconsiderate.  You  were the most wonderful person I'd ever known, and being  with you made that day worthwhile for me, in a way it  hadn't been for a long time.  So what else do you wish you  had done?"

She smiled softly and stretched up to kiss him again.  "I  love you," she said softly.

He grinned.  "I love you, too."

She settled back against him once more, apparently  satisfied with his explanation.  "Still," she said at last,  "I can't understand why we're all tied to people we can't  have.  I mean, what's the point?"

He looked carefully down at her, but her expression was  more thoughtful than pained.  "I don't know," he answered  honestly.  "I mean, at least you and I made sense of all of  it, and we can spend time together now in a way we couldn't  before.  More... consciously, I guess.  But the two of  them... I imagine they didn't ever get to meet properly.   We were older when we started dreaming.  By the time she  was old enough, he'd have been dead already."

Lois nodded sadly.  "I know.  But the Lois in your world,  she might still be alive.  And if she is, she's tied to  someone who really is dead.  At least we can be together  this way.  She'll never have that.  She'll just keep  dreaming, looking, searching, and being miserable."

Clark shook his head, sighing.  "I don't think so.  I  think... I think she was killed, just as everybody assumes.   I'm trying to find her, but she did such a good job  covering her tracks.  She lost the FBI; how am I supposed  to find her?"

"What leads do you have?"

Clark shrugged.  "I know she was traveling.  I know the  date, and probably where she left from, but she was using  an assumed name and I don't know where she was going.  So I  can get a list of flights leaving that day from that  airport, but that would be thousands of passengers to go  through."

Lois raised an eyebrow speculatively.  "Well, if she's  anything like me...  I always used LL names.   You know,  Linda Lewis or Lucy Layton or something.  That doesn't  narrow it down too much, but it might be a little help."

Clark nodded.  "You're right.  Assuming she's a lot like  you, she probably had the same investigating habits that  you do."

Lois smiled.  "I guess she was the best in your world,  then."

Clark laughed, tightening his arms around her.  "She was,  Lois, she was."

"So what other leads do you have?"

Clark frowned.  "Not much," he said, shaking his head.   "She was very good at hiding her trail.  I assume she kept  all her up-to-date notes on her laptop, but that  disappeared when she did.  So all we have is her computer  at the office."

Lois nodded.  "Well, I never keep anything really important  on the Planet computer.  No stories I haven't broken yet, I  mean.  I'm pretty paranoid, I guess," she admitted,  blushing a little.

"Yes, but you're also the best.  So it works for you."  He  kissed her quickly on the mouth, smiling, but then he  sobered.  "But if something were to happen to you, and you  take your laptop with you everywhere, the FBI would have no  way to track you down.  That's why I can't find her."

Lois smiled enigmatically.  "You'd have to find her  backup."

Clark shook his head.  "She didn't have a backup of her  laptop."

Lois quirked her eyebrow at him once more.  "And you're so  sure of that?  Well, I guess you don't need my help, then."

"Lois!"

"Well, you didn't seem to want to hear what I had to say,"  she replied, mock-offended.  "So I won't tell you where I  hide my backups before I go undercover for an  investigation."

"You make a backup before you go out of town?" Clark asked  incredulously.  If the other Lois had had a similar  practice, and if he could find her hiding place, he might  be able to retrace her steps after all.

Lois grinned.  "Of course I do," she answered smugly.  "I  learned that the hard way.  So once a month, or whenever I  was going undercover, I used to take my laptop to the  computer guys on the third floor and get them to back it up  on CD for me.  Eventually I figured it would be worth it  just to buy a CD-writer myself, and from then on I just  made the backups myself at home."

"And where did you hide them?" Clark asked, nearly holding  his breath.

Lois blushed a little, laughing.  "Well, Lucy was living  with me at the time, but I didn't want her to know what it  was.  And Lucy hated country music.  So I found the case of  a country CD I'd lost, and I used to hide the most recent  backup CD in there because I knew Lucy wouldn't look in  it."

Clark caught her tightly against him, dropping a joyful  kiss on her head.  "Lois, you are amazing," he said,  elated.  "Do you know how much you've helped me?"

She grinned back, reaching up to give him a playful kiss.   "Yeah," she answered immodestly.  "Care to show me a little  appreciation?"

He laughed.  "Absolutely."  He shifted, letting her legs  down gently until she was pressed full length against him,  and lowered his lips to hers.  Simply touching her, it  seemed, was enough to keep her aloft, so he tentatively  loosened his supporting embrace, letting his hands explore  her back and shoulders.  She had splayed her own across his  chest, hungrily outlining the curves of each muscle and  tendon before drifting over his shoulders and into the fine  hair at the nape of his neck.

This embrace was almost playful, as her inviting kiss had  been.  There was passion there, certainly, but there was  more a sense of joy and wonder.  It occurred to him that  they'd both tried to put aside the darker, more  disheartening aspects of their bond that they'd discovered  tonight.  They only had three nights left; he did not want  to spend them feeling guilty for what he had.  Apparently,  neither did she.  He pulled away for a moment, teasing,  dropping kiss after kiss on her lips but never lingering.   She moaned in frustration, tightening her fingers in his  hair and yanking him back to kiss her properly.

"Seriously," he began, though she only allowed him to speak  between kisses, which contradicted his words a little, "do  you... mmm... know how much you... helped me tonight?"

She nodded briefly.  "I know you'll have an easier time  finding your Lois Lane," she said, moving to string  mischievous kisses along his cheekbone.  "I'm glad I could  help."

"Mmm," he answered, tilting his head back as her mouth  moved across his face, his arms tightening around her.  "Me  too."

"I meant to ask you," she said, working her way to his ear,  "what this is you're wearing."

He had to think about it for a long moment, his mind more  occupied on the sensation of her lips on the pulse point in  his jaw, teasing and withdrawing, landing again.  "Oh...  it's the Suit."

"The Suit?" she asked, finally making it back to his lips.

"Yeah," he sighed, fiercely reclaiming her mouth at last.   "I'll tell you about it sometime," he promised, because  already he could feel her growing lighter, fainter in his  embrace.  "Lois... you feel amazing.  You make me feel  amazing."

He could feel her smile against him.  "I'm good at that,"  she answered, teasing again.  "But it's mutual."

He laughed.  "I'm glad."  Closing his eyes, he tried to  lose himself in the feel of her, the feelings she aroused  in him, until the sky went dark around them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CHAPTER SEVEN

"...Your soul, it comes from a place beyond planets, beyond  time, where we . . . where we all come from. And the power  of your love is what brings your souls together, time after  time. You see, that is the one absolute: Wherever she is,  you are."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

FEBRUARY 21, 2042

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 1]

He sighed and set the screen aside at last.  There.  He'd  found her.

What a strange turn of events this was.  He couldn't quite  figure out how it had happened, but the evidence was clear.

He did owe this Clark Kent a favor; the man had helped him  tremendously in the past.  So the obvious thing to do for  him was to find the Lois Lane he'd lost.  It wasn't  difficult to go back and find her.  But watching her  carefully and monitoring the readouts on the handheld  screen of his soul-tracking device, he'd made a surprising  discovery.  She wasn't the one.  This woman, this Lois  Lane, was not meant for this Clark Kent.

Thus began another month's worth of work, tracking Clark's  soul backwards a few generations until he had a lock on the  real soulmate.  Then he'd gone back to Clark's time and  scanned for her.

Nothing.  No matter what year he scanned, he never found  more than the faintest traces of her.  Did that mean this  Clark was destined to be alone, his soulmate lost to him in  this life?  Except that there *were* those faint traces of  her presence, random nights of the year, ghostly echoes  that were not quite physical but definitely real.

So he'd simply picked a date and started watching Clark  through the tracker.  The display on the device allowed him  to watch the younger man as he went about his daily  business, his body always haloed with the vivid nimbus of  his soul.  He'd watched carefully, waiting for the next  manifestation of her.  And after a few days of  surveillance, he found it.

It was late, and Clark was tossing uneasily in his sleep.   Slowly, as he watched, the light of her bloomed into life,  translucent and ephemeral, glowing softly in the darkness  of the bedroom.  She appeared behind Clark, her body tucked  beneath the sheets, still glowing faintly through the  cotton.  Clark seemed to sense her there without waking; at  once he calmed and rolled over to pull that fragile, misty  specter into his arms.

He adjusted a knob on the tracker, and both souls faded  from it, leaving only the physical reality visible.  Clark  Kent lay alone in the bed, arms curled protectively around  empty air.  There was no physical presence there.  But the  signature of that displaced soul was unmistakable, even  without the evidence of Clark's immediate response to her.   No, he admitted to himself as he readjusted the tracker,  there could be no doubt.  This was the one.

Which meant Clark was tied to... a ghost? An angel?  Something darker?  Even as he pondered the implications,  the glow of her presence was waning.  Clark frowned in his  sleep, his arms tightening about her, but she was rapidly  fading away.  Hastily, he adjusted the screen to track her  departure.  The device beeped and informed him that she had  left the dimension entirely.

So, hoping against hope, he began searching other  dimensions at random.  It was fairly easy work, dropping in  and scanning for her, but tedious; there were so many  varying parallel realities.  He didn't think he could  search them all.

But now, now he'd found her at last.  He still wasn't sure  how the soulmates had gotten split up this way.  He  suspected he would never know.  And he had serious concerns  about what he might do to help them.  Originally, he'd  traveled through time as an explorer, a passive observer.   Later, he'd changed things, but only to set right the  events Tempus had altered.  But Lois and Clark's  predicament, their separation, was not the result of any  meddling or mistake.  To help them was to change the  natural order of their worlds, and he wasn't sure the  happiness of two people could justify that.  Who was he to  make such a decision?

On the other hand, perhaps Fate had allowed him to find  her, against the odds, because despite their obstacles she  and Clark were still meant to be together.  Perhaps he was  meant to implement that change.

In that case, there were arrangements to be made, numerous  ones.  He wondered if he could transplant one of them into  the other's world, and if so, which world would be  preferable.  He was familiar enough with Clark's dimension;  he'd have to check into Lois's.

He checked the date he was watching: April 22nd, 1997.  He  adjusted a dial on the tracker, pushing it forward a few  days, intending to track her soul step-by-step through the  next few weeks to get a feel for her lifestyle.  The  tracker hummed for a moment, tracking to her new location,  and then the screen cleared.

What he saw stunned him.

Well, *that* would never do.  He frowned, thinking through  his next move, and then reached for the controls again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 22ND, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 1]

Even as he surfaced slowly from sleep, he was aware that  something was wrong.

He tried to ignore the sensation and concentrated instead  on the fading weight of her in his arms, the memory of her  caress still faintly warm on his skin.  But he was rising  out of the dream, and she was dissolving beneath his hands.   The trickle of sound, overheard from a neighbor's radio,  strengthened into a steady dialogue, and he snapped into  wakefulness.

"...officials are saying it may have registered as high as  an eight on the Richter scale.  Several buildings in  downtown San Francisco are at risk, but the most dangerous  area right now is the Bay Bridge..."

Clark barely took the time to change before he launched  himself out of the window.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was nearly fifteen hours later when he returned,  dejected, bedraggled, and exhausted.  His cape was frayed  and stained, the brilliant blue of the Suit dimmed under a  layer of grime and smoke.  Absently, he stripped out of it,  his body moving mechanically without conscious thought, and  he stumbled into the bathroom.

He turned the water on and stepped into the shower, leaning  against the wall and sighing as the heat of it spread  through his body.   He wasn't cold, really; San Francisco  had been 65 degrees, even in April.  But there was a  weariness in him, desperation and grief combined, and  instinctively he needed the meager comfort the warmth could  provide.  He raised his hands to cover his face, running  his fingers through his hair, and let the water beat down  on the back of his neck.

He should be used to this, shouldn't he?  He'd been  Superman for more than a year now, and he'd been helping  secretly for more than a decade.  He'd seen his share of  disaster and tragedy.  Shouldn't he have built up some  resistance against it by now?  Pulling a battered woman  from the warped wreckage of a car, crushed under twisted  steel girders and broken blocks of concrete-- or worse,  finding a child in the back seat, still strapped into his  mangled car seat-- surely that should not affect him so  strongly by now.

But he could see their faces, painted crisply on his  eyelids, each and every person he'd reached a moment too  late.  They would fade in time, the details of their  appearance and circumstances blurring, but their shadows  stayed clear and strong, and on nights like this they rose  before him like smoky specters.  There could be no  resistance, not really.  Not without the loss of some  fundamental part of himself, the part that made him  Superman in the first place.  He'd told the first Lois that  he didn't know how to be the hero she'd crafted, but it had  been his insecurity and desperation speaking.  The truth  was, he'd always known how to do what was right.  What he  didn't know how to do was fail.  He didn't know how to  admit to himself that there came a time when even a hero  had to walk away.

He shut off the water, feeling no cleaner than he had when  he'd stepped into the shower.  Absently he dried his body,  pulled on some shorts, and wandered into the bedroom.  He  was tired, and he knew he needed rest.  More than that, he  needed reassurance, the simple touch of a hand or an  encouraging embrace, an assertion that life could go on  despite what he'd seen today.  He'd never realized how much  being Superman would cut him off from the rest of the  world, or how much he craved the basic human contact that  was denied him.

He wanted someone simply to hold him, to soothe his pain  and guilt and grief away.  To tell him that he was enough,  that what he did was enough.  There was no one here who  could do that for him.  Climbing into bed, he closed his  eyes and mentally reached out for the only person who  could.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 22ND, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 2]

"Morning, Lois."

Lois blinked out of her daydream.  "Oh, good morning, Cat."

The other woman hopped up onto the corner of the desk,  grinning speculatively.  "You're looking much better," Cat  said.  "More rested.  Is that good news or bad news?"

Lois smiled slyly, remembering Cat's insinuation about the  cause of her sleepless nights.  "It's not what you think,  but it's good news," she answered, folding her arms in smug  satisfaction.  "Very good."

Cat laughed.  "Must be some guy."

Lois didn't even bother to make an excuse.  "He is."

"So do I get to meet him?  Are you bringing him to the  ball?"

"The ball?" Lois repeated, drawing a blank.

"The White Orchid Ball!  It's tonight!  Come on, Lois, even  you can't forget the biggest social event of the season."

Lois shook her head.  "Honestly, it totally slipped my  mind."  <And for good reason, too.>  She had no desire to  spend an evening rubbing elbows with the snobbish elite of  Metropolis, especially not when she could be dreaming with  Clark instead.  But Lex Luthor would expect all the Planet  reporters to be there, and her absence would surely be  noted.  "I don't even have a gown."

Cat made a show of looking her up and down.  "Well, I could  lend you something..."

"Absolutely not!" Lois laughed.  Even as conservative as  Cat had gotten, Lois wasn't going to be borrowing her  clothes anytime soon!  "I'll have to find something."

Cat tilted her head, hesitating, and then said, "I don't  have much to work on today.  Maybe you could convince Perry  to let you leave a few hours early, and we could go  shopping."

Lois frowned.  "Perry'll never go for it.  I'll just have  to go out right after work."

Cat shrugged.  "Well, whatever you think is best..."

Lois abruptly understood what it had cost the other woman  to make such an offer.  Certainly they were friends, of a  sort, but their interaction before had been mostly about  support and comfort.  They hadn't simply spent time  together, the way friends did, since before Anna was born,  and they'd certainly never gone shopping for clothing, as  different as their styles were!

"No, you're right," Lois recanted quickly.  "It's always  best to get someone else's opinion.  And I haven't gone  shopping with a friend in a long time."

Cat smiled, reassured, and inwardly Lois marveled at how  much she had changed, to need that reassurance from Lois  Lane, of all people.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Perry was a bit harder to convince.  "Now, Lois, I wasn't  aware that the Daily Planet was in the habit of giving our  reporters time off for social excursions."

"It's not a 'social excursion,' Perry," she insisted.   "It's an emergency.  You know I've been busy with this New  Eden story all week.  I wouldn't ask if I had an  alternative.  Of course, I could just skip the ball  entirely..."  Perry raised an eyebrow, and she knew he  wasn't falling for that line.  She lowered her voice.  "You  know I haven't been... quite myself lately, Chief.  It  totally slipped my mind."

He frowned, but at last he pointed a finger at her.  "You  can leave at three; will that give you enough time?  But I  want you downtown this morning covering the press  conference at the courthouse, and I want a full update on  this New Eden story first thing in the morning, you hear?"

She smiled, but nodded as coolly as she could.  "I'm on it,  Chief."  Her expression softened for a moment.  "Thanks."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Between writing up the press conference and covering a  minor fire downtown, Lois had no time to even *think* about  New Eden.  <Oh, well.  I'll just have to check with Jimmy  first thing tomorrow, before I see Perry, and find out what  he came up with for those airport codes.>

She met Cat at three, and they set off for Carter's, a  newer boutique on the West Side.  It was apparent  immediately that their styles were clashing, as Cat  selected gown after gown and Lois vetoed them.  After an  hour's searching, they found something they could agree on:  a sleeveless satin gown in midnight blue, modestly but  fashionably cut.  The fabric skimmed lightly over her  shoulders, accentuating the long, slim line of her neck and  slender waist.

"I think this is it," Cat said.  "I'm sure he'd like it,  too."  Lois looked up from her reflection, startled, but  she did not ask who Cat meant.  "You know, I'd really like  to meet him," Cat continued.  "I'll be nice, I promise.   It's just that... Lois, you're so cold to men, to everyone.   I'd like to meet the one that finally got through to you;  he must be a pretty special guy.  And..."  She dropped her  eyes, embarrassed.  "You've been a really good friend to  me.  I'd-- I'd hate to see you hurt.  So maybe I'd like to  make sure I... approve of him.  That he's worthy, you  know?" she finished with a self-conscious laugh.

Lois looked away, embarrassed as well.  "I'm flattered you  care," she said, honestly.  "And you're right, he's pretty  special."  Cat's comments were true; she *was* standoffish  and cold to people, even downright rude at times, and she  was hardest on men who pursued her.  Claude had not been an  unusual case.  Every one of them was measured against Clark  and found wanting.  It was foolish, of course, to judge men  by what was perhaps an impossible standard, especially when  she'd thought him dead or imaginary until a week ago.  But  she knew her feelings, knew who and what she wanted, and  she wasn't willing to settle for less.  "Pretty special,"  she repeated, nodding wistfully to herself.  "I wish you  could meet him, too," she replied, surprised to find she  actually meant it.  Of course, it would be nice to sweep  into the White Orchid Ball on Clark's arm, feeling all the  surprised and jealous eyes turn her way, and knowing  utterly that he was hers.  But beyond showing him off to  Cat and the others, she thought it might be nice to have a  girl-friend to talk with about him, to complain and  celebrate and gossip with.  "But... it's complicated."

Cat nodded, but she didn't seem to take Lois's secrecy as  an insult.  Then she smiled tentatively.  "Well, you could  tell me about him, couldn't you?"

Lois smiled back, thinking quickly.  What harm could there  be in pretending?  "Sure I could."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"So tell me, already."

Lois hesitated, unsure how to begin.  "I've known him all  my life," she started.  "Well, since I was fourteen,  anyway."  There, that much was mostly true.

"First crush, hmm?" Cat asked sympathetically from behind  Lois's chair, where she was carefully combing the last of  the tangles out of Lois's dark hair.  She'd somehow managed  to persuade Lois to get some takeout and go back to her  apartment with her to get ready for the ball.  They picked  up Anna and a pizza on the way and settled themselves in  Cat's bedroom, which was far less risque than Lois had  expected.  Cat had noticed her surprise and winked at her.   "You won't mention this to anyone, will you?  You wouldn't  want to ruin my image."  Lois had sworn herself to secrecy,  reminded faintly of teenage sleepovers or proms, helping  friends with hair and makeup and gossiping.  Still, she  thought as she watched Cat in the mirror, she had to admit  she was enjoying herself.

"Yeah," Lois affirmed, not even aware of the absent note  her voice took on.  "I think I fell in love with him from  the very first night."

Cat hadn't been so unobservant.  "Really," she remarked  dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Lois flashed her a smirk, but she wasn't really annoyed.   "Yes, well, I was young and impressionable.  And he was...  sweet.  Such a gentleman, and so eager to please.  Not that  I could lead him around by the nose," she corrected  herself.  "He was smart, and he knew his own mind.  But...  there was just a sense of kindness about him.  Gentleness.   He was just... sweet," she repeated, coming back to that  same word, still finding it the best descriptor of Clark at  that age.  "Of course, he was gorgeous, too," she admitted  with a smile.  "That didn't hurt."

Cat snorted.  "Never does, does it?"

Lois shook her head reminiscently, her voice going dreamy  again.  "We were both so shy," she marveled.  "So  tentative.  But always deep down I knew I didn't really  need to be so careful with him.  He was always so honest.   Like you could trust him with your soul."

Cat frowned.  "Dangerous ground, there, that kind of  trust."

Belatedly Lois remembered where she was, and her eyes flew  to the framed photograph on the vanity.  The infant smiled  back at her behind the glass, the same infant that was  napping in the adjacent room.  An infant that, for all her  mother's auburn beauty, bore dark eyes and hair more like  those of her father.  "Does it bother-- I mean, you don't  mind me going all mushy on you?" she asked, changing her  words at the last minute.

Cat had clearly followed her gaze, but she averted her eyes  and pretended ignorance, shrugging nonchalantly.  "Nah,"  she replied.  "If you've found a perfect man, that means  there's still hope for the rest of us.  I want to know all  about him, so I know what to look for.  What's his name,  anyway?"

"Clark.  Clark Kent."

Cat nodded, finishing her brushing at last and gathering  the weight of Lois's hair in her hands.  "Up, you think?   Maybe a French knot?"  Lois nodded her approval, and Cat  began carefully arranging the strands as she'd described.   "So you were first crushes.  What happened?"

Lois considered.  "He's not from around here," she answered  at last.  "I met him at summer camp.  So we had nine days  together, and then we had to split up."

"So at the end of camp you went home and pined for him?"

Lois snorted; however close Cat's estimation might be,  she'd never admit it.  "I hardly think 'pined' is the right  word," she replied.  "But I missed him, a lot.  He'd never  even kissed me, but that didn't stop me from wishing he  had, or imagining what that would have been like."  She  laughed, her thoughts turning inward.  "I imagined that  pretty often, actually.  Heck, Clark practically taught me  what a fantasy really was."  Blinking, Lois realized  abruptly what she'd just said, and blushed brilliantly.   Then she looked down and gave a wry laugh.  "I guess  'pined' was the right word after all."

Cat giggled.  "Yeah, it sounds like it."  She patted the  smooth sweep of dark hair and stepped back.  "How's that?"

Lois studied her reflection in the mirror.  "Oh, that's  perfect," she assured her.  Her hair had been carefully  drawn back and up away from her face, with a few spiraling  strands escaping.  She had splurged on a pair of earrings  to go with the dress, and she fumbled to put them in.   "Your turn?" she asked, rising.

Cat hesitated, then nodded and settled herself in the  chair.  Lois had seen Cat's dress for the evening, a daring  scrap of crimson silk, and she rummaged through the hair  supplies in the drawer for something suitable.  At last she  found a few ruby-studded combs.  "So then what?"  Cat  asked, reminding Lois of her unintentional confession.

She blushed, reaching for the hairbrush.  "So I... pined  for him, and he pined for me, I guess.  So the next year we  went to camp again, and we got nine more days together."

"And you got to try out a few of those fantasies in the  flesh?"

Lois tried valiantly not to blush harder, knowing Cat's  choice of words had been deliberate.  "I was only fifteen!"  she protested.  Cat rolled her eyes, and Lois relented.   "Okay, yes, I did get a kiss or two that year."  <Well,  maybe a little more than that,> she admitted to herself.   That first year, there had been no intermittent dreams, and  by the following April she'd been ready to admit that he'd  been a fluke, a figment of her imagination.  After a year's  separation, they'd been desperately glad to see each other  on the sixteenth.

"And then our time was up, and that was that," she  continued, hoping Cat wouldn't press for more detail.  "And  it went on like that for years."

"But you're older now.  You don't need summer camp to see  each other anymore."

"No," Lois admitted.  "But... well, it's complicated."

Cat apparently realized that was as much information as she  was likely to get.  "But he wants to be with you, and you  want to be with him?"

"God, yes."  She shook her head, trying to put words to  what she felt.  "He's amazing, Cat.  Just amazing.  So  gentle, and so kind.  I've never felt for anyone else the  way I feel for him.  And I know he feels the same way for  me."

Cat shook her head, dropping her eyes to the polished top  of the vanity.  "Well," she said softly.  "I hope he does."

There was such wistfulness and bitterness about her, and  Lois knew at once she'd said too much.  She opened her  mouth to reply, but a tentative cry from the other room  interrupted her.  "It's Anna," Cat said, starting to get  up.

"No," Lois said, appalled at her own behavior and needing a  moment to compose herself.  "Let me."  She walked quickly  into the baby's room, where she found Anna whimpering in  her crib.  The baby was startled by the appearance of an  unfamiliar face, but she allowed Lois to pick her up and  awkwardly settle her in her arms.  "Shh-shh," Lois hushed  her.  "We'll go find your mom."  The baby looked  inquisitively at her, and despite her coloring, Lois was  surprised at how much the child resembled her mother.

"Here she is," Lois announced as she returned to the  bedroom, though she wasn't sure if she was speaking to  mother or daughter.  It didn't much matter; neither of them  were paying much attention to her anymore.

Cat accepted the baby eagerly, the traces of pain in her  face instantly gone.  "There's my girl," she said, her  voice bright, and she made soothing noises as the child  cooed back at her.

Lois watched the two of them for a moment, then reached for  the ruby combs, arranging them as artfully as she could in  Cat's pale hair.  It was funny, but she didn't feel so  guilty now about sharing her story.  Cat might not have a  man in her life, but she was not alone, either.   Admittedly, maternity did not seem a likely suit for  Catherine Grant, society columnist.  But Lois had to  concede that it seemed to make her happy, which was more  than could be said for many of the men she dated.

Cat was going to be all right.  In a way, Lois was jealous.   Certainly, Claude had treated her abominably, but she had  her daughter now, a tiny human being that loved her without  question and without reserve.  All Lois had was dreams, and  it looked very much like she would be alone for the rest of  her life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The White Orchid Ball was everything Lois had feared it  would be.  The ballroom was crowded with well-dressed,  arrogant people, dancing and making small talk.  Luthor  himself was the life of the party, drifting from guest to  guest, greeting them all as the most important person in  the room.

"Miss Lane, Miss Grant," he exclaimed when he found them,  only a few moments after they arrived.  "Don't you ladies  look wonderful tonight?  I'm so glad the Planet staff was  able to join me tonight; you know I think of you all as  family."

<I'm sure you do,> Lois thought uncharitably.  <We're like  the backwater relatives you pretend not to know.>

Luthor took her hand and raised it to his lips.  "A lovely  color for you, Miss Lane, brings out the warmth in your  eyes."  Lois doubted that; Cat's flashy gown had turned out  to be much more flattering, with the sharp scarlet combs in  her hair giving her an almost dangerous look reminiscent of  the Cat Grant of old.  Lois felt rather plain next to her,  with her dark satin and dark hair, but she supposed it  didn't matter.  There was no one here tonight that she  wanted to impress.

Luthor kissed Cat's hand as well, then relinquished her to  her date, who chose that moment to meet them at last.   Peter was a tall, dark-haired man; Cat hung appropriately  on his arm, but neither of them seemed overly amorous.  Cat  had briefly confided the details of their relationship to  Lois: they were friends for now, and went out fairly often,  but things were moving very slowly.  Lois was glad to see  her having fun on a date without any strings attached.  She  remembered what Cat had said about wanting to protect her;  the feeling was unexpectedly mutual.

Fortunately, Peter seemed like a nice enough guy, so Lois  released Cat into his custody.  That left her free to  wander aimlessly through the crowd of people, making idle  chit chat with the other guests.  She spotted Perry and  some of the other Planet staffers across the room, but she  never seemed to be able to meet up with them.  She was  snared time and again in pointless conversations, until she  grew so tired and bored with it all that she retreated to  one side of the ballroom to catch her breath.  She surveyed  the crowd idly, wondering if there were anyone out there  she particularly wanted to avoid, but her eyes stopped on a  man in the far corner.

<Well, isn't *that* interesting!>  Looking distinctly  uncomfortable in his formal attire, David Campbell was  sidling through the crowd, never really stopping to make  conversation.

Lois considered.  Lex Luthor's White Orchid Ball was a  private affair, but at least a hundred of Metropolis's  citizens were invited, and many brought dates or spouses.   It wasn't particularly unlikely, she supposed, that  Campbell might have been invited for some reason, or come  on the arm of some young woman.  On the other hand,  Campbell was only a daytime supervisor at a warehouse.   Admittedly, New Eden seemed to be doing very well for  itself, and many of its wares were upscale, but Lois didn't  think that would elevate Campbell to the elite status of  most of the other invitees.  And he was alone; if he'd come  with a date, wouldn't he still be with her?

No, Lois decided, watching as Campbell finally worked his  way to Luthor's side, there was something else entirely  going on tonight.

Luthor, standing perhaps fifteen feet from where Lois  herself was, turned to acknowledge his guest.  Positioned  as he was, Lois couldn't fully see his expression, but she  imagined that he jumped a little when he recognized  Campbell.  David said something, and Lois strained her  ears, but she couldn't make out the words.  Luthor frowned,  that much Lois could see; then he made a dismissive gesture  and returned his attention to his other companions.

Campbell spoke again, his posture speaking of urgency, and  Luthor looked back at him, frowning once more.  For a  moment Lois thought he would upbraid the other man, but  then he turned back to his friends.  He smiled  apologetically, obviously explaining to them that he'd have  to attend to something, and then led Campbell out of the  ballroom.

Lois watched them ascend, then glanced about; Luthor's  companions seemed to have accepted his departure and had  turned their attention to other things, and no one seemed  to be watching her.  Swiftly, she followed the two men,  hoping no one was paying too much attention.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I told you not to contact me."  Luthor's voice was angry,  accusing.  "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

Lois crouched down beside the heavy door, listening  intently.  "But, Mr. Luthor--" Campbell protested.

"But nothing!  How did you get in here, anyway?"

"I came with a girl.  Mr. Luthor, if you'd just listen to  me--"

"I cannot afford to have associates who can't obey orders.   You replaced Martin; you yourself can be replaced very  easily.  Now get out of here."

"Mr. Luthor, I think we have a leak!"

A pause, and then, "What?"  Now there was a deadly edge to  his tone, and involuntarily Lois shrank back a little from  the door.

In growing alarm, Lois listened as Campbell explained that  a file of invoices-- including the shipping invoices for  several shipments of weapons-- was missing from the office.   He had interviewed several people for the secretary's  position, he said; he could only conclude that one of them  had taken the folder.  No one else had been inside the  office, to his knowledge.

"It could have been the cleaning staff, or even a break- in," Luthor suggested.

"Well, it could have been a break-in, I guess, but I never  saw anything to suggest that.  And I don't have any  cleaning staff for my office."

Luthor sighed heavily.  "Well, you had better hope that  whoever took that file did so by mistake, or that they  don't manage to trace those shipments.  Because it's *you,*  my friend, whose head will roll."

He was not speaking figuratively; the tone of his voice  made that very clear.  Lois backed away from the door.   She'd heard more than enough already, and by the sound of  it, the impromptu meeting was about to disperse.  She did  *not* want to get caught eavesdropping in the hallway.

The knob turned behind her, and she took off running as  quietly as she could back to the ladies' room.  There was  the sound of ripping cloth from behind her, but she didn't  dare to turn around and see what had caused it.  She  pounded into the washroom and shut the door quickly behind  her, leaning back against it and catching her breath.   Mercifully, the room was empty, and when she'd calmed a  little, she sank into one of the upholstered chairs in the  antechamber, trying to analyze what she'd just heard.

She'd never quite liked Lex Luthor, but he was indirectly  her employer, and he was the most generous philanthropist  in the city.  But from what she'd overheard, it sounded as  if all of that was a cover for illegal business dealings,  and somehow she doubted that this was his first shady  endeavor.  Luthor had been a little too comfortable, a  little too controlled to be new to this.  The threat had  been too easily delivered.

So it sounded as if Luthor was the mastermind behind the  smuggling of weapons, and most likely the man to profit the  most by it.  Where were they going, and how could they  possibly be worth enough to justify the trouble?

Lois sighed.  She still had far too many questions, and not  enough answers.  <On the other hand,> she smiled wryly to  herself, <at least the ball wasn't a total waste of time.>   Standing, she reached for the door.  She'd had quite enough  of high society; she was headed home for tonight.  New Eden  could wait until tomorrow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lex Luthor knelt in the hallway, curious, and plucked the  scrap of cloth from the floor.  It had apparently gotten  caught on a protruding nail in the woodwork, and been torn  from someone's dress as she passed.  He rubbed the silk  idly between his fingers, considering.  The only people who  should have been in this hall were Campbell, a few trusted  servants, and himself.  None of whom would have been  wearing blue silk.

One of the guests, then?  Someone who might have been  eavesdropping in the hall?  Luthor frowned, trying to  remember what the most likely suspects had been wearing  tonight.  No, the only lady he remembered in that shade  was...

Luthor straightened abruptly.  "Campbell, you idiot," he  sighed to himself.  "How could you have interviewed the  most famous journalist in Metropolis and not even  recognized her?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It took Clark a long time to fall asleep, still tortured by  the gruesome images he'd seen today.  Sleep did claim him  at last, his tired body overwhelming his mind and pulling  him down into oblivion.  When he opened his eyes again, he  was drifting through the sky, floating listlessly towards  his bedroom window.  He ducked under the sash, landing  carefully and closing the window behind him.

There was a knock at the door almost immediately, and he  moved to answer it.  He opened the door and there she was;  he didn't think he'd ever been so glad to see her.  The  emotion must have been visible on his face, because she  reached for him tentatively, frowning.  "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Lois," he said, drawing her into his arms, unable even  to explain why he was upset.  He held her thus for a long  moment, her head pressed close against his chest and his  cheek resting against her hair.  Her arms stretched around  his waist and she hugged him back, letting him take his  comfort from the closeness of her body, just as he had  comforted her in the past.

At long last he drew a breath and pulled back, smiling a  little at her, his expression sheepish.  "Sorry," he said  softly.  "I-- I just needed that.  It's been a long day."

She pulled away a little further so she could study his  face, her brow still furrowed with a slight frown.  "Are  you all right?  What is it?"

"Earthquake," he said shortly.  "A few hundred people  killed or wounded."

"Oh," she answered, surprised and saddened, but she didn't  really understand what was bothering him.  "When was it?"

"Last night," he replied.  "I should have been there."

"I'm sorry, Clark, I don't understand."

He sighed.  "No, I guess you don't."

For the first time, Lois realized he was wearing the tight  blue suit he'd had on the night before.  She allowed  herself to study it this time; it certainly was a strange  outfit.  Still, she couldn't help but notice *just* how  tightly it fit across his broad shoulders, and filed the  thought and image away for later analysis.  For now, she  needed to figure out what was bothering him, and how she  could help.  "Clark..."

He backed away abruptly, releasing her but catching at her  hands.  "Lois, I know I need to explain.  But..."  He  frowned briefly; he'd just realized what this explanation  would entail, and he wasn't at all sure how she'd take this  new information.  "Well, it's sort of a long story...   Maybe we should sit down," he finished awkwardly, tugging  her down the stairs and to the couch.

They sat, and he turned to face her, still holding her  hands in his lap.  He hesitated a moment, running his  fingers carefully over hers, trying to gather his thoughts  and his courage.  "I told you about my powers," he started  at last.  "How I'm stronger than other people, and faster.   I'm invulnerable, too, to almost everything.  And I can  hear really well, and when people are in trouble, or hurt,  I-- I can hear them calling for help.  When I was younger,  it used to tear me apart, being able to hear them and  knowing I could help them.  I mean, bullets don't hurt me,  fire doesn't hurt me.  I can rescue people in dangerous  places, or prop up collapsing buildings.  And I'm fast,  really fast, so I can be anywhere in the world in a matter  of minutes.  Imagine all the good I could do, the people I  could save!

"But I was always afraid that if I used my powers openly,  I'd never have a normal life."  His face darkened for a  moment, and he gave her a twisted smile. <And I was right.>   He shook his head, and deliberately lightened his tone.   "So anyway, I used to just ignore the calls, only helping  when I thought I could get away with it without being seen.   But I always thought that these powers gave me a lot of  potential to do good in the world, and I hated having to  waste that."

"And that's why you're upset about the earthquake?" Lois  asked, still unsure what he was talking about.  "Because  you could have helped, but you're afraid?"  She had noticed  that he was speaking in the past tense, which implied that  he'd found a solution to his problem, but if that was the  case, she didn't know why he was upset now.

"No," he answered, "I have a way to help now.  And usually,  if there's an emergency in the middle of the night, my  super-hearing activates and I wake up.  But... last  night... We were dreaming, and I didn't wake up."

"So you're feeling guilty?" Lois asked incredulously.   "Clark, even with your powers, you can't do *everything.*   You do what you can.  That has to be enough!"  He looked  unconvinced, and Lois thought fast, trying to find a better  way to get through to him.  "Clark, if you'd had a choice  between the dream and helping with the earthquake, which  would you have chosen?"

He looked up, his expression guarded.  "Lois, I love you,  but..."

"You'd choose the earthquake," she finished promptly,  squeezing his hand to show that she wasn't hurt.  "I know  that.  I wouldn't expect any less of you."  She reached up  and smoothed a hand across his forehead, brushing his hair  back.  "But you didn't have a choice this time.  You didn't  know.  So don't tear yourself up about what you could have  done, because you *couldn't* have done *anything.*  Okay?"

He hesitated, but he had to admit she was right.  He'd  always known that, really.  It was just a question of being  able to accept it. "Okay," he said at last.

"Good," she replied.  She lay her hand against his cheek  and simply looked at him for a moment, searching his eyes,  looking carefully for any lingering guilt or pain.  Finding  none, she gently skimmed her fingers down his neck and  withdrew them.  "So...  Tell me about how you help people.   You said you found a way?"

<Out of the frying pan...> Clark dropped his gaze again.   She'd gotten him past his guilt, but the conversation was  going to get even harder now.  He could tell her about  Superman, of course, but he didn't want to keep anything  from her.  And the story of Superman included the story of  the 'impostor' Lois Lane.

<And Lana,> his conscience reminded him, and he bit his  lip, realizing how much about him she still did not know,  even after all their careful 'getting to know each other.'

"Well," he started hesitantly, unsure even how to begin  this story.  "A year ago, someone came to Metropolis.   Well, actually a few people.  One of them was Tempus, a  politician.  The city wasn't doing too well back then; most  people were carrying guns with them all the time, and  generally they were violent and distrustful of each other.   Tempus promised to change all that.  So he was running for  mayor-- against Perry, you remember I told you Perry's the  mayor now?  Anyway, Tempus claimed that he knew 'the enemy'  was coming, and that he was the only one who could protect  the city from it."

Lois nodded.  She didn't really see where this was going,  but Clark had approached the tale of his alien origins in a  roundabout way as well, so she figured she would hear him  out.  "But he lost, right?  I mean, you said Perry's the  mayor."

"Yes, he lost, but most of the time he was leading the  race.  Then the other two came to Metropolis.  They knew  who I was, and what I could do, and they'd had experience  with Tempus in the past.  They said he was really a  dangerous criminal from... from far away," he edited, not  wanting to explain about alternate universes just yet.   "They said I was the only one who could stop him, and they  showed me how to disguise myself so that I wouldn't be  recognized as Clark Kent."

Lois raised an eyebrow, her gaze running up and down the  spandex costume.  "So they gave you this outfit?"

Clark glanced downward self-consciously, smiling.  "Well,  it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"These people must have been very persuasive."

Clark dropped his gaze, thinking of the other Lois, and  just why he'd been so willing to listen to her.  "Yeah...   So anyway, they helped me make this outfit.  And, when I  was wearing it, I took off my glasses and I styled my hair  differently.  They said that would fool people.  The crest  here is some sort of Kryptonian symbol-- it was on the baby  blanket that came with me to Earth-- but it looks like an  'S,' so they called me 'Superman.'"

"Superman," Lois repeated speculatively.  On the one hand,  it sounded ridiculous, but on the other, considering who he  was and just what he could do, it was unexpectedly fitting.   "And you set an example for your city and your world,  protecting the innocent and helpless?"

He laughed.  "Well, something like that."  Then he sobered.   "But in the end, Tempus's 'enemy' was me.  He tried to kill  me, and he almost succeeded.  And he blew my cover.  So the  whole world knows that Clark Kent can fly."

"Oh, Clark," she exclaimed, raising a hand to touch his  face again.  She could tell from the tone of his voice how  important his 'normal life' had been to him.  "I know that  can't be easy for you.  What happened?"

"Well, Perry and Jimmy let me keep working at the Planet.   When I'm dressed in 'Clark' clothes, I refuse to let the  press talk to me, and they gave up doorstepping my  apartment after a few months.  I can avoid them, if I want  to.  What's harder is dealing with the general public...   Half of them think I'm a freak, and don't want anything to  do with me.  And the other half think I'm a commodity,  something they want to exploit or market.  Women make jokes  about Super-sex, and men make jokes about a man in tights."  He was trying to keep the depression out of his voice, but  at last he shrugged and gave up.  "It's not a life I ever  wanted for myself, and it's cost me just about every close  relationship I ever had."

She squeezed his hand tightly in hers.  "Not mine," she  whispered.  "It hasn't cost you this one, and it won't."

Clark smiled wryly.  <Not yet, maybe.>  But he only said,  "Thank you for that, Lois.  I value you, and my connection  to you, more than anything else.  More than anything I've  ever had."

"So what happened to your friends?  The ones who'd gotten  you into this mess?"

Clark dropped his eyes again, hoping she wouldn't notice.   "They left.  They weren't from around here.  They captured  Tempus, and they took him away."

"After they'd ruined your life?  They just left you?" There  was a note of hostility in her voice now.

"It's not like they meant for it to happen, Lois," he  replied.  "And there was nothing they could do.  Besides,  they didn't force me to become Superman.  They suggested  it, and I went along with it willingly."

"Who were they?  Where were they from?"

"Lois--" he protested.

"No, Clark, it's not right what they did to you.  They  ruined your life, and then they left you to clean up the  mess.  Why didn't you track them down?"

"They were from another dimension, Lois," he blurted.

She stared at him.  "What?"

"They were from another dimension.  Another world."  He  shrugged.  "Like you, I guess.  They knew the Clark Kent  there, and they modeled me as Superman after him."

"Another dimension," she repeated flatly.  "And they just  set out to make you into their hero?  Who were they?  Why'd  you let them do it?"

He laughed a little.  "One of them said he was H. G.  Wells."

Lois frowned.  "The writer?"

"Yeah," Clark affirmed, well aware how ridiculous all this  sounded.  "Apparently he really had a time machine.  And a  machine to change dimensions, too.  He's the one that  brought them here."

Lois bit her lip, considering.  He sounded sincere; she  didn't think he was lying or joking.  Still, there was a  sense of uneasiness about him; he wasn't meeting her gaze,  and his posture was awkward and uncomfortable.  "Who was  the other one?"

He took a deep breath.  "Lois Lane."

She blinked.  "She was... me?  You met me-- her-- and you  never said anything?"  She struggled to process the  information, but deep down she had a feeling that she was  not going to like this part of the story.

"I didn't know she was you," he replied, his face still  downcast.  "I couldn't remember your face, you know.  You  said you always remembered my name; I didn't even know that  much.  I knew her name before I knew yours."

"But you know my name now?"

"And your face, yeah," he admitted.

"When did that change?"

He didn't move, but she thought she could sense him  withdrawing, tensing, anticipating her anger or wrath.   "After she left, I... I dreamed about her.  And I realized  she was you."

She regarded him coolly, pulling her hands from his,  retreating from him.  "So... you met this Lois Lane, and  you could remember *her*, so you decided *I* must be her,  right?  Just like that, suddenly I've got an identity."   She snapped her fingers, rising from the couch to pace back  and forth.  "What if it turned out I *wasn't* Lois Lane?   What if my name was something else entirely?  Would you  have been disappointed?"

"Lois, no," he replied insistently, standing.  He tried to  catch her hands again, but she waved him away.  "I've loved  you forever, Lois.  I only knew her for a few days."

"Long enough for you to decide she must be the soulmate you  were dreaming about," she replied acidly.  "You must have  been busy."

"It wasn't like that," he insisted defensively, starting to  lose his cool.  He knew she had a right to be angry, but  she wasn't looking at things from his point of view.  What  she'd said had hurt, and he found himself reacting angrily  in turn.  "Okay, I liked her," he admitted, frustrated.   "But she was taken, you know.  She had a fiance waiting for  her back in her own world.  And I wasn't exactly free,  either."  Abruptly he stopped, realizing he'd said too  much, but Lois had heard him.

"What?" she asked softly.

"She was engaged," he repeated, sighing, the flash of anger  dissipating as quickly as it had come.  "And... and so was  I."

Lois simply stared at him, obviously waiting for him to  elaborate.  He dropped his eyes to the floor, unsure what  he could say.  At last, Lois pressed, "She was engaged?"

Clark, well aware that she was asking the easy questions  first, awkwardly replied, "Yes.  After we foiled Tempus,  she went home to him."

Lois swallowed.  She knew the answer, but she had to ask.   "Who was he?"

He shrugged dejectedly.  "Her Clark Kent.  Her Superman."

"So you figured, hey, what works for him works for you?   Lois Lanes all around?"  She knew she was being irrational  and unnecessarily cruel, but she couldn't help herself.   Before he could reply, she continued, "And who was *your*  fiancee?"

He frowned.  "Lana Lang.  My... my high school sweetheart."

"Funny," she said, her voice brittle.  "I thought I was  that."

"You were-- you are, Lois," he assured her, wanting to  touch her, but afraid to see her withdraw from him.  "Lana  was just... persuasive."

"Persuasive, hmm?" she repeated, the pain starting to seep  into her voice now.  "You said the same thing about the  other Lois.  Is that the kind of woman you want, Clark?  Is  that the kind of woman I am?  Or wait, let me guess, you  thought *she* was me, too."

Clark closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath.  He couldn't  deny what she'd said, even if she was taking it the wrong  way.

Lois laughed hollowly.  "Gee, Clark, how many names have I  had over the years?  How many faces?"

"That's not fair, Lois--"

"Not fair?" she retorted.  "No, Clark, let me tell you  what's not fair.  Not fair is meeting the perfect guy you  can never have when you're fourteen years old.  Not fair is  judging *every single man* you meet afterwards against his  standard and never finding one that lives up.  Not fair is  being alone night after night, year after year, knowing  that's the way it's going to be for the rest of your life.   Not fair, Clark, is being virgin at twenty-nine years old  except in your head, because you can't even imagine being  that intimate with anyone else.  *Not fair* is saving  yourself and your soul and your body for someone, and not  fair is finding out he isn't who you thought he was."

He stared at her for a long moment, struggling to absorb  what she'd said and wondering how on earth he could make  this right.  "Lois," he said, speaking softly, as if to a  frightened child or a spooked animal.  "Lois, listen to me.   I never, ever meant to mislead you, or to hurt you.  You  have to know that by now, don't you?  That I care for you,  that I'd never hurt you if I could help it?  But look at it  from my point of view.  I didn't know you, didn't know what  you looked like or what your name was.  What could I do,  except hope that someday I'd find you?"  He looked down,  shaking his head slightly.  "So... whenever I met someone,  I always wondered if she could be you.  I *hoped* that she  was.  I didn't want to admit that you were unattainable,  unreachable.  I tried to see you in them.  If that was  wrong, I'm sorry, Lois, but that was all I could do.  I had  to try."

"Oh, I see," she spat acidly, her voice harsh but her eyes  gleaming.  "It's easy to be faithful nine days a year."

He drew back, stung.  "I was never unfaithful.  Never.  I  was always, *always* looking for you.  You have to believe  that."

Lois shook her head, tears finally starting to stream down  her face even as the dream began to fade around them.  "I  don't know what to believe anymore, Clark."

He reached out to brush the tears from her cheek, desperate  now to ease her pain, but she drew back almost frantically,  as if she feared the touch.  "No," she sobbed, stumbling  backwards up the stairs, groping behind her for the  doorknob.  "I can't, Clark, I just can't.  I-- I need time.   I need to be alone, to think, okay?  I'll-- I'll talk to  you tomorrow night."

At last her fingers closed on the handle, and she tore her  eyes away from his stricken face.  Wrenching the door open,  she fled into the hallway and the world went black.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Destiny is something not be to desired and not to be  avoided."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 23RD, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 2]

Her throat was still sore. Irritably, Lois swallowed  another mouthful of her coffee and headed to her desk.

She'd been crying even before she woke up. She found her  pillowcase damp and her cheeks smeared with bitter tears,  her throat tight and swollen, her eyes burning. Her whole  body felt weary and sore, as if she hadn't slept at all.  She wanted to close her eyes on the world and sink back  into sleep, but she'd been afraid to slip back into her  dreams.

God, what a week it had been. She sighed. Had it really  been only a week ago that she'd donned her favorite  nightgown and scooped out a bowl of ice cream, settling  down for another week of bittersweet fantasies? So much had  changed in so short a span of time. They'd been given such  an incredible gift, such an amazing connection.

<Funny,> she thought bitterly, <I don't feel any better for  it.>

It had always been hard. She'd become accustomed to that.  She'd been in love with a man who could never exist for  her. She was used to being alone, had planned for it all  along. What was worse than being alone, she understood now,  was being betrayed. She'd never expected that from Clark.

How many women, she wondered again. How many names had he  given her, substituting one lover for another, looking for  her in the random faces of everyone he met? Had he found  her, she wondered bitterly, in that other Lois's arms, in  Lana's kisses? In a more intimate embrace? She shuddered as  images flashed through her mind, crude images, painful  images. Had he imagined her under him even as he lay  entwined with Lana?

<That's not fair, Lois.>

She winced; that's what he had said, too. And she'd  informed him very clearly what she thought of *that*  excuse.

He was probably right; the way she'd reacted hadn't been  fair to him. But she was feeling hurt and angry; surely it  wasn't unreasonable to expect some time to recover from  that. Except that she couldn't have time alone. In another  twelve hours or so, she'd be dreaming with him again. She'd  never wanted to skip a dream with Clark before, but she  dreaded the thought of seeing him again. She didn't know  how to deal with all of this.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jimmy coming  out of the elevator. She still hadn't found out what  information he might have come up with for her. There would  be time later to think about what to say to Clark; for now,  there was work to be done. Lois swallowed hard, switching  into business-mode and trying to ignore the lingering taste  of tears in her throat.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 23RD, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 1]

Clark stared at the silver disc for a moment before he laid  it in the waiting CD tray. This was sure to be his best  clue; he was suddenly nervous about reading it.

He didn't know why it mattered so much to him; after all,  he had never known this Lois. She should have been only a  little more than any other case he'd investigated. But  somehow he found himself desperate to bring her justice if  nothing else. She wasn't his, had not been intended for  him. But he did have a connection to her, if only because  she *might* have been. He wanted to find her, for that if  nothing else.

On the other hand, things had gone so badly last night,  maybe he was just looking for some small measure of success  in something.

That was a disheartening thought, and with some effort he  forced himself back to the task at hand. Lucy had been  surprised to hear from him again so soon, but she'd been  cooperative, and the backup CD had been just where Lois had  told him it would be. Examining the contents, he could see  it contained copies of all of Lois's notes for her pending  stories. He did a search for 'Intersea' and came up with a  handful of small text files. Opening the first one, he  began to read.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"What have you got for me, Jimmy?"

The copy boy looked up at her approach. "Oh, hi, Lois. I  found these two airport codes you were looking for." He  shuffled through the stack of pages in his arms and  withdrew a single sheet for her.

"Thanks, Jimmy," she said, scanning the sheet but not  recognizing the cities listed there. "Oh, and Jimmy, I want  you to see if Lex Luthor owns any import/export businesses,  even indirectly. I'll see what I can do with these."

The younger man nodded. "Will do."

Lois returned to her desk, absently fingering the sheet  Jimmy had given her. This didn't make any sense; why would  Luthor be sending large shipments of weapons to the middle  of nowhere? And who there could afford to pay him enough to  make it worthwhile?

After half an hour's fruitless searching, she found  something quite interesting indeed.

"Hey, Lois," Jimmy called, passing by on his way to Perry's  office. "You're right, LuthorCorp does have a small but  profitable import/export division. But it goes by a  different name, so most people don't realize Lex owns it."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Intersea Exports," Clark read, "bought out several smaller  companies in the past six months and is probably using them  as a cover-up for the illegal arms traffic.... Civil wars  in various parts of Africa make gun-smuggling a very  profitable endeavor, both in cash and in political  favors.... The most unstable country is the most  profitable...."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"The Democratic Republic of Congo," Lois explained to  Perry, "has been in civil war for almost a decade! Think of  the money to be made selling guns, selling to both sides,  even!"

"What money is there to be made selling guns to rebels in  Africa? Come on, Lois, it wouldn't be worth the effort."

Lois shook her head. "Ordinarily, yes, but the chief export  of the Congo is uncut diamonds! The current government  might be willing to offer an exclusive export contract in  return for extra weapons. And if you were relatively  certain one rebel group would win, you could trade guns for  political promises. You'd have influence when the new  government came to power."

"That sounds a little farfetched to me, Lois--"

"But LuthorCorp has an imports/exports division *and* a  gem-cutting one. Their profits from diamonds and precious  stones have gone through the roof in the last six months,  and no one has any concrete explanation for their sudden  success. I told you what Lex said last night, Perry! He  knows about the guns; he's orchestrated the whole thing!"

"I believe you, honey, but Lex Luthor? He's the most  respected businessman and philanthropist in Metropolis,  maybe in all of America! Not to mention your employer."

"I know what I heard, Chief. I can't prove Lex is involved,  but if we could get David Campbell, he might be willing to  testify against Luthor."

"You aren't a prosecutor, Lois, you're a reporter. And may  I remind you again that as such you're privately employed,  and that Luthor signs your checks?"

"You aren't suggesting I cover up a story just because  Luthor owns the Planet!" Lois protested incredulously.

Perry made a pacifying gesture. "I didn't say that. What I  meant was, you'd better have some very solid proof. So far  I haven't seen anything like that."

"I can get proof!" Lois promised. "Let me go over there,  Chief. Just for a few days. See how the guns are getting  in, maybe try to follow them... I'll be careful," she  added, preempting the look forming on his face. "Come on,  this is a major story. We're talking international  smuggling *and* the downfall of the third-richest man in  the world!"

Perry studied her for a long moment, and then nodded  reluctantly. "Okay. You can put your tickets on your Planet  account."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Clark closed the document he was reading and leaned back in  his chair. It was done. He knew what she'd discovered, who  she'd suspected, where she'd been going. The only thing he  didn't know was what had happened when she got there.

But then, he had a sinking feeling he knew that, too.

She'd planned to use the name Lisa Larrian on her second  plane ticket; double L's, just as Lois had predicted the  other night. A call to Paris and some Super-influence had  confirmed that she'd taken a flight to Brazzaville on the  25th. From there, she'd planned to charter a private jet to  Mwerana. She wanted to visit the customs office, hoping to  figure out who the smugglers' contact was, and then planned  to stay in town for a few days to see if she could find out  just where the guns were going. If she could do the former,  at least she'd have an accomplice and proof of her story;  the latter would be a bonus.

Clark considered. There wasn't anyone looking for her in  Brazzaville, and nothing illegal there that she'd been  investigating. So he thought the chances that some  misfortune had befallen her there were rather slim. It was  much more likely that she'd made it to Mwerana, and been  caught there.

So perhaps a trip to Congo was in order. Clark reached for  the FBI files he'd hidden in his desk drawer, and leafed  through them until he found a snapshot of Lois. Reaching  for his tie, he headed for the elevator.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Mwerana airport consisted of a dusty, unpaved runway  and a ramshackle wooden building that housed the customs  office. Clark x-rayed the building as he descended; inside,  a man sat half-asleep behind the desk, watching some talk  show on a beat-up television monitor. As he dropped lower,  something else caught his eye: a small gun stashed inside  one of the desk drawers.

Landing at last in the dust outside the office, Clark drew  himself up to his full height and adopted his most  intimidating Superman posture. He had no proof, but his  instincts told him this was where the Lois of this world  had been killed. If he were right, his only hope at this  point was to bluff the attendant into giving something  away.

The man scrambled hastily out of his chair when Clark  entered. "Superman! It's an honor... I never expected you  to drop by... Um, what can I do for you, sir?"

"How long have you worked at this office?"

"Five years, Superman, sir."

"Well, then, perhaps you can help me." He offered the man  the photograph he'd brought with him. "I'm looking for a  young woman who disappeared three years ago. Perhaps you  might have seen her."

Even without the benefit of supersenses, the man's sudden  distress was apparent, despite his attempts to hide it. His  hand was slightly shaky as he took the photograph from  Clark, his heartbeat instantly accelerating in panic. "I--  I've never seen her before," he said, his voice carefully  flat. "Are you sure she was coming to Mwerana? We do not  get many visitors here..."

"She wasn't a visitor," Clark interrupted sternly,  injecting his tone with as much authority and strength as  he could muster even as his heart sank in his chest. She  was dead, somehow he knew it, and this man knew what had  happened to her. "She was a reporter. A very good, very  famous reporter who came here investigating a gun-smuggling  ring." He paused, fixing the trembling man with an  unflinching gaze. "I think you did see her. I think you  killed her."

The attendant opened his mouth in protest, but no sound  came from his lips. Clark reached out, very deliberately,  and caught the man by his collar. "She was a friend of  mine, you know," he said, his voice carefully controlled.  "And I would *love* to find the man who's responsible for  her death. I don't like to lose friends. I would love to  let him see just how little I like it. Unless..." he paused  for a moment, "unless he could give me the man who ordered  him to do it."

The man gave him a beseeching look. "Superman, please! I--  I have a wife, a family--"

"Will you help me?" Clark pressed insistently.

The smaller man nodded desperately. "Anything you ask, sir,  anything!"

Clark released him to drop bonelessly into his chair. "Then  tell me. Everything."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lois cast a last glance over the neat contents of the small  suitcase. It was no use; she'd checked it three times  already. Everything was gathered and packed.

Her laptop beeped at her, and she moved to the desk. The  backup disc was finished. It was silly to worry about  hiding it, now that she lived alone, but she went to the  bookcase and secreted it away anyway. Old habits died hard.

Lois shut down the laptop and packed it away, setting the  case on the floor and then closing her suitcase and leaving  them both by the door. She was leaving the apartment at  four-thirty to catch a seven o'clock flight, and she wanted  to be sure everything was ready before she went to bed so  she wouldn't have to rush in the morning.

She was only pretending now, she was well aware. She'd  succeeded all day in immersing herself in her investigation  and her travel plans, successfully distracting herself from  the more painful thoughts of Clark and their argument. But  now there was nothing left to be done, no more packing or  planning to require her attention. It was late; she needed  to go to bed soon if she wanted to get any sleep at all.

For a moment she toyed with the idea of staying up all  night. After all, she could sleep tomorrow on the plane if  she wanted. She could do some more research on the  rebellion in the Congo, or there might be something  relatively palatable on television...

She sighed. She was avoiding the issue again, and that  wasn't going to get her anywhere. She'd never reflected  that, just as they couldn't be together, they couldn't ever  really be apart either. Whether they wanted them or not,  they still got at least nine dreams together each year.  There were only two nights left this time around. As much  as she dreaded seeing Clark again, deep down she did not  want to waste them.

They needed to talk. She hadn't been fair, not really. She  hadn't even let him explain himself. She still believed she  had a right to be hurt, to be angry. At the very least,  he'd hidden things from her. Whether or not his actions  were truly a betrayal of her and their bond was debatable  at best, but the knowledge still cut deeply. Dreaming with  Clark had shaped her life and her personality more than she  cared to admit. It hurt that she apparently hadn't had as  great an impact on his.

But that wasn't fair either, she realized, deliberately  calming her troubled heart. She'd made her own choices; he  had never asked for anything from her. And she hadn't let  him explain anything. Tonight, she would let him tell her  everything, if he would. And when they had everything out  in the open, they could figure out where to go from here.

Abruptly, she remembered her own near-betrayal, so many  years ago, and shuddered. She had to tell him everything,  if that was what she expected from him.

Deep down, part of her realized it was all a moot point.  They were linked. Like it or not, whatever road they chose  from now on, they'd travel it together.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Slowly she opened the door, her eyes flickering briefly up  to his before dropping back to the carpet. "Hi," she said,  awkwardly, and stepped aside to let him in.

"Hi," he replied, coming inside but making no move to go  further into the apartment. Lois closed the door and leaned  back against it; Clark turned to face her and for a long  moment they simply stood staring miserably at each other.

"Come on in," Lois said at last, moving past him into the  living room. She took care not to touch him as she passed,  a fact that Clark was painfully aware of. He followed her  lead, and they spent another uncomfortable moment looking  at each other before Lois finally backed away to sit on the  far corner of the couch.

Clark took the chair nearest her, folding his hands in his  lap. "Lois," he began at last. "I-- I know you're hurt, and  I'm sorry. But I think we both said a lot of things we  didn't mean last night. I got defensive and angry, and I  didn't explain things very well. If you'll let me, I'd like  to fix that. Let me tell you everything. If after that you  still don't want anything to do with me, well, at least  I'll have done everything I could."

Lois raised her eyes to him again, and she ached to see the  pained regret on his face. It would have been easy to let  him take all the blame for their argument, but the  expression in his eyes told her he was hurting as much as  she was. That knowledge gave her the strength to speak up.  "It's not that I don't want anything to do with you,  Clark," she said softly; her voice was rawer than she'd  expected. "I do care for you. I couldn't turn that off in  the space of a day, even if I wanted to. I'm just... hurt,  and confused, and... betrayed, I guess," she admitted, and  Clark flinched at the word. "But I got angry, and I said  things I didn't mean, too. So I think it's a good idea to  talk about this, calmly and carefully. We'll both have a  better understanding of what's ahead for us."

Clark, still stinging, couldn't decide if she sounded  optimistic or not. 'What's ahead' implied there was still a  chance for a future, but it did not sound particularly  likely.

Still, a start was a start, and he manufactured an  encouraging smile for her, as reward for her courage and  her honesty. "Thank you," he replied. "I still want the  same thing I've always wanted: a relationship with you  that's built on trust. I don't know how to show you that,  except to be as honest as I can. But I wouldn't want  anything less for you, for us."

"I know," she said, softly.

"So... where do I begin?" he asked. He'd rehearsed this  story a thousand times today, but now that it came time to  deliver it, he couldn't remember any of his prepared  speech. He decided perhaps it would be best anyway to let  her guide him through it, ask questions. That way, he  reasoned, he'd be sure to cover everything she wanted to  know.

"Start with your fiancee," Lois suggested quietly, her eyes  on the ground once more. "Lana."

Well, that was logical enough, he thought; chronologically,  Lana came before the other Lois. "Lana Lang," he repeated.  "Lana and I grew up in Smallville. She lived next door to  one of my foster homes. She was a couple years younger than  I was, so we weren't really childhood friends, but we got a  little closer in junior high. We started dating when I was  in tenth grade, I think, and we were together off and on  all through high school. Lana was," he hesitated,  considering, "stubborn. She knew what she wanted, and she  went after it. I don't know if I ever really 'wanted' her,  but she had her sights set on me. It was flattering," he  admitted. "She was popular and self-assured, all the things  I couldn't be. And she wanted *me.* So, after a while, I...  I decided she was the best thing I was going to get, and I  asked her to marry me."

Lois didn't let it show, but she was inwardly relieved.  That didn't sound like the passionate affair she'd been  imagining. "But... you didn't marry her," she prompted,  suddenly wary.

"No!" he assured her, horrified that he'd been so unclear.  "God, no, Lois. I'm not married, and I never have been.  She-- well, she knew about my... differences. I told her  about that in college, when things started to get more  serious between us. And she was... tolerant." He chose his  words carefully. "Deep down, I think she wasn't happy with  the idea of marrying a-- an alien. She decided to ignore  that part of me, and she forbade me to use my powers. She  said she was scared that someone would find out, that the  government would take me away to some laboratory. And she  probably *was* scared," he admitted. "But I don't think  that was really her problem. I think deep down she thought  that if she pretended hard enough, I'd turn into a normal  man. I couldn't do that. Superman was a step too far for  her," he finished softly. <Not to mention the other Lois,>  he thought, but he did not say it aloud. He'd come to that  in due time.

To his surprise, she reached out and caught his hand.  "Clark, I'm sorry," she said, unconsciously mimicking what  the other Lois had said at the time.

"It's okay," he assured her. "Really, it's better this  way."

Lois shook her head, though she was surprised at her own  conclusion. "No," she said slowly, as if testing out the  truth of her words. "It isn't, not really. I-- I can't be  with you, I know that. If you can find someone to share  your life with, Clark, I should be happy for you. I don't  want you to be alone. I don't want that for you."

"But that's what you expect for yourself," he replied in a  sudden moment of insight, her words from the night before  replaying in his head. <'Judging *every single man* you  meet afterwards against his standard and never finding one  that lives up.'>

She laughed, bitterly, and he caught the shine of moisture  in her eyes. "We'll talk about me later," she promised,  wiping at her eye with one finger. "For now, let's finish  with you. The other Lois. Tell me about her."

Clark nodded. "Well, what I told you yesterday was true.  Tempus had been campaigning for mayor, but he was really an  escaped convict from Lois's dimension. An old enemy of  Wells's, I think; that's why he came looking for him.  Tempus brought Lois here, but I've never really been sure  why. I mean, I think he had a plan to expose me and thus  elevate himself in public opinion, and Lois played a part  in that, but I'm not sure that was all of it. Unless it was  just to make me miserable," he considered. "Tempus hated  the Clark of the other dimension. Maybe he was using Lois  to hurt both of us."

"By showing you what you couldn't have, and depriving him  of his fiancee," Lois finished. They'd never know if that  was really the reason, but it was probably at least partly  right.

"Yeah," Clark agreed. "So anyway, Lois showed up at the  Planet, and Perry was thrilled to see her. Our Lois was  missing by then, you know, but everyone assumed this was  her. Perry partnered her with me until she could get back  in the swing of things, and she wanted to investigate  Tempus."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Now, even though Wells had told  her they were in a new dimension, when she saw me, I guess  she thought I was... him. She kissed me." He sighed. "It  was only for a split second, and it never happened again.  But I wanted to tell you, because I promised I wouldn't  hide anything from you."

For an instant Lois felt irrationally jealous. Clark had  gotten a kiss from this other version of herself. Even  though it *wasn't* her, and thus the kiss didn't matter  much to Clark, Lois thought she'd give anything for a real,  waking kiss, even from a simulacrum of Clark.

Still, a split-second kiss was not something she felt  inclined to get angry about just now, especially if it had  been a misunderstanding as he had said. And he'd told her  of his own free will; surely that implied she could trust  him about it. "It's okay, Clark," she said after a moment's  consideration. "It wasn't your fault."

He smiled a little, tentatively. "Well, no, but I did want  to tell you."

"I appreciate that," she assured him, squeezing his hand in  hers.

He looked down at her hand in his lap, returning the  caress. "So Lois ran up and kissed me, and Lana wasn't too  happy with that."

"I guess not," Lois replied wryly.

"But Perry introduced Lois and partnered me with her,"  Clark continued. "She cornered me in the conference room,  and told me she knew who I was, what I could do. Wells  backed her up. It was a lot to take in," he conceded. "But  they knew about me. I had to keep an eye on them, at least.  And... I felt a sort of connection with her," he admitted  softly. "I wanted to believe her.

"She wanted me to be Superman. She had a photo of him in  her wallet. I thought she was crazy when I saw it. I mean,  the outfit looked pretty ridiculous. But she... she had a  picture of my-- his-- parents, too. They're still alive  there. And a picture of her with him. From the picture," he  said, his voice faintly wistful, "it was very obvious how  the two of them felt about each other."

Clark sighed, shifting a little on the couch. "Maybe I  thought I could take his place. Subconsciously, I mean. Or  maybe it was just that he seemed so happy. Everything in  his life had fallen perfectly into place. Maybe I thought I  could have that, too. That Superman was the way to get  that. It wasn't," he continued. "It can't bring back my  parents, and it can't give me you." He caught her gaze and  held it for a moment. "But I let her make me Superman,  because, regardless, I knew it was right for me."

Lois could feel the tears burning in her eyes, and angrily  she blinked them away. It wasn't fair. The other Clark Kent  had everything he'd ever wanted: family, love, a way to  help and still lead a normal life. Her own Clark had none  of those things, could never have them, and to make it  worse, he'd had to confront that reality when the other  Lois Lane fluttered briefly through his life. It wasn't  fair at all.

"Lana was furious," Clark continued, his eyes downcast,  oblivious to her response. "I told you what happened with  Tempus; my secret identity was blown. She told me to choose  between Superman and her. And it wasn't really a difficult  choice."

"And Lois?" she asked, gently.

"I asked her to stay," he replied honestly. "I was kidding  myself. I knew she loved him. I just-- I had to try. I'd  never felt that connection before-- not outside of a dream.  I didn't know if I'd ever feel it again."

Lois nodded. It hurt a little, yes, to know that he'd come  so close to replacing her. But deep down she was aware that  Clark was hers, had always been hers. It was she whom he  dreamed with, she whom he had known and loved all his life.  The bond between them could not so easily be replaced. How  could she doubt his dedication to that, and to her? Here he  was, looking so uncertain and desperate, confessing  unbidden and asking her forgiveness for this tiny  transgression. He meant it, she knew that. So it was almost  easy-- almost-- to reach up, touch his cheek, and lean  forward to kiss him gently, briefly. As she pulled back his  arms rose around her to halt her retreat, and he held her  against his chest for a long moment, relieved and grateful.

She tucked her head under his chin, listening to the steady  beat of his heart beneath her. His reaction was reassuring;  if she had been unsure of her decision, the fervency and  joy in his embrace would have laid her doubts to rest.

When he released her, his eyes were shining. She smiled  reassuringly at him. "It's okay, Clark." She was surprised  how easily she could forgive him, but she could. He hadn't  done what he had in malice, or even knowing that she was  real. She couldn't hold that against him.

Clark was acutely aware that he hadn't told her everything  yet, however, and he didn't want to omit anything. So when  he'd composed himself, he started again. "I dreamed about  her that night," he admitted. "I don't think it was you. It  was just a lot of fragments of things, images. Nothing  coherent, except a sense of loss. I could see her, but I  could never reach her or touch her." He dropped his eyes.  "When I woke up, I knew she must be the person I was  looking for. I mean, I'd wondered, since I knew she was  engaged to her Clark. But the dream told me that she was  just another version of you."

"Did you ever see her again?"

"Actually, I did," he said. "Once when her Clark was...  lost. It's a long story. But Tempus was involved, and  Wells, and they needed help. So I went over to their  universe, and I helped them find her husband-- they were  married by then. She was lost without him," he said softly.  The wistfulness was back in his tone, though Lois suspected  he wasn't even aware of it; a longing for someone in his  life that cared for him as much as that Lois had cared for  her Clark.

"What happened?" she asked, when his gaze turned inward and  he seemed to lose himself in his memories.

"She was so afraid, and lonely, and I was lonely and  jealous... I-- we-- I almost kissed her again. We didn't,"  he hastened to continue. "We knew it was wrong. We were  both just so miserable, and it would have been so easy to  pretend. Easy for both of us." He caught her eyes,  wondering if she'd understood what he meant. That he, too,  would have been imagining someone else in his arms. That it  was not only the other Lois who would be pretending. Lois  nodded slightly, and, satisfied, he shrugged guiltily. "I  guess that isn't an excuse, but it's all I can say. Anyway,  we stopped Tempus, and we saved her Clark, and Wells  brought me back home.

"It was so hard, Lois," he said softly. "I'd stepped into  his life so easily, it was hard to abandon it when the time  came. To see her with him, so happy and secure in their  relationship. To see him with his parents. To walk down the  street and never get so much as a backward glance, because  no one knows his identity... it was wonderful and awful all  at the same time." Lois squeezed his hand again, aching to  hear what he had gone through. "I wanted to hate him," he  whispered fiercely. "It wasn't his fault, but he had  *everything* I've ever wanted."

Lois bit her lip, hearing her own thoughts quoted back to  her. "I'm sorry," she said miserably. "I'm so sorry."

Clark raised her hand and kissed her palm, folding her  fingers in as if to seal the warmth of his touch in place.   "But he didn't have this," he replied intensely. "You and  I, we have a connection that they can never have."

Lois shrugged bitterly, her eyes pricking again. "They have  each other, though. They're real."

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. "Yeah," he admitted.  "They are."

Lois pressed herself closer into his side, needing to feel  him warm and firm under her, even if none of it was real.  He wrapped his free arm around her and dropped a kiss into  her hair. They sat thus for several moments, seeking  comfort but finding only a sense of resignation and uneasy  peace.

At last Clark looked down at her. He'd spoken his piece;  now it was her turn. "So you expect to be alone all your  life?" he asked again, gently.

Lois flushed faintly, remembering exactly what she'd said  the night before. Her gaze remained rooted to her hands in  her lap, twisting nervously. "I guess I expect that, yeah.  I mean, you're just a dream in my world. But I-- I love  you. And I can't settle for less than that."

He sighed, frowning. "But that isn't what I want for you,  either, Lois. To be alone, I mean. We both know we can't be  together, not really." He swallowed hard. "Maybe it's time  we accepted that, and stopped torturing ourselves."

She pulled away. "Stop dreaming, you mean," she replied,  incredulous. "Clark, are you crazy? Did you hear me? I said  I love you, and I'm pretty positive that you love me, too.  Why would we want to give that up? Even if we could," she  added. "Which we probably can't, because we don't know how  these dreams work, anyway."

He smiled at her outburst in spite of himself. "Okay," he  soothed. "Okay, you're right, that was a stupid idea."

She flashed him a glare. "Darn right it was. A minute ago  you weren't willing to give this up so you could find  someone else. What makes you think I'd be any more  enthusiastic about the prospect?"

"I'm sorry," he assured her, guiding her back into the  cradle of his shoulder, but there was a shadow in her eyes  that he could not interpret. She was silent for a long  moment. "Lois," he prodded at last. "What is it? You'll  feel better if you tell me. And we agreed to talk this out,  all of it."

"I was fourteen," she said softly. "Barely old enough to be  thinking about boys as anything important. I'd had little  crushes, but nothing serious. Nothing reciprocated. And  then... then came you." She shook her head. "You were  different. You were everything I'd wanted in a boy and  more. You were handsome, you were smart, you were gentle.  You... affected me, in a way I wasn't familiar with. *And*  you liked me back. God, Clark, how was I supposed to resist  that?"

She laughed a little, dryly. "You know, they tell little  girls, growing up, that we shouldn't dream about our knight  in shining armor, because he doesn't exist. But it's what  the world fills our heads with. Our movies, our music, even  our fairy tales. You grow up thinking that, even if knights  in shining armor don't exist as a rule, maybe, just maybe,  one might exist for *you.* That your story might be the  'happily ever after' kind, against the odds." She smiled.  "Well, when I was fourteen, I found mine. His name was  Clark Kent, and he was the most amazing boy-- man-- I'd  ever met. So all I had to do was wait for him to find me."

She curled her fingers around his, the optimistic tone  fading from her voice. "Deep down I always knew you weren't  real. I just... I needed you. I needed that fantasy. And by  the time I learned to *accept* that you weren't real, I'd  already realized it didn't matter. I loved you, and I  couldn't imagine giving you up.

"I always knew your name," she continued, conversationally.  "I know you didn't have that advantage. But it was easy for  me to disqualify men on those grounds alone. I tried to  date, in college and later." Her face darkened as she  remembered. "One year I even tried to banish you," she  confessed in a whisper. "I was angry and hurt. I thought  that if I made-- slept with another man on the 16th, the  dreams would go away."

Clark drew a sharp breath, surprised by how much that  admission could hurt. At once he thought he could  understand the anguish that had been in her voice last  night. He couldn't call it a betrayal, not really, not when  he'd only been a dream. But he thought if there was any way  to sever this link between them, she had certainly just  described it.

"I couldn't do it," she said, her voice at once both dark  and apologetic. "I-- I asked him in, and I let him kiss me.  But all I could think about was you. The way *you'd* have  kissed me, the way it felt to... well, to do that with you.  And I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand to betray you and  I couldn't stand the touch of his hands on me. It felt...  dirty," she admitted. "You and I... we'd never been that  way. And I didn't want that."

Clark tightened his arm around her, as if to ease that long  ago pain. "What happened?"

"He left," she said simply. "Went off to sleep with my best  friend."

"Oh, Lois," he protested.

"It's okay, Clark," she assured him, and he could almost  believe her. "It was a long time ago. It just proved to me  that I'd been right all along-- that the only person right  for me was you."

He had to kiss her again for that, a simple, gentle touch  of gratitude and warmth. "Me too," he admitted. "I mean, I  know you're the one for me, too."

She pulled back to look at him, searching his face, and he  knew with a pang that she was reliving last night's  conversation. But at last she nodded, accepting what he'd  said. His old transgressions could be forgiven, just as he  could forgive her for what she'd confessed tonight. She  pressed forward for another kiss, but there was a sorrow in  her now. He let her, but he broke gently away after a  moment. He took her face lightly in his hands; she tried to  avert her gaze, but he tilted her head until she had to  look at him.

"What is it?" he asked.

She gave a humorless laugh. "The usual, I guess."

He frowned, pulling her close against his side once more.  <Stupid question.> "Are we okay?" he said at last. "I mean,  we're going to get through this?"

Lois shrugged against him, her face downcast so he couldn't  see her expression. "We're not fighting anymore, if that's  what you mean," she said tentatively. "I-- I know I said  some hurtful things yesterday. And you *did* hurt me," she  continued honestly. "But I know it hasn't been easy for  you, either, all these years. And I haven't been perfect."

"Lois, honey--"

"So I'm not mad anymore," she continued, cutting him off.  "We've talked it out, and I believe you've told me the  truth. So we can put that behind us. Whether we're going to  get through this..." she added, wiping moisture from the  corner of her eye before it could spill over, "Well, that's  another story."

Clark sighed. "I'm sorry," he said softly, pulling her in  close against him.

Lois buried her head in the crook of his shoulder, turning  her face into the solid warmth of his chest and closing her  eyes even as the sensation began to fade. "Me, too."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CHAPTER NINE

"Why live life from dream to dream, and dread the day when  dreaming ends?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 24TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 1]

"I'll have your badge for this.  I'll have your head!"  Luthor fumed.

Clark gave a grim smile.  There would be no strings to pull  this time, no palms to grease.  The Congolese officials had  been very accommodating for Superman; the customs officer  was already in the custody of Metropolis Police, along with  David Campbell.  Between the two of them and Lois's notes,  the evidence was overwhelming.  Even now the FBI was  searching the Intersea headquarters and all the smaller  warehouses, including New Eden.  Luthor, however, had been  deemed a flight risk; they'd wanted to get him into custody  before word of the warehouse raids got to him.

Clark's presence at the arrest was not a matter of  courtesy, although the MPD and the FBI had expressed their  gratitude for his assistance.  There had been some concern  that Luthor might become violent or suicidal, so they had  asked Clark to come along as backup.  The fact that he was  the only reporter on the scene was just an afterthought.   He'd brought Sara, a Planet photographer, with him.  She  was busily snapping shots of the irate billionaire being  cuffed and led away. At one moment Lex yanked desperately  at his bonds, making one last-ditch lunge for the balcony.   Clark stepped forward to intercept him, unwilling to let  him escape justice that easily, but his intervention wasn't  necessary.  With a sharp tug, the cop on Luthor's left  pulled him back and pushed him roughly into the elevator.

Clark had watched the proceedings with a grim, detached  sense of satisfaction.  It all seemed rather anti- climactic.  He'd won, hadn't he?  He'd found Lois's killers  and they would be brought to justice.  That was what he'd  wanted, after all, wasn't it?  Looking back, he had the  sick feeling that he was forgetting something crucial.

He shook his head.  Chances were he was just feeling  miserable.  He had reason enough for that today.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Clark?  Are you okay?"

The question, soft as it was, startled him from his  reverie.  He'd been staring blankly at the screen, trying  to focus his thoughts on his report of the arrest, or even  on his upcoming column.  All he could think about was Lois.

He looked up guiltily at his editor.  "Sorry, Corrie.  I  guess I'm just a little preoccupied."

She smiled sympathetically.  "I know it was hard on you,  ending your story this way.  I know it isn't the outcome  you wanted."

He shook his head.  Even if this Lois had not been the one  he wanted, he hadn't wanted to find her dead.  "It's not  what I wanted, no," he admitted with a sigh.  "But what's  bothering me even more is that I feel like I've missed  something.  Some huge missing piece that's staring me in  the face, and I'm just not seeing it."

Corrie picked up his stack of notes from the desk.  "I  don't know, Clark, this case seems pretty open-and-shut to  me.  I mean, I'm sure it was hard to piece it together from  all the old investigations, but with the customs official  admitting to the murder, and the financial gain to be made  from the smuggling all pointing back to Luthor, even  indirectly, I'd say you've put all the pieces together  pretty well."

He shrugged wearily.  "You're probably right.  I guess I'm  just looking for a way to save her."  That wasn't true, he  knew it, but it was an explanation he knew Corrie would  accept.  He'd always known this Lois was dead, but Corrie  seemed to think he'd been infatuated with her.  He didn't  bother to correct the assumption.

She patted his shoulder.  "You can't save everyone,  Superman," she said quietly.  At first he was stung by the  words, but he realized that she was right.  He couldn't do  everything.  No matter who he was, how powerful, he wasn't  *all* powerful.  He couldn't save this Lois, and he  couldn't be with his own.  For a moment he felt so lost and  alone he couldn't breathe.

Drawing a deep breath at last, he manufactured a half-smile  for her.  "I know.  You're right.  I guess it's hard to  accept that sometimes."

She cocked her head, looking at him carefully for a moment.   "You'll be all right, Clark Kent," she said at last.  "I  honestly believe that."  Before he could question her  cryptic comment, she stepped back.  "I'll want that article  on my desk in half an hour, and don't forget you have  another column coming up."

"Yes," he agreed, reluctantly putting away both doubt and  self-pity.  "I'll have it to you right away."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 24TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 2]

Lois settled back in her seat, arranging her laptop bag in  the adjacent chair.  This morning's flight to Paris looked  rather empty; with any luck she wouldn't have a neighbor.   She hated talking to strangers on planes on *good* days.   Today was far from good.

<Stop that!  You're on your way to breaking the biggest  story of the year!  You could get a Kerth for this!  Heck,  a Pulitzer!>

She smiled faintly at her own attempt to distract herself.   It was true; she was close to breaking this one wide open,  she could feel it.  But somehow the warm glow of adrenaline  and excitement that usually accompanied her success wasn't  enough to lift her spirits today.

Things *did* look much better today than they had  yesterday.  Last night's talk with Clark had helped more  than she'd expected.  Sure, there had been some rough  spots, but they'd both been honest, and she liked to think  they were stronger now for having talked things out.

She'd felt almost rested when she got up-- as rested as  could be expected, anyway, after less than six hours of  sleep.  She'd gotten to the airport without any problems,  checked in for her flight, and waited for one of the  airport coffee shops to open.  Lois had been to Congo once  before, in Kinshasa, investigating what had looked like a  drug-smuggling operation but had ultimately been a dead  end.  The only good thing to come of that assignment was  that her passport was still up to date.

The guns, Jimmy had discovered for her, were apparently  being sent by ship to Cabindi, Angola, where there was an  isolated harbor, and then spirited across the border to  Mwerana in small cargo planes.  Lois didn't have the stamps  and paperwork to get into Angola and hadn't wanted to wait  to get them.  Instead she was flying into Brazzaville, as  she had last year.  From there she hoped to find a charter  plane that could take her on to Mwerana.  She wasn't sure  what she'd do then, but her research had indicated it was a  small town; she hoped that by keeping her eyes and ears  open, she could learn something.

If she was honest with herself, she could admit she had no  idea why Perry had let her go on this assignment.  Her  evidence *was* compelling, but it was all very hard to  prove.  The Planet could not afford to send its reporters  on wild goose chases this way.

Unless....  She thought back to the beginning of her  investigation.  Perry had given her this assignment in the  hopes that it would jolt her out of whatever slump she was  in.  Maybe he thought it was worth the expense, just this  once, if it meant Lois could get back on her feet.

She wasn't sure if the thought was upsetting or not.  On  the one hand, she didn't want Perry coddling her.  She'd  gotten this far on her own; she'd never asked for nor  received special treatment of any sort.  But on the other  hand, she *had* been in a pretty bad way last week. It was  nice to know that Perry cared enough to try to help her.

Either way, she decided, leaning back in her chair, it was  over and done now.  She was going to get the story, and  then it wouldn't matter why Perry had agreed to send her.   Until then, she had a nine-hour flight ahead of her, and  she had no intention of staying awake.  She wondered  briefly if Clark would show up in her dreams if she napped,  but decided he wouldn't be sleeping in the middle of the  day.  Not that she knew how all of this worked, but it  seemed as good a hypothesis as any.

She consoled herself with the promise of a dream with him  later, studiously ignoring the reminder that it would be  the last.  Sighing, she closed her eyes and surrendered to  sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lois waited impatiently as the bellboy unlocked the door  and led her inside.  He settled her luggage on a nearby  chair; she tipped him quickly and he left.  Turning back,  she surveyed the hotel room.  Not nearly the largest nor  grandest the Parisian hotel had to offer, but it was a  clean and elegant room, certainly nicer than she was used  to.  Normally she wouldn't charge such a room to her  expense account, but this time she was willing to pay the  difference out of her pocket.  She wasn't examining her  motives too carefully, especially since she was only  staying one night, but she was aware that she was a little  disappointed to be spending the ninth night away from home.   And Paris *was* the city of lovers.

Gingerly she crossed the room to the queen-sized bed.  It  was far later here than she was used to, and she had a  fairly early flight again tomorrow, but she didn't feel  ready to sleep just yet.  Restless, she got up again and  retrieved her laptop, set it up on the desk, and logged in  to check her mail.  Nothing noteworthy.  She turned on the  television, but she didn't speak enough French to  understand any of the news programs.  Lois opened up her  suitcase and fished out her long white nightgown, half- wishing she had some ice cream.  She'd come full circle,  she thought miserably.

At last, resigned, she settled back in the bed, sighing.   She was trying to avoid thinking, and doing a poor job of  it.  She might as well stop pretending and get it over  with.

Most years, she faced this night with mixed feelings.  Yes,  she was sorry that the span of dreams was over, but also  relieved to lose the constant reminder of the emptiness in  her life.  Dreaming had been at best a bittersweet  experience in the past.

<Not that it was all good this year, either,> she admitted,  remembering their fight.  But it had all been so much more  *real.*  Before, she'd looked forward to spending time with  an imaginary man who loved her, but it was easy for a  fantasy to love you back.  Now she knew Clark was a real  person, a real man who loved her for who she truly was,  uninhibited by the constraints of society or even reality.   It would be more difficult than she wanted to imagine,  giving that up.

In a moment of anger, she'd confided more than she'd  intended to tell even Clark.  "Being virgin at twenty-nine  years old except in your head, because you can't even  imagine being that intimate with anyone else."  It was a  secret she guarded very carefully, not because she was  ashamed, but because it hurt so badly even to think of it.   To think it could never change.

As a young teenager she hadn't understood all the fuss  about sex. She'd wanted love, but she hadn't understood  lust.  The boys she knew were nice enough, but she couldn't  joke and tease with her girlfriends about them.  She didn't  giggle at sex scenes in movies, didn't sigh dreamily over  movie stars, didn't physically admire any of the young men  around her even in the way that very young adolescent girls  did.  It had set her apart from her friends, though she  tried to hide it, and she'd resigned herself to the idea  that she was just different.

Clark had changed all of that.

Lois sighed.  She'd thought it was the onset of her  menstrual cycle that prompted the change.  She knew better  now.  It had been Clark.

Even at sixteen, he'd been perfect.  She'd tried to explain  it to herself by attributing her attraction to his  personality, his honesty, his gentleness.  The truth was,  above and beyond all of those things, there was something  very real between them on a physical, elemental level.  She  knew that, even though she could not remember his face.   And suddenly she'd understood.  She still didn't sigh over  cute waiters, or lust after her classmates.  But at least  she knew why other girls did.  And knowing now that it was  at least possible for her to feel that sort of attraction,  she'd been content to wait until she felt it again.

Now, she could expect a handful of dreams scattered  throughout the rest of the year, but that number had  increased very slowly over time.  That first year there had  been no intermittent dreams at all.  She'd been desperate  to dream of him again; knowing what she did now, she  suspected Clark had been equally dismayed by their long  separation.  When they finally met again, the following  April, it had been very easy to get carried away.

That first experience of intimacy had been clumsy,  uncoordinated, at once both frightening and exciting.  But  through it all had been a very deep emotion, a connection.   In the real world, her virgin status had not changed.  But  she had given herself to Clark in that moment as surely as  if he really had been there beside her.

She couldn't entirely dismiss those experiences in the  past, but she couldn't help thinking they didn't quite  count in light of what she knew now.   Fantasies were easy,  and dreams were safe.  This year everything was different  and new.  She couldn't help but think of the old dreams as  less than real.

Which left her feeling virgin again.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that.  She loved him,  she knew that.  They might have had some rough spots along  the way, but she felt confident now in their bond and their  love.  And she *did* want to show him that, as much as she  ever had; maybe more, knowing now that he was someone real  she was interacting with.  But they still had only a  handful of dreams each year.  She couldn't have a full-time  relationship that way.  Could she live in that pattern,  seeing him when fate allowed and pining for him in between?   To give herself to him *again,* for real this time, and  then to lose him as she always did, would hurt so much more  than it had hurt to lose a fantasy.

Lois sighed.  The truth was, Clark had her heart.  Nothing  would change that, whether she gave in to what she wanted  or not. And she didn't know when the next dream would be.   This was her last night with him for an indeterminate  amount of time.  And somehow it felt like a last chance  altogether.

She knew what she wanted.  But, she promised herself, she  was not going to push their time together in an unnatural  direction.  She would play things by ear, and if it was  something they both felt good about, then she'd let them  progress.  If not, she had to admit she'd be disappointed,  but they'd be better off for having respected their own  feelings and taking the time to grow into their new  relationship.

Feeling a little calmer at having come to a conclusion, she  slipped beneath the sheet, reaching to turn off the bedside  lamp.  The silk of her gown was cold on her skin, and she  pulled the blankets up to her chin, curling into them  comfortably and closed her eyes.  She smiled faintly,  sadly.  It couldn't ever be quite what she wanted.  But if  things went as she hoped, Clark might be here beside her in  her dreams.  It had to be enough.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When she opened her eyes, she was standing on the side of  the street, outside a small cafe.  Looking down, she found  she was wearing a shortish red dress, cut modestly high on  her leg and enticingly low at the collar.  The light fabric  clung to her without being restrictive, subtly highlighting  curves and lines without blatantly showcasing them.  The  gown reminded her a bit of Cat Grant's outfit at the White  Orchid Ball two nights before; given her agenda tonight,  perhaps her subconscious was looking for cues from the most  unselfconsciously sensual person she knew.  She laughed,  looking at the simple lines of the gown.  Even in her  imagination, she wasn't *that* brave!

From behind her came a low whistle and she turned,  grinning.  He was elegantly dressed in jacket and tie, and  his eyes slid warmly over her as he approached.  "How do I  look?" she asked innocently, pivoting a bit so the slight  flare of the skirt rose on her thigh.

Clark made a vague gesture, unable to articulate how she  looked, how beautiful and desirable she was.  "Lois, honey,  you look... you're amazing."

She smiled saucily, looping her arm through his.  "So are  you."

He led her into the cafe and asked for a table.  The little  restaurant was nearly empty, as befitted a dream as private  as this ninth one was, and the maitre'd led them to a  secluded table on the patio.  He lit the candles and left  them to their menus.

Clark smiled gently at her when they were seated, dark eyes  shining with reflected candleflame.  "You really do look  beautiful tonight," he said again, but his expression  sobered as he noticed the tension in her, the taut line of  her shoulders.  He reached out to catch her hand in his.

"Lois, honey, are you okay?"

She dropped her eyes, feeling strangely brittle, fragile.   She wasn't sure how to do this. She didn't know how to say  goodbye.

That train of thought threatened to bring on tears, and she  blinked them away as best she could.  She couldn't stop  them all; one solitary tear burned its way down her cheek,  and he released her hand to wipe it gently away.  "Oh,  Lois, please," he implored her. "Don't cry.  It'll be okay,  really it will."

He'd promise her the moon if he could erase that shimmer of  moisture in her eyes, but she shook her head sharply.   "Don't, Clark, she said, a bit more harshly than she'd  intended.  "Don't pretend."  Deliberately she softened her  tone.  "Let's not talk about it, Clark, please. Let's just  be happy for a little while.  Please?"

He nodded, letting his hand slide around to cup her cheek  for a moment, aching to see her in such pain, but at last  he released her, sitting back in his chair and trying to  impose some order on his own jumbled emotions.  He didn't  know how to handle this.  It couldn't be done.

They were silent for a moment until their waiter returned  to take their orders, then Lois looked up uncertainly.  "So  how was your day?"

She'd whispered so quietly, so tentatively, and his heart  went out to her for making the effort.  She was trying so  hard to make this any other dream for them.  He didn't know  where she found the strength.

He tried to give an answer as casual as the question, but  he wouldn't lie to her.  "Lousy," he admitted.  "I... Well,  I found out what happened to my Lois yesterday, so now I'm  trying to bring her some justice."

She looked stricken.  "She's dead, then?"

Clark nodded.  "Yeah.  She was murdered when she got too  close to her story.  I caught the guy who did it, and today  the police went after the man who ordered it.  So they'll  pay, but I still feel like I failed her."

"Clark," Lois said incredulously.  "You didn't even *know*  her.  And it was four years ago!  What could you have  done?"

"I know," Clark agreed.  "It's silly.  I know.  But I can't  help feeling like there's something I should have done, or  even something I could do now.  Something I'm forgetting."   He shook his head.  "Anyway, let's not talk about it."

She looked as if she had something else to say, but  apparently she decided to comply.  "Well, my day was a  little better," she offered.  "I spent most of it on the  plane to Paris."

Clark looked around them. "Yeah, I wondered why we were  here.  Undercover?"

Lois nodded.  "I'm staying at the Lexor-Paris," she added  nonchalantly.  "Maybe we can go back there after dinner."

Clark raised an eyebrow, but she was pointedly studying the  tablecloth.  How was he supposed to take that?  They'd been  intimate in the past, but that had been before they knew  the nature of their bond, before dreaming had become a  conduit for something more real.  In the last week, they'd  been demonstrative, but neither had pushed to take things  past heated kisses.  Was she implying that she wanted to  take that next step now?

More importantly, were they ready for that?  They'd really  only had seven days of clarity, seven days to get to know  each other, despite years of dreaming.  That wasn't much  time.  And knowing now that her sexual experience was  confined solely to him and her dreams, he was reluctant to  pursue that line of their relationship.

Not that he himself had been a Casanova, he reminded  himself.  There'd been no one before Lana, and he'd slept  with her only a spare handful of times during their  engagement, a pastime he'd avoided when at all possible.   He'd been deeply disappointed by his first real experience  of physical love.  After years of dream-lovemaking with  Lois, sex with Lana had left him cold.  He hadn't loved  her; he suspected he'd always known that.  And his body had  known she wasn't Lois even before they'd been lovers.  He  hadn't needed the confirmation that intimacy provided, but  he'd been lonely and desperate enough to ignore it.  He'd  convinced himself that fevered dreams were hardly a  realistic standard on which to judge, and then he'd done  his best not to think about it at all.

After Lana... well, he'd be honest with himself, he'd been  tempted.  Particularly during the second encounter with the  other Lois.  But nothing could have come of that, and he'd  understood even then that she wasn't really who he wanted.

"The Lexor-Paris, huh?" he asked as casually as he could  manage, trying not to read too much into her invitation.

She dropped her eyes, embarrassed.  "When I was eight,  Daddy brought us here for some medical convention.  Tried  to make a family vacation out of it.  But he was at the  convention all the time, and all Mother wanted to do was  relax in the hotel.  I *hated* being here and not being  able to explore it properly, so I promised myself I'd come  back someday, when I..." She blushed.  "Well, when I had  someone to share it with."  Lois shrugged.  "I'm here on  business now, but I figured... Well, it just seemed like a  good opportunity.  Who knows when we'll be in Paris again?"

He took her hand, stopping her nervous chatter.  "It's a  beautiful city," he agreed, looking out at the lamplit  streets.  "I'd be honored to share it with you."

She curled her fingers absently about his, her other hand  tracing patterns on the tablecloth.  "You know, I always  sort of figured I'd come here for my honeymoon."

Instantly she realized what she'd said, the implication  behind the words, and her eyes flashed to his, her cheeks  flushing crimson once again.  Then the color faded abruptly  from her face, and she slumped in her chair, as if her  energy had fled as well.  "Not that I'm likely to get  married anyway," she said softly.  "Not after..." She  stopped, but they both knew what she meant.  <Not after  you.>

He moved to touch her, to offer what comfort he could, but  at that moment the waiter returned with their meals, and  the darker turn of their mood was carefully ignored when  they were settled again.  They were silent as they picked  at their food, unsure of what to say.  They'd never had  difficulty talking to each other before, and it upset Clark  that suddenly it was too painful even to look at each  other.

There was a small band playing on the corner of the  terrace, and he noted them with interest.  There wasn't  really room for a dance floor, but when they had finished  eating, he took her hand again.  "Dance with me?"

She frowned.  "Where?"

"Right here," he said impulsively.  "What do we care who's  watching us?  None of them are real anyway."  He stood,  tugging her gently to her feet.  "I-- I want to hold you.   We haven't danced all week."

She glanced around at the handful of patrons on the  terrace, but he had a point.  Laughing, she let him pull  her into his arms, and they stood lightly swaying to the  quiet music for a long moment.  He settled his hands low at  the dip of her spine, and she wrapped her arms around his  neck, laying her head against his chest and closing her  eyes.  She'd forgotten how good it felt to be held tight  against him, moving gently together.  She tucked her face  into the hollow of his shoulder, breathing deeply and  trying to imprint every detail, every sensation, in her  memory to carry her through the long, lonely days and  months ahead.

Her lips grazed his skin, and after a moment's hesitation,  she closed her eyes and planted a kiss there on the tense  curve of his throat.

He gave a quiet groan in response, his arms tightening  about her waist, and, encouraged, she tried again.  The  sound he made, low in his throat, was the most alluring  thing she'd ever heard, and she couldn't help herself,  pressing tiny, desperate kisses there, over and over.

"Lois," he whispered, his breath catching in his chest, and  she wasn't sure if he was warning her or pleading.  She  decided it didn't matter and continued her tentative  seduction, finding the courage to press another kiss on the  leaping pulse of blood in his jaw, open-mouthed, letting  the tip of her tongue trace a tiny circle there on his  skin.  He pulled away with a strangled cry, catching her  chin firmly in his hand, and bent to kiss her properly.

It was her turn to moan her pleasure and impatience,  opening her mouth once more under his, welcoming the  movement of his flesh within hers and aching to be joined  with him on a deeper level.  Was this the last chance she  had?  Would this be the last time he would hold her, touch  her?  Some small, undistracted part of her mind remembered  their second night this year, when they had kissed in the  rain.  She'd been desperate then for his touch, his love,  to drown out the disturbing sense of reality intruding on  their dream world.  She clung to him now, his lips  fervently exploring hers, and she knew that some things  never changed.

"Let's go, Clark," she managed to gasp as his mouth finally  left hers to press warm, delicate kisses on her cheeks, her  eyelids.  "I-- I need you."  Despite her promise earlier,  she wanted this with him, wanted it badly enough to plead.

He pulled away for a moment, his heart still pounding hard  and heavy against her breast, but his eyes clear and alert.   "Are you sure?"

"I love you," she whispered, trying not to cry.  "I need to  be close to you."

He hesitated, searching her eyes, but he seemed to accept  her answer, for he bent and scooped her into his arms.   Uncaring who was watching, he lifted off gently and flew  them across the glowing city lights to her hotel.

Flying with her this way was a new experience for him.  She  had buried her face in his neck again, nuzzling tenderly at  his throat and pressing kisses along his jaw.  The  sensations of her in his arms, her lips teasing, were  intensely powerful and hugely distracting, but his mind was  a little clearer now that their bodies weren't pressed  full-length, and despite the pleasure she was giving him,  he began to worry about the motives driving her.

The Lexor-Paris's windows did not open to the outside, so  they were forced to land and take the elevator up.  Feeling  conspicuous in the crowded elevator despite their actions  in the restaurant, they refrained from touching and stood  discreetly side by side until they reached her floor.  Lois  led him out and down the hall, reaching in her pocket for  her key, a plastic card in a cardboard folder.  There was a  name written on the folder, and he couldn't help but smile.   Lisa Larrian.  Double L's, just as she'd said.

She opened the door and ushered him inside.  He surveyed  the small room, nodding his surprised approval.  "Very nice  for an undercover assignment."

Lois smiled a little.  "Well, I paid the extra.  Not the  honeymoon suite, but nice enough."  She hesitated, then  stepped forward to put a tentative hand on his chest.  Her  fingers traced lightly over the starched cotton, her eyes  meeting his.  "Now, where were we?"

He smiled reluctantly, and let her reach up to kiss him,  but now that he'd had a moment to catch his breath, he felt  conflicted.  He wasn't sure why she was doing this, but he  suspected he wouldn't like the answer.

When he didn't respond as she'd expected, she redoubled her  efforts, the pressure of her mouth increasing, her hands  tight on the back of his head.  Her passion bordered on  desperation now, her movements frantic, and at last he  broke away from that almost-violent kiss.  She was half- gasping, half-sobbing as he withdrew, and he pressed  several gentle, passionless kisses on her lips, trying to  soothe her.  He pulled her body tightly to his, rocking  tenderly and crooning meaningless words of comfort to her.   "Shh, shh."

Slowly the storm passed, and she lay limp in his embrace,  still weeping silently.  "Lois?" he asked tentatively when  the worst of the shudders had faded.  "Lois, look at me,"  he insisted.  Reluctantly, she raised her head, her cheeks  blotchy, dark eyes gleaming and pained.  "Why?" he asked  softly.  "We don't have to do this, you know that."

She mumbled something against his chest.  His superhearing  told him she'd said, "Last chance."  He frowned; he'd  suspected she'd been thinking something like that.

Intimacy had always been something natural between them, a  very easy expression of their feelings.  A touch, a kiss, a  caress. they had all been very instinctive and unconscious  gestures, one flowing from another.  Certainly when they'd  been younger they had been shy even in dreams, unsure of  themselves and their bodies.  But they had been patient  with each other, gentle, and slowly they had learned how to  touch and be touched, how a single caress could say more  than a whisper, and how a kiss could be more reassuring  than any spoken words of love had ever been.

But in the newfound understanding of their link, and  knowing what he did about her, there was an awkwardness  between them that had never been there before.  He didn't  want to see her hurt herself, and him, this way.  "It's  *not* our last chance," he insisted.  "This doesn't have to  happen tonight.  It doesn't have to happen till we're both  ready.  Lois, please."

"No, Clark. I don't want to be alone," she whispered, her  voice ragged with suppressed emotion.  "This is our last  night together, Clark, we have to do this now or..." She  trailed off, unwilling even to voice the thought.  "It  wasn't real before," she said softly, and he blinked a  moment before he understood what she meant.  "It wasn't  real, because *you* weren't real.  And now, now you are,  and I want... I want to know what that feels like.  I'll  never have another chance."

He knew what she meant, and he wanted to hold her, to show  her.  But how could he be sure she wouldn't regret it in  the morning, when left with only a bittersweet memory of  what they couldn't have?  On the other hand, how was he  supposed to resist her?  He looked down at her, her eyes  glistening, the faint shine of tearstains on her cheeks.

"Please, Clark. I don't want to be alone."

How indeed?  He sighed, pulling her close to him once more,  one hand stroking her hair as she buried her face in his  shoulder.  He could feel her hot tears trickling into his  shirt.  "This isn't the end," he soothed her softly.   "We'll see each other again, Lois, you know we will.  This  is just a... a temporary break."

"It doesn't feel temporary," she insisted, her voice loud  even muffled as it was in the cloth.  "It-- it feels like  forever."

He shook his head a little, although he couldn't deny the  truth of her words. Somehow, this parting did seem final.  He wanted to attribute it to the fact that for the first  time they really knew what was happening between them, but  he wasn't sure that was it at all.  Still, he had to  reassure her as best he could.  "Think of us as long- distance friends," he suggested gently, his hand still  stroking firmly, soothingly along her hair.  "We can't be  together all the time, but we still love each other, Lois.   Nothing changes that."

"Long distance lovers can call each other on the phone.   They can write, or email.  They can plan their visits, and  look forward to them.  We can't do any of that.  We don't  even know when our next dream will be."

He sighed heavily.  "Lois--"

"I know what I want, even if I haven't done this in life,"  she interrupted, her voice suddenly calm and steady.  She  pulled away a little so she could look up at him, her hand  cupping his cheek.  "I want this," she asserted softly.   "Don't make me seduce you.  I don't know how."

Clark closed his eyes as if to block out that alluring  picture, the plea in her eyes, the open, inviting line of  her posture.  But he couldn't block the sensation of her  hands, one on his cheek and one shyly caressing his chest.   He couldn't block the scent of her, clean and fragrant and  *hers.*  Her words cut deeper than he'd like to admit, and  he couldn't block them, either.

<What harm is there in it?>

At last he allowed himself to admit that he wanted her too,  wanted her in his arms, and that there was no shame in  that.  Pain, yes, knowing what they were losing, but if  this were their last dream, as it was beginning to feel,  which would he regret more?  Losing this last opportunity  to be close to her, or taking it and finding it  bittersweet?

She shifted before him, and he'd waited too long.  She  leaned in and pressed her lips to his, persuading, and  their old familiarity was back, belying her words and  proving that she was utterly comfortable with him despite  her experiences in life.

His arms went around her, his lips meeting the pressure of  hers and opening beneath them.  She responded instantly,  deepening their kiss and tightening her hands on the back  of his neck.  He groaned at the intimate contact of her  tongue on his, tentative, and she pressed herself tight  against him.  "Please, Clark, please," she whispered, and  this time he answered her.

"Yes... yes."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I love you," she said softly, dropping a kiss on the  corner of his jaw.  She'd said it before, several times,  but in this moment she thought she'd never say it enough.

He rolled carefully off her, curling her close against his  side.  She settled her head on his shoulder, her hands  lazily stroking over his shoulders and chest as if  reassuring herself he was there.  The haze was slowly  fading from their minds, their breath slowing, bodies  cooling, and he reached down to pull up the coverlet.

"I didn't know," she said softly after a few peaceful  moments.  "I mean, we'd... made love... before, the two of  us.  And it was-- it was good," she assured him hastily,  stumbling at the choice of words, but realizing that he  might misunderstand her.  He laughed gently and pressed  another kiss to her shoulder.  "But this... I hadn't  realized how... muted it was before.  How much of it was  dreamlike."

Clark nodded.  "I know.  I hadn't expected-- well, I didn't  expect anything like this."  He dropped his eyes, pulling  her a bit closer to him.  "You know I... I've done this  before.  In life, I mean.  Not many times, and only with  Lana," he clarified nervously.

Lois cupped his cheek in one hand, forestalling his pained  admission.  "I know," she said.  "I know, and I-- I'm glad  you could show me."

He kissed the inside of her wrist.  "We showed each other,"  he corrected.  "What I meant to say was, I've never felt  anything like what just happened between us.  Even before,  you and I...  Compared to what I felt with you, even when  we were teenagers, sex with Lana was, well..." he blushed.   "Sort of anticlimactic, if you'll pardon the pun.  I'd  almost had myself convinced that these dreams were just  wishful thinking, that I wasn't really missing anything.   Being with you this way, even in dreams, is so much more  real than anything I've ever known."

She closed her eyes, holding back a sudden flood of tears,  and buried her face in his side.  "Oh, Clark..." she sighed  sadly, wrapping her arms around him as if to hold herself  to him even as she was beginning to fade.

"Shh, shh," he hushed her, turning to gather her close  against his body, stifling his own tears, and held her as  tight as he could even as she was disappearing.  "I love  you," he whispered.  "Nothing changes that."

There was the fleeting sensation of her lips on his, sweet  and saline, and then darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 25TH, 1997

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY

[ALTWORLD 1]

He lay in bed for a long moment when he awakened, eyes  closed, as if by not opening them he could stay submerged  in the dream, in their tiny shared world.  Part of him felt  very good; being close to her had always been wonderful,  and being intimate with her had been a hundred times  better.  But last night, knowing everything, had been far  more than he'd expected.  So part of him felt joyful simply  at the memory of holding her to him, knowing they loved  each other and proving it in the simplest way.  And part of  him wanted to curl up and cry.  She was gone now, and who  knew when he'd see her again?

Clark forced himself up and out of bed, padding listlessly  into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.  Sinking into a  kitchen chair as the pot brewed, he looked idly at the  array of paperwork on the table.  His copies of the FBI  files were scattered on the tabletop, and the sense that  he'd forgotten something was growing steadily stronger.

Idly, he rifled through them once more.  He'd pored over  these the night before and found nothing to warrant the  rising sense of alarm he was feeling now.

At the top of the pile was the invoice of her expense  account, but he'd seen it all before.  Flight from  Metropolis to Paris, overnight stay, flight the next  morning to Brazzaville...

He dropped the stack of records, sending paper fluttering  into his lap and on the floor.

<Oh, my God...>

He pawed frantically through the pages, heart hammering  urgently in his chest.  At last he found the hotel record.   One night in the Lexor-Paris, for a Mlle Lisa Larrian.

He jumped to his feet, reaching for the calendar inside one  of the cabinets even though he knew what day it was.  April  25th.

<Lois! Oh, my God!>  Suddenly it all made perfect sense,  and he felt violently ill.

He slumped back into his chair.  She was going to die, and  there was nothing he could do to help her.  He'd never felt  so utterly helpless in his life.

<Please, Lois, be careful!  You can still make it!>  But he  knew she couldn't hear him.  He put his head down on the  table, too numb to cry or even to move.

There was a knock at the door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CHAPTER TEN

"I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If  we're in each other's dreams, we can be together all the  time."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

APRIL 25th, 1997

MWERANA, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF CONGO

[ALTWORLD 2]

Lois Lane was in no mood to be trifled with.  She'd been  traveling for thirteen hours straight now, and she was hot,  sticky, and tired.  Unfortunately, the sweating customs  officer in Mwerana was not observant enough to notice her  mood.

"What do you mean my visas are invalid?  I just got them!"

The man shrugged indifferently.  "No good.  Can't let you  into the country."

"There must be some mistake," she insisted.  "Maybe you're  just out of touch; maybe they've changed something and you  haven't gotten the news yet.  What kind of customs office  is this, anyway?" she continued, looking around the tiny  ramshackle building with disdain.  "I didn't have any  problems in Mbandaka last year."

"Should have flown to Mbandaka then, hmm?" the man replied  with an impertinent grin.

Lois rolled her eyes.  "Look, you've got a phone somewhere,  right?  Go call someone, figure out what the problem is."

The man held up his hands in an indulgent gesture.  "All  right, all right.  I'll call the main office in Kinshasa.   But I'm not making any promises."

Lois nodded, pleased.  "I'm sure they'll be able to clear  up the problem."

The man shrugged again and turned away to use the phone.   Lois wandered back out onto the porch, desperate for a  breath of moving air.  She got her wish as the tiny  propeller plane that had brought her here from Brazzaville  took off, but the backwash of wind that assailed her was  gritty and hot.  She'd been traveling for a day and a half  now; she didn't even want to think about what would happen  if she didn't get this visa problem taken care of.  Her  clothes were dirty, her skin damp, her shoes ruined.  She  wanted nothing more than to get away from here and take a  long shower.  She wondered if that was wishful thinking.

<Next time Perry has a lead on a gunrunning ring in Africa,  > she vowed, <I'll tell him to send someone else! >  But  she knew that wasn't true.  She always wanted the story;  she always did whatever it took.  And the attitude paid  off: she always got the story.

Inside, the man cupped his hand over the mouthpiece of the  phone.  "Yes, sir, just as you said."

The man on the other end sighed.  "I'd hoped she'd start in  Kinshasa and we'd be able to fool her there.  If she headed  straight for Mwerana, she already knows too much.  You'll  have to take care of her."

The burly man bit his lip.  "But, sir--"

"No buts," the other chided him firmly, an edge of steel  behind the controlled calm.  "You do not want to disobey  me.  You have a family to support, do you not?"

The man gulped a yes.

"I'd hate for something... untoward to happen to them."   There was a pregnant pause, and then the voice continued,  "Take care of her."  With a click, he ended the  conversation.

The customs officer hung up the phone with shaky hands.  It  was one thing to look the other way for the gunrunners, but  it was something else entirely to kill someone.  An  American reporter, no less!  Her disappearance would surely  attract a lot of attention.  Still, he knew that what the  boss had said was true; he had a family.  If it were a  choice between them and the American, it was really no  choice at all.

His hands still trembling, he reached for the gun under the  counter.  The woman was still turned away, and he aligned  the crosshairs carefully with the back of her head.

There came the sound of a gunshot and a great rush of wind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Warmth.

She was aware of warmth against her, under her cheek, and a  tight pressure around her.  Her first thought was that  she'd been hit, that she was dead or dying, but she felt no  pain, and gradually she became more aware of her position.   The warmth against her was a man's body, and the tightness  about her was his arms, crushing her to him, one large hand  cupping the back of her head.  He was holding her as if  he'd never let her go, as if she were the most precious  thing in the world.  His heart was racing beneath her ear,  as if he'd had a great shock or fright, his breathing fast.   Tentatively, she opened her eyes; all she could see was  blue.

She held her breath, not daring to hope, and pulled back to  look up at him.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, and then his mouth came down  on hers and he was kissing her as if he'd been waiting to  kiss her his whole life, desperately, frantically.  She  slid her fingers up over his chest to twine her arms around  his neck, and his hand shifted to settle in the crook of  her shoulders, his bent fingers stroking the length of her  throat.  She was trembling violently, her knees giving way  beneath her, but he was solid against her, his arm about  her waist supporting her fully, and still his lips moved on  hers, with passion, but mostly with joy.

It was real.  Dear God, but it was real.

At long last she became aware of her surroundings, and that  someone nearby was clearing his throat.  Gently she  disengaged from the kiss, putting her hand on his cheek  instead, and pulled back enough to look around.

There was a small man standing a little way behind Clark.   Inside the office, visibly shaking, was the customs  officer.  He'd been tied to his chair with what appeared to  be a length of thick cable, and his gun lay discarded just  out of his reach on the desk.

"Good show, my boy," the small man said in accented  English, standing slightly away from them.  "But, ah, I  think you'd better take care of that young man before  something else goes wrong.  I'm sure Miss Lane won't mind."

Clark looked to her, and she managed to nod her agreement.   "Yes, you should do something with him... Superman," she  finished, remembering abruptly.

Reluctantly Clark released her, nodding to the other man.   "You're right," he agreed.  Then he turned to approach the  customs officer.

"Do you know who this lady is?" he asked softly, his voice  low and flat.  The officer didn't manage a reply, simply  staring up with fear-widened eyes.  "She's a friend of  mine.  A very good friend of mine."

Deliberately he opened the gun, shook out one of the  bullets, and set the weapon aside.  "I don't like seeing my  friends nearly killed," he commented, flattening the bullet  between two fingers and handing it to the officer.  "I'll  assume you had a reason for trying.  I'd like you to tell  me."

The officer, still holding the mangled bullet in his palm,  abruptly lost his paralysis, nodding eagerly, desperately.   "Yes, yes, of course..."

"Lois," Clark interrupted, calling over his shoulder  without looking.  "Do you have a tape recorder, by any  chance?"

She did; going mechanically to her bag, she retrieved it  and handed it to him.  She still couldn't fathom what was  going on here.  She couldn't believe Clark was here, was  real at all, let alone that he'd just saved her life by the  slimmest margin possible.  Shock and reaction were  beginning to set in, and she wrapped her arms around  herself, suddenly feeling very cold despite the heat of the  day.

"Come here, my dear," the other man said, gesturing to her,  and she realized abstractly that he hadn't moved from the  section of the porch that could not be seen from inside the  office.  She obeyed without thought, and he helped her to  sit on the porch step.  He pressed a bottle of water into  her hand.  "You've had quite a shock.  Just rest now for a  moment."

Clark had turned in the doorway, obviously torn between  helping her and interrogating her would-be killer.  The man  gestured at him to continue, and reluctantly he did.  Lois  took a cautious sip of water, her hands trembling as the  adrenaline wore off.  The water was cool in her mouth and  she was thirsty, taking several gulping draughts until her  heart had stopped racing in her chest and the dizziness in  her head subsided.  "Who are you?" she asked at last.

He smiled kindly down at her.  "My name is Herbert George  Wells.  I'm a friend of Clark's."

H. G. Wells.  Of course.  She felt too numb to be  surprised.

The next hour or so passed in a hazy blur for her.  Dimly,  she was aware that Clark had finished interrogating the man  and called the local authorities.  Wells disappeared before  the police arrived, claiming he had an errand to run and  assuring Lois that she'd be fine, that she simply needed to  rest and calm herself.

She heard Clark conversing with the police when they  arrived, his tone authoritative.  They were bewildered by  his outfit and his story of saving her, but one of them  found the flattened bullet, and after that they were more  inclined to listen.

One policeman knelt down to question her; she answered him  as best she could, almost surprised to hear logical  responses coming from her lips despite the blurry,  disconnected state of her thoughts.

There were calls to be made, one of them was saying behind  her.  The Americans would have to be informed of the  allegations of smuggling.  The customs officer's testimony  was damning enough, but the phone call to America, which  he'd admitted, would go a long way toward condemning his  contact there as well.

Someone offered to take Lois to a hotel.  Clark politely  declined, assuring them he'd take care of her.  None of  them seemed to want to challenge him; reluctantly they  agreed, leading their prisoner away, and then they were  gone.

She drew a breath, watching their cars disappear, trying to  will some clarity back into her mind.  It had been more  than an hour, and she was still shivering, still frightened  and confused and off-balance.

Then he knelt silently down behind her, wrapping gentle  arms about her shoulders and pulling her back against his  chest.  Without really knowing why, she began to cry  quietly.

"Lois," he said then, turning her in his arms and rocking  back to sit, pulling her into his lap.  She sobbed softly  into his chest, letting the tension bleed out of her.  His  arms were tight about her body; eventually she realized  he'd been close to tears himself.  "Shh," he was  whispering.  "It's okay... you're okay."  Part of her  wondered if he said it to reassure her or himself.

"You saved my life," she said, wonderingly.

His arms tightened around her.  "God, Lois... I found out  what was happening to you... the same thing that happened  to her... I couldn't breathe," he replied, semi-coherent.   "If I'd lost you..."

"You didn't," she assured him instantly, her own shock and  disbelief abated enough now to let her reassure him on that  count.  "I'm here."

He buried his face in her hair, still rocking gently back  and forth.  They held each other for a long moment.

"Ahem, excuse me."  Lois lifted her head to see that Wells  had returned as promised.

"Hi," she said tentatively.

"Hello again," he replied cheerfully.  "I think I've got  all the arrangements taken care of now."

"Arrangements?" Clark asked, rising to his feet and helping  Lois up.

"For your life here," Wells explained matter-of-factly.

"My life here?" he repeated.  He hadn't really thought  about any of this beyond getting to Lois and saving her.   He wanted to be with her, but he hadn't considered what  happened now.

"Yes, yes, you'll need an identity, and for that you needed  a past.  Birth certificate, college diploma, things like  that.  I couldn't manage to make you from Smallville," he  admitted.  "Already a Clark Kent there.  Is Wichita  acceptable?"

"You mean for me to stay here?" he asked.  "But... my  world... Superman..." He trailed off, his expression  pained.  How could he be expected to make a choice?   Unconsciously, he tightened his hold on Lois's hand.

Wells smiled gently.  "Your world, Clark, will get along  just fine without you.  I don't think you'll get along much  longer without her."  He inclined his head towards Lois.   "And she needs you, too."

"How can I abandon them?" he insisted.

"You can only do so much, Clark," Lois surprised them all  by speaking up.  "At some point you have to let them find  their own way.  So that you can find yours," she finished  softly, her hand squeezing his fingers.

She was right, he realized.  They both were.  He needed  her.

"Okay," he agreed softly.

"Very well, then," Wells continued happily.  "Now, here's  the paperwork you need... You've got a birth certificate, a  diploma, a social security card-well, it's all in here, you  can look at it later."  He handed Clark a large briefcase.   "And I've included the samples of your work as well, for  your portfolio."

"My work?"

"Your articles, of course. That was the tricky bit, getting  them printed in places that could be verified later, but I  think it's all taken care of now."

Clark stared, speechless at the amount of work Wells had  done to make this possible for them.  "Thank you," he  managed.  "I don't know how to thank you."

"Now, now, no thanks needed," Wells assured him.  "I've  brought you a suit as well.  Perhaps you'd better wear it  when you get to Metropolis and Lois takes you to the Planet  to get a job."

"The Planet?" he repeated.  He seemed to be repeating  everything the other man said.

"Of course," Wells replied.  "You'd better take her home  now so she can see the FBI-- I'm sure they'll be waiting  for her.  And then the two of you can take the stories--  the smuggling and Superman-- and you can ask Perry for a  job."

Clark found himself nodding.  Everything seemed to be  coming together.  Wells had planned for everything.

"If you like," Wells was continuing, "I can take a message  back to someone in your world.  If there's someone you'd  like to say goodbye to."

Clark considered, still a little stunned.  "My editor,  Corrie... She's been a good friend to me."  A thought  occurred to him.  "I owe her a column for Saturday.  Maybe  I can use it to say goodbye to everyone at once."

Wells nodded.  "I can pick it up tomorrow afternoon, if  that will give you enough time," he offered.

Clark swallowed.  <How do you say goodbye to a whole  planet?  One you feel responsible for?>  But he nodded.   "Yes, I think I can finish it by then."

"Good, good," Wells said, smiling happily now.  "You two  had best be on your way, then, and I'll see you both  tomorrow."

Clark glanced at Lois, who nodded slightly.  Reaching out,  he shook Wells's hand.  "I can't thank you enough," he said  softly.

Wells merely smiled as Clark lifted Lois into his arms and  took to the sky.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time they left the FBI building, Lois was exhausted.   Flying back to the States so quickly meant they'd gone  immediately from afternoon to mid-morning, and though she  hadn't really had time to adjust to the Congo's time zone,  she'd gotten very little sleep for several nights.  Clark,  now attired in the suit Wells had brought him, had been  waiting for her in the lobby as she met with investigators.   He rose as she emerged and put his arm around her.  He  seemed to sense how tired she was, pulling her close and  letting his strength bolster her.

"Well, I'd say that was a success," she commented as they  hailed a cab.  He looked down at her inquisitively.  He  hadn't been allowed to accompany her into the questioning  room, but she quickly filled him in on the details.

Apparently her testimony alone was not enough to justify an  arrest, but the FBI was in contact with Congolese officials  and it looked as though they'd be willing to allow the  customs officer to testify. Gary Keane was being called in  for questioning, and a search warrant would be issued for  the New Eden warehouses.  Between the three of them, the  FBI agents she'd spoken with expected to have quite a case  against David Campbell.  From there, it would depend on  whether or not he was willing to testify in turn against  his superior.  The officers weren't ready to concede that  the mastermind of the plot was Lex Luthor, but they  intended to follow up on the information she'd provided.   None of them knew what to make of Superman, either, but  both the Congo officials and the would-be assassin had  described him in just the same way.  They'd been forced to  accept his existence, and hoped they might somehow make  contact with him for questioning as well.

For now, she was allowed to print that there had been an  attempt on her life, but not the reasons behind it.  The  officers had agreed that she would be allowed to print each  successive piece of the investigation as it happened.

They caught a cab to the Planet.  Inside, Lois led him  immediately to Perry's office.  "Lois!" her editor  exclaimed.  "You're supposed to be undercover."

"I was, Chief."  She made a face.  "Until someone tried to  kill me."

Perry stood immediately.  "What?  Are you alright, honey?"   He started to come around the desk, but she smiled  reassuringly and waved him away.

"I'm fine," she said.  "You won't believe what happened."

"But I'll see it in my evening edition?" he asked,  grinning.

"Absolutely.  Well, as much of it as we can print.  The FBI  is still working on some of it."  Lois lowered her voice.   "And you remember my suspicions about Lex Luthor?" she  asked, glancing at the closed door.  "Now, I know he owns  the Planet, but I know he's in on this.  And the FBI isn't  quite ready to believe me, but I'm sure the evidence they  come up with will prove it."

Perry sat back in his chair.  "Well, Lois, we can't print  anything about him without absolute proof.  A direct  statement from the FBI or something like that."

"I know," she assured him, slightly annoyed.  "I just  wanted you to know.  The FBI's going to let us print  everything as it happens; we'll have the exclusive."

Perry smiled proudly.  "That's my girl."

Lois grinned back, then turned to Clark.  "Perry, I-- I  want you to meet a very old friend of mine.  Clark Kent,  Perry White."

Perry seemed a bit surprised by the non sequitur, but he  extended a hand.  "Nice to meet you, son."

Clark shook it warmly.  "Nice to meet you, sir."

"Now, you know I've been feeling a little... under the  weather," Lois started, looking to Perry, sticking with the  story she and Clark had concocted on their flight over.   "And I knew this was a big story, but I was having a lot of  trouble focusing on it.  But Clark here was in town the  last week, and he's a freelance journalist.  So I... I told  him my leads and he's been helping me track them down.  We  thought he could help me write it up, and if you liked his  work, maybe he could join us here at the Planet."

Even as she spoke she realized how flimsy a story it was,  and she could see in his eyes that Perry knew it, too.   Lois Lane, willingly share a lead?  Or a byline?  With a  freelance reporter, no less?  She was relying on the  knowledge that he had probably been humoring her all week,  that he might be willing to let this slide as well.

"I have some samples of my work," Clark added, reaching for  the attache.

Perry's gaze shifted to him.  "Let me see.  I'll take a  look while you two write up your story," he agreed  reluctantly, still eyeing Lois.  "I can't make any  promises.  We're not supposed to be hiring new staff right  now."

Clark smiled.  "I understand.  Thanks for taking the time  anyway."  He extracted the clippings from the case and  handed them over.

"We're just going to write this up, then," Lois said,  breaking the awkward silence that had settled over them.   "And then I'm going home, and I'm not coming in tomorrow.   I need some sleep."

Perry nodded in surprise.  "Sounds like a good idea to me,  honey.  Take care of yourself."  He watched them go, eyes  narrowed.  Clark took Lois's hand as they went, and she  glanced up at him with a tired but happy smile.

"Well, I never," Perry said softly, and turned his  attention to the clippings with renewed interest.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Working with Lois was like nothing he'd ever known.

He was surprised to find they could have such fun  performing such a mundane task, but they fell easily into a  comfortable, playful pattern.  He let her do the typing; it  was her story, after all, even if she was sharing the  byline with him.  He contented himself with leaning over  her shoulder and pointing out changes and typos.  She could  be very defensive about her writing, he learned, but she  was always smiling at him, her joy at his presence  outweighing her irritation, and she accepted most of his  corrections good-naturedly in the end.

She focused on the attempt on her life and her miraculous  rescue by the mysterious superhero, trying to downplay her  reasons for being undercover in the first place.  Knowing  Perry wouldn't believe the story of her Superman rescue  without proof, they'd asked Wells to take several pictures  of the two of them and fabricated a brief interview with  the superhero to run as a sidebar to Lois's murder story.   They were going to have a problem if the customs officer  told anyone he'd seen Superman kiss her, but it couldn't be  helped.  The only thing they could do was try to keep Lois  as distant from Superman as possible and try to discourage  any rumors that sprang up.

They were nearly finished with their articles when a voice  interrupted, "Lois?"

Clark looked up to see a tall auburn-haired woman  hesitantly approaching the desk.  Lois smiled almost shyly.   "Cat," she said.  "Let me introduce you to Clark Kent.   Clark, this is my colleague and friend, Cat Grant.  Cat's  our society columnist here at the Planet."

Clark extended his hand.  "A pleasure to meet you."

Cat took his hand, surprise making her hesitate.  "The  pleasure is mine," she replied sincerely, but her eyes were  on Lois.  "I've heard a lot about you."

"Clark's in town visiting," Lois explained softly.  "But  he's thinking of staying in Metropolis."

Cat's gaze moved back to Clark, as if sizing him up.  "I'm  glad to hear that.  I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon,  then."

"I'll look forward to it," he replied, grinning.

Cat nodded politely at him, but her eyes were on Lois  again, and they were shining with shared joy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

And then the door clicked shut behind him, and at last they  were truly alone.  Lois settled her bag on the kitchen  floor, switching on the living room lamp, and then turned  back to face him.

For a long moment they simply looked at each other, eyes  locked.  He was astonished at how beautiful she was to him,  half-familiar but somehow brighter, more solid, more  substantial.  There was warmth in her eyes, and wonder, but  a hesitance, too. He moved forward, focusing on the warmth  for a moment.  "Are you real?" he asked, only half-joking.   Even after a whole day spent in her presence, he couldn't  believe any of it.

He raised a hand to touch her cheek lightly, skimming  across to curl at her shoulder and pull her gently to him.   She came willingly, eagerly, folding herself into his arms,  her face pressed tight to the side of his throat.  "Oh,  Clark," she said softly.  "I don't believe it."

He buried his face in her hair, letting the silken strands  caress his cheek, breathing deeply the scent of shampoo and  her.  "It feels real," he marveled, feeling foolish but  needing that confirmation.      She made a choked sound low in her throat, halfway between  a laugh and a sob.  "It *is* real," she said wonderingly.   "It's real."

He looked down at her for a moment, his heart beginning to  pound in his chest, and then he lowered his head to kiss  her deeply.  She complied, yielding to the sudden heat that  flared in him, but he could sense that her own response was  muted.  Pulling away, he studied her face in the half- light.  "Lois?"

Her eyes dropped.  "It's not that I don't want..."  She  trailed off, gathering her thoughts.  "So much has happened  today, Clark.  Almost dying, and then you showing up...  So  much so fast.  I can't manage it all.  Could you-- would  you just hold me tonight?  I just need to calm down a  little."

His doubt must have shown on his face, because she reached  up to touch his cheek with the backs of her fingers.  "It's  not you," she assured him as firmly as she could.  "It's  just... I'm tired, and I'm emotional, and I don't want that  for our first time.  Do you understand?"

Clark nodded, knowing she was right, but it was hard not to  read anything into her sudden withdrawal.  "Yes," he  whispered, pulling her back to him.  "It's wonderful just  to hold you."

They stood that way for a moment, weary after the long day.   She could hear his heart beating solid and strong under her  cheek.  She thought it might be the most beautiful thing  she'd ever heard.  He rocked gently back and forth, his  arms warm and tight, and she burrowed her face closer  against his neck, simply savoring a moment they'd never  thought to have. They stayed there together for a long  time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He offered to sleep on the couch and leave the bedroom to  her.  After her withdrawal, he wasn't sure what she wanted.   She'd agreed with him at first that perhaps it would be  best.  But then she'd glanced shyly up at him and commented  that it would be nice to fall asleep in his arms.

He'd agreed immediately; besides the closeness and intimacy  of the idea, neither one of them really wanted to let the  other out of their sight.  They were both terrified to  waken and find the events of the day the cruelest dream of  all.

There was an awkward moment when they both returned to the  bedroom, having changed clothes and brushed teeth and  prepared for bed.  For a moment they simply stood staring  at the floor, reluctant to make eye contact.  At last Lois  moved to one side of the bed.  "I usually sleep here," she  said, reaching to pull the covers down.  "Do you have a  preference?"

He moved to the other side.  "This is fine."  He made no  move to climb into bed until she did.  She turned on her  side, facing him, but he made no move to touch her.  She  lay waiting, wondering, for several awkward moments,  looking at him and making idle conversation.  "Clark," she  started at last.  "Can I..."  She wanted him to hold her,  needed him to pull her against him and assure her she was  safe and loved.

"Lois," he replied softly, and she moved quickly toward  him, letting him enfold her in his arms.  She hadn't  realized she was near tears until they were streaming down  her face, and she tried angrily to quell them.  She'd cried  so much today!

"Shh," he was saying, though his voice was suspiciously  shaky as well.  "It's okay.  You're okay.  I'm here, I  won't leave you."

She hugged him back fiercely.  "I love you," she told him  forcefully, definitively.  "I'm not going anywhere either."

His hand stroked gently through her hair, soft and  soothing.  "I love you, too," he told her, trying to keep  his movements slow and non-threatening, knowing she was  reacting once again to the trauma of the day.  "It's okay,"  he said again.  "Go to sleep."

She sniffled, pressing herself ever closer in his embrace,  but the stiffness was leaving her body, her breathing  slowing as she relaxed in his arms and surrendered to her  exhaustion.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lois woke to the sound of someone breathing beside her.  At  first she stiffened, unnerved and frightened by the  unfamiliar sound.  Then her eyes opened in surprise,  falling on Clark, and she smiled softly.  His face was  relaxed in slumber; he looked peaceful, happy.  She'd never  seen him so vulnerable before, so unworried.  And this was  a new experience for them.  In all the years they'd been  dreaming, they'd never awakened together.

She reached out, unable to resist, and laid the back of her  hand gently on his cheek.  His eyes fluttered slowly open  at the touch.  Clark made a low sound of pleasure and  contentment, turning to look over at her and grinning as  she came into focus.  "Good morning," he said softly.

"Good morning."  Scooting forward, she cuddled close  against his side, and he folded her in his arms.  "What a  nice way to wake up," she commented happily, pillowing her  head on his shoulder.  "Can we stay like this all day?"

He chuckled.  "Wouldn't that be nice?"

She frowned a little.  "Does that mean no?"

Clark shrugged.  "Well, sooner or later I have to write my  column.  Wells is coming back this afternoon to pick it up.   After that we can do whatever we like," he continued.   "This, or something else..."  He smiled softly to let her  know he was only teasing, remembering how she'd pulled away  the night before, but her eyes were smiling back.

She made a face.  "Well, if we have to..."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead.  "We don't have to get  up just yet."  She tilted her head to look up at him, and  they traded several soft, exploratory kisses until Lois  laughed at last and pulled away.

"If we're not careful, we *will* spend the whole day here,  and I don't want Wells walking in on us that way!"  She  stood, straightening her pajamas and offering him a hand.   "Come on.  Let's see what we can do about this column."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She moaned softly and Clark deepened the kiss, gently,  tenderly, his hands coming up to cup her face.  Her arms  were wrapped loosely, lazily around his neck, her fingers  playing in his hair.  She broke away and reclaimed his lips  several times, small, teasing kisses, neither of them  pushing too hard.

Clark had struggled to stay professional as she'd helped  him write his goodbye column, mindful of the limits she'd  set the night before, but even the tiny, unconscious  touches she'd given him were distracting.  Resting her hand  on his shoulder; her body pressing into his back as she  leaned in to read what he'd typed over his shoulder; her  hand over his on the mouse; all of them had served to make  him increasingly aware of her, the physical presence of  her, so much so that when they'd finished it was all he  could do not to sweep her up in his arms.

Fortunately, she seemed to be feeling the same things.  As  he put the finishing touches on the column, she bent down  over him as if to read over his shoulder again.  This time  she turned her head and planted a tentative kiss on his  neck.  The unexpected touch startled a laugh out of him,  but he found her hand and squeezed it to let her know he  wasn't laughing at her.  He could feel her smile against  his skin, and then she continued stringing those tiny  kisses up the line of his neck.

He'd struggled to finish editing the column and printing it  out, and then edged his chair backwards, pulling her around  in front of him and down into his lap, meeting her kiss  fully.  Lois spread her hands across the back of his neck,  slid them slowly down until they were splayed over his  chest, fingers tracing idly over his shirt, fumbling at the  button at his collar.

There came a knock on the door.

Lois groaned in frustration, not breaking the kiss.  He  reached up and caught her hands at his neck, bringing them  down between them and gently pulling away.  A quick scan of  the door confirmed what he already knew.  "It's Wells," he  told her.  "He's here to pick up the column."

She made a face, straightening her hair and clothes, but  she went to the door and let the time traveler in.

"Hello again, Lois, my dear.  And Clark, how is your column  coming along?"

Clark retrieved the forgotten sheet of paper from the  printer.  "We just finished it."  They'd bought a card at  the drugstore the night before, and he folded the page  inside and handed it over.

Wells smiled.  "I'll ensure it gets to your editor."  He  glanced back into the hall.  "I, ah, took the liberty of  having your apartment packed," he admitted after a moment.   "I have several boxes downstairs for you."

Clark was surprised but pleased at Wells's forethought, and  went down to the alley to retrieve his belongings, leaving  Lois and the time traveler alone for a moment.

Lois cleared her throat nervously, her hands fidgeting.   "Mr. Wells," she said softly, "I didn't get to thank you  properly, yesterday.  You saved my life... You brought him  to me..."  She closed her eyes, sudden tears threatening,  and she blinked them away.  "I can't tell you what it means  to me, to us.  You've given me everything.  I have no way  to thank you for that."

Wells smiled gently.  "There's no need for thanks, my dear.   I've known Clark a long time, and he's helped me in the  past even when it cost him everything.  He deserves to be  happy, and you make him happy.  And together you can do  great things for your world.  I'm only pleased I could help  you."

Clark returned then with a massive stack of boxes, moving  at human speed to avoid calling attention to himself but  carrying far more than he should.  Lois clucked at him.   "You're going to drop something."

Clark laughed as he settled the stack on the living room  floor.  "I'll be fine, Lois.  I've got one more load to  bring up."  He turned to Wells.  "Thank you for bringing my  things.  I'd have left them behind in a heartbeat," he  admitted, "but it'll be nice to have a few pieces of home."

"Not to mention clothing," Lois quipped wryly.  He was  still wearing yesterday's suit.

It took him only a moment to bring up the rest of the  boxes.  Wells smiled at the two of them, putting Clark's  envelope in his pocket.  "Well, then, I must be going.  I'm  sure the two of you have plenty to do."  He extended a hand  to Clark.  "Take care, my boy.  You're starting a brand new  life.  I'm sure it will be exciting."

Clark grinned as he shook the man's hand.  "I can't wait."   Sobering, he continued, "I can't thank you enough for your  help.  If you hadn't--"

"That's enough," Wells interrupted.  "You deserved this.   I'm glad you have it."  Turning to Lois, he hugged her  politely.  "You two will be just fine.  And maybe our paths  will cross again in the future."  Smiling, he tipped his  hat and left.

And once again they were alone.

Feeling abruptly awkward, Clark gestured embarrassedly at  the pile of boxes.  "I'm sort of taking over your living  room, aren't I?  I'll start looking for my own place  tomorrow so you can--"

"No."

He looked back at her, startled.  "No?"

She smiled gently.  "No, you're not taking over my living  room, and no, I don't want you looking for your own place.   I-- I want you to stay.  With me."

He hesitated.  "Lois... last night..."

She made a face.  "I was tired and overwrought last night,"  she reminded him.  "Didn't I tell you not to read anything  into that?"

He blushed.  "Well, yeah..."

"But you just had to assume I didn't want to be with you.   Didn't want you," she continued, her tone reproachful.  She  stepped closer, laying a hand on his chest.  "Clark, I  almost died yesterday.  I *would* have died if not for you.   Then I met the love of my life for the first time," she  continued softly.  "The only man I've ever loved, and  suddenly he was there with me."  She grinned.  "Don't you  think that's enough of an emotional roller-coaster for one  day, without throwing making love for the first time in  there, too?"

He chuckled, acknowledging the truth in her words.

"Yesterday, I just needed you to hold me, let me calm down  and find some peace.  It was a heck of a day!  And you did  that wonderfully," she assured him, moving closer yet to  wrap her arms low about his waist and lay her head on his  chest.  "I needed that, and you gave it to me.  I've never  had that before.  Don't underestimate what that meant to me  just because it's not making love.  I still wanted you.   It's just a different kind of need."

He reached up to enfold her in his arms, warm and  comforting, and they stood thus for a long moment.  After a  time, she tilted her head back, inviting, and he kissed her  gently.  "Clark," she said softly.

"Yes?"

She grinned shyly up at him.  "Today's been a pretty  uneventful day."

He blinked in surprise, a slow smile spreading over his  face.  "Really?  Are you sure?"

She made a face of impatience, tracing the fingers of one  hand idly over his chest.  "Clark, how much of an  invitation do you need?"

He raised a hand to curve around the back of her head.   "That's enough," he assured her, bending down to kiss her  once more.

She met him eagerly this time, smiling so much she could  barely kiss him. The desperate urgency that had fueled them  two nights ago was gone, and in its place was a relaxed,  awed joy. They let the emotion carry them, lightly, easily,  trading kisses that were both playful and loving.  There  was no pain here, no threat of separation when the night  was over.  Lois was surprised to find that, under these  circumstances, she could be all the things she hadn't known  how to be: seductive, bold, flirtatious. She reveled in  that newfound freedom, using hands and lips to tease as  well as to worship, and every sound of pleasure he made  thrilled her as well, the knowledge that she could make him  feel that.

Reality melted around them, soft and surreal, as they made  their way slowly to the bedroom, easing away layers of  cloth as they went.  Lois fell back on the bed, drawing a  shaky breath.  He rose above her, arms wrapped around her  body, and she closed her eyes.  It was the most real moment  she'd ever known.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Corrie Andrews returned to her office that evening to  pick up her coat, she was surprised to find a card on her  desk.  The strong, clean handwriting inside was familiar.

Dear Corrie,

I'm sorry to do this in writing, but please accept my  resignation from the Planet.  I'd have liked to give you  two weeks' notice, but circumstances don't allow that.   I've enclosed my last column; please see that it gets  printed if you approve.  I appreciate everything you've  done for me.  Thank you for being such a good friend.  And  don't worry about me.  Just know that I'm okay, and that  I'm much happier this way.

Take care of yourself,

Clark Kent

Folded inside the envelope she found a sheet of typed paper  and a photograph.  She pulled out the column first.

"HOPE FOR THE FUTURE

"By Clark Kent

"To the people of Metropolis, and the world:

"For two years now I've had the privilege of serving you  and watching your world turn slowly out of darkness into  light.  I've seen a violent, cynical community begin to  heal, to strive for peace and to trust one another enough  to believe it can happen.  You don't know how proud I am of  all of you, how flattered I am by the idea that I might  have helped you find the courage to take these first steps.   From here it can only get easier.  I have every faith in  you.

"But the time has come for me to take my leave of you.   It's come to my attention that another world has need of  me, great need, and I think I have need of it, too.  Don't  think the choice was an easy one, or that I'm abandoning  you.  I know you all can make it on your own now.  There  are plenty of you just waiting for the opportunity to step  up and lead.  You don't need a figurehead anymore.

"I see so many good things for you.  In just two years,  peace talks have reopened in three different conflicts.   Petty crime is down forty percent in Metropolis.  More than  a thousand neighborhood watch groups have formed in the  United States alone.  And it's only been two years.   Imagine what you'll do in ten, in twenty!

"So I leave you with a sad heart, but not a heavy one.  I  know you all have it in you to be heroes.  Now's your  chance.  I trust you to rise to the occasion."

Corrie folded the sheet again, dropping it to the desk,  slightly stunned.  He was leaving?  What would compel him  to do something like that?  Where would he go?

Her eyes fell on the photograph on the desk, and she picked  it up.  It was a picture of Clark, bold and unmistakable in  Superman blue.  But in his arms, his eyes fixed adoringly  on her, was a woman smiling back at him.  It took Corrie a  second to recognize her.  Gasping in surprise, she flipped  the photo over, hoping for an explanation.

Clark had written the date on the back: April 25th, 1997.   Below that, he'd printed a short message.  "Don't ask too  many questions.  Just believe that I am very happy, happier  than I ever expected to be.  All the best, Clark."

She turned the picture back, smiling fondly at the couple.   "Good for you, Clark," she said softly.  "Good for you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Clark pulled her close against his chest, smoothing her  damp hair back from her brow.  Lois smiled up at him  drowsily, and he tucked her head into his shoulder,  watching as her eyes closed and her breathing evened.  He  didn't want to fall asleep just yet.  He simply drew his  fingers gently through her hair, learning, letting each  sensation bleed through him.

He still couldn't quite believe he was here with her.  For  real.  Forever.  And she was just as he'd always known she  would be.  Her voice was the same, her laughter, and the  taste of her as she kissed him.  Her body fit against his,  her heartbeat mingled with his.  She was beautiful and  brilliant and feisty and loving, and she belonged with him.

She was, quite simply, everything he'd ever dreamed of.

He pressed a kiss to her brow, pulling her closer to him,  and let himself slip into sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The End

The quotes at the beginning of each chapter are credited as  follows:

1 - Tentatively attributed to William Shakespeare.

2 - Excerpted from The Rose, by Amanda Broom.

3 - Excerpted from Dream a Dream (and See), by Dennis Lee  and Phil Balsam (written for Fraggle Rock).

4 - Attributed to Janos Irany.

5 - Excerpted from William Shakespeare's Sonnet CXVI.

6 - Attributed to Samuel Johnson.

7 - H. G. Wells in L&C: Soulmates, screenwritten by Brad  Kern (?).

8 - Excerpted from Markings, by Dag Hammarskj”ld

9 - Excerpted from One Day I'll Fly Away, by Will Jennings  and Joe Sample.

10 - Excerpted from Calvin and Hobbes, by Bill Watterson.

Notes:  Mwerana is a fictitious city in the Democratic  Republic of Congo. Also, while the country does have  diamond resources, they are not their chief export in our  universe

Table of Contents

In Dreams

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN