Presidential Party

By Pam Jernigan (ChiefPam@nc.rr.com)

Summary: A month after the Presidential inauguration, the Kent  family members struggle to adjust to their new roles. And Clark  finds himself under scrutiny by a Secret Service agent who's also  a Superman fan. A continuation of the fanfic "All the President's  Men."

[Note: This story is part of the continuity begun in PRESIDENT  KENT (preskent.txt) and continued in ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN  (allmen.txt); you should read those first. (No, really, you  should, this won't make much sense otherwise - you go and find  them; I'll wait right here...) In this story, three asterisks  don't denote a change of scene so much as a change in point of  view.]

As always, big thanks to my once-and-future partner Sarah Wood,  and to Chris Mulder, the A-plot queen! Thanks also to everyone  who wrote to me about the first two stories (especially Michael)  and encouraged me to write more - you know who you are - consider  this one your fault <g>

Presidential Party (but no one wants to dance)

***

Prologue: February 7th (two weeks after the inauguration)

Maybe coming back to work hadn't been such a good idea. During  the campaign, Clark had often daydreamed about getting away from  politics and back to the Planet; Lois had especially looked  forward to reporting the news instead of making it. They should  have known it wouldn't be that simple. Nothing they did was ever  that simple.

Take this press conference, for example. It was a simple  announcement by the town council of a new property annexation,  and it should have been a fairly easy assignment, which was the  reason Perry had given it to them. They'd spent the last year on  the campaign trail, so they needed time to get caught up on  Metropolis issues. At least they'd finally graduated out of the  re-writes he'd given them their first week back.

But this simple press conference and easy assignment had nearly  gotten out of hand. As soon as they'd appeared, most of the other  reporters had dropped the city council cold and focused on them,  instead, with all the subtlety of a pack of ravenous wolves. At  least thirty people pressed in on them from all sides, clamoring  for attention, making individual questions hard to hear, much  less comprehend.

"Clark, what does your mother have to say about these recent  terrorist bombings?" "Lois, do you know anything about her new  policy in the Balkans?" "What's President Kent's position on this  land grab by the city of Metropolis?" The frivolity of that last  question did earn its originator a few scornful looks, but on the  whole, the crowd was deadly serious.

Clark had held out his hands in a vain effort to forestall some  of the chaos; he could see that Lois was near her flash point. To  her credit, however, she hadn't exploded. Instead, she'd glared.  One by one, she'd stared down her once and future colleagues  until the flow of questions slowed to a weak trickle. Only then  had she spoken.

"We are not, repeat *not,* here on behalf of the President. We  are here as reporters - you do recognize the word, right? - for  the Daily Planet. The same reporters we were for years, the same  people you've known for years. We cover the city beat, same as  you." She looked around to see if they were getting it. "Only  better, of course," she taunted, with a smug lift of her chin.

Clark winced at this jab. He surveyed the crowd surrounding them.  The scoop-hungry look was fading from their eyes, though, and he  started to comprehend her strategy; she was getting them to focus  on her, not her famous mother-in-law.

"Says you, Lane," came a challenge from somewhere behind them.

Lois turned in the general direction of the voice. "Yeah, says  me, Jake - unless you've improved miraculously in the year I've  been gone." Her tone dripped sarcasm. "Your free ride on this  beat is over, boys and girls, so you'd better get to work."

She moved towards the podium then, grabbing two of the good  seats, forcing the focus back to the press conference. Clark  could still hear murmured speculation from all around them,  though, and it was hard to ignore all the looks they were  getting. Lois kept her attention studiously on the details of the  annexation, but her cheeks were red.

***

From the side of the room, Keith Jackson watched. He'd come in  near the end of the mob scene. Even though he was no longer on  Clark and Lois Kent's Secret Service guard detail, and was  off-duty to boot, he'd been on the verge of interceding. Lois,  however, had proved herself more than equal to the situation.  He'd been right, he reflected; Spitfire was a good code name for  her.

Keith was a slender, serious, black man, wearing the suit-and-tie  uniform of the Secret Service, in Metropolis for the day to do  some advance preparations for the President's next visit. He was  in superb shape; sports were no longer the main focus of his  life, but he still worked out daily. At almost thirty, he was old  enough to have a clear idea of his goals in life, but young  enough to just be starting to achieve them. He was naturally  impatient, but experience had proved to him that patience had its  rewards.

So he'd settled back to wait until the end of the press  conference. With any luck and a little nerve, he'd be able to  grab a short conversation with the Kents about Superman.

Keith had been a Superman fan for years; ever since college, when  Superman had first appeared. He'd followed the news stories and  collected some of the merchandise. After a while, he'd found out  about the Internet fan groups, and had joined in with enthusiasm.  As long as you took a few basic precautions, you could meet some  really great people via modem. And what had started as adolescent  hero worship had grown over the years into a more mature and  whole-hearted admiration.

Growing up, he'd never even thought about going into law  enforcement. The idea of fighting for truth and justice, however,  had rung a powerful chord in Keith's young heart and mind, and  he'd tried to do his part. He couldn't admit it to himself  without feeling foolish and presumptuous, but deep down inside,  he felt that as a Federal agent, he was on Superman's team,  fighting for the same goals. Like his hero, Keith wanted to  help.

His dream was to get to know Superman, just a little, to let him  know how he'd changed his life. Maybe even be able to help him  once in a while. He didn't dare to dream higher. That was why  he'd applied for his current Secret Service position in the first  place. His supervisor in the Investigations Branch had hated to  lose him, but for the chance to meet his hero, Keith had pulled  all the strings available.

It had worked, too. In a meeting a few weeks ago, Superman had  shaken his hand, and by some magic, had even known his name. That  brief moment had elated him for a day. Unfortunately, he'd soon  remembered the reason for that meeting: to relieve Keith of his  duty and replace him with Superman. Well, of course Superman  could do a better job guarding Clark and Lois Kent, no question,  and no one had seemed to hold it against him... but the fact  remained that he had failed. Failure was not something to which  he was accustomed, and to have it taint his first meeting with  his hero...! He was determined to redeem himself. He just had to  figure out how.

Which was what he wanted to talk to the Kents about, if he had  time. He wasn't even sure exactly what he wanted to ask, but  since he was in Metropolis anyway... He just hoped his nerve  held. Keith wouldn't have hesitated to give his life for his  country, but the thought of asking Superman's friends to help him  fulfill his dream was enough to make his palms sweat.

***

Forty long minutes into the press conference, Clark heard a  distant call for help, listening long enough to figure out what  was needed and where. He turned to let his wife know he'd be back  in a few minutes, only to find her already packing up her  things.

At his inquiring look she smirked. "I've learned a few things  over the years, Kent. And I want to get out of here, too, so  let's leave together."

"It shouldn't take me long," he whispered as they left the room  full of curious eyes. "I'll meet you back at the newsroom."

"That'll be fine. At least we're back to normal in some ways."  She smiled up at him as they exited City Hall.

He took time to kiss her goodbye, and ducked into a side street.

***

Keith had studied the Kents for the first half hour of the press  conference, taking note of how they sat and shifted in their  seats, of how they sometimes leaned toward one another to  exchange confidences, of how their hands drifted together if they  weren't taking notes. Even when they weren't looking at each  other there seemed to be a certain awareness between them.

The speaker droned on hypnotically about topological maps,  neighborhood covenants, and legal contracts, and to keep his mind  alert, Keith turned his attention to the rest of the large,  echoing room. Most of the reporters seemed to be paying close  attention to the issue and nodding. He hadn't realized this would  take so long; he'd have to be getting back to his job soon.

In surveying the perimeter of the old room, he almost missed  seeing the Kents leave. He followed them as quickly as he could,  weaving his way through the knots of people standing in the  lobby. When he exited the building, however, he saw only Lois,  walking towards the parking garage. He looked around, wondering  where Clark could have gone, and in that moment of hesitation,  lost his nerve. He'd have to catch up with them some other time.

Chapter 1: Private party, February 28 (Clark's birthday)

Lois entered the Kents' Kansas farmhouse, absurdly pleased to be  there. Since her first visit, years ago, this old farmhouse had  slowly changed from a minefield of embarrassment to a familiar  and safe haven against the outside world. Within these walls, the  Kent family could relax into themselves, without the constant  worry of letting "the secret" slip. It was a warm and welcoming  feeling, in a sanctuary to be treasured.

At the moment, however, the house looked a bit forlorn. The  presidential campaign had absorbed most of the family's energy  over the past year, and time had been even more scarce since  Martha's inauguration five weeks ago. Lois began turning on  lights and plumping the sofa cushions. She had been planning this  getaway to celebrate Clark's birthday for weeks now, and if all  had gone to plan she'd have been able to spend the day here  cleaning, tidying, and maybe, if she felt confident enough, even  baking a cake. Crises, however, happen, and she hadn't been able  to do any sort of preparation; at this point, the Kent family  would be lucky to sneak a few hours together.

Lois heard the double-whoosh of a landing and take-off on the  porch, and turned smiling towards the door to greet her  father-in-law, the First Gentleman of the United States. He  opened the door a bit shakily.

"Hi, Jonathan, how are you?" Lois crossed the floor swiftly to  give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm fine, dear, how are you?"

"I'm fine." She stepped back to inspect him from close range.  "You're looking a bit wobbly, though. I guess you're not too used  to flying Air Clark, are you?"

"No, I'm not," he admitted with a laugh, heading for his easy  chair. "I was fine higher up, but when he got in close to land,  it unsettled me just a little bit."

Lois smiled. "I usually try to close my eyes for flying close to  the ground - all that stuff in your peripheral vision can throw  you off. Let me get you some water. Right now, though, you might  want to close your eyes and just breathe deeply. It should pass  in a minute."

She started for the kitchen without checking to see if he  followed her advice, her thoughts turning to Clark. He was  probably back at the White House by now, trying to smuggle his  mother out for an evening...

***

Clark approached the White House from the rear, wondering if he  could pull this off again. After Superman had been put in charge  of security for Clark and Lois, his mother had been able to  insist on a private entrance to her White House living quarters  for him, and a suitable compromise between convenience and  security had been established. Now, one of the windows to the  private Presidential sitting room was equipped with a motion  sensor and a keypad. Once motion outside the second floor window  was detected, only the correct passcode would avert an alarm -  and that passcode needed to be entered in under three seconds.  That time limit, it was felt, would prevent anyone cracking the  code, even with electronic devices, but it would be no problem  for Superman.

That is, assuming he remembered the passcode. He'd nearly  forgotten it earlier, when he'd arrived to get his Dad. He'd had  a nightmare-like flash of the alarm sounding, bringing tall men  in sunglasses and dark suits scrambling from all directions.  After a moment of panicky blankness, however, he'd remembered the  code just in time.

He hovered for a moment, out of range of the motion detectors,  running through the keying sequence one more time. Getting his  dad out, and now coming back for his mother, made him feel like a  teenager sneaking home hours after curfew. Not that he'd ever  actually broken curfew; Clark hadn't really started breaking  rules until he met Lois.

Mentally prepared, he moved forward and keyed in the correct code  - with time to spare. Grinning, he opened the now-unlocked  window, stepping into his parents' sitting room.

A television set in the corner was tuned to CNN;  not-so-incidentally masking any other sounds in the room. Martha  looked up from the sofa, smiling at him over the lapful of  papers. "Hello, Clark. I'm almost done here, just give me another  moment to finish my train of thought."

"Yes ma'am," he replied in mock-formal tones, tipping her a  sketchy salute. She laughed softly, her attention drawn back to  her papers.

Clark settled into a chair to wait and idly made a visual sweep  of the building, verifying that everything was quiet. If a crisis  emerged in the next few hours, someone should find the note by  the phone indicating where the President could be reached. If  not, no one need ever know she'd left the building. He had been a  little surprised that his mom had agreed to sneak away like this  (it had been Lois's plan, of course) but apparently she was  stressed enough to need the time away from the job.

Everything appeared to be shutting down for the night, with just  the usual security men on patrol and the two Secret Service  agents on guard outside the President's door. Clark recognized  Keith Jackson, who'd originally been assigned to protect the  younger Kents; his tenure had been brief but eventful, including  a short period in which they'd all three been locked up by  terrorists. Since being supplanted by Superman, he'd apparently  been moved to Presidential security. Clark made a mental note to  ask his Dad how Keith was working out; he'd seemed like a good  guy.

"So, Jackson, going on the IRC after work tonight?"

Clark was startled when the strange agent in the hall spoke; lost  in thought, he'd almost forgotten that he was tuned into them.  The question seemed to have a mocking tone to it, and Clark  wondered why.

"Probably." Keith answered succinctly. Clark could detect the  agent's cheeks heating up, even though Keith's mahogany  complexion hid the blush.

"Well, why don't you try a real channel this time, something  about sports or something?" Definitely an unfriendly suggestion.  The second agent in the hall snorted his disgust. "Only a bunch  of kids would hang out on #SUPERMAN."

Clark had been wavering between curiosity and propriety, but at  this turn, curiosity won. There was an IRC channel about him?  He'd heard about the newsgroup, but he'd always assumed that it  was dominated by, well, twelve-year olds.

Keith was shaking his head doggedly. "No, man, it's not like  that. Big Blue is a hero; he means a lot to people. I mean, we  talk about the stuff he does, but we also talk about the stuff  *we* can do, each of us, to help."

Clark's ears were starting to burn, and he was relieved to hear  his mother stand up and stretch.

"Clark, are you ready to go?"

He turned his attention to her and smiled. "Air Force One, at  your service."

***

Some time later, they were all relaxing in the living room.  Dinner had been eaten, a cake produced, and birthday wishes duly  sung. The birthday boy had then proceeded to eat most of the  cake, to the amusement of his family.

Jonathan was stretched out in his easy chair as if he never  intended to leave it, within hand-holding distance of Martha, who  was on the love seat. Clark was propped against one end of the  sofa, with Lois leaning back against his chest. They all wore  contented expressions, basking in the warmth of family and the  absence of outsiders.

"Oh, my, it's good to be back here," Martha sighed, running her  fingers over the couch cushion. "I didn't know how much I loved  it until I was away for so long. Thanks for bringing me here  tonight, Clark, and thanks for that dinner..." It was only take  out from Wichita, but the company had redeemed it.

She looked fondly over at her only son, relaxing with his  ever-so-slightly tipsy wife. Lois had indulged in more wine than  was usual for her, enjoying their respite from public eye. "I  love this house," she now declared enthusiastically. "Do you guys  remember the first time I was here?"

Oh yes, that first encounter with Kryptonite, and the first time  someone had tried to kill them for their relationship to Clark -  Martha didn't think she could ever forget it. It hadn't come up  in conversation for years, though, not since they'd filled Lois  in on everything she'd missed the first time around.

Lois giggled. "I totally embarrassed myself, didn't I? Telling  you what a fax machine was, when you had one already... and  saying Jonathan was, was..." Words failed her as the giggles won  out again.

Martha smiled, and saw answering smiles on the Kent men. Lois had  been so out of her element then, and so adorable. "You didn't do  that all by yourself, you know, Lois. Clark set you up for a good  deal of it."

Lois looked confused as Clark protested, "Who, me?"

"Yes, you." Martha answered in a tone of mock severity. "I quote:  'Careful, Mom, Lois thinks the cook might be a cross-dresser.'  You could have told her yourself that she was talking about your  father; how was she to know?"

Lois looked up at her husband in dawning realization. "Yeah,  she's right... Busted, Kent! And I thought you were so sweet and  naive back then..."

He laughed. "I *was*! But I was being steadily corrupted by this  big-city girl who would have run me over like a steamroller if I  wasn't careful." He gently tickled her stomach, and she swatted  his hand away, unmollified.

"Yeah, right, I'm so sure. I'll get you back, Clark, just see if  I don't..." she threatened, although the effect was somewhat  spoiled by her huge grin.

"Oh, you don't have to, Lois," Martha leaned forward to catch her  daughter-in-law's eye. "Why do you think I asked if you two were  sleeping together, when I knew perfectly well that you weren't?"

"Mo-om!" Clark protested, covering his eyes in remembered  embarrassment.

Lois giggled. "You are evil, Martha; I can't believe the American  people voted for you."

"I can," Jonathan interjected dryly. "Considering how many crooks  there are in office, I think it's perfectly obvious that the  American people like that sort of thing."

***

Back at the White House, Keith's guard shift was up. "All quiet?"  His replacement queried.

"Nine o'clock and all's well," Keith confirmed. He was glad to be  done sharing duty with Braun. Not that he was a bad guy, he just  had no imagination.

Braun frowned at this hint of frivolity. "All's quiet. Picasso  and Scarecrow are in there alone, and they asked not to be  disturbed if at all possible."

"They have the TV on," Keith added helpfully. "I think this  recent upsurge of domestic terrorism has really got them  concerned." He knew it was none of his business; Secret Service  agents were supposed to be objective and uninvolved. But from  everything he'd seen so far, he really liked the Kents. They were  so real, and down to earth.

He felt somewhat connected to them, as well, knowing that they  shared his interest in Superman; Keith always enjoyed meeting  other fans. But their attitude felt different, somehow, even  considering the fact that they knew the superhero. It felt almost  as if they were hiding something. So far, however, his  subconscious wasn't giving him much to work with other than a  vague feeling that refused to leave him alone.

Whatever he was picking up on, it was very subtle. So subtle that  it was either something too small to bother with... or too big to  be careless about. And Superman was right in the middle of it;  he'd bet anything on that. Maybe tonight he'd be able to get a  handle on it.

***

"...so then I had to spend the rest of the day with the Prime  Minister, and couldn't get back to the telecommunications bill  until after dinner." Martha sighed, fidgeting on the love seat  and reaching for Jonathan's hand. It was there, steady and  comforting as always, as soon as she reached for it.

"You overdo it, you know," he observed gruffly. Their  after-dinner coffees had grown cold as they compared notes on  their recent lives.

"Well what did you expect me to do, Jonathan?" she snapped back  at him, under more stress than she wanted to admit.

He took her tone in stride as Lois and Clark rose silently to  take dishes to the kitchen. "I expect you to take care of  yourself first, Martha. That Prime Minister would have been fine  without you, and you could have gotten some time to yourself."

She shook her head irritably. "No, if I'd had time, I would have  had to read the reports about those domestic terrorists."

"Martha." Jonathan sat forward, demanding her attention. "You do  not have to do everything yourself. You have a staff, you have  the resources of the entire Federal Government. You've appointed  people you trust to do their jobs, so let them do them. How many  times have we had to tell Clark this? You can't do everything  yourself, no matter who you are."

Martha looked at her husband, caught by the sincerity and worry  in his eyes. She sighed again, surrendering to the inevitable.  "Okay. You're right. I guess I really do need to pull back some.  It's just that I care so much..."

"I know," he soothed, patting the hand he still held. "And that's  why they elected you. But you have to take care of yourself. This  is only February, you know."

"I know," she responded, starting to get her natural good humor  back. "The *first* February, at that."

***

In the farmhouse kitchen, Lois washed dishes while Clark dried.  Her earlier buzz from the wine had worn off, leaving her tired,  and not up to watching her husband's parents disagree.  Intellectually, she knew that this wasn't a real fight, and that  the Kents would be fine. Emotionally, however, some part of her  was still a little girl, watching the two most important people  in her world screaming hateful things at each other.

"Hey, have you heard what my dad's new code name is?"

Clark's tone was light; he must be trying to tease her out of her  momentary depression. She smiled up at him, grateful for his  presence and his understanding. "No, I haven't, Boy Scout; what  are they calling him?"

He grinned at her use of his code name. "They had a hard time  settling on one, but apparently someone wanted to go with an Oz  theme - he's Scarecrow."

"Are you sure that's from Oz? None of the other names are.  Probably a lucky thing, too. Just imagine what they'd call the  rest of us. I just can't see myself as Dorothy, even if I have  developed a fondness for Kansas." They exchanged smiles as Lois  handed her husband a coffee cup to dry. "What would Superman be  in an Oz theme, I wonder..." She peeked up at him, with a teasing  glint in her eye. "Did the flying monkeys have names?"

"Lo-is!"

"Okay, okay, no Oz theme..." She considered it for a moment  further, and then grinned as inspiration struck. "Maybe they were  thinking of Scarecrow and Mrs. Kent."

Clark looked puzzled.

"Don't you remember that show? It was actually called Scarecrow  and Mrs. King. I used to watch it in high school and college; it  was fun. Amanda's mom always reminded me of my mom - only  nicer."

"Nope," Clark shook his head. "Don't think I ever watched it."

"Well, it was fun to start with, but then they got married, and  you know how life gets boring after a couple gets married," she  teased, setting down the dishrag.

His eyebrows climbed. "Marriage is supposed to be boring?"

She nodded solemnly, her eyes dancing. "That's what the TV  executives tell us."

His face cleared, and he broke into a grin. "Oh, well, what do TV  executives know? They've obviously never met you..."

***

In a dimly lit D.C. apartment, Keith drummed his fingers on his  desk. Things were not making sense, and he much preferred for  things to make sense. The awareness of something odd had grown  slowly, and he couldn't say what had first triggered his  curiosity. All he knew was, there was something strange going on,  and it involved Superman. Tonight, as he'd been chatting on IRC,  meeting new people and introducing them to old friends, a  question had hit him: "How did Superman know my name?"

That meeting, five weeks ago, had been the first time he'd ever  met his hero, of that he was certain. At first he'd been stunned.  Then, for weeks, he'd gloried in it in his own quiet way (despite  his failure), taking great pride from the fact that Superman had  called him by name. Tonight, however, for the first time, he'd  seen past the excitement of the moment. How *had* Superman known  his name?

In that meeting, after Superman had greeted the others, he had  quite clearly said, "Hello, Keith, pleased to meet you."

He could think of a hundred ways for Superman to have learned his  name, most of them at least vaguely plausible. He was used to  interpolating Superman's thoughts from his actions; it was one of  the main activities on the newsgroup. But nothing he could come  up with satisfied him, and none of them explained the *other*  things he'd noticed. They were subtle things, things like the  tone of Lois's voice when she spoke to him, or the expression in  the First Gentleman's eye when Superman was on the news.

Keith stood, determined to resolve this, to prove himself wrong.  First thing to do was research. He had hours of Superman on  video, taped from the news or obtained through friends, some of  which he hadn't looked at in a while. He'd re-watch them all  tonight, paying close attention to Superman's interaction with  any or all of the Kents.

***

After another hour, the party broke up; Madam President needed  her sleep. Clark took off with her first, leaving his father and  wife to wait for their turns. Jonathan watched his  daughter-in-law pace restlessly. On the campaign trail, he and  Lois had grown unexpectedly closer; she had often helped him to  adjust to the relentless focus on his spouse, a situation very  familiar to Superman's wife. They'd had plenty of time to talk  while Martha planned her campaign and Clark saved the world.

And Jonathan knew that Lois still craved a father's approval in  her life. Sam Lane was still not around much, though his visits  had increased since the election. Perry White was a credible  substitute, and Jonathan was glad for Lois's sake that he'd been  there, but he suspected it took something far out of the ordinary  to shake those two out of their habitual, comfortable  editor-reporter roles. Jonathan felt lucky that he could treat  Lois like the daughter he'd never had, and she seemed to respond  in kind.

Tonight, he could see very clearly that something was bothering  her. "How are things going, Lois? You seem troubled."

After a moment's hesitation, she looked over at him with a  strained smile. "It's nothing much..."

Her voice trailed away, but he didn't interrupt, silently  encouraging her to open up.

"Well, it's just harder than I thought it would be to go back to  work." She resumed pacing. "Everywhere we go, people assume we're  representing Martha - and in a way, we are, I know that, anything  we do could end up on the evening news. But I could deal with  that."

Jonathan nodded. Clark had told the story of their initial press  conference over dinner, making light of their difficulties.

"It's just that I'm not used to being the center of attention  everywhere," Lois admitted finally. "Everyone asks us questions  about Martha, about foreign policy, and federal politics. Even  *Jimmy* expects an inside scoop, and it's not even his beat! He  ought to get away from politics altogether, actually," she added  as a side note, her voice momentarily lightening from impassioned  to impartial. "He's got a great understanding of technology, and  he has a flair for writing about it so that other people can  understand it, too; it's quite a talent. Anyway," she concluded,  almost on a wail. "I'm used to being in charge - you know, I call  the shots, I ask the questions - I don't like having it the other  way around."

Jonathan mulled over that tangled outburst, trying to discover  the main point. "So you don't feel as if you're in control?"

"Exactly!" She nodded vigorously. "Clark doesn't seem to mind as  much; I guess he's used to the attention..."

True, Jonathan thought privately, and he's also used to not being  in control - he lost control of his life the moment he met you,  young lady, and I'm not even sure you know it. But Lois was  definitely used to being in charge of her life, and he could see  how much this was upsetting her.

He stood up, and walked over to where she was looking out the  window, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I know it's a challenge,  Lois." He paused, picking his words carefully. "This whole  political thing has been a huge change for all of us, in ways we  could never have expected. But you're a Kent, now, Lois, and we  Kents are strong, flexible, tenacious." He could see the  beginnings of a smile on her reflection in the window.

His voice softened. "The biggest challenge I think Martha and I  ever faced was when we learned we couldn't have children." He  heard Lois's surprised intake of breath; it wasn't a subject they  discussed much. "But did we give up? No, we went out and found us  a baby in a spaceship, doggone it," he added, unable to resist  the punch-line. Lois couldn't keep from giggling, and he chuckled  along with her, glad to have lightened her mood.

"Seriously, Lois... don't let this get you down. You just keep  going about your business, and the vultures will forget about you  soon enough." He rubbed her back in what he hoped was a  supportive way, and was rewarded when she turned around to give  him a hug.

"Thanks, Jonathan," she whispered into his shoulder. "I get like  this sometimes, but I'll get over it, I always do." She stepped  back and wiped her eyes, which were just a little blurred with  tears.

A muffled thud on the porch alerted them that they'd missed  Clark's arrival. "Everybody ready to go in here?"

***

After watching hours of video footage, Keith hadn't managed to  talk himself out of his suspicions. He might even have proved  himself right. Nothing on the tapes had been blatant. But every  once in a while, he'd spotted things. Between Lois and Superman,  on the tapes, he'd seen familiar gestures, a certain awareness --  exactly like what he'd recently seen, in person, between Lois and  Clark.

Ever since the Internet Superman groups had began, the idea of a  secret identity for the hero had been a recurring one; very  popular with the newbies especially. They were all dissuaded from  the notion by Keith and a few other 'old-timers' on the  newsgroup. It seemed patently absurd that anyone so powerful as  Superman would want to live as a normal person. He wasn't human;  he couldn't want the same things as everyone else. The idea of a  lofty, lonely demi-god held powerful appeal. For the  small-minded, it helped to even the score; for romantics, it made  him irresistible - perfect and unattainable. "...there are things  I'll never have," he'd admitted once, in court, while looking  longingly at Lois Lane, which seemed to settle the debate before  it had gotten properly started.

Now, however, the certainty was melting away as all the evidence  pointed to a new conclusion. A conclusion that fit all the facts,  and explained much. Keith knew that when a hypothesis didn't fit  the evidence, you discarded the hypothesis, not the facts. Still,  he found himself resisting the new hypothesis. He was used to a  certain image of his hero - of the self-sacrificing icon who  continually gave, and never seemed to take. It was hard to  reconcile that to the unassuming family man that Keith had only  just begun to know.

But... no wonder Superman had known his name, no wonder the Kents  looked at him with such love in their eyes. Superman must be...  Clark Kent.

Keith shook his head in wonder. All these years, that's where  he'd been hiding... Keith was abruptly stunned by how close he'd  been to his hero without realizing it. "Wow. I was talking to  him." A thought struck him, and he grinned, somewhat wildly. "No  wonder they didn't want Secret Service protection..."

This would take some time to adjust to.

***

"So what were you doing to make my wife cry?" Clark asked his  father as they flew through the night air, leaving Kansas beneath  them.

Jonathan sighed, holding tight to his son's neck. After all these  years of flying, you'd think he'd be used to it. "She's having a  tough time getting back into her normal routine."

Clark was silent for a moment. "Yeah, I know. It's hard on her.  Maybe we shouldn't have tried to return to the paper so soon."

"She'll be fine, son. She's a fighter." Jonathan smiled in the  darkness. "Just like your mother."

Clark grinned, glancing sideways for a moment. "You can say that  again." His grin faded as he turned forward once more. "I'm a  little worried about Mom, though."

"Yes, so am I. She never seems to relax anymore. I never thought  I'd see the day when I'd miss her painting and artwork, but... at  least it used to help her unwind."

They flew in silence for a few more moments, watching the  countryside blossom with more streetlights and neon signs as they  moved eastward.

"Well," Clark offered diffidently, as they began their approach  to Washington, "I couldn't help noticing there's a little walkway  on the roof of the White House. It connects to a solarium, which  can't really be seen from the ground. Maybe she could set that up  as a studio?"

"I'll look into it, boy. Good idea."

Clark arrived at the window and tapped in the passcode with ease.  "Thanks, Dad. Goodnight." He set his father inside the room,  waved to his mother, and took off back towards Kansas and his  waiting wife.

"Martha?" Jonathan made his way to the love seat to recover.  "Clark had an interesting idea..."

Chapter 2 - Public party, two weeks later (March 14th),  Metropolis

Every year (Keith had been told), the U.S. Press Association  picked outstanding journalists to receive the Merriweather  Awards, the prestigious Kerth Awards, and more rarely, the  pinnacle of them all, the Kornegay Prize for Outstanding  Contributions to the Journalistic Profession. This year, they had  chosen to honor Perry White with the Kornegay Prize, and the  award banquet was packed.

Everyone who was anyone in the news business had coveted an  invitation. And at the last minute, President Kent herself had  decided to attend, to thank Perry for his editorial support for  her campaign. Secret Service agents, including Keith Jackson, had  scrambled to provide security. They'd only had time for a cursory  sweep of the Metropolis Hilton before the President had arrived,  but they knew it well; she'd had her election night party in this  hotel.

Keith took his assigned place covering a side door into the  ballroom, and studied the crowd. He did note with some relief  that Clark Kent was there, sitting near the front, next to a  younger man whom Keith thought he recognized as Jim Olsen.

As he continued to scan the crowd, a detached portion of his  brain wondered if Olsen knew he was sitting with Superman. In the  past two weeks, he'd often wondered how many people were in on  this secret. When he wasn't trying to convince himself that he'd  imagined the whole thing, that is. He had been wrong before,  sometimes embarrassingly so. And even if he was right, he didn't  know what to do about it. He wanted to tell Superman his  conclusions, and to pledge whatever help he could give, but no  opportunities had presented themselves, and he was hesitant to  intrude.

It had also taken him some time to come to grips with the idea of  Superman having a family. It upset much of what Keith had thought  he'd known, and yet... it made him seem less distant, more  approachable. More vulnerable. He had more to lose than most  people ever suspected, and yet he still risked it all, every day.  Perhaps he was even more heroic than anyone realized.

There was clearly quite a lot about the superhero that very few  people knew, that most people should never know. This secret  carried a huge responsibility.

***

Clark's enjoyment of the awards banquet was marred only by his  wife's absence. She was immensely proud of Perry, and had  originally planned to attend, but at the last minute, she'd come  down with some sort of minor illness. She wouldn't hear of him  missing the event, however, so he'd given her ticket to Jimmy --  and asked for a Secret Service agent to watch their townhouse for  the evening. He was beginning to appreciate having some official  help in protecting his loved ones. It comforted him to know that  his parents would be guarded by the United States government for  the rest of their lives, no matter what happened to him.

The master of ceremonies rose from the head table and stood  behind the podium. "Madam President, Ladies and Gentlemen of the  Press, and Distinguished Guests, thank you for coming to join us  tonight. We're here to honor some of the best in our field..."

***

Keith paid little attention to the speeches, listening instead to  the terse reports of his fellow agents in his earphone. They  tracked guests entering and leaving, movement on the streets  outside, and the occasional message from headquarters back in DC.  All was quiet until they received the bomb threat.

"Attention all agents," his earphone crackled. "There is a  possibility of a bomb in this room." Braun was the highest  ranking agent present, and he took charge smoothly, explaining in  few words that there had been a threat made against the  journalists at the award banquet. Immediately, the two agents  nearest Picasso and Scarecrow moved forward, shepherding the  couple out of the room. They'd be headed for a car at the rear of  the hotel, and should get away cleanly.

The banquet attendees were starting to make a fuss when Braun  stepped up to the microphone. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please don't  be alarmed. There is a situation, but it is under control. Madam  President is needed elsewhere, and we need you to remove  yourselves to the hotel lobby."

The noise level in the room quadrupled following this statement,  as the guests either demanded answers (they were journalists,  after all) or streamed towards the rear doors, speculating  wildly. Keith opened the side doors and directed a portion of the  crowd to that exit, steadfastly refusing to answer questions. If  word of the bomb got out, panic would likely ensue, causing a  rush for the exits that might itself injure many people.

He turned from the second batch of people to see that most of the  rest of the crowd was attempting to reach the rear doors. He  started toward them, to re-direct them to the side, when he was  stopped by a hand on his arm. He looked over to see Clark's  concerned face.

"What is it?"

Keith had already refused to answer this question multiple times,  but now he instinctively gave the truth. "There's been a bomb  threat." He kept his voice low, and gave as much information as  he had, as quickly as he could. "It's aimed at this banquet;  someone's got a vendetta against the press in general. We don't  know if there's really a bomb or where it might be."

Clark looked around quickly. Searching for an exit? Keith gave as  much of a hint as he dared. "Take the side door, it's less  crowded."

In seconds, he was gone, and seconds after that, Superman flew in  from the opposite side of the ballroom, landing near Agent Braun  and having a quick conversation. Then he turned and began  squinting around the room.

***

Clark scanned the room, his heart pounding. His parents should be  safe, but there were still too many people in this room. In  moments, he located the bomb, concealed within an air vent in the  south wall.

He sped to the vent and removed the cover, inspecting the bomb.  It was about as large as a briefcase, carrying enough explosives  to kill everyone at the awards ceremony. His first instinct was  to fly it out of the building, but it looked unstable enough to  detonate if he moved it. And then he noticed a timer, which was  steadily ticking down to zero. With little time to explore his  options, Clark grabbed the bomb and hugged it to him, wrapping  his arms and legs around it, lying facing the wall. It exploded  almost immediately after he secured it.

***

The explosion sounded terrible and terrifying, but when the dust  began to clear, Keith could see that it had done surprisingly  little damage, most of it to the south wall. Superman was getting  up from the floor, the front of his uniform covered in soot. A  surprising amount of it came off when he brushed at it, but his  cape was definitely tattered around the edges. It was exactly  what Keith would have expected, but it amazed him to see it  nonetheless.

A wail at the back of the room drew his attention. The force of  the bomb, even muffled, had been enough to knock down a  chandelier, hurting three people. Superman rushed over to them,  obviously concerned at their condition.

"They're going to be all right," Superman announced, after  staring at them intently, "but they need to get to a hospital.  I'll fly them there, one at a time."

He gathered up the first victim, an older woman, and took off. As  soon as he left, Braun took charge once more, speaking into his  throat mike. "Seal up the doors, and get me a head count in the  lobby. I don't want to lose anyone."

The next few minutes were a blur to Keith. There were people  everywhere, it seemed, as the hotel's personnel tried to tally  the damage and discover who was injured, and reporters started  coming back in from the lobby, searching for clues and trying to  interview everyone in sight. Superman flew back into the room  just as the paramedics arrived, and he seemed to be waiting in  case they needed his services.

Braun, meanwhile, had obtained a copy of the guest list and was  checking it against the names collected from those still in the  lobby. "Colleen Kane!" he shouted over the general din, and was  rewarded by an impatiently waving hand attached to a short blonde  woman, part of the crowd around the remnants of the bomb. A check  mark went down on the sheet. "Clark Kent!"

Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

Keith's gaze snapped over to Superman as everything else faded  into the periphery of his attention. Superman had looked up at  the name, and his expression was one of suppressed panic. He  glanced around the room, in exactly the same manner Keith had  seen Clark look for an exit, not ten minutes earlier. All Keith's  doubts fled. Superman wasn't worried about a friend, he was  worried about his cover.

"Anybody know where Clark Kent is?" Braun demanded once more.

Without making a conscious choice, Keith answered. "He's okay,  he's just out in the hall. He told me he needed a little peace to  recover."

He could almost feel Superman... Clark... looking at him, but he  kept his attention on Special Agent Braun, who was scowling.

"Well why didn't you say so the first time? Anyway, go check on  him again, we don't want to lose him while Superman's busy in  here."

Keith nodded, and made his way to the side doors. He only hoped  he could pull this off long enough for Clark to finish with the  paramedics. He opened one of the double doors and looked out...  no one. That was good; no one would be able to contradict him.  After pausing for a moment, he turned back to the ballroom,  closing the door once more. Braun was no longer paying him any  attention.

Superman, however, was still staring at him, a puzzled expression  in his eyes. //Do you know what you're doing?// he seemed to  ask.

Keith put on his best honest expression and nodded slightly.  Aloud, all he said was, "It's all right, Superman. Clark is  fine."

***

Clark barely heard what the paramedics were saying. His mind was  whirling as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Had  Keith actually been covering for him? On purpose? The man had  just checked an empty hallway (feeling oddly schizoid for a  moment, Clark had checked it himself, just to make sure). So  either the agent was seriously delusional... or, somehow, he knew  the truth.

He needed to find out more about this, but at the moment, the  head paramedic was waving for attention, and Clark snapped  himself back into focus. "Yes, what do you need?"

"This gentleman needs to be taken to Mercy General as fast as  possible; we've stabilized him for now, but he should be getting  more comprehensive treatment. We'll call ahead and alert them  that you're coming."

Clark nodded and carefully picked the man up, getting him settled  for the short trip.

"Boy, was he distracted, or what?" one of the paramedics observed  softly to her partner. "All worried about his friend Clark, I  guess."

The other medic laughed. "Nah, he just knows that if Clark buys  it, then he's got another shot at Lois Lane Kent..."

Clark frowned to himself, wondering if he had time to turn around  and say something in his defense.

"Superman's not like that, you idiot!" the first paramedic  replied, clearly disgusted at the comment. "You can be such a  jerk sometimes..."

Satisfied, Clark let their argument fade away behind him as he  made his way to the hospital.

Epilogue

After delivering his patient, Clark flew back into the hotel,  changed in the third floor cleaning supply closet, and made his  way down to the hallway in which he was supposed to be resting.

He had no idea what to expect. If he were on the verge of  exposure, well, there had been worse moments for it. He thought  he'd built up quite a lot of goodwill over the years, and he did  have some influence over the current President... He realized he  was procrastinating. Adjusting his glasses nervously, he opened  the ballroom door and entered, looking around for Keith.

The agent was sitting at one of the banquet tables, facing the  remnants of the clean up crew. At the sound of the door opening,  however, he turned, and jumped to his feet. They just looked at  one another for a moment, measuring each other. Keith broke the  silence. "You, ah, all recovered?"

Well, the cape's ruined, Clark had a strong urge to say, but  other than that I'm fine. He repressed the dangerous humor.  "Yeah. The hallway was very peaceful."

"I'll bet it was," Keith agreed cordially. "It sure looked quiet  when I checked. Look, can I buy you a drink somewhere?"

Clark looked surprised. "Are you off-duty, then?"

Keith shook his head. "I've been assigned to protect you for the  rest of the evening, under the assumption that Superman's busy."  His smile seemed to invite Clark to appreciate the irony of the  situation.

Clark smiled back, reluctantly amused. "That suits. Let's go  then. I think we need to talk."

They walked a few blocks before they found a suitably dim and  noisy bar. It might be a trifle difficult to hear each other, but  certainly no one else could hear them. They settled into a booth  and ordered a pitcher of "lite" beer.

Clark studied the Secret Service agent, a man who apparently now  had the power to completely destroy Clark's life. He was ashamed  to realize he didn't know that much about Keith, other than that  they shared an interest in football. He wanted to ask how he'd  given himself away, but then again, if Keith didn't really know  anything, or still had his doubts... He wished Lois were there;  she was much better at this sort of thing.

Keith met his gaze unflinchingly. "I started wondering a few  weeks ago," he volunteered. "After Superman knew my name. That  just didn't fit... and I started seeing lots of other little  things that didn't fit." He paused, looking around the bar as the  waitress brought their pitcher and two full glasses to the  table.

After taking a sip, he continued speaking. "You know, when I was  growing up, I wanted to be a sports star. I was too short for  basketball, so I picked football. I got real good at it in high  school, and in college. I was on track to be drafted by the pros,  or so they said, and you probably can't even imagine how much I  wanted that. All the fame, all the money, all the women..." He  paused, as Clark watched, wondering where this could possibly be  going.

Keith stared into his glass. "And then, in my sophomore year...  there was this guy. This guy who could lift a rocket into *orbit*  all by himself..." He glanced up then, and as Clark met his eyes,  he could see the glint of enthusiasm and hero-worship that always  humbled him. Keith glanced away again. "I mean, it seemed like  this guy could do *anything*, have anything he wanted. But all he  wanted to do... was help people, to make the world a better  place. It made me feel pretty selfish by comparison."

"Superman wasn't as selfless as all that," Clark felt obliged to  point out. "In some ways, he's just like anybody else."

Keith nodded, meeting Clark's eyes once more. "I can see that  now... but you know, it doesn't make that much difference. He  could have had anything he asked for, but he never asked for  anything." Though Keith continued to use the third person pronoun  when discussing Superman, it was clear to Clark that the agent  knew to whom he was speaking.

"So," Keith continued, in a slightly more positive tone, "I  started looking into how I could make the world a better place.  And I ended up looking at law enforcement, and from there I  wanted to try for the Secret Service. I mean, I was still  ambitious." He grinned then, the first relaxed expression he'd  worn in hours. "I'm rambling, aren't I? Sorry, it's just that I'm  still a little bit shook up. I mean, even though I *knew*  earlier, I didn't really *know* until about an hour ago, and it's  a lot to adjust to, you know?"

Clark smiled sympathetically. "I know. But you'll get used to  knowing, and I'll get used to knowing you know..."

"And then what?" Keith looked serious again; Clark was beginning  to realize that it was his natural state.

"Who knows?" He shrugged his shoulders. "We'll work it out as we  go along. That's the way I've always done things." He grinned  suddenly, pleased with how this was turning out. He'd had many  nightmares about being discovered. "You're taking it really well  so far, though. Remind me someday to tell you about how Lois  reacted..."

THE END

[note: The U.S. Press Association was created by Chris Mulder,  who's using it in a fanfic-in-progress; she very kindly let me  borrow it. And the Kornegay Prize is named after a colleague of  mine - when I caught part of Tempus Fugitive, and desperately  needed to see the rest, Chad Kornegay let me borrow his tape.  Without him I might not be here today. Is it just coincidence  that his initials are CK? You decide <g>]

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