Timeless by Becky Bain

Part 2 of 3

But Catherine never hesitated, striding along as if she knewexactly where she was going. After a while, the dim electric lightsgave way to flickering torches in sconces, and candles set intoniches. The passages through which they traveled widened and thefloors smoothed. And then Catherine turned into a wide-mouthedopening, almost like a door. They came into a room about the size -and curiously, about the configuration - of Clark's old apartment. Asin the apartment, the entrance opened onto a wide kind of landingthat stood above the main level.

Below, the hum of voices stilled as at least two dozen facesturned their way. Suspicion blossomed as they caught sight ofLois.

"It's all right," Catherine said quickly. "She's with me. Pascal,how is he?"

A short, balding man with prominent ears came to his feet. "He'sin surgery. Father and Peter... but we don't know yet how it's going.Father said he lost a lot of blood..."

Catherine nodded once, jerkily, and descended a short flight ofwrought iron stairs to reach the level where the others had gathered.They parted before her, some reaching out to touch her shoulder orpress her hand, then closed ranks behind her, leaving Lois standing,a bit bewildered, at the top of the stairs.

Then she spotted Clark, hands deep in his pockets, leaning againstthe wall nearby. Gingerly, expecting at any moment to be accosted orquestioned, she crossed to him. He watched her progress, lowering hishead as she neared.

"Are you okay?" One hand came out of his pocket to gently tracethe side of her face.

"It aches," she admitted. She wouldn't tell him about the poundingin her ears, or the alarming way her vision blurred at the edges."But I'm okay."

His eyes closed. "After they got Vincent into surgery, I went backfor you, but you were gone. I knew you'd make Catherine bring youhere."

She laid her head against his shoulder and nodded.

"I hated leaving you there, especially with you hurt. But he wasbleeding so much...

Had bled much, she could see from the state of Clark's t-shirt.The front of it was soaked through, stiff around the edges of themassive stain, damp and sticky-looking in the middle. Some of thedark stain had spilled down one hip, to mark Clark's jeans. "My God,"she murmured, making it a prayer. "So much blood."

"If I'd taken any longer getting him here..." Distress was evidentin his voice, and she slid her hand into his and squeezed. "He'd havedied. He may still die." He nodded toward the far side of thecave-like room. It was partitioned off with white curtains; behindthe curtains shone bright light, incongruous in the otherwise dimplace.

"I can hear them," he whispered, more to himself than to her."They're having trouble reaching the bullet, they're afraid of himlosing any more blood."

"They're going to help him," Lois said, with more assurance thanshe felt. "He's going to be fine."

"I hope so."

"You saved us today," she reminded him. "Catherine and me. It wasonly going to get worse, the beating, because she couldn't tell themwhat they wanted to know. If she had told, they would have killed us.I don't know how you found us, but..."

"It wasn't me."

"What?"

"I didn't find you. I heard you call for me, but you were cut off,and I wasn't sure where you were. Vincent found you. Somehow he knewCatherine was in danger, somehow he knew where she was. I onlyfollowed." He looked down at his hands. "I think, if I hadn't beenthere, he'd have managed to save both of you all by himself."

"With a bullet in his chest."

His glance was full of irony. "Yeah. With a bullet in his chest.The man has an incredible will, Lois. He should have died rightthere. He was bleeding so much that even as fast as I could bringhim, I didn't think we'd be here in time. I tried to cauterize theworst of it, but I was afraid to stop for long, and there was so muchblood, and I was afraid of doing more damage than good... I don'tknow if I helped."

"You did. Of course you did. He'd have bled to death on thatoffice floor if not for you. Catherine and I could never have movedhim by ourselves."

Someone nudged her elbow. She looked down to see a child ofperhaps ten or eleven holding out a cloth-wrapped bundle. "Oliviasaid to give you this," the boy said. "For your face."

He was trying to be polite, she thought, but the marks on her facewere too compelling. He stared, looked away, then stared again.

She held out her hand, let him put the bundle into it. It wascold... an ice pack, she realized. "Thanks. Um, Catherine could useone of these, too."

The boy pointed. "She has one."

Lois looked. Someone must have brought Catherine the ice packwhile Lois was absorbed in talking to Clark.

The boy still stood at her elbow.

"Did you need something else?" Clark asked gently.

The boy looked embarrassed. "I'm supposed to ask if she's okay. Ifher face is okay."

Clark managed a smile. "Yeah. She's going to be fine. Thanks."

In the lower part of the room, a woman was going from person toperson with a big steaming pot, dispensing streams of dark-coloredliquid into proffered mugs and cups.

"Coffee," Lois murmured longingly, then wondered if the hot drinkwould sting the cuts on the inside of her cheeks.

"It's tea," the boy said, sounding apologetic. "Do you want some?I could get you a cup..."

Tea was better than nothing, and maybe it'd wash away the metallictaste of blood.

The boy darted off, returning moments later with a heavy mug and achipped china cup. "I'll tell Olivia you want some," he said, handingthem the vessels. He hurried down the stairs and crossed to whisperinto the woman's ear. She glanced their way and nodded, then keptpouring. Someone brought her a second big teapot to replace thefirst, which must be nearing empty by now. Eventually she reached theupper level where Lois and Clark stood in relative isolation.

"Geoffrey said you wanted tea," she said, offering the pot.

"Please," Clark answered, and held out the mug and the cup.

The woman filled the cup, then hesitated, looking at Clark'sshirt. She leaned up and murmured in his ear.

He nodded, then handed Lois her cup of tea, whispering, "I'm goingto go change my shirt."

The blood-soaked shirt must be sticky and stiffening; probably hecould even smell the blood as it dried. It was kind of the woman tooffer him a change of clothes.

She almost asked to go, too, but her head was aching and shedidn't want to alarm Clark by doing something stupid, like swaying orstumbling. "Okay," she whispered, instead.

"I'll be right back," Clark promised, and followed the womanout.

Lois pressed the ice pack against her temple and looked atCatherine Chandler.

More and more people had trickled into the room over the pasthour, until now it was a seething, if reverentially silent, mass ofwaiting humanity. Except for a small, polite circle around where Loisstood... and an equally polite circle around Catherine.

She could understand the space here. She and Clark were strangers,not a part of this strange community. But Catherine was one ofthem... wasn't she? Of course she didn't live down here, but thenLois's reporter's eye already told her that many of the peoplecrowded into the chamber didn't. There was a clear distinctionbetween the clothing worn by people like the boy and the woman withthe tea, and the clothes worn by those who lived in the cityproper.

Maybe it was out of respect for her grief; everyone must know howshe felt about Vincent. Or maybe they blamed her for his injury.After all, he'd been hurt while saving her. They must all know thatby now. But she remembered the quiet murmurs, the simple touches whenCatherine had first gotten here. Even now, new arrivals pressedforward to pat her shoulder or nod in mute sympathy beforewithdrawing into the crowd.

Suddenly Lois wanted very much for the fearsome creature behindthe curtain to live. Not because she could write a story about him,nor even because he'd led Clark to where she and Catherine were, andsaved them. No. She wanted him to live for one reason; becauseCatherine Chandler loved him.

"Excuse me."

She looked down. The boy was back, looking up at her uncertainly."Lena says you don't look so good, and you should come sit down."

She followed the boy's gaze to the lower level, where a wispyyoung blonde woman stood with an equally blonde baby on her hip. Theyoung woman smiled, and gestured toward the empty chair she wasguarding.

Lois hated showing weakness, but her head ached, her face hurt,and every once in a while the room tilted a little. Sitting downprobably wasn't the worst thing she could do. She stretched herbruised mouth into a smile and followed the boy to the narrow wroughtiron stairs that led to the lower portion of the room. The way wascrowded, but the boy led her through with ease.

"Hi," the blonde woman greeted, when they reached her. "I'm Lena,and this," she hitched the baby higher, "is Cathy. I hope you don'tmind me saying so, but you look pretty bad."

"I'm okay," Lois said stubbornly.

"Yeah?" Lena looked skeptical. "Well, I'm sure you'd be morecomfortable here than leaning up against that wall."

"I guess so." Lois made the concession grudgingly, and easedherself into the offered chair. It did feel good to sit down."Thanks."

Lena crouched beside her and balanced the baby on her knees."Geoffrey, bring her some more tea, would you?" The boy vanished andLena transferred her attention to Lois. "So, what's your name?"

"I'm Lois Lane." Habit made her give her full name.

Lena smiled. "I'm glad to meet you, Lois Lane. Except you'll findwe don't use last names much, here. It's okay if we call you justLois?"

She managed a little smile. "Yeah. It's okay."

"You came with Catherine, didn't you?" Lena went on. "Is she afriend of yours?"

Lena's expression was curious. Well, Lois hadn't seen much of thisunderground world, but she supposed there wasn't a lot to do downhere. Gossip was probably a prime entertainment.

"Not a friend," she said carefully. "Just someone I know."

"Oh."

"Excuse me, Lena? I believe William's looking for you. You havekitchen duty this afternoon?" It was the woman who'd been serving thetea, the one who'd taken Clark off to change his shirt.

"Oh. Yes, right." Lena flushed and scrambled to her feet. "Here,Livvy, could you take Cathy to Brooke for me? I appreciate it." Shehanded off the baby, gave Lois an apologetic smile, and hurriedaway.

The older woman watched her retreat, then turned to Lois. "I'msorry about that. Lena hasn't been with us long and sometimes sheforgets we don't ask many questions here." Her gaze softened. "Idon't know your name. I'm Olivia."

"I'm Lois." Mindful of Lena's comment, she gave only her firstname.

"Oh," Olivia said, in recognition. "You're Clark's wife."

"That's right," Lois answered cautiously. Clark must have beentalking about her.

"He should be back here any time," Olivia continued. "Are youcomfortable? Can I get you something?"

A place to lie down would be nice, but Lois would rather die thanask. "No, thanks. I'm fine."

"All right. If you're sure. Keep that ice pack on your face, it'llhelp with the bruising and swelling."

"Okay." Lois pressed the cold pack to the sorest part of hercheek. "Thanks."

"Well." Olivia looked across the crowded room. "I'd better getCathy to the nursery and then see about taking care of all thesepeople..." She drifted away.

Even with the ache in her head, the growing stiffness of her face,Lois couldn't help observing and making mental notes about everythingthat went on around her. The throng of people constantly shifted andsurged, although they did it so quietly, and kept their voices sohushed, that it seemed almost surreal. She caught occasional glimpsesof Catherine, who sat not far away, but there was no chance toexchange so much as a sympathetic look, much less a word.

Clark came back a few minutes later, dressed in his own jeans -she could still see the dark splotch down one hip - but wearing alight-colored shirt with full sleeves and a dark tunic-like thingthat made him look impossibly romantic. Lois couldn't help a littlesmile as he paused in the entry and swept the room with his gaze. Hefound her, and visibly relaxed. He came down the stairs quickly andthreaded a path to her side.

"Hey," he said, hunkering down beside her. "You moved."

"Yeah. Somebody named Lena found the chair for me, and then triedto pump me for information, but somebody else named Olivia ran heroff."

He smiled. "Olivia. She's the one who found these." He plucked athis sleeve.

"Yeah. Same one. She seems nice."

"They all seem nice." His expression grew distant.

"What? What do you hear?"

He refocused on her and shook his head. "Vincent. I think they'vegot the bullet..."

"And he's still...?"

"Yeah. So far."

"Good. That's good. Isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's good."

He rose and stood beside her chair, a protective hand on hershoulder.

Someone came by and filled his teacup, someone else proffered aplate of cookies and small cakes. Clark took a cookie, but didn't eatit. Lois, swallowing the faint beginnings of nausea, declined.

Time crawled.

And at last a man, gowned in dark-spattered white, emerged frombehind the curtain. He pulled his surgical mask down with a sigh thatwas clearly audible in the sudden hush.

The room seemed to lurch toward him as people shifted, strainingto see and hear. Lois came to her feet and was swept forward beforeClark's arms came around her, steadying her, his bigger bodyshielding her from the crowd. They came to stand not five feet fromwhere Catherine stood poised as if holding a precarious balance.

"How is he, Peter?" asked a lone voice, near the front.

"We removed the bullet," Peter answered, pulling off his surgicalcap and running a hand through his hair. "It nicked several majorblood vessels, and he had lost a lot of blood by the time we couldget in to repair them. But he's strong; he's holding on."

A second man, similarly gowned, stepped out beside Peter. "I'llneed four of you to help move him to his own chamber," he ordered."Peter will supervise." He pulled off his own cap and moved down,into the crowd. It parted for him, making a path straight toCatherine. He stopped before her.

"Is he going to be all right, Father?" she whispered, her voicestrained. "Is he?"

The man she called Father looked drained and weary. "I don't know,Catherine," he answered. "I hope so. You'll stay with him?"

"Of course," she answered swiftly. "As long as he needs me."

"Good." He nodded to where the other doctor was overseeing a smallknot of men in moving the stretcher. "Go along with Peter," he said."I'll have a look at your bruises later."

She didn't have to be told twice.

Father swung around, scanning the crowd. "Now, where's that youngman who brought him here?"

"Here, sir." Clark moved forward, taking Lois with him.

Father looked at him. "What's your name?"

"I'm Clark Kent. I'm sorry about what happened to Vincent,sir..."

"You can call me Father," Father interrupted. "If my son lives, itis because you brought him here so quickly. I want to thank you forthat."

Clark went utterly still; for a moment, Lois thought he wasn'tgoing to answer. "I'm glad I could help," he said, finally.

"If ever you need anything we might be able to provide," Fatherwent on, "you have only to ask. We are in your debt."

Clark shook his head. "Thanks, but I don't need anything."

Father swung Lois's way, fixing her with a steely gaze. "Youngwoman. I haven't seen you before, have I?"

Before Lois could answer, Clark put his arm around her shoulders."This is my wife," he said, sounding proprietary and protective."Lois."

Father looked vaguely puzzled. "But she wasn't with you..."

"I was with Catherine," Lois said, working to keep her voicesteady. Clark's grip on her shoulders tightened.

And Father's expression softened. "Ah," he said, nodding. "How'syour jaw?"

The ice must have had an effect; it hurt, but not as much as ithad at first. "I'm okay," she answered.

"We'll have a closer look after we've seen Vincent settled," hesaid. "Before you go back."

He turned and gestured; a young woman of perhaps twenty appearedat his side. "Yes, Father?"

"Jamie. These are our new friends, Clark and Lois. Please takethem to William and find them something to eat, and when they'refinished, take them to the hospital chamber. Peter or I will be alongto attend to Lois's injuries. After that, you may escort them up top,and give them instructions on how to contact us in the future."

"Sure, Father," Jamie answered. "Father... is Vincent really goingto be okay?"

The strained, grim look came back to Father's face. "I hope so,Jamie," he answered. "I hope so."

He patted her shoulder, then moved off through the crowd, but hisprogress was slow; people thronged around him, all of them askingafter Vincent.

"Come on," Jamie said, after a moment. "I'll take you to thekitchen."

It seemed almost like charity, and that stung Lois's pride, butshe was dead on her feet, and her face hurt, and Clark probably hadsaved Vincent. She was too nauseated to be hungry, but Clark probablywanted to eat, and she didn't want to be rude. So she allowed Clarkto accept for both of them, and permitted him to guide her in Jamie'spath with a hand in the small of her back.

"Clark!"

The voice was familiar, and Clark's hand dropped from her back ashe stopped. "Mr. Schofield?" He sounded incredulous.

The print shop owner edged out of the crowd. "Clark," he saidagain. "And Lois, too. I waited at my shop for you, you know."

Clark looked dismayed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Schofield, I forgot allabout it..."

"It's all right," George Schofield answered. "I heard about whatyou did. We're all very grateful." He looked past Lois to where Jamiewaited. "I hear Vincent's doing okay."

"So far," Jamie agreed. "I think it's too soon to tell. But thecouncil meeting's been canceled. Your candidates will have to wait. Ihope that's okay."

Schofield's quick glance took in both Lois and Clark beforereturning to Jamie. "Well, as it happens... they're here."

"Here?" Jamie sounded horrified. "You brought them down? George,you know the rules..."

He held up a hand to stop her. "I do, and you know I would neverendanger the community that way. In fact, I was on my way to tellFather that my candidates hadn't come when I heard about Vincent.Imagine my surprise to find that my candidates hadn't shown up at theshop... because they were here."

"Here?" Jamie wasn't stupid. "You mean..." Her gesture took inboth Lois and Clark.

"Yes. Lois and Clark Kent. Hard workers, proud... and in desperateneed of a place to stay."

"But..." Clark began.

Schofield shook his head playfully. "Don't tell me different,Clark," he said. "I know the pair of you have been sleeping on thestreet, or in a shelter. You have that new job at the Sentinel, butyou're still down on your luck. I thought you could use a little helpto tide you over."

Jamie looked at them. "Why didn't you tell Father you needed aplace to stay?" She sounded genuinely bewildered.

Clark shuffled his feet, and Lois might have grinned, if sheweren't all but swaying on her feet. So he did have his pride, afterall.

George Schofield answered for them. "It's difficult for some folksto accept a helping hand," he explained. "I'm betting that right now,these two are trying to figure out how to offer to pay for anythingyou give them."

"Pay?" Jamie's eyebrows went up. "You mean, like money?"

Clark's feet shifted again, and Lois felt her cheeks warmingbeneath the bruises.

"Except I'm guessing that might be considered insulting?" Clarksaid, sounding sheepish.

"Don't worry, Clark, you'll pay for anything you receive," GeorgeSchofield assured him. "Only you'll pay for it in friendship, and byhelping when you can."

"Like you've already done," Jamie added. "With Vincent."

"I didn't really..." Clark began, but stopped when Lois put herhand on his arm.

If she didn't shut him up, there was no telling what he'd say. Sheknew he felt bad about Vincent, but saying he should have stoppedboth bullets wasn't going to help now, and it would give away hissecret. Their secret.

"Clark was glad to help Vincent," she said.

"Yeah," Clark agreed, catching on. "I'm only sorry I couldn't domore. But we're glad to accept any help you can give us."

Lois supposed that if said help included a place to lie down, shewas glad to accept it, too.

"I'll catch up with the two of you later," George Schofieldpromised, and disappeared into the crowd. Jamie led Lois and Clarkthe other way, taking them out of the crowded chamber and through awarren of intersecting rock-walled passages to a warm room full ofmismatched tables, chairs, and benches. There she introduced them toa florid, beefy man called William, who fed them steaming bowls fullof hearty stew. Nausea kept Lois from doing more than nibbling athers. "Just tired," she assured Clark, when he looked at herworriedly. She didn't want to tell him how her head pounded, or herjaw ached.

Afterwards, Jamie showed them to a small, cave-like room furnishedsimply and lighted with candles.

"Here," she told them. "You can stay here. As long as youlike."

It was spare, but it was neat and it was private. "It's verynice," Clark said. "Thank you."

Jamie left, and Lois leaned against Clark's arm. "A real bed. I'mso tired I could sleep standing up, but we can sleep in a realbed."

"Yeah." He sounded distracted. "Lois, honey, are you allright?"

She peered up at him. "Yeah, sure. Why?"

"You're not acting right."

"I'm just kind of fuzzy," she assured him. "And my face hurts, butI guess the reason for that is obvious."

"Yeah." He touched her cheek. "Here, let me help you."

Moments later she was tucked under layered blankets and quilts."Hey," she murmured, summoning her most seductive tone. "Wanna joinme?"

He grinned and kissed her forehead. "Not right now, honey. Later,okay? You need to rest."

She affected a pout, but already her eyes were drifting closed."Not fair," she muttered, into her pillow. "We haven't been in a bedtogether in weeks."

"I know. Later, I promise."

"Hmph." She would have argued with him, but sleep came up andsilenced her.

*****

Vincent was so still. He lay flat on his back, his head elevatedby a single pillow. An IV line went into one arm; the other arm, likethe rest of him, was hidden by a sheet pulled to his chin.

Catherine held his exposed hand in both of hers, stroking,kneading, trying to warm it with her own too-cold fingers.

Behind her, Father and Peter conferred quietly, while Mary fussedover things that had been brought in and placed on Vincent's writingtable. Catherine didn't acknowledge them.

Instead, she watched Vincent's slow and shallow breathing, tooquick for him, Father had said, and agonized through the interminablylong second at the end of each exhale, before his broad chest liftedagain.

My fault, she thought numbly. He's here because of me. Because Iwas in danger. All my fault.

Incredible that it should have happened now, after she'd made theconscious decision not to endanger herself any longer, after she'dinsisted Joe pull her off investigations.

Except this last one. She'd let him talk her into this last oneand now Vincent might die.

Her head and jaw ached from the beating she'd taken; Father andPeter had both prodded her bruises, peered into her eyes, and checkedher reflexes before diagnosing a mild concussion in addition to thevarious swellings and discolorations. Rest, they had advised, but shecouldn't. Not until she knew Vincent would be okay.

And how could she know that when he lay so terribly still?

She should have protected him. Should have kept herself safe.

Then she thought of Virginia Stevens, whose face was no lessbattered than her own. Her fingers tightened convulsively overVincent's still ones. How could she have left the woman in such adangerous situation? Even if doing so would have kept Catherine - andby extension, Vincent - safe? How was she supposed to make that kindof choice, valuing one life above another?

She let out a weary, pained sigh and put her head down on thebed.

Jamie arrived at just that moment, entering the chambercautiously. Her first glance was for Vincent, lying so still in thebed, before she turned to Father. "The new people, Clark and Lois...they've eaten and I've put them in the guest chamber, but Clark'sworried about his wife and wonders if somebody can come look ather?"

Father ran a weary hand through his already mussed hair. "Ofcourse, I said I would. But what are they doing in the guest chamber?I thought they'd be on their way home by now."

"Because George said... oh, that's right, you weren't there forthat part," Jamie remembered. "George's candidates... they'rethem."

"What?" Father looked bewildered. "The young man who broughtVincent to us, the young woman Catherine brought down... they are theyoung couple George planned to present as candidates for residencewith us?"

Catherine had thought she'd used up all her body's reserve ofadrenaline coping with the day's events, but Jamie's words dredged upanother surge from somewhere; her heart quickened and her throatconstricted. Beside her, Vincent stirred restlessly, moving for thefirst time since emerging from surgery. She tightened her hold on hishand and fought for calm.

"I'll stop by on my way out, Jacob," Peter was saying. "You needto be here with Vincent."

Father nodded acquiescence; Peter gathered up his coat and hismedical bag and followed Jamie out.

"Here, what is it?" Father asked, coming to Vincent's side. Hetook Vincent's hand from Catherine's grasp and turned it, pressinghis fingers to the wrist, laying his other hand against Vincent'sforehead. "He's agitated, but there's no fever..." he muttered, andreached toward his bag.

"Father, don't." Catherine caught his arm. "It's not him. I mean,he's okay. It's me. He's reacting to me."

Father stopped dead still. "To you?"

"To my fear."

Father's expression softened. "Oh, my dear, you mustn't befrightened. He's badly injured, yes, but if there are nocomplications he should be able to make a full recovery..."

"No. I mean, I am scared for him, but that's not what... it waswhat Jamie said. About the Kents."

"Clark and Lois?" Father went tense and wary. "What aboutthem?"

"It's what I know about them. What I know that no one elseknows."

Father's face couldn't have turned any whiter. He pulled a chairclose and sank into it. "What do you know?"

"That they're reporters... newspaper reporters. For the West SideSentinel."

Father relaxed perceptibly. "Yes, I believe George mentioned that.The young man also has a way with computers, and works afternoons inGeorge's shop."

"I don't know about that. But I do know they were planning a story- were researching a story." There wasn't enough air in the chamber;she fought to fill her lungs. "About the series of slashings, ofkillings..." she gasped for breath "...following me..."

Even though she couldn't quite manage all the words, Father gotit. His fingers gripped the arms of his chair. "What?" He very nearlyroared the word, and Catherine bent her head.

Vincent writhed on the bed, almost pulling loose the IV needlethat went into his arm.

Father reached out and caught that arm, restraining it, just asCatherine seized the other hand. It took a minute or two to calm himand get him tucked back under the blankets; when he was settled,Father snatched Catherine's wrist and hauled her bodily to the farside of the chamber.

"Are you telling me," he hissed, "that we have newspaperreporters, intent on exposing Vincent as a murderer, living amongus?"

"I don't know!" It burst out of her before she could stop it. "Idon't know," she repeated, more softly. "The woman... Lois... she wassaying something about Clark looking for Vincent and about a secretwhen Callahan and his buddy..."

"And you brought her down here? Are you mad?"

"Clark was already here!" she shouted back. "What difference didit make?"

Vincent let out a strangled growl and lurched off the bed. Hetangled in the blankets and fell.

Catherine reached him first, dodging a flailing hand and throwingherself to her knees beside him. Father was almost as quick, bendingto place a comforting hand on Vincent's head. Vincent shook him off.Catherine caught at his arm, but he threw her off, too, and tried tostruggle to his knees. The glazed, unfocused look in his eyesfrightened her.

"Please, Vincent!" She lunged, wrapping her arms around him as faras she could, holding on hard. "Please."

He quieted, rolling toward her and burying his face against her.His eyes closed and his big body went limp.

"Oh, thank God," Father muttered. "He could have pulled out hisstitches..." He busied himself setting Vincent to rights, then heavedhimself to his feet. "If you can hold him for just another minute,I'll summon help, and we'll get him back into bed."

Catherine nodded, though Vincent was heavy and supporting theweight of his head and shoulders made her arms ache.

Father was back a half a minute later with what looked like asmall army. A closer look revealed it to be four of the community'solder teenagers, plus Matthew, an adult whom she knew onlyslightly.

"Be careful of the IV," Father warned. "And don't jostle him...watch out for those bandages..."

While Father fussed, Matthew took charge, directing Zach, Joshuaand Stephen; Catherine eased herself away as Matthew bent to take hisshare of Vincent's weight. Lea, the sole girl in the group, kept theIV line from tangling or getting in the way, and in moments Vincentwas once more ensconced in his bed. Catherine tucked him in,smoothing the blankets.

"Thank you, all of you," Father said, behind her. "How fortunateyou were passing by just as you were needed..."

Catherine turned in time to see Lea and Stephen exchange glances;Matthew cleared his throat. "Actually, Father, we weren't passing by.We were coming to see you."

Father's eyebrows rose. "To see me? What for?"

Again the exchange of uneasy glances among the teenagers.

"The kids..." a sweep of Matthew's hand took in the four at hisside, "...were on sentry duty this morning. Lea was up near thenorthern Broadway entrance; the boys were strung out along a seriesof passages leading to the docks on the south side."

"And...?" Father prompted.

"And they saw some things. Some things that sound really strange,maybe even impossible. But they insist they saw what they did, and soI thought you ought to know."

"Go on."

Matthew turned to Lea. "You start."

She nodded and visibly braced herself. "It's about the strangerwho brought Vincent back after he got shot. That man."

"Clark?" Father asked.

Lea nodded. "Yeah, him. He was down here before, this morning. Inthe north tunnels, where I was. There was an intruder alert, youprobably heard it, and Vincent came."

"Yes?"

"And I left my post to check on where Vincent was, to make sure,and..."

"And she saw the stranger do some weird things," Matthewoffered.

"What sort of weird things?" Father asked.

Lea swallowed. "After Vincent came... he... the man... hefloated."

"What?"

"In the air. He floated. And then he turned so he was lying on hisback, but it was the middle of the tunnel, not the floor and therewasn't anything under him or any wires holding him up or anything, hewas just floating! And he stood on his head that way, not touchinganything, just there."

Father stared. "Lea, when was the last time we had your eyeschecked?"

"There's nothing wrong with my eyes!" she burst out. "Vincent sawit too! And he talked to him - the man - and they went offtogether."

"To Vincent's chamber," Zach added. "Mouse saw them."

Father's eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline. "Vincentbrought Clark here?"

"And then later, I saw them." That was Joshua.

"So did I," chimed Stephen.

"Me, too," said Zach.

Father ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Tell me what yousaw." He jabbed a finger at Stephen. "You first."

"I saw Vincent run by; in a hurry, you know? Like he getssometimes." The boy carefully did not look in Catherine's direction,but it was clear that everyone in the room knew why Vincent got likethat sometimes.

Father nodded understanding.

"And the other guy... Clark... he was with him. Running withhim."

"Running behind him, surely," Father interjected.

Catherine had seen Vincent run, knew how fast he could be. No onecould keep up with Vincent when he was in a hurry.

"Right behind him. Right with him."

Father's sharp glance flicked to Zach. "Is that what you saw?"

Zach nodded. "The other man keeping up with Vincent. Running withhim."

Joshua had seen the same.

Father ran that same thoughtful hand through his hair once more."I suppose it's possible for someone to be as quick as Vincent. Aworld-class runner, perhaps, one who is in top condition... thisClark is built like an athlete..."

"There's more, Father," Matthew said soberly.

Catherine fought the sudden urge to sit down. At least Vincent wasquiet, seeming impervious to the tension filling the room.

"Go on, then," Father said.

"When he came back, when Clark came back, carrying Vincent..."Stephen stumbled over his own words and paused, swallowing visibly."He wasn't running anymore. I swear to you, Father, when he passedme, his feet weren't touching the ground."

"That's impossible!" Father burst out, echoing Catherine's owninstinctive response. "Stephen, you've imagined this..."

"But I saw it, too," Joshua insisted. "And he was going fast.Faster than when he and Vincent were running. Way faster. Almost ablur..."

"Same when I saw him," Zach echoed. "Father, he was flying. Idon't know how he did it, but he never touched the ground. And he wasgoing faster than Vincent can run. We all saw it."

"People can't fly, Zach," Father said kindly. "You know that. Youall know that."

"That's what I told them," Matthew said, "but they insisted. Andwith all four of them seeing the same thing..."

"Yes, I see what you mean," Father agreed. "Now, children, thisisn't some practical joke you've dreamed up, is it? Zach?"

All four shook their heads vehemently. "We wouldn't joke aboutsomething like this, Father!" Lea sounded more angry than defensive."We all saw it. He can fly."

"Father." Even to herself, Catherine's voice sounded thin. "Whatif they're right?"

He swung her way, his expression incredulous. "Catherine, thinkwhat you're saying! It's impossible..."

"That's what Vincent said to him... to Clark," Lea said quietly."That it was impossible. And then Clark said that's what some peoplewould say about Vincent."

*****

Lois woke slowly; her head felt stuffed with cotton, one eyewouldn't open all the way, her jaw ached, and her mouth tastedfaintly of blood. She struggled to focus, blinking until she couldmostly see. Flickering candlelight and bare rock walls reminded herof where she was, and she pushed to one elbow.

"Clark?" She turned to look for him, but though his side of thebed was mussed, the pillow still indented where his head must havebeen, he was gone.

She sank back down on the pillow. She remembered Jamie showingthem to this chamber, remembered climbing into bed, but the rest ofthe night was a jumbled blur. She had a dim memory of Clark wakingher, of another man prodding and poking at her face and shining abright light into her eyes, but sleep had seemed to be the importantthing at the time.

And she had to admit, despite the way her face hurt, she feltbetter for the rest. If only she knew where Clark had gone.

Slowly she sat up, surprised to find her muscles, especially inher neck and shoulders, stiff and sore. Gingerly she stretched as faras she could, then slipped out from under the covers and onto thethickly carpeted floor. A pair of moccasin-like slippers waited forher; she scowled and slipped her bare feet into them. It was too colddown here to be choosy, even though the moccasins showed clear signsof previous wear. At least they looked clean.

A similarly worn but clean-looking dressing gown was draped overthe foot of the bed and she sighed and put it on. She wished Clarkwould get back; she could send him for their own things, which weresafely stashed... well, wherever it was that Clark stashedthings.

Not that her own things here included warm slippers and a thickrobe.

A white square of paper propped against a candlestick on thedresser caught her eye; she moved closer and read her own name... inClark's writing. Fury began to build even before she snatched up thepaper and unfolded it to read Clark's apologetic note.

'Lois, I'm sorry I'm not there to see you wake up, and to takecare of you. But Dr. Alcott -' that must be the man who'd been pokingand prodding last night - 'promised you weren't seriously hurt, andif at least one of us doesn't show up at the paper, we'll lose ourjob.' And they needed the job desperately. 'Jamie promised to look inon you,' the note continued. 'Please do what Dr. Alcott said, andrest today. I'll see you tonight. I love you.' It was signed with ascrawled initial C.

She'd bet a dollar - not that she had a dollar - that Clark waskeeping an ear out for her. She put her hands on her hips andaddressed the ceiling. "You rat! Going off and leaving me... I'll getyou for this, Kent, see if I..."

She broke off, suddenly aware she was no longer alone.

The girl called Jamie stood in the doorway, her expression at onceconfused and amused. "Talking to somebody?"

Lois vacillated for an instant, wondering what to say, thendecided to go with the truth. "I was yelling at my husband," sheadmitted. Jamie didn't have to know she actually expected Clark to beable to hear her. "For going off and leaving me here."

"Oh." Jamie's grin reflected understanding. "He didn't want to,you know. But he said..."

"We'd lose our job if he didn't. I know." She fingered the note inher hand. "He said you'd be looking in on me, too."

Jamie moved closer. "Are you feeling okay? You look pretty..." Hervoice trailed away, her hands fluttering wordlessly.

"I haven't looked yet," Lois confessed. "But I feel okay, yeah.Kind of sore."

"I'll bet. Are you hungry?"

Lois thought about it. Last night's nausea was gone. "I guessso."

"If we hurry, we can just make it."

"Make it where?"

"To the dining chamber. William serves breakfast from six-thirtyuntil nine, and not a minute later. Or so he says. Actually, he feedsanybody who's hungry. But if we're there before nine, we won't haveto listen to him complain."

Lois looked down at her borrowed robe. "I'm not exactly..."

"Oh, right. There should be some things in the dresser overthere." Jamie pointed. "Olivia said she took care of it."

"Oh." Lois crossed to the dresser and found the right-hand drawersfull of patched sweaters, darned blouses, and mended skirts. Theclothes on the left side were larger and definitely masculine - forClark, obviously. She remembered how dashing he'd looked last nightin the shirt and tunic Olivia had given him to wear, and wondered ifthese worn and patched garments would suit him as well.

Behind her, Jamie cleared her throat softly and Lois hurried tochoose a skirt and sweater.

"Dress in layers," Jamie advised. "You'll be warmer."

Jamie's words made Lois conscious of the chill creeping in throughthe thick robe; quickly she chose a soft, longsleeved shirt to gounder the sweater. Remembering the layers that everyone down hereseemed to favor, she added a long knitted vest to the stack andstepped behind the wooden screen standing in the corner. She dressedquickly, fumbling only a little with the unfamiliar ties andfastenings, emerging a few minutes later to Jamie's approvinglook.

She had to admit the unusual fashions made her feel feminine andpretty. That lasted just until she looked in the mirror to comb herhair.

"Oh, no," she murmured, touching fingers to her bruised andswollen cheek. A trail of dried blood showed where her split lip hadopened during the night.

"It's not too bad," Jamie encouraged her. "Catherine looksworse."

"I'll bet she does," Lois answered, remembering yesterday's brutalbeatings. Catherine had absorbed a lot more blows than she had. Shebent over the china basin and splashed a handful of tepid water overher face, then swilled another handful around in her mouth to washaway the bloody taste. She spit carefully into a china mug sittingbeside the basin, and grimaced.

"We'll get you a toothbrush," Jamie promised. "Are you ready?"

Lois took another look in the mirror. "I guess so." She thought ofsomething else. "How's Vincent?"

Jamie lifted one shoulder in a shrug that was meant to be casual,but Lois could see anxiety beneath the surface. "He's okay, I guess.Sleeping, mostly. He does that when he's hurt." She pushed away fromthe wall where she'd been leaning. "Come on, I'll take you tobreakfast."

After breakfast, Jamie showed Lois the way back to the guestchamber and left her there. Lois tried to rest, but sitting backpassively while things went on around her was not her style.Unfortunately, she was also a guest in this place, and further, shehad no idea where she was. The tunnel world, she was discovering, wasa maze of intersecting passages that turned, climbed, and droppedwith no discernable pattern. Lois wasn't even sure she could find herway back to the dining chamber where she'd eaten; she certainlycouldn't find her way to the top, where things were happening.

So she paced. Five steps took her from the rough-hewn doorway,across a faded carpet to where an antique cherry dresser stoodagainst the far wall. Five paces took her back.

She'd lost track of the number of times she'd crossed the roomwhen a voice, male, British-accented, and more than a little frayed,called her name. She looked toward the open archway. "Come in!"

The man called Father entered slowly, leaning on a stick. His facelooked worn and haggard. "I'm sorry to be so late," he began. "Iwanted to see to your injuries."

Lois touched her cheek; she'd been so busy fuming over Clark'sgoing off and leaving her, and fretting over what to do with the nextfew hours, she'd almost forgotten about her face. "I must look asight."

"A bit battered," Father agreed with a smile, setting a worn blackdoctor's bag on the round pedestal table that stood in the corner."But quite beautiful, nonetheless."

Beautiful? When she knew she was unkempt and bruised? Was the guyhitting on her? But his expression was open and caring, his smilewarm and friendly. So maybe he just wanted to make her feel better.She smiled back, cautiously, careful of her hurt lip. "Thanks."

"Sit here, my dear." He patted the back of a straight-backedchair. "Let me look at you."

She sank gingerly into the chair. Father moved an oil lamp fromthe nearby dresser and turned up the wick. "There," he said, and putgentle fingers under her chin, tipping her face toward the light.

"So," she said, as he studied her bruises, "what's a doctor likeyou doing in a place like this?"

He sat back and looked at her in consternation. "I beg yourpardon?"

Geez, she hadn't meant to upset him. She was just makingconversation. "I mean, you are a doctor, aren't you? You operated onVincent..."

He studied her for a moment. "Yes. I'm a doctor. As for why I'mhere - this is my home. For over thirty years."

That piqued her curiosity. "You've been down here for thatlong?"

His smile was kind. "Not everyone enjoys the hustle of the city,"he said, prodding gently along her jaw. "Some of us are happier witha slower pace, more traditional values."

"I guess so," she said doubtfully. She couldn't see spending morethan a few days in all this peace and tranquility, herself.

"You have some cuts here... and here." His fingers just brushedher cheek. "I'm sure Peter disinfected them when he looked at youlast night, but I'm going to do it again, and leave you some salve toapply. I'm as sure as I can be, without an x-ray, that your jaw isn'tbroken."

That possibility hadn't occurred to her; her jaw ached, but notsharply enough, surely, to be fractured. "Maybe when Clark gets back,he can..." She broke off, appalled that she had been thinkingaloud.

"Ah. Clark. Your husband is... a very unusual young man." Fathertook a small brown bottle from the bag and opened it. Pungent fumeswafted up, stinging her nose and eyes.

She went cold and still. "Not really. He's pretty average."

"Is he? This will smart a bit," Father warned, and dabbed at hercheek with a bit of gauze soaked in the pungent liquid.

"Ow." She tried not to flinch.

"Some of the sentries seem to think your Clark is more thanaverage," he went on. He produced a small glass jar and used a narrowwooden paddle to scoop out a bit of yellow salve that soothed thesting of her cheek. Father capped the jar and placed it on the table."I want you to put some of this salve on those cuts twice a day, andlet me know if there are any signs of infection. Redness,swelling..."

"I know what to look for," she answered. Maybe they'd gotten offthe topic of Clark and his oddities.

But no. Father sat back and looked at her. "I have a feeling yourClark is as far from ordinary as my own son."

Stonewalling seemed the only option. "I don't know what you'retalking about."

"Oh, I think you do." Father busied himself putting away thebottle of disinfectant and tidying away the gauze and woodenpaddle.

Maybe a change of subject was in order, and there was certainlysomething she wanted to know more about. "You called Vincent yourson?"

"Not my natural son, of course," he said, snapping his bag closed."But my son in all ways that count."

"Clark is adopted, too," she said, then could have kicked herselffor bringing him back into the conversation.

"Ah." Father set the bag aside and settled back into his chair."So Clark is as ignorant of his origins as is my son."

"No, he knows where he comes from," she answered automatically,then clamped her mouth shut. All those blows to the head must haveaddled her brain; what was she thinking? Worse, what was shesaying?

Father gazed back at her. He looked tired, she thought, andworried, but there was a gleam of curiosity in his eye that she'dseen too often in her own mirror.

"Is Vincent going to be all right?" she asked hastily, hoping todistract him.

Father rubbed a hand over his face. "It's too soon to be sure," heanswered. "He lost so much blood... and there's always the danger ofinfection. But if he stays quiet, and heals cleanly... Peter and Iboth believe he will make a full recovery."

"Good. That's good."

"No small thanks to your Clark," he added. "He brought Vincent tous so quickly... I wonder how he did that." The look he gave her wasopenly speculative.

"He works out a lot," she improvised. "So he's pretty strong."

"Yes, I imagine he is." He shook his head and levered himself tohis feet. "I'm sorry; I've kept you talking when your head must ache- I'm not entirely sure you don't have a concussion. You should rest,my dear, and I should go check on my son."

*****

Catherine floated in a haze of exhaustion; in the two days sinceVincent had been shot, she had slept only in snatches, mostly sittingup beside him. Twice she had been persuaded to go to a nearby chamberto rest, but each time she had managed only an hour or two of fitfulsleep before anxiety brought her back to Vincent's side.

She'd hoped - they'd all hoped - Vincent would be awake by now,and on the road to recovery. Instead, he seemed weaker than ever.

Catherine sighed, roused herself, and reached for the compresslaid across Vincent's brow. She turned to dip it in the basin ofwater at her elbow, but someone took her wrist and removed thecompress from her hand.

"I'll do this, Catherine." Mary's voice, soft and caring. "Youneed to go lie down for a bit."

"I can't." She was so tired, she could scarcely form the words."Not until he's better. I can't."

"You've been hurt, you haven't rested, you've scarcely eaten. Whatgood will it do Vincent for you to make yourself ill? Please,Catherine. Go and rest, just for an hour or two. I'll watch over himfor you."

The thought of putting her head down for a few minutes wastempting; it still ached from the beating she'd taken two daysearlier. But Vincent was so very sick, and she was so scared forhim.

"Go on, Catherine." Father, looking as weary and heartsick as shefelt, added his encouragement. "You can't go on the way you havebeen. When he's better, Vincent will need you to be strong."

If he gets better. She stifled the traitorous thought as quicklyas it came, and felt guilty for even letting herself think that way.If only he weren't so terribly still. If only he'd wake up.

Finally, reluctantly, she nodded. "For an hour," she said. "I'llgo rest for an hour. Send someone to wake me up?"

"I'll send someone right away if there's any change," Mary said,and Catherine knew that was as much promise as she was going toget.

She nodded, and lifted Vincent's hand, pressing her lips to hisfingers. It made her heart ache to put his hand down, to untangle herfingers from his. She lingered a moment, smoothing the ruffled furwith her fingertips, then finally, wearily, turned toward theexit.

Father wrapped an arm around her when she passed him. "Nothingwill happen in the next few hours," he said, his voice gentle. Heseemed to know how much she was hurting. He pressed a kiss to herforehead. "Go on."

She was so tired that walking took most of her meagerconcentration; she rounded a corner without looking and ran head-oninto someone coming the other way. Embarrassed, she stumbledback.

Strong hands caught her wrists, steadying her. "You okay?"

The voice was only vaguely familiar; she looked up to see who itwas.

Clark Kent, still wearing a coat and tie from his day's work,looked down at her. "You okay?" he repeated.

She managed a nod. "Fine. Just... really tired."

"I'll bet. Come on, I'll walk you to wherever you're going."

"It's not far," she demurred. "I'll be all right. The guestchamber where I'm staying is just down this passage. I'm supposed toget some rest."

He nodded. "No offense, but it looks as if you could use it. Youlook worn out. Please, let me help you."

He seemed genuinely concerned for her, and she had no strength toresist him. "All right," she conceded, and took the arm he offered. Amoment later she stumbled, too tired to pick her feet up properly,and felt his arm slip around her shoulders, holding her up. It feltgood to lean on someone. He guided her gently, not hurrying her.

"How is Vincent doing?"

"He's... still pretty sick."

"I'm sorry. Is there any change? Any improvement at all?"

She shook her head; her eyes filled with sudden tears. "He'sworse. He's started running a fever; Father says there's aninfection. He's been trying antibiotics, but they aren'tworking..."

"Oh, no." His eyes, when she looked up at him, were stricken.

Instinctively she reached to pat his hand. "Don't blame yourself,Clark," she said tiredly. "You did everything you could for him."

They reached the entrance to the guest chamber. "This is it. Thankyou for your help. I'm so tired, I'm not sure I'd have made it on myown."

Behind the wire-framed glasses, his eyes were sad. "You get somerest," he told her. "Good night."

"Good night, Clark."

*****

Lois looked up as Clark came into the room. Chamber, she remindedherself. Down here they call it a chamber. After two days'confinement in the tunnels, she was beginning to get the hang ofthings. "Hi."

"Hi." He bent and kissed her. "Payday. I brought you apresent."

She all but clapped her hands. "A present? For me?"

"Yep." He pulled a flat paper bag from his pocket. "Here."

She opened it eagerly; she hated surprises, but she loved presentsif they were from Clark. Inside the bag were two wide, flat bars,wrapped in bright blue and white. "Candy?"

"Chocolate crunch bars," he explained. "They don't seem to havethe Double Fudge Crunch brand here, so I got you these."

"Nestle's Crunch," she read, from the wrapper. "Chocolate! Clark,I love you." She already had two fingers inside the colorful outerwrapper, tearing the paper.

"Yeah. Because I bring you chocolate."

"Among other things." She stopped unwrapping the chocolate longenough to give him her best seductive look - they'd spent two nightsin a real bed and still hadn't done anything but sleep.

"Yeah." His answering smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

She put the candy down. "Clark? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She recognized evasion when she saw it. "It's not nothing. Didsomething happen at work? A story?"

"Today I wrote a story about graffiti, and what the city's doingto remove it."

He was trying to divert her. "Clark?"

He looked at the candy bars in her lap. "I was thinking, nextpayday, I'd like to get something for the community. Like a thankyou."

So he was determined to be cheerful. Well, she could bedetermined, too. But for now she'd follow his lead. "I thought Jamiemade it clear they didn't want us to buy them things."

"I know, and I'm not talking about something big. We couldn'tafford that, anyway. But the kids have so little in the way of smallpleasures - little toys, candy, that kind of thing. So I wasthinking, maybe we could get something for the kids. But I couldn'tthink of anything appropriate. That all the kids would enjoy, butthat wouldn't be too expensive, or seem like charity, you know? Maybeyou could think of something, you've spent more time here than Ihave."

She had to smile at his generosity. "Yeah, I felt better thisafternoon, and ended up helping wherever they needed help - did youknow they make their own candles down here? And that melted wax isreally hot, hot enough to burn?" She held out her hand so he couldsee the faint pink burn on the back of her thumb.

As she expected, he picked it up and pressed a gentle kiss to thespot. "I'm sorry you got hurt."

She grinned. "That's all right. It's better now. Did you know theygossip a lot down here, too?"

"My mother always said I shouldn't listen to gossip," he answeredautomatically.

"Hard not to, when it's going on all around you," she muttered."Okay," she added more clearly, "I'll think about what we can do forthe kids. Maybe together we can come up with something. But you know,the way they look at it, they owe us. Because you saved Vincent."

There. That was it. She could tell by the way his expressionchanged, turning vulnerable and a little hurt. And so very sad.

"What is it?"

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long sigh. "It'sVincent. I ran into Catherine on the way home tonight... or rather,she ran into me. She was exhausted, so I helped her get to thechamber where she's staying. And she told me Vincent isn't doingwell. He's running a fever now, there's an infection. She lookedreally scared, Lois. And I kept thinking about you."

"Me?" She rubbed one hand across her cheek; it was still sore, butmost of the swelling was gone and the bruising was starting tofade.

"And when I was so sick that Christmas, you remember?"

Of course she did. A creative genius had resurrected a Kryptonianvirus and infected him with it; he'd nearly died. And she'd been sofrightened. "Oh."

"And I just feel so guilty."

"Don't. You tried to save him. You caught the second bullet."

"I should have caught the first one. But I was distracted... Ifollowed Vincent through the wall, and the first thing I did was lookfor you. Not for the danger, the threat, but for you. And Vincentmight die because of it."

"You looked for me because you were scared for me," she said,laying her hand on his. "Because you love me, and you knew I was indanger. I don't know how you could have expected to do anydifferent."

"But I do expect it. I'm Superman, Lois, I'm supposed to protectpeople. And I didn't. So many times, I didn't..."

"... Clark?"

His gaze had gone distant, focused on something neither of themcould see.

She touched his arm. "Clark?"

He made a quick, impatient gesture, asking for quiet. Then heblinked, breathed, and came back to her.

"Trouble?" She knew that look, that gesture.

"In Vincent's chamber. There's something wrong in Vincent'schamber."

Lois lurched up out of her chair and followed him at a dead run.She lost ground with every step, but he couldn't move as fast here inthe close confines of the tunnels as he could up top in the open, soshe could almost keep up and Vincent's chamber wasn't far.

She could hear the commotion long before she actually reached thesmall knot of people gathered outside the entrance to Vincent'schamber. Apparently everyone within earshot had been drawn by thenoise - it sounded like a combination of scalded cat and angry lionin there, accompanied by a half-dozen more human voices shouting afrenzy of instructions or just plain yelling.

The entrance itself, a low, narrow tunnel about four feet long,was jammed with bodies; the ones Lois could see seemed to bestraining forward, trying to get in. She couldn't make out what wasstopping them.

Clark yanked down his glasses and peered at the wall; he must nothave liked what he saw, because he jammed them back up his nose,reached for the nearest obstacle - a young man dressed in the patchedlayers that were endemic in this community - and pulled him out ofthe way.

"Get back!" The voice that emerged was Superman's, bold andcommanding. "Let me through!" A few people were startled enough toobey. Meanwhile, the roars and snarls continued from inside thechamber. She couldn't see over the people crowding the doorway, andheadroom was scarce enough that Clark couldn't fly or float over,either. And of course he couldn't bore straight through the wall withso many people around - rock chips would fly and someone would gethurt.

She had just caught up with him when Clark seized another personblocking the doorway and moved him aside. She caught hold of Clark'sjacket and hung on, following closely as he cleared a path. Once thepeople trying to get in were moved, the tide changed; those alreadyinside the chamber were trying to get out. Clark flattened againstthe wall of the tiny passage, flinging one arm back to protect Lois.As soon as the bottleneck cleared, he charged through.

Lois followed.

Inside, pandemonium reigned. Vincent, not looking nearly as sickas Lois had been led to expect, half-crouched, half-sprawled besidequilts and pillows tumbled from a high, narrow bed. His facecontorted savagely; the roars and snarls she'd been hearing wereissuing from his throat. Two men circled warily to either side ofhim, feinting forward and dodging back, trying unsuccessfully to gethold of him.

Father filled a hypodermic needle with trembling hands. "If youcan just hold him, just for a minute," he said. "I can try to sedatehim..."

Vincent rose from his crouch to strike, fast and deadly, at theman nearest him. The man leaped back, stumbled over a chair, andfell. Vincent advanced, letting out a low growl as he went.

"Dear God!" Father cried. "Matthew, get him!"

The other man moved forward, but Clark was faster. "Get back!" hecommanded, sounding even more like Superman than he had outside."I'll get him."

"Clark, you mustn't, he isn't himself..." Father began, speakingquickly.

But Clark never hesitated. He caught Vincent's arm in mid-strike,holding it fast, then caught the other flailing arm, as well. "Wheredo you want him?" He was speaking to Father, but his hard gaze neverleft Vincent's frenzied face.

Father's mouth opened and closed once before he managed speech."On... on the bed, if you please," he said at last.

Clark nodded once, curtly, and moved Vincent back.

Vincent didn't go quietly. He arched his body and bared long,vicious teeth.

"Someone stop him!" Father called. "He's going to break open thosestitches... he can't afford to lose any more blood..."

But by that time, Clark had Vincent to the bed. He pushed himdown, still holding his wrists. Vincent bucked and flailed, kickingand struggling, wild-eyed and snarling like a vicious animal.

"Stop him!" Father pleaded again.

The man called Matthew moved forward, but Clark spoke sharply."No," he said. "I have him."

He rolled Vincent back and pinned him with his own body. Vincentarched again, trying to fling Clark off; Clark applied more pressure,holding him down with visible force.

Father, filled syringe in hand, approached cautiously. "If you canjust keep him still for another moment..." he muttered, and reachedfor Vincent's arm.

Vincent was effectively pinned to the bed, unable to move arms orlegs. Snarling, he bared his teeth and snaked his head toward Clark'sthroat.

Father jumped back. Behind Lois, someone gasped.

Vincent closed his jaws on Clark's neck and jerked; the motion,Lois was sure, would have ripped an ordinary man's throat out. Clarkmerely grunted and shifted his hold on Vincent's wrists, pinningVincent's head to the mattress with one forearm.

Clark must have consciously relaxed the muscles in his neck;Vincent's teeth looked undamaged and still very, very deadly.

The main casualty seemed to be Clark's glasses - they'd beenknocked askew by Vincent's lunge, and now hung half-off his face. Hetossed his head to try to get rid of them, but the glasses clungtenaciously.

"Lois." His voice, like the look he gave her, was pleading.

She gave a wary look at Vincent, who was still struggling as besthe could, considering it was Superman holding him down, and steppedforward.

"No, you mustn't go near," Father said, catching at her arm. "Hecould break free..."

"He won't," she told him, with assurance. "Clark can hold him."Clark would never summon her unless he was certain of that. Shestepped closer and reached out, grasping the glasses by one templeand plucking them away. Vincent emitted a savage snarl and shestepped back quickly, folding Clark's glasses and tucking them intoher pocket.

Father gave her a look of disbelief, and stepped forward himself,wielding the loaded hypodermic.

"Let me through. Let me through!" The voice was female, and verydetermined. The people - there were only a half-dozen or so, Loisrealized now - in the entrance shifted and Catherine slipped in.

She looked frantic. Even Father didn't try to stop her fromhurrying to Vincent's side. She spared one incredulous glance forClark, still exerting a great deal of effort to hold Vincent inplace, and then slid her hand under Clark's arm and placed it againstVincent's temple. "It's okay," she crooned, softly. "I'm herenow."

The result was instantaneous. Vincent was pinned so effectively hecouldn't move, but he let his breath out in an audible sigh, and allthe fight went out of him. His eyes fixed on Catherine's for a momentbefore they slowly closed.

Clark released his hold on Vincent's wrists and climbed off. Hestepped back from the bed, running a hand over his ruffled hair andstraightening his tie. His jacket, Lois noticed, loose enough not tobe completely protected by his aura, had been torn in thescuffle.

Catherine knelt beside the bed, soothing Vincent with murmurs andtouches. Now that the danger was over, the people gathered in thechamber entrance pushed inside, spreading out. All of them stared atClark.

Father finally managed to close his mouth and bustle over. "Areyou hurt? Let me see your neck..."

Clark warded him off with a raised hand. "I'm fine, Father. Hedidn't hurt me."

"He had your throat in his teeth," Father said sharply. "He struckat you."

"Yes, but he didn't hurt me. See?" Clark turned his head, lettingFather - and everyone else crammed into the little room - see thesmooth, undamaged skin of his throat.

The murmurs became louder, and Lois could pick out a phrase hereand there. "...should have torn his throat out..." "...notpossible..." "...stronger than Vincent..." "...who is this guy?"

Father stepped back. "Yes, I see. Well." He hesitated, as ifsearching for the right words. "I'm rather surprised you were able torestrain Vincent by yourself. He's quite strong..."

"Oh." Clark looked momentarily flustered. "Well, I work out alot... I guess I'm stronger than I look..."

"Do you know, some of the sentries had some rather startlingstories to tell about you, the other day. When you brought Vincentback."

"Oh." Clark's expression turned wary. "They did? I don't knowwhy..."

"Father." Catherine interrupted, looking worried. "You'd bettercome here."

Father turned to the now-quiet patient on the bed. "Yes? Let me...dear God, he's burning up." He spun toward the small group gatheredto watch. "Matthew," he snapped. "Go up, right now, and fetch Peter.Tell him Vincent's infection has spread, his fever's higher, and he'ssuffering from delirium. He'll know what to bring."

The young man nodded crisply and pushed his way from thechamber.

Father addressed the others. "The rest of you, I do appreciateyour concern for Vincent, but he needs quiet now, so if you could allbe on your way..."

"Is there anything we can do for him, Father?" The voice was youngand earnest.

"Yes, Zach. You can pray for him. You can all pray."

*****

Clark, sitting quietly with Lois at Vincent's round table andtrying to keep out of the way, watched Peter Alcott straighten andrun a weary hand through his hair. "It's as you said, Jacob. Theinfection's spread. It's not responded at all to theantibiotics."

Father looked dismal. "I was hoping you might have something new,something more powerful..."

Peter shook his head. "We've already tried the most powerfulantibiotics I know. This infection is very resistant..."

"There's nothing more you can do?" That was Catherine, lookingfrail and weary, and very, very scared.

Peter dropped a gentle hand on her shoulder and shook his head."Do what you're doing. Try to keep his fever down, keep himcalm..."

"Keep him calm." Father's voice was resigned. "Easier said thandone, Peter. You weren't here earlier, when he was raging... it'slucky he didn't pull loose any of his stitches, though we did have tore-start the IV - he'd pulled the needle right out."

"I know, Jacob. I'm sorry. I wish I could be of more help." Peterturned away, folding his stethoscope and tucking it into his bag.Only then did he seem to notice Clark and Lois. "Hello, young lady,"he greeted Lois, and came closer, peering intently at her face."Looks as if those are healing up nicely."

"Yes, thank you. I feel much better."

"You and Catherine both took quite a beating the other day. How'sthe jaw?"

Lois opened and closed her mouth experimentally. "Okay, I guess.Still a little stiff. Father says he's pretty sure it's notbroken."

"If the stiffness continues, let me know, and we'll see aboutgetting you some x-rays," Peter said.

Alarmed, Clark eased his glasses down and took a surreptitiouspeek. But not, evidently, surreptitious enough.

"So, is it?" Lois inquired, without bothering to lower hervoice.

"What?"

"Is it fractured?"

"How would I know?" He could hear the pitch of his voicerising.

"Come on, Clark, I saw you..." she mimed peeking over glasses. "Sois it fractured?"

His glance at the others in the room bordered on frantic."Lois!"

The look Lois gave him was half weary, half amused. "Give it up,Clark," she told him. "I've been hearing all kinds of stories aboutyou the past couple of days. Four sentries saw you bring Vincentback, and I hear there's a girl telling everyone she saw you stand onyour head in midair. Not to mention what you did in here a littlewhile ago, when Vincent was... well, you know. This was just the laststraw. You're not a secret anymore."

"Secret," Father said flatly. "I knew there was something..."

Peter was frankly staring. "What's going on here?" hedemanded.

Lois rolled her eyes and lifted her hands in a tiny I-give-upmotion. "He just x-rayed my jaw."

Peter's mouth dropped open. "What? That's impossible."

Clark looked at Lois in horror. "No, I..." he began, but stumbledto a stop. What could he possibly say now?

Lois said it for him. "He's not what he seems to be," she said."He's different."

Clark stood up, flustered by Father's intense gaze. "Sir, I'msorry. It's just such a habit, to keep the things I can do... tomyself."

"Things you can do," Father repeated. "Like x-ray your wife's jaw,just with your eyes."

Any minute now somebody was going to want to dissect him. Like afrog. "I know it sounds impossible..."

"It is impossible. Except that I watched Vincent try to tear yourthroat out, and you don't have a scratch. So maybe it isn't soincredible that you can x-ray things with your eyes."

"He can do Catherine's, if you want," Lois offered. "She wasbeaten worse than I was."

Catherine, listening from her place at Vincent's side, gingerlytouched her bruised cheek and looked at Clark with disbelief.

He fingered his glasses but didn't pull them down. "Would youmind?"

"If you x-rayed my face. With your eyes. Just your eyes."

"Yeah."

This time, Catherine's glance went to Vincent, who hadn't movedonce. "Sure," she said finally, in an I'm-humoring-you tone."Whatever you want."

Clark lowered his glasses and looked. Catherine stared back athim. When he made a little "move, please" motion with his fingers,she turned her head, but her eyes never left his face. Finally hepushed the glasses back up his nose. "You've got something righthere..." he ran a finger over his own cheekbone, under his right eye."But I can't quite tell..."

"My God," Catherine whispered. "You really can see through thingswith your eyes."

"Cathy?"

She touched her cheek in the place Clark had indicated. "It's anold fracture, Peter... you remember, when those cops came to myapartment..."

"I remember." He turned an incredulous gaze on Clark. "And youcould see it. Just by looking."

Clark all but squirmed. Dissection seemed more and more likely."Well, it takes a little concentration..."

Catherine had thought of something else. "You really did catchthat bullet."

"Uh..." Clark glanced at Lois, who openly grinned at hisdiscomfiture. "Well, yeah." His gaze went briefly to Vincent, lyingso still. "I wish I'd caught both of them."

Father's look was incredulous. "How can you be fast enough tocatch a bullet? And why didn't it tear up your hand?"

"For the same reasons I can see through Catherine's skin, I guess.Because I'm not from here, and my biology's totally different thanyours."

"Like Vincent," Peter suggested.

Right. Like Vincent. Maybe he wasn't in for dissection, after all."Well, different from humans like Vincent's different from humans.But I don't think Vincent and I are anything alike, really."

"You are, in your willingness to help others," Father observed."Don't think we aren't grateful for that, Clark. It seems we owe youso much already, I hesitate to ask for one more thing..."

"Whatever I can do," Clark answered instantly. "Anything."

"You're evidently stronger than Vincent is..."

Clark nodded cautiously.

"...and he doesn't seem to be able to hurt you. His fever's sohigh, he could go off in another delirium at any time. I know youworked all day, you must be tired. But if I had a cot brought in foryou, would you be willing to stay here tonight, with him? Just incase? If you don't, I fear what he might do..."

"Catherine seems to have a calming effect on him, sir," Clarkobserved, glancing that way.

"So she does," Father agreed, "but in his delirium he might notknow her, and she isn't strong enough to hold him. Nothing woulddevastate him more than to recover and learn he'd hurt her..."

Lois sighed. "Another perfectly good night in a bed, wasted," shemuttered under her breath.

*****

After Vincent's outburst, Catherine refused to leave him again,even to get some much-needed sleep. Clark made her take the cotbrought in for him, pulling it close to the bed so she could reachout and touch Vincent without getting up, but she slept scarcely morethan he did, waking every time Vincent grew restless, touching himand speaking to him in soft, unintelligible murmurs until hequieted.

At first, Clark tried to help, but it soon became clear thatVincent didn't tolerate Clark's touch as well as he did Catherine's.They both feared the resulting agitation would offset any benefit, soClark settled for being Catherine's support system, bringing herwater, making sure she was covered when she napped. In between, hesprawled in a chair and dozed.

Morning brought Father, who bent over his patient with a worriedscowl. He answered Catherine's questioning look with a slow shake ofhis head. "His fever's up, his pulse is racing. There's no questionthe infection is still raging; the antibiotics seem to be having noeffect at all..."

"What happens now?" Catherine's voice held just the faintesttremor.

"We wait, and hope he is strong enough to fight it off," Fatheranswered. "We pray. We... I just..." he broke off, burying his facein his hand.

Clark had seldom felt so helpless. Father's fear for Vincent waspalpable; clearly he believed Vincent might die.

Catherine recognized it, too; fear and the faint beginnings ofgrief shone in her eyes.

"Hello?" It was Lois's voice, calling from the outsidepassage.

Clark started for the entrance, but on this occasion Father wasfaster. "Come in!" he called.

Lois came in dressed in her best business clothes, with the air ofsomeone on a schedule.

"Where do you think you're going?" Clark demanded.

"To work," she answered.

"No, you're not." He said it despite the defiant gleam in hereye.

"Yes. I am. You've been up all night, Clark, and besides, you'vebeen working the past two days while I got better. Now it's myturn."

"You're still hurt," he protested. "You're still healing. You lookawful."

She put a self-conscious hand on her cheek, where bruising wasstill visible. "I feel fine. Perfectly capable of writing a storyabout whatever fascinating subject Alex has for us today."

"Pigeons," Clark said.

"What?"

"He said he was going to send us out to talk to a boy who raisespigeons on his tenement's rooftop."

Lois closed her eyes and sighed. "Pigeons. Right. Express story,straight to a Pulitzer." She opened one eye and looked at Catherine."Er, you have Pulitzers here, right?"

"Huh?" Catherine looked blank for an instant, but tiredness musthave kept her from noticing the true oddness of the question. "Yeah.We have Pulitzers. You should do something about those bruises first,though."

"I'm going to tell people I got mugged," Lois said, sounding justa bit defensive. "I won't say what really happened."

"No, I meant to cover them up. They're pretty... stark."

"Oh. I tried, but the makeup I use isn't really made for..."

"I have something that works pretty well." Catherine crossed thechamber to where her briefcase was propped against the wall. Sherummaged inside, coming up with a small bottle of flesh-coloredliquid. She squinted at it critically in the flare of candlelight."My skin tone's lighter than yours, I think..."

"Let me see..." Lois reached for the bottle, turning it in herhands. "Yeah, but maybe if I cover it with my own..."

The discussion of makeup ended with Catherine's bottle tucked intoLois's purse. "I'd better hurry, I'm going to be late."

"You're not going," Clark said again. "I can..."

She spun sharply and glared. "I... Am... Going... To... Work," shesaid, emphasizing each word. "You," she stabbed at his chest with afinger, "are going to stay here and get some rest. Got it?"

He knew when to give up; he raised his hands in surrender. "Gotit. But you be careful!"

She nodded, kissed him quickly, and hurried out.

*****

Over the next two days, Vincent's temperature soared even higheras his body fought the infection raging through him. He slipped inand out of a delirium that frightened everyone and kept Catherinewithin arms' reach. Clark stayed close, too, when he could, butcircumstances conspired to draw him away more than once.

First he diverted a minor flood created by a city water mainbreak. Then he helped clear a tunnel whose saturated roof hadcollapsed, trapping some of the tunnel folk beyond it. Later, hehelped the tunnel engineer, a mild man named Kanin, shore up thepassage so it would be safe. After that, he rescued a little girlwho'd taken a dare to climb up a near-vertical wall and was unable toget herself back down. Most of these jobs, he came to understand,would have fallen to Vincent, had he been well.

He wondered how Vincent did it. Even Superman had limits,especially down here in the dark, and Clark was tired in body as wellas spirit when Peter Alcott came on the second evening to examine thepatient and confer with Father. Clark tried not to overhear, but eventheir quiet murmurs carried to him clearly. Both physicians believedVincent was at the end of his strength. The antibiotics had made nodifference to his condition. Barring a miracle, Vincent woulddie.

*****

Lois hurried through the tunnels in the wake of her long-leggedteenaged guide. She wished she'd paid a bit more attention when theboy had come to get her; if she knew his name, she could ask him toslow down. But she didn't know it, didn't want to yell, "Hey, you!",and pride wouldn't let her give up. She was breathless and footsorewhen they reached the hub of the community. She'd asked to be takento wherever Clark was; that, apparently, was still Vincent's chamber.She wondered if he'd had a chance to rest today at all. She knew hehadn't slept much the past two nights, and while Superman didn't needas much sleep as the average human, he did require some rest.

The boy left her at the entrance to Vincent's chamber, which thisevening was guarded by a middle-aged man Lois hadn't seen before.

"Excuse me," she began, but the man cut her off.

"Sorry. You can't go in. No one can go in. Vincent's really sickand Father doesn't want him disturbed."

Habit and inclination made her bristle, but memory of Vincent,lying so still this morning when she'd stopped by to see Clark,moderated her reply. "You don't understand," she began, working atstaying pleasant. "My husband's in there, and I think I have anidea..."

The man was stubbornly shaking his head, standing by hisinstructions, and she was considering bopping him one and dashingpast when Clark appeared in the entrance behind him.

"It's okay, Marc," he said quietly. "She's with me."

It didn't surprise Lois at all that in the few days they'd been inthe tunnels, Clark had already become someone who was listened to,and obeyed.

Marc nodded a sketchy apology and stepped aside. Lois went pasthim and into Clark's open arms.

The way he held her told her the gravity of Vincent's condition.She hugged back hard, offering her own strength to supplement his. Itwas a long time before he released her.

A quick glance over her shoulder showed the sentry, Marc,studiously ignoring them. She turned back to find Clark looking intoher eyes with a sadness she could feel. His face was drawn; she'dseldom seen him look so drained.

She took his hand in hers and squeezed; he squeezed back gently,then led her into the quiet chamber.

Catherine slumped in a chair, her head pillowed against Vincent'sforearm. Father and Peter conferred quietly, sadly, on the far sideof the room.

Both turned when she and Clark came in. "Lois," Father said, notunkindly. "Perhaps this isn't a good time to visit... Vincent isn'twell."

What was it with these people and their attempts to keep her fromher husband? She quelled the sharp retort that sprang to her lips,and said instead, "I know. And I've been thinking."

"Thinking?" That was Clark, behind her; did she detect thefaintest note of alarm in his voice?

She turned to him. "You remember the article we wrote a couple ofmonths ago? About an experimental treatment for infected wounds thatresisted antibiotics?"

His brow puckered for a second, then cleared. "Oh, yeah. Lasertherapy."

It was Peter's turn to look perplexed. "Lasers? They've been usedfor many things in the medical field, but treatment of infectedwounds? I haven't read anything..."

"As I said, it's very experimental," Lois rushed to say. Shedidn't want to get into interdimensional time-travel right now. "Theyuse a laser beam to sterilize and cauterize the wound. If I'mremembering right..." She looked to Clark for confirmation.

"I think that's right," he answered; she could see he was thinkingback, remembering.

Peter's hopeful expression fell. "Even if this treatment wouldwork, we don't have access to the kind of laser we'd need... and ifwe did, how would we get Vincent there?" He put a kind hand on Lois'sarm. "We do appreciate your thinking of ways to help, but..."

"No, you don't understand. Clark could do it."

"What?" Both men spoke simultaneously.

Catherine, awake now, stared from her chair.

Clark looked at her with incredulity. "Lois, have you lost yourmind? I don't have the knowledge to do what you're suggesting... Icould do him irreparable damage... I could kill him."

"Wait, are you saying Clark... can somehow produce a laser beam?"Excitement crept into Father's voice.

"Yes, but I don't know enough!" Clark repeated, more loudly. "Ihaven't studied anatomy, I wouldn't know how much, or for howlong..."

"But if you don't, he'll die." Catherine was standing now, swayingslightly. "He's going to die. The infection is killing him." Therewas no question, no doubt in her voice. Lois wondered how long she'dknown the grim truth, and more, how she stood there quietly wheninside, she must have wanted to scream.

Clark's resistance faltered. "I know," he answered quietly.

"If there's a chance... even a small chance... you have to try,Clark. Please." Hope spawned desperation. Catherine's hands woundtogether in supplication. "Please."

Clark's fists clenched helplessly. "I don't know what I'm doing,"he repeated, with a glance for Vincent.

"If you can really do this, he has a chance." Peter's voice shookwith fervor. "Any chance is better than none."

Clark's desperate glance returned to Lois. "How much do youremember from our notes? About intensity, or the amount of time...anything?"

She shared what she could dredge from memory; it wasn't much, butadded to what he remembered, it might be enough. It had to beenough.

Father produced a battered medical text and opened it to acolor-plate diagram of a man's chest, showing Clark nerves and bloodvessels, things to be avoided. "We think Vincent's anatomy is verysimilar," he said at last. "But there are differences, you'll have tobe careful. Will you be able to see what you're doing?"

"Yes," Clark assured him. "I can x-ray him first. Andintermittently as I go along."

"Soft tissue injury won't show on an x-ray..." Peter began.

Clark shook his head. "It will for me. I think I'll be able totrace the path of the bullet, and possibly even see the infection, orrather the signs left by the infection."

Father shook his head in disbelief. "It's not possible," hemurmured, even as he moved to the bed and began to unbutton Vincent'sshirt. "Catherine, you'd better step back," he advised.

"No," Clark objected. "I want her here. He'll be quieter if she'sholding him. If he moves..."

Lois had seen what an intense blast of his heat vision could do;she shuddered to think how it would affect flesh and bone. But ofcourse he could control the intensity; more than once he'd used amild burst to warm her when she was cold.

Catherine crouched at the head of the bed, cradling Vincent's headin her hands, crooning to him. Father stepped back, giving Clark roomat the bedside.

Clark removed his glasses, folded them, and placed them carefullyon the table. He stepped forward and spent agonizing long minutessimply staring; using his x-ray vision to assess the wound and planthe best approach for the use of his heat vision, Lois was sure.Finally he moved, placing one knee on the bed at Vincent's waist, andbending over him. He reached out, taking Vincent's wrists in hishands, and narrowed his eyes.

Lois, standing between Father and Peter, waiting breathlessly forsomething to happen, saw Catherine go even whiter, if that waspossible. Catherine grimaced and swallowed hard, but kept her handsagainst Vincent's skin, kept up her low, wordless crooning.

The stench reached Father, Peter, and Lois a moment later. Itsmelled like burning, rotted meat. Lois's stomach roiled; she didn'tknow how Catherine stood being so close to the source.

Vincent bucked suddenly, letting out a sharp cry that sounded morehuman than animal. Clark lifted his head for an instant and murmuredsomething to Catherine, who nodded briefly and moved her hands downso that her palms were in full contact with the bare skin onVincent's neck. Vincent quieted, and Clark turned his gaze back tothe angry wound on Vincent's chest. When he looked up again, it wasto release Vincent's arms and back away from the bed. The edges ofthe wound were charred and the whole chamber reeked with the stenchof burnt flesh.

"There," he said quietly. "I think I got it all. I hope Idid."

Father hurried forward to tend to his son; it was Peter wholavished Clark with effusive thanks.

He shook it off, shaking his head. "Don't. I don't know if what Idid will make a difference. I don't know if it will save him..."

"But he has a chance now," Peter answered. "He has a chance."

*****

Catherine had never smelled anything quite so nauseous. She'd beenclose enough, too, to see the swollen, reddened flesh of Vincent'swound bubble and sear as Clark stared, to hear the hiss that remindedher of broiling meat. Only the knowledge that Vincent needed her tobe close, to be touching him, kept her there.

It had hurt him, the cauterization. He'd stiffened immediately,trying to lift his arms against Clark's restraint, but he'd listenedto her half-voiced pleas to be still, to let them help him. Only oncehad he given in to his desire to fight this new agony, archinghelplessly against a man who was stronger than he.

"Touch him." Clark's voice, a frantic whisper. "His skin with yourskin. So he knows you're there."

He knows I'm here, she thought, but nevertheless she did as Clarkasked, sliding her hands from Vincent's wild, tangled mane to hisneck, her fingers grazing the soft fur on his shoulders. He seemed tohear her then. He stilled, holding himself rigid as Clark continuedhis gruesome task.

Relief surged through her when Clark finally let go of Vincent'swrists and stepped away from the bed. Vincent relaxed slowly, lettinghis big body go limp.

Catherine let out a long sigh and lowered her head to the pillowbeside Vincent's. He turned his face toward her; he always knew whereto find her, even in the depths of illness. She stroked his cheek andwished she could just close her eyes and sleep right here.

It had been so long since she'd slept; exhaustion oozed from everypore in her body.

Father bent over the bed, examining Vincent's wound, checking hispulse, listening to him breathe.

Catherine blinked gritty eyes and swallowed a yawn. An hour'ssleep... just an hour.

She must have dozed off; when she next became aware of hersurroundings, her neck ached, and only Clark and Lois, standing closetogether on the far side of the room, were there.

"Where... where are Father and Peter?" she managed thickly.

"Peter's gone home," Clark answered, coming toward her. "He hassurgery in the morning. Father's gone to get some sleep."

Catherine nodded. Father had spent nearly as much time atVincent's side as she had, and he was older. "How long was Iasleep?"

"About two hours." That was Lois. Her smile was tentative, as ifunsure of her welcome.

Catherine rubbed at her face with her hands, then winced.

"Still sore, huh?" Clark asked, sympathetic.

"A little." She shrugged. "It'll heal."

"Maybe I could speed that up a little bit," Clark offered. "ForLois, too. I've been thinking about it."

"How?" Lois looked suspicious.

He touched the edge of his glasses. "I think a little heat visionmight help. It couldn't hurt."

Lois, at least, was willing. "I guess not," she agreed. "Now?"

"Now's as good a time as any. If you want me to try."

In answer, Lois pushed her hair back and lifted her face. "Goahead."

Clark pulled his glasses down and gazed intently at Lois's facefor a few seconds. "There," he said, pushing the glasses back up."How's that?"

"Warm," Lois answered, smiling. She touched her bruised cheekexperimentally. "Better, I think."

"Good." He gave her a soft smile full of love and tenderness, andbrushed his fingers along her jaw.

Lois smiled back and said, "Now Catherine."

Involuntarily Catherine drew back. Whatever he'd just used on Loiswas the same thing he'd used on Vincent earlier, the same thing thathad burned away the infection in Vincent's wound. Now he wanted touse it on her face?

"It's okay," Lois said. "He won't hurt you."

Had she been that obvious? Embarrassment overcame exhaustion. "I'msorry, I just couldn't help..."

"Remembering," Clark finished for her. "I won't if you don't wantme to, but I really think it will help with the bruising."

She'd seen her reflection in a mirror only that morning. Most ofthe swelling was gone, but the bruising, faded now from vivid pinksand purples to ugly greens and yellows, was still clearly visible.Anything that minimized it could only be good. And Clark, shereminded herself firmly, wouldn't do anything to hurt her. He'dalready used the technique on Lois.

"All right," she said, and lifted her face.

Clark took his glasses off completely and laid them on Vincent'stable, then turned to face her.

Catherine closed her eyes and waited.

Her first perception was simply one of warmth, like the sun. Itdid feel nice, but not particularly healing. Then, suddenly, thesensation changed, moving deeper somehow, soothing aches she didn'tknow were there. Too soon, the warmth faded. Catherine opened hereyes to find Clark putting his glasses back on.

"Better?" he asked.

As Lois had done, she touched her cheek. "Actually... yes. That'samazing."

"It should look a lot better by morning."

"Thanks." When she rubbed at her face this time, it didn'thurt.

"You look exhausted. Why don't you lie down and sleep?" Hegestured toward the cot.

She shook her head. She hated the low, narrow cot. It was hard anduncomfortable and she had to stretch to touch Vincent without gettingup. She'd rather nap in a chair. She flatly refused to leave thechamber. "I'm going to sit with him a while longer..."

"Okay. But come around here..." He moved her chair from the bed'shead to its side, so she could not only stroke Vincent's face, butalso hold his hand.

"Thanks."

Clark ran a hand through rumpled hair. He looked nearly as tiredas she felt. "Listen, if you're going to be awake for a littlebit..."

She owed this man Vincent's life. Whatever he wanted, whatever hedemanded, she would do. Even if it killed her. "What?"

"I kind of need to get out for a while." He glanced at his wife,who looked no less puzzled than Catherine felt. "I think I could usea little sun."

From the look of it, that made sense to Lois, but Catherine wasstill perplexed. "Sun?" She glanced automatically at her watch. "Butit's dark up there now... isn't it?" She'd been awake for so long...had she managed to confuse day and night? But no, it must be eveningbecause Lois had arrived from work only a few hours ago.

Clark offered a small grin. "Don't worry, I can find sunlight whenI need it. But I don't want to leave Vincent unless you're here."

Vincent didn't like Clark touching him, anyway. "Sure," sheagreed. "I can stay awake."

"Just an hour or so..."

"Sure," she repeated. Anything. She'd do anything.

"Lois will sit with you, if you like..."

The look Lois flashed him might have been one of alarm, butCatherine was far too tired to take offense. "If she wants," sheanswered. "I'll be okay by myself."

"No, you need someone to sit with you," Clark said. "Lois willstay. Won't you?"

Lois looked rebellious, then glanced at Catherine and softened."Sure," she said finally. "I'll stay."

"Thanks, honey." He kissed her so tenderly that Catherine feltlike an intruder, watching.

She looked away, trying not to wish that once, just once, Vincentwould kiss her that way. That Vincent would kiss her at all.

"Be careful." Lois looked more sad than truly worried, andCatherine found the energy to wonder just how powerful Clark was,anyway.

He touched her cheek with his hand. "I will," he said, making itsound like a promise. "I love you."

*****

Lois watched him go with just the tiniest twinge of panic. Shewasn't good at sickrooms, she wasn't good at comforting. What shouldshe say? What should she do?

Well, she'd have to do something. Resolute, she turned to face thesickbed.

Catherine was watching Vincent, stroking his arm with absentfingers.

"Can I get you anything?" Lois offered, feeling awkward.

Catherine shook her head. "I'm fine. Just thinking."

"Oh." Lois wondered what she should do now. "Thinking aboutanything in particular?"

Catherine seemed to feel Lois's gaze upon her. Without turning,she spoke. "About something Clark said. Vincent never would have saidthat to me." Her voice was very quiet, very tired.

"What?" Lois ran back over everything Clark had said to her, andfixed on the most recent. "That he loves you?"

Catherine's mouth twisted in a small, wry smile. "No, actually,he's said that. Finally. Bolstered with qualifications andcircumstances, but he said it."

"What, then?" Curiosity drove away discomfort. Lois drew up achair and sat, leaning forward.

Catherine looked at her. "Something he said yesterday morning.When you were... disagreeing about whether or not you were going towork."

"Oh. What did he say?" Lois tried to remember the conversation."That I wasn't going, but he says that kind of thing all the time,and I never listen."

"No, not that. He looked at your face, and said you lookedawful."

Lois grimaced and touched her face self-consciously. "He didn'tmean it that way. He was just..."

"I know how he meant it." For a moment she looked wistful. "Therewas such concern in his voice when he said it. And such affection.But Vincent would never tell me I looked awful, even if I did." Shemanaged a small grin. "Even though I do."

Lois answered with a smile of her own. "Neither of us would winany beauty contests this week, that's for sure," she agreed. "But I'mnot sure what you're getting at."

Catherine sighed. "What you and Clark have between you - it's soeasy, so comfortable. I love Vincent, more than I ever thought it waspossible to love anybody, and I know he loves me, but we don't havethat. He's always so worried about who he is, what he is, and I'malways afraid I'll say the wrong thing and he'll leave, or send meaway."

"Send you away? Would he do that?"

Catherine looked to where her hand entwined with Vincent's large,alien one. "He would. He has."

Lois leaned her chin on a fist. "Really? Just because he'sdifferent?"

"Yeah. Just because he's different."

Lois pondered that. "I guess Clark's done that, too," she saidfinally. "He broke up with me once, before we were married. Becausehe said that his being involved with me was putting me in danger.Which was really stupid, since we work together, we're partners! Howwas his loving me going to put me in more danger than I was inalready? But he can be really hardheaded sometimes."

"Vincent, too. He worries about me... and some of that's my fault,I guess. I've done some stupid things..."

"Most of the trouble I get into is my own fault," Lois admitted."But if you tell Clark I said that, I'll deny it."

Catherine managed a tired smile. "I won't tell."

That topic exhausted, Lois kicked into reporter mode. "So, tell meabout you and Vincent?"

The look Catherine flashed her was wary. "Tell you about...?"

"You know, how you met."

"I'm not sure I want to share that with a reporter..."

Lois rolled her eyes. "You know my husband's from another planet,and you're worried what I'll say about your boyfriend?"

Catherine stared. "Another planet?"

Oops. Hadn't they said that before? She was sure Clark had saidsomething... or maybe not. Well, the cat was out of the bag now."Another planet," she repeated firmly. "It was called Krypton. Itexploded when Clark was a baby, but his parents sent him to Earth, sohe didn't die when they did."

"Another planet," Catherine said again. She looked stunned, ormaybe that was just the exhaustion.

"I said that." Lois tried not to sound irritated, but she wastired, too. "You don't think ordinary humans can do what Clark does,do you?"

Catherine's smile was faint but genuine. "No," she admitted. "Inever thought that."

"Well. We think it's because Krypton had a red sun. He has a densemolecular structure, and somehow he draws energy from the Earth'syellow sun, and nobody knows why he can do the rest of the things hedoes."

"The sun? That's why he wanted to go up and find sunlight. He wastired."

"Yeah. Pretty drained, I guess, from the stuff he'd been doingdown here, and not seeing the sun at all for a couple of days. Idon't think he's ever gone this long without seeing the sun."

"Oh. And you're sure he can find some."

"He'll just fly west until he finds it," Lois answered. "He'sprobably in California by now..."

"So fast?"

Lois couldn't resist a grin. "He was probably in California tenminutes ago," she answered. She glanced at her watch. "It's laterthan I thought, maybe he's in Hawaii..." She blamed the twitch ofnostalgia on exhaustion. "We were supposed to spend our honeymoon inHawaii..."

"Why didn't you?"

"Oh, well..." To her amazement and horror, Lois felt herselfblushing. "I guess we got sort of... distracted. It was ourhoneymoon, after all. Don't you and Vincent get caught up in eachother like that?"

It was Catherine's turn to blush. "He doesn't... that is, wedon't..."

It took Lois a moment to figure out what it was that Catherine andVincent didn't do; then she blushed even more. "Oh. Well, Clark and Iwaited. Until after we were married. It was hard, but I'm glad wedid."

Catherine looked away. "This is different."

Lois frowned. "Different?"

She nodded slowly. "Because there isn't going to be a wedding forus. He isn't ever going to ask me..."

Lois had never felt quite so bewildered in all her life. Fromeverything she'd heard and seen, if any two people loved each other,Vincent and Catherine did. "Why not?"

Catherine shrugged, making light, but Lois could see the deep,unrelenting hurt. "Because of who he is. What he is."

"He's different. So what?"

"He's afraid."

Lois thought of those deadly claws, those long, sharp teeth. "Oh."And then she thought about Clark, bending iron bars and lifting cars."Just because he can hurt you doesn't mean he will."

"I know that. I know." Defiance was in Catherine's voice, and Loisremembered how, even when Vincent was in the depths of rage,Catherine hadn't feared him. She'd gone to him, touched him, andbrought him back.

"I'm so tired..." Catherine's voice was so low, Lois wasn't sureat first she'd heard it. "When do you think Clark might be back?"That was stronger, but weariness still showed.

"I don't know, but you don't really have to wait for him, do you?Vincent can't tell if you're asleep or awake, just that you're closeor not close. Right?"

"Yes. Well, I think so. All the times I've been asleep, I've beenaway from him, too, so it's hard to tell."

"No, you haven't," Lois disagreed. "Clark and I watched you sleepfor two hours with your head on the pillow there and Vincent nevermoved."

"I can't sleep that way for long. I get so stiff..."

"Vincent's bed isn't that narrow. If I were you," Lois saiddecisively, "I'd just crawl up there beside him and go to sleep. TheIV line's on the other side, so you wouldn't have to worry abouttangling with it."

Catherine's glance at the spot Lois had indicated was longing, butshe shook her head. "I couldn't. Father would have a fit."

"Let him."

"What?"

"Let him have a fit. I don't know what he's thinking, anyway.You're exhausted. It's been four and a half days and you haven'tslept in a bed at all, have you? Plus you took the same kind ofbeating I did. Peter made a point of telling me I needed to get extrarest because of it and you haven't had any rest at all. WhateverFather's afraid of, it isn't going to happen any time soon, what withyou so tired and Vincent sick, and..." She shut up abruptly. "Sorry.I get carried away sometimes..."

Catherine was smiling. "It's okay." She took a deep breath. "Maybeyou're right. Maybe I should lie down here and sleep a littlebit."

"Not a little bit. The whole night." Lois got up and crossed tothe bed. "Maybe we can move him over." She put her hand out to trypushing, then thought better of it. "He won't mind if I touch him,will he?"

"I don't know," Catherine answered. "Try and see."

"What if he...?" She left the thought unvoiced, but Catherineunderstood.

"He won't. I'm right here. He'll be all right."

Lois put a tentative hand on Vincent's shoulder. He shifted alittle at her touch, but didn't seem to mind. His body, through thethin nightshirt, was big and muscular... bigger and more muscularthan Clark's, even. She tried not to think about that. "Here, youpush and I'll push and we'll see if we can scoot him over."

They moved him a little bit, but Vincent really was solid, anddead weight besides, and they couldn't get much leverage.

"I wish Clark would come back," Lois muttered, panting. "He couldmove him with one hand."

"Vincent doesn't like Clark touching him," Catherine answered. "Iguess because he held him down. Or maybe just because he doesn't knowhim. He doesn't seem to mind you, though. Let's give it anothertry."

They shoved again, and succeeded in moving Vincent another coupleof inches.

"I don't know." Lois was skeptical. "It's not much room."

"As tired as I am, I'm not going to be doing any tossing andturning," Catherine answered. "There's enough space."

"Lie down, then," Lois said, "and I'll cover you up."

"Tuck me in?" There was a hint of laughter in Catherine's voice asshe stretched out on the bed beside Vincent.

Lois wrestled a pillow out from under Vincent's shoulders andpositioned it to support Catherine's head, then took a quilt from thefoot of the bed and spread it over her.

"Thank you, Lois." Catherine's eyes were closed, her voice barelydiscernable. "Good night."

"Good night."

Catherine was asleep in seconds. Lois stood by the bed a moment,wondering what she should do. She couldn't just leave - Clark wouldbe disappointed if he came back and she wasn't here. Anyway, shewanted to see him again before she went to bed and he'd be back soon.But if she stayed, what would she do? Watching Vincent and Catherinesleep wasn't exactly exciting, and anyway it felt intrusive.

Before she could turn away, Catherine sighed and shifted, settlingagainst Vincent's side; reflexively his arm came around her, holdingher close.

They're like us, Lois thought. Like Clark and me. In the way theylove each other, in the way they take care of each other.

Abruptly she turned away, unwilling to intrude on their privacyany longer. She selected a book from the many in the chamber, turnedher chair firmly away from the bed and sat down to read.

The book she'd chosen was Jane Eyre. She'd read it in college, forone of her classes, but she seldom had time to read for pleasurethese days. She moved the candelabra closer, opened the book, andsoon was engrossed in the story.

She didn't hear Father until he cleared his throat. Shejumped.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he apologized. "You didn't seem to hear me."He looked around the chamber. "They haven't left you here alone, havethey?"

"No, Catherine's here." Lois set the book aside and stood up.

Father's glance went to the cot, then darted to the bed. "Has shelost her mind...?" He stepped forward, as if to wake her.

"No," Lois said quickly, and caught at his arm. "Don't."

"You don't understand, it isn't safe..." He tried to shake off herrestraining arm.

Lois held on. "Of course it's safe," she answered. "You trustVincent not to hurt her when she's awake, why do you think he'd hurther when she's sleeping? And he's too sick for you to be worriedabout anything else."

He spun around, glaring at her.

Lois glared back, and finally he deflated. "I suppose you'reright. It just shocked me, seeing them like that..."

Like what? Lois looked to see that while she was reading, Vincent,still on his back, had shifted himself, giving Catherine more room onthe single bed. For her part, Catherine had rolled onto her side,facing him; one arm was draped across Vincent's waist, and herforehead was pressed against his shoulder. The quilt that covered herhad shifted, and Lois moved to straighten it.

"They look fine," she whispered, coming back to where Fatherstood. "Catherine was exhausted, and she wouldn't leave him. I don'tblame her," she added, with a touch of defiance. "If that were Clark,I wouldn't leave, either. She needs to sleep," she added, belatedlytrying to make her voice conciliatory.

Father sighed. "Yes, I can see that," he answered. "But how can Iexamine him with her..."

"Reach over her," Lois said firmly. "I'll bet ten dollars shedoesn't wake up."

She'd have won the bet, if Father had taken it. When he finishedhis cursory examination, Father sighed again. "He's holding on," hesaid. "Perhaps the treatment was effective after all..."

"When will we know?"

"He heals fast. Faster than anyone I've ever seen."

He'd obviously never seen Clark heal. But then, without any greenKryptonite around, Clark wouldn't be getting himself wounded any timesoon. "So..." she prompted, when Father seemed to stall.

"So we should know something tomorrow. He'll either be appreciablybetter, or..." He didn't finish his sentence. "I suppose your husbandwill be back soon?"

Lois nodded. "Any time now. He just went out for a littlewhile."

"It must be difficult for him, cooped up in this sick-chamber ashe has been..."

"I don't think it's that. Clark likes helping people. He justneeded... well, he just needed to go up top for a little while."

Father's keen look said he suspected there was more to Clark'sexcursion than simply a need for fresh air, but he didn't press theissue. "It's very late," he said instead. "I can sit with him - withthem - if you'd like to return to your own chamber."

Her own chamber, where she'd spent the past two nights in solitarysplendor. Not likely. "Thanks, but Clark will come here when he comesback. I'll wait for him, if that's all right."

Father rubbed at his eyes with a tired hand. "Of course," heagreed. "I'll be in my chamber, just down this passage if you needme."

"There's a sentry right outside who can call for help faster thanI can," she pointed out. "It'll give him something to do besides keepout visitors."

"So it will," Father agreed. "I'd forgotten he was there. You'llbe all right by yourself, then?"

"Fine," Lois answered.

He stumped out, making enough noise with his walking stick thatshe wondered how she'd missed hearing him come in. Must have been thebook.

Clark came back not five minutes later. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she answered. "Find the sun?"

"Yeah. Somewhere over the Pacific." He grinned.

"You look better. I didn't know being out of the sun would drainyou that fast."

"I didn't, either. I guess this is the longest I've been withoutseeing the sun at all. Plus I've been using a lot of my powers.X-raying, and cauterizing Vincent's wound and stuff."

"Stopping a flood and clearing a cave-in and shoring up the roof,"she added, and smiled at his look of surprise. "Not to mention therescuing of small children. I heard."

"News travels fast around here," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I'm glad you're back. I was gettinglonely."

"Lonely?" His gaze finally strayed from her face. "Where'sCatherine?"

"There." Lois pointed.

Clark's eyebrows went up. "Father's going to have a fit," hepredicted.

"That's what she said. And he kind of did."

"He's been here?"

"Right before you came. But I talked to him..."

His grin said he could guess how she'd talked.

"... and he finally went away again. He said to call him if Ineeded him, but neither one of them has moved. Catherine's sotired..."

"She'll probably sleep into tomorrow," Clark agreed. "Wish she'dthought of crawling in bed with Vincent sooner, but I suppose she wasafraid of what Father would say."

"She didn't think of it this time, either," Lois announced. "Idid. It was just plain silly for her to sit there, too tired tothink, when the bed's big enough for both of them." She glanced atit. "Barely."

She adopted her best coquettish expression. "So since Catherine'shere and Vincent's sleeping, can you come sleep with me tonight? Wehave that nice, big bed..." She couldn't have made the hint anybroader, but regretfully he shook his head.

"I can't, honey. You know I'd like to. But I promised Father I'dstay with Vincent until he was better."

"You could be here in less than a second," she cajoled.

"If I knew there wasn't going to be anybody standing or walking inthe passages, or the entry," he agreed. "But the tunnels are narrow,the turns tight. I wouldn't dare fly anywhere near my fastest in suchclose confines, when people are around. If I ran intosomebody..."

"Oh." She hadn't thought of that. "Yeah. It'd be messy."

"Right."

"Then I'll stay with you."

"No, you won't, you need your sleep."

"I can sleep just fine right here," she insisted. "There's thecot..."

"And where will I sleep?" he inquired. "The cot's not big enoughfor two."

"You can float beside me," she decided. "Right close beside me.It'll be almost as good as the bed."

"No, it won't," he answered. "There's a sentry right outside thatdoor, and Father or Mary or one of the others could come in at anytime. Nothing's going to happen."

"Well, I know that. What do you think I am, an exhibitionist? Allwe'd need is for Catherine to wake up in the middle..." She reachedup and caught hold of a fold of his long, soft tunic, and pulled himtoward her. "But we can neck a little bit."

He smiled. "Good idea."

*****

Vincent opened his eyes slowly, to muffled pain and softcandlelight, and a feeling of peace so deep he didn't want to movefor fear of dispelling it. He blinked quietly and things slowly cameinto focus.

He was lying on his back, in his own bed, in his own chamber. Thelast thing he remembered...

His breath caught in his throat and he tried to heave upward."Catherine," he murmured.

"Shh." Strong hands pressed him back down. "She's right here."

The face that hovered over him was only vaguely familiar - darkhair and kind eyes partially masked by wire-rim glasses that glintedin the candlelight. He struggled for a name. "Clark?" he managed,finally.

"Yeah. I've been sitting with you while you were sick." Hegrinned. "Father thinks it's safer with me here, but I'm thinkingthat as long as she's with you..." He nodded toward something atVincent's side.

Vincent craned his neck to look.

Catherine, soft and warm and deeply asleep, curled against hisside.

"Let's not wake her up," Clark suggested, keeping his voice low."She's been sitting with you for days now..."

Vincent stirred, trying to edge away, but the movement made themuffled pain flare sharply. He gasped and sank back down. "She shouldnot... it isn't safe... I might..."

As little sense as he was making, Clark seemed to follow it. "Youalready did," he said, shaking his head. "Your wound is infected andyour fever went so high you became delirious."

Vincent closed his eyes and rolled his head away.

"Nobody got hurt," Clark said, as if he knew what Vincent wasthinking. "I got here quick and held you..."

Vincent rolled his head back to stare; Clark, by himself, hadrestrained him?

"...but that was all I could do, keep you from hurting somebody,or hurting yourself. I couldn't calm you down. Then Catherine cameback, came running in... and as soon as she touched you, you quieted.I think you missed her, knew she was gone, and maybe flashed back toright before you got hurt, when she was in danger. I think you wantedto go to her, and it enraged you that you couldn't."

He mustered words with effort. "I could... have killed..."

"You didn't," Clark said flatly. "When I got here, there were ahalf-dozen other people in the room, and you hadn't hurt any of them.You were just roaring and flailing and trying to get up. You werejust trying to help Catherine, that's all."

"Catherine." He thought back to the danger she'd been in, the fearshe'd felt, and found the strength to speak again. "...all right?"Muddled memory gave him a blurry image of the scene when he'd burstin to rescue her. "And... another woman..."

"My wife," Clark told him, and nodded toward the far side of thechamber.

Vincent looked, and saw a dark-haired woman sleeping on a narrowcot set up against the bookshelves.

"They're both going to be okay," Clark assured him. "They wereseriously beaten, but there's no lasting damage."

Vincent went inside himself, to the link he shared with Catherine,examining it closely. There was sadness and exhaustion, but no threadof physical pain. "Yes," he agreed, aloud. Just staying awake wastiring; talking, even in abbreviated sentences, was wearing him out.But he had to know if Catherine was all right. "She grieves..."

Clark looked surprised. "You can tell that?"

He nodded. "...connected... I know... always."

"What she's feeling? Father said something about that, but Ithought I must have misunderstood."

Vincent managed a small shake of his head. "No..."

"That's how you knew she was in danger," Clark said suddenly."That's how you found her?"

Vincent nodded, grateful that Clark seemed to be making theseleaps by himself, that he didn't have to find the words toexplain.

"You can feel where she is." There was wonder in his voice, andawe.

"Grieving now..." Vincent reminded him. "Sad..."

Understanding shone in Clark's eyes. "That's for you," heexplained. "She's grieving for you. Because until a few hours ago, weall thought you were going to die."

*****

Vincent slipped back into sleep. A healing sleep, Clark hoped. Buthe supposed he should call for Father, just in case. He cast aregretful look at the cot where Lois lay giving every appearance ofenjoying a good night's sleep. Clark wasn't sure how she managed that- he'd lain on the cot himself, and found it narrow, hard, and lumpy.But then, Lois was half his size and scarcely more than half hisweight. Maybe that made a difference. He didn't know. In any case, hewasn't likely to be joining her any time soon.

He was right. Father came at once when Clark sent the sentry afterhim; he was still pulling his robe on when he entered the chamber. Hecrossed directly to Vincent's bed and bent over him in a swiftexamination that ended with him grasping Vincent's hand and callinghis name.

There was no response, not even the flickering of an eyelid.

Father spun sharply. "Marc says you told him Vincent wasawake?"

"He was," Clark answered, and wondered why he felt defensive. "Forjust a couple of minutes."

"Did he say anything? Did he seem lucid?"

"Very lucid. He asked about Catherine, mostly. Almost entirely,"he amended, remembering. "Talking seemed to tire him out, but hewouldn't relax until he knew she was okay."

Father grunted. "I'm surprised he couldn't tell withoutasking."

"I guess she's still pretty upset," Clark offered. "Vincent seemedto think she was... grieving." It was a strong word, but it was theone Vincent had used.

"Grieving. Well, of course. None of us knew if he'd get better ornot, even after you... treated him. She must have gone to sleepthinking about him, worrying about him."

"Probably," Clark agreed.

"I should have thought of that," Father chided himself. "Well, Ican do something about it now."

He bent over the bed. While Clark was still wondering if he shouldinterfere, Father laid a hand on Catherine's arm and shook it gently,calling her name.

She came awake with a start and a gasp.

"Catherine, my dear," Father said. "I'm sorry to wake you."

"Vincent? Is it Vincent?" Panic was in her voice. "Is he..."

"He's better." Father said it quickly, overriding whatever she'dbeen about to say.

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

"He was awake for a little while," Clark told her, crouching atFather's side. "He talked to me."

That brought her bolt upright. "He did?" She looked over hershoulder. Vincent hadn't moved. "What did he say?"

"That he was worried about you."

"Oh." She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I wasdreaming... a nightmare, almost, except it wasn't scary, onlysad..."

"I thought you might be," Father said kindly. "I wouldn't haveawakened you otherwise."

"And he's better." She looked from one of them to the other, hereyes beseeching. "He's really better."

"I'm not the doctor here," Clark said softly, "but he reallyseemed better to me."

"I am the doctor," Father added, "and he seems better to me,too."

"He's better," she said again. "Oh, thank you." This last wasdirected to no one in particular; Clark thought it might have been aprayer. "I guess I should get up." She sounded sheepish, evenembarrassed.

"Don't you dare."

Clark spun. Lois stood behind him, sleepy-eyed but with all thesigns of being ready to do battle.

"You've only been sleeping..." she paused and leaned over Clark,picking up his wrist to look at his watch, "...a little over fourhours. It can't possibly be enough. So you just put your head rightback down on that pillow."

"I recommend you do what she says," Clark said mildly. "You don'twant to see her get mad."

Lois smacked his shoulder, as he'd expected she would.

"See?" he asked.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Father suppress achuckle.

The look Catherine gave Father was wary, but when he didn'tprotest, she gingerly lowered her head. After an interminable moment,Father pulled the quilt a little higher over her shoulder. "You goback to sleep," he told her. "We'll keep watch over Vincent."

*****

Catherine woke slowly, consciousness creeping in like morningmist. She was warm and safe, and for the first time in days,completely rested. She blinked in the hazy candlelight, and thencaught her breath, remembering where she was.

She lifted her head to find Vincent wide awake... and watchingher, his expression solemn.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Good afternoon," he answered.

Stricken, she rubbed at her face with both hands. "Oh, no, is itthat late?"

"I'm afraid so."

She looked at him. "You're better."

"Yes."

"Really better."

"Yes. Father's been in half-a-dozen times to examine me today, andhe concurs."

"I slept through Father examining you?" Self-consciously she easedaway from him, just a little. "I must have been more tired than Ithought."

"You've been sitting with me for a long time," Vincent answered."Father says you scarcely slept."

"You were so sick, Vincent." She shuddered, remembering. "So sick,and I was so scared."

"I'm fine now."

"Not fine, but certainly on the road to recovery." That wasFather, who entered briskly. "Catherine, you're lookingrefreshed."

"I feel refreshed, Father, thank you." She sat up and swung herlegs over the edge of the bed, trying not to feel guilty. After all,Vincent said Father had been in and out all morning, and besides, shehad a dim memory - or maybe it was a dream - of Father actuallytucking her in.

But now he was all business, opening his black doctor's bag andpulling out instruments.

"Well," she said, embarrassed. "While you do that, I think I'll gofreshen up."

"Good idea," Father murmured absently. "Vincent, would you openyour nightshirt for me, please?"

Catherine fled.

There was time enough, while Father examined Vincent, to not onlymake use of nearby sanitary facilities, but also to stop by the guestchamber assigned for her use and wash her face and brush her hair.That done, she examined her reflection critically. Clark's heattreatment the night before seemed to have done some good; the bruiseswere visibly lighter. In a couple of days they'd be gone. Her splitlip was nearly healed, too. The dark circles had been erased bysleep, and the tight lines around her mouth had been eased withrelief. All in all, she'd looked worse in her life - and she knewVincent's love wasn't dependent on how she looked, anyway.

So why, when she was lying beside him, did he hold himself sotensely? Why did he shrink away, almost imperceptibly, when she laidher hand on his arm?

She shook her head. She knew why. He was afraid. Once, she'daccepted his fears, and the limits he set. Now, envy of Lois Lane,whose husband's differences were on the inside, who'd been able tomarry the man she loved, rose up hot and ugly. She fought it back asshe fought the tears prickling her eyes. Envy didn't do anybody anygood, least of all her.

If she stood here feeling sorry for herself much longer, Vincentwould try to come to her, so she took a deep breath and forcedcomposure. The simple truth was, she loved Vincent with all herheart, all her soul. And if loving him meant accepting limits, thenshe'd accept them. No matter what.

*****

Clark stayed near for the rest of the day, just in case, butVincent grew better rapidly. That night, he was able to sleep in hisown chamber, which made Lois happy. Catherine spent a lonely night inher own chamber.

The next morning, the second following Clark's radical treatmentof his infection and cauterization of his wound, Vincent was able tosit up.

Catherine spent the morning with him, reading aloud just as he'donce read to her when she was recovering from injury, and watchingover him when he napped. After lunch, Father came again to examineVincent, and Catherine tactfully retreated to her own chamber for afew minutes.

She allowed enough time for Father to finish his examination, thenmade her way back to Vincent's chamber. She had just reached theentrance when she heard voices from within. She paused, uncertain.She didn't want to interrupt Father or embarrass Vincent if theexamination wasn't over.

"Catherine?" Clark's voice, soft and questioning, preceded hisappearance in the doorway. He smiled at sight of her. "Hi."

"Hi," she answered, and moved past him, pausing in thedoorway.

Lois was here, too, standing stiff and awkward at Vincent'sbedside.

Vincent was propped up on pillows, just as she'd left him. Thelook he gave her was puzzled. "You didn't come in," he said, and sheunderstood that was how Clark had known she was there. Unless, shethought suddenly, he'd divined her presence through one of hismysterious powers. The idea made her shiver inside.

"I heard the voices," she explained, feeling suddenly as awkwardas Lois looked. "I didn't want to intrude..."

"We just stopped by to see how Vincent's doing," Clark explained,looking perfectly normal, perfectly human.

Once more she fought down unreasoning resentment. Clark couldn'thelp who he was, any more than Vincent could. And besides, she likedClark, who was kind and gentle and, she'd noticed, very nice-looking."Thank you. I think he's much better now."

"We can see that," Lois said. She looked to Clark. "We shouldprobably be going..." she began.

"Please don't," Vincent said. "You've only just come."

Lois seemed reluctant, but Clark smiled. "Sure. We can stay for alittle while, as long as we don't tire you out."

Catherine gave Vincent an appraising look and decided he wasprobably as strong as he looked, which meant he was good for an houror so. She stepped easily into the role of hostess. "Sit down," sheinvited. "I'll get us some tea."

"Geoffrey's already gone for it," Vincent told her. "He tells methere are freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies, too. He's going totry to filch some."

The note of conspiracy in his voice made him sound like a littleboy; it was such a contrast to the way he'd been only two days agothat she almost laughed. "And you're encouraging him?"

"Let's say I'm not discouraging him," Vincent answered. The tipsof his teeth showed in a small smile. "I think William would bedisappointed if he baked and no one tried to make off with theresults."

"It's like a game," Lois suggested.

"Yes," Vincent agreed. "Why else would William leave baked goodsout on the kitchen tables when he has a perfectly good cupboard thatlocks?"

They all smiled; just about that time, Geoffrey called out fromthe corridor.

"Come in!" Vincent called back, his voice surprisingly strong forsomeone who'd been at death's threshold not forty-eight hoursearlier. He really was better.

Geoffrey and two other children carried in laden trays and setthem carefully on Vincent's writing table. "This is regular EarlGrey," Geoffrey explained, pointing to a flowered teapot with amismatched lid. He indicated the other steaming pot, its surfacecrazed by tiny cracks in the glaze. "And this is an herb tea. Fathersays Vincent should only drink this one, but everyone else can drinkwhat they want."

"I brought cookies," Samantha announced. "We didn't have to stealthem, either, William said we could bring them. He sent some carrotcake, too."

"I got to bring the cups and plates!" young Jeremy announced, hisface aglow.

"You did well," Vincent approved, while the others hid smilesbehind their hands. "Would you like some cookies before you go?"

Geoffrey could take a hint. "Come on, you guys," he said, takingcharge. "Get your cookies and let's leave the grownups alone."

"Yeah," Samantha chimed. "Come on."

Each of the children took a handful of cookies before running out.When they were gone, Catherine spent a few minutes serving tea andoffering cake and cookies, while Clark moved chairs to includeVincent in the circle.

When everyone was served, Catherine settled into the chair nearestVincent with a cup of Earl Grey and groped for small talk. Relievedof worrying over Vincent and with two good nights' - and the betterpart of the intervening day - sleep behind her, she could spare theenergy now to be curious. "So, Clark," she began. "If you have allthese powers, how come no one seems to have heard of you? Or yourabilities?"

Clark and Lois exchanged glances.

"Well," Lois said, too brightly, "It's not exactly the kind ofthing we'd want to make public, is it?"

"People who are different are a curiosity," Clark added. He lookedat Vincent. "You know that."

Vincent nodded. "Someone would demand answers, and the only way toget them would be from you."

"Yeah. I wouldn't especially like that." Clark's grin was crooked,and quite endearing. "My dad used to tell me that if people found outabout me, they'd dissect me like a frog."

Vincent chuckled. "My father tells me much the same thing.Repeatedly."

"Guess fathers are all alike, huh?" Clark's grin widened.

"Is your father... like you?" Catherine asked. "Different, likeyou?"

Clark shook his head. "No, I'm adopted. Like Vincent is. My folksare completely normal. Completely human. I grew up in Kansas. Which,"he added, "is a lot like the Kansas you have here."

"What kind of statement is that?" Catherine remembered somethingfrom the haze of time when Vincent was so sick, and she so verytired. She turned on Lois. "Wait a minute, you said something likethat, didn't you? Except you were asking about Pulitzer Prizes."

Lois actually looked flustered. "Oops."

"Oops?" Catherine repeated.

Vincent spoke. "Is there something... about your past... that youmight wish to share with us? We don't mean to pry, but..."

Clark lifted a hand. "No, that's okay, we don't mind if you know.We're just not sure anybody's going to believe us."

"Hey, we believe you fly," Catherine told him, to lighten themoment.

Clark obliged with a grin. "Okay. Then let's talk about paralleluniverses."

"Parallel... what?" That was Vincent; she'd seldom heard him soundso bewildered.

"Parallel universes. The real reason you haven't heard of me andthe things I can do is because we aren't from here. Not just from NewYork, but from your whole world. We're from a parallel Earth, from acity called Metropolis. And we're from nine years in the future."

Only great dint of will kept Catherine's jaw from dropping."What?"

"He's telling the truth," Lois said, with a trace of belligerence."We're reporters, we know how it sounds... but it's true. About fiveweeks ago, we were walking down the street outside our newspaper inbroad daylight... and the next thing we knew, we were on a New YorkCity street at night, with no idea how we got here. And instead ofbeing 1998, it was 1989. We've been here ever since."

It was incredible, yes, but after all, was it really any moreastonishing than a man who could catch bullets with his bare hands?"Can't you get back?" Catherine asked.

Lois looked down; Clark reached across the small space separatingthem and took her hand. "Not so far," he answered. "We're still notcompletely sure how we got here."

"Oh."

"Would it be so terrible," Vincent asked softly, "if you had tostay?"

"Not terrible, I guess," Clark answered slowly. "But this isn'tour home. We have our families, our friends."

"Our jobs, our house," Lois added. "And I really, really miss mycar!"

That evoked a laugh, as Lois had clearly intended it to.

"And," she added, "I'm kinda starting to miss Superman."

"Superman?" Vincent raised his eyebrows in a question.

She grinned. "Yeah. Big guy, nice pecs, blue tights."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Lois..."

"Oh, and did I mention he flies?"

Vincent's puzzled expression turned to one of amusement. "Bluetights?" he asked, managing to sound skeptical.

"Hey, my mother made the costume," Clark answered, smiling. "Andshe says it..."

He broke off abruptly; his face went still and distant.

Vincent's expression was similarly intent. A moment later he threwback the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Catherine caught hold of his arm. "Where are you going?"

"Intruder," he answered, and tried to shake her off. "Imust..."

"Vincent, no! You're still weak..."

"I'll go," Clark interrupted. "A man... following a woman?" Hegave Vincent a questioning glance.

"You understand our pipe codes?" Vincent asked him.

"I'm sort of good with languages." Clark looked almost embarrassedat the admission. "But there are some parts I didn't quiteunderstand."

"Ginny Stevens. There's a man following Ginny Stevens."

"So she's here," Lois said. "We should have guessed."

"I knew," Clark told her. "She was there, in Father's study, whenVincent was in surgery. You've never seen her, so you wouldn't haverecognized her."

"The lady with the baby and the black eye," Lois guessed. "Iremember her, sort of."

"Right. And the man who's following her now is probably herhusband," Catherine said.

"Possibly," Vincent answered.

She looked at Clark. "He's a police officer - he may bearmed."

Clark grinned. "Don't worry. Bullets don't have any more effect onme than Vincent's teeth did, remember?" He vanished in a puff of windthat left the candle flames fluttering.

Behind him, Vincent said, "My teeth...?"

*****

Clark streaked through the tunnels as fast as he dared, usingevery aerobatic trick at his disposal to make the tight turns. Thispart of the tunnels was unfamiliar to him, so he followed theinsistent sound of the intruder alert that vibrated through thepipes. Long before he reached the upper level, he could hear a womancrying and pleading. Fury leaped in him and he increased his speed. Alow cornice shattered into pebbles and dust when his shoulder brushedit at high speed, but he didn't slow down. An instant later he wasthere. He dropped to the ground and ran.

Ginny Stevens, her baby clutched in one arm, tugged futilely tofree the other. Her husband held it in a hard grip. "What do youmean, trying to run from me?" he growled.

"Gary, no, please!" she begged. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Please,Gary, the baby!"

"You don't run away from me!" he thundered, and pulled his handback.

Clark leaped forward. "Hey!"

Stevens dropped his hand and turned, still holding his wife's arm."This is none of your business, pal," he snapped. "So just keepmoving."

"I don't think so," Clark answered, planting his feet and crossinghis arms. "This stops now."

Stevens was obviously spoiling for a fight. "Yeah? And who's goingto stop me?"

"Please, mister! It'll be okay. Just go away, and it'll be okay."There was real fear in Ginny Stevens' voice as she pleaded with himnot to make things worse.

Clark remembered Lois's battered face and struggled for control.No man should hit a woman. Ever. "Let her go," he commanded.

"This is a family thing, so you just go on to wherever you weregoing," Stevens retorted.

"No," Clark answered. "Let her go."

"Okay." Stevens shoved Ginny away; she cried out as she stumbledagainst the rock wall, twisting to protect the baby. "Come on,"Stevens challenged. "Let's see what you've got."

Clark could take Stevens out with the flick of a finger, but hehad to make it look hard, and he didn't want to misjudge and reallyhurt the man. Easy, easy, easy, his mind chanted. He swung his arm ina lazy arc, tapping Stevens on the chin with his fist. Stevensdropped like a stone, out cold.

Rapid footsteps echoed down the tunnel and a moment later Zach,breathless from running, reached them. "Oh, good, you got him," hesaid to Clark. He turned to Ginny. "Come on, let's get you where it'ssafe."

Ginny held back, looking at her unconscious husband. "Gary..."

"Clark will take care of him," Zach said. "Won't you?"

Clark didn't have any good ideas about how to do that; at home,he'd just drop the fellow off at the police station. Superman's wordwas all the police needed to effect an arrest. Here, things weredifferent. Nobody knew who Superman was, and the man at his feet wasa police officer himself. He nodded anyway. "Yeah. I'll take care ofhim."

"You won't hurt him, will you?" Ginny Stevens' voice waspleading.

I'd like to, he thought. I'd like to show him how it feels to beat the mercy of someone stronger. I'd like to make him thatafraid.

But doing so would go against everything he believed in. "No," hesaid, sighing. "I won't hurt him."

"You promise?"

Amazing that the woman could trust in promises after all she'dbeen through. "Yes," Clark said gently. "I promise."

"Come on," Zach urged. "I'll take the baby..."

Clark waited until they were out of sight before bending to scoopStevens, still unconscious, into his arms.

*****

The pipes had been repeating one insistent message; Lois picked upon the repetition after about the first three rounds. But suddenlythe familiar pattern changed. Vincent cocked his head, listening.

"It's over," he said. "Clark stopped him, Ginny and the baby aresafe." He gave Catherine a quizzical look. "What was she doingtopside?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to her since she came down..."Catherine sounded regretful, which made Lois wonder; after all,Catherine had scarcely had time to breathe in the past few days. Whendid she think she should have been seeing Ginny Stevens?

Catherine stood up. "I should go make sure she's all right." Shesounded regretful about that, too, which Lois could understand.Leaving the man you loved to attend to duty was always cause forregret.

Alarm blossomed in her as she realized that if Catherine left,she'd more or less have to stay; it would be rude to just walk outand leave Vincent alone. Not that she had trouble being rude whencircumstances - like a breaking story - warranted, but this wasdifferent. This would be rudeness to cover discomfort and she wastrying really hard not to do that any more.

"Come back," Vincent said to Catherine, "after you've seen toGinny."

She nodded. "I will." She threw a quick glance Lois's way and thenbent to give Vincent a brief, chaste hug. Lois wondered if it wouldhave been more, maybe even a kiss, if she hadn't been herewatching.

Catherine hurried out, leaving Lois feeling awkward. Stupid tofeel this way about Vincent, who had so recently hovered near death.Who was still so weak he needed to be helped out of bed.

"You're upset," he observed quietly.

She stiffened with surprise and embarrassment. "No, I'm not."

"Is it Clark?" He went on as if he hadn't heard her denial. "Allthe messages say the intruder has been subdued. Is there somethingthere that might harm him? I know he's impervious to bullets... andteeth..."

She was surprised to hear him bring up the teeth... Catherine hada hard time explaining Clark's last remark to him, and even after shedid Lois wasn't sure Vincent was comfortable with it. She knew shewasn't. If Clark wasn't invulnerable, he'd have died right there in agush of blood.

"I'm not upset," she insisted, as if saying it could make itso.

"You are," he answered softly. "I can feel it. If it isn't worryfor Clark..."

"I thought you could only do that with Catherine," she broke in,alarmed.

"I can only do it all the time and at a distance with Catherine.But I am sensitive to strong feelings in people nearby... and I feelyou now. Are you... afraid of me?"

Shame made her rush to deny it. "No! Of course not..." Theremembered image of him bursting into the warehouse, roaring defianceand scattering bricks, tossing a grown man aside with a casualbackhand blow, rose up in her mind's eye; involuntarily sheshivered.

"You are. You're afraid of me." He looked away. "You've seen me...at my worst." He worded it delicately, but she suspected his thoughtswere darker, more explicit. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry. I'm not afraid, exactly... it's morelike nervous, and I'm ashamed of how I feel, because I know that mostof the time, you're kind and gentle and good. Like Clark."

"But Clark doesn't lose himself in rages so dark he cannot controlthem." Bitterness edged his voice. "Clark doesn't try to tear out thethroats of men who are only trying to help."

She swallowed hard. "No, he... his parents made him learn to keephis temper. Because he could do so much damage if he ever lostit."

"Yes," Vincent agreed. "I know. Even though he is stronger than I,you've never been afraid of Clark."

She blinked, remembering. "Actually, I have been. Sort of..."

"Sort of?" he repeated. His look was questioning.

She sighed. "Things happen in our universe that don't seem tohappen in yours. Like time travel, and parallel universes, andalternate dimensions."

"Like men who can fly," he offered.

"Yes. And once... there was a small-time crook who needed to getclose to a big-time crook... only the big-time crook had a contractout on him. So the small-time crook had to change his appearance. Hedid this... by switching bodies."

"Excuse me?"

"Switching bodies. He took possession of another body, and theperson, the soul, of that body ended up in his."

"All right." Vincent sounded cautiously accepting, so she plungedon.

"The body the small-time crook switched with... was Clark's."

He looked distinctly startled at that. "So for a time, Clark wascompletely human? Or did his abilities transfer with him?"

"No, it's the body that has the superpowers. And anyway, Clark hasbeen without powers before, that's not the point. The point is, herewas this small-time crook inside of, in control of, Superman's body.And he got angry because I wouldn't tell him where to find Clark, thereal Clark in the other body..."

"Yes, I see," Vincent said, encouraging.

"And he came toward me... with such malice on his face. I knew hecould kill me, probably without even meaning to, because he wasn'tused to having that kind of strength. It was worse because it wasClark, I mean, his face, his eyes, his expressions. Only he'd neverlooked at me that way before. I was sure he was going to killme."

"And you were frightened."

"Terrified," she admitted. "I've never told Clark about it; Inever wanted him to know I was afraid of his strength, hisabilities."

"But it wasn't really Clark."

"No. And so I don't have to be afraid of him now. Of the realClark, body and soul together."

"But I am not always in control," Vincent said softly, looking athis hands. Those strong, furred hands with their deadly claws. Fromhis expression, he was looking inward, brooding. She wondered ifsometimes he frightened himself.

She swallowed. "Vincent, can I ask you something?"

That shook him out of introspection. He looked up. "Ofcourse."

She forced herself to meet his steady gaze. "What would havehappened to me, when you burst into the warehouse, if Clark hadn'tbeen there, if they hadn't shot you? You came to save Catherine,because she was afraid. But what would you have done to me?"

His fists closed tight around the blankets; if he was easily ableto walk, Lois thought he'd be pacing now. "Nothing," he insisted,quickly. "Have you been thinking I would have... no. You weren't athreat, not to me, not to Catherine. I would have known that. Iwouldn't have harmed you."

"How can you be sure?"

Despite his earlier instinctive protest, he had to think about it."I just... I have never harmed anyone who was not threatening harm toothers. Never."

She'd seen the rage at its fullest; it left little room forcognizant thought. "But how do you know? How do you tell who's a goodguy and who's a bad guy?"

He looked thoughtful, perplexed. "I don't know. I just do."

"Even when you're..." She let the words trail away, unsure how tosay it.

But he knew. "Yes. Even then."

She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "So it'snot the same."

"Not the same as what?"

"As when Clark... wasn't Clark. Even when you're... the least you,there's some you left. Some control."

He looked surprised, and then thoughtful. "I don't know..."

"Catherine does." Lois's words surprised her as much as they didVincent. She hadn't known she'd been thinking this way, but once saidit made perfect sense. "She knows who you are, Vincent. And she's notafraid."

He looked again at his hands, pensive. "Perhaps," he said quietly,"she should be."

*****

Clark waited patiently, arms folded. A soft night breeze brieflylifted the folds of his cape. It felt good to be wearing the red andblue again. At his feet, Gary Stevens moaned and stirred. He waswaking up.

Before Stevens regained full consciousness, Clark grabbed afistful of his leather jacket and lifted off. When Stevens opened hiseyes, they were hovering a good thousand feet above the city. Clarktightened his grip; much as he despised the man, he didn't want tomake a mistake and drop him.

Stevens blinked hazily a couple of times then came to alertnesswith a jerk. "Uhhh... what... oh, God, we're going to fall!" Heflailed like a panicked drowning victim, grabbing any part of Clarkhe could reach.

Clark held him carefully at arm's length. "No, you're not. I'vegot you."

Stevens grabbed a fistful of cape and pulled one side loose fromClark's neck. This seemed to panic him even more and he pinwheeledhis arms and legs frantically.

Clark had begun with little patience for the man; now it ran out.He gave Stevens a shake. "Stop that," he commanded. "I won't drop youon purpose, but if you keep struggling like that..."

He switched hands on Stevens' jacket and used his newly freed handto tuck his cape back into place.

Stevens got a death-grip on Clark's forearm, which was all hecould reach, and hung on. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Get me downfrom here!"

"I'm a friend," Clark said. "Here to give you a piece of friendlyadvice."

"Friendly?" Some of Stevens' bluster came back. "This isn't toofriendly."

"I didn't say I was your friend. As a matter of fact, I'm a friendof your wife's."

"That bitch..."

Clark cut him off with another shake. This one was rougher thanthe last, and Stevens gasped, his grip on Clark's arm tighteningconvulsively.

"Real men don't hit women," Clark said, keeping his voice evenonly with effort. "Real men don't hit anyone who's smaller or weaker,and if they can help it, they don't hit at all. There are other waysof resolving conflict."

He didn't wait for Stevens to respond. "So you're not going to hityour wife anymore. You aren't going to bully her. I don't care whatshe does, or how angry you get, you aren't going to respond withviolence. You're going to find another way."

Stevens responded with reflex bluster. "She's my wife, she doeswhat I say! And if she doesn't..."

Clark cut him off. "I know who you are, I know where you live. Andif you touch your wife again in violence, if you touch any woman,"Lois's bruised face flashed in his mind's eye, and his voicehardened, "I'll know, and I'll come and find you."

Stevens made the mistake of looking down; he jerked convulsivelyat the end of Clark's outstretched arm. "You..." he gasped,struggling for words. "There's nothing holding you up!"

"Nothing but me," Clark agreed.

Stevens' eyes rolled back in his head; the acrid stench of urinerose between them. Overcome by terror, Stevens had wet himself - andfainted.

*****

"We trusted you!" Father was in full rant. "We took you in whenyou had no place to go, and you repay us with betrayal!"

Catherine tried to intervene. "Father, she didn't mean..."

Father turned on her. "And you! You brought her here. You promisedshe would obey our rules..."

"And she will! Father, she made a mistake..."

"A mistake that could cost our community dearly!"

Ginny Stevens cowered, in tears, in a nearby chair. Father hadbeen lecturing, with increasing passion, ever since Catherine andZach had brought her back. Thankfully, Mary had already come andtaken the baby to the nursery. "I'm sorry," Ginny sobbed, for thedozenth time. "I'm so sorry... I didn't mean..."

"It doesn't matter if you meant it, it happened! Our secret's beenexposed..."

Catherine couldn't stand it any more. "Father, that's enough."

He broke off to stare at her in shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, that's enough. She knows what she did was wrong, andshe's sorry. Now, if you're going to kick her out, say so, so I canfind her someplace else to live."

Father's mouth worked, but it was a minute before any sound cameout. "Kick her out? Of course we're not going to kick her out,Catherine, you know that."

Satisfied that she'd succeeded in jolting him out of his tirade,she softened. "Yes, I do know it, but Ginny doesn't. Look at her,Father, you've scared her half to death."

Father looked, and his expression went from fierce to tender in aninstant. He drew a chair up beside Ginny's and took her hand. "Mydear, I'm so sorry I frightened you. Vincent frequently warns meabout my temper..."

Ginny lifted her tearstained face. "I'm sorry I broke your rules.I didn't think it would hurt anything, I tried to be careful!"

"But, my dear, if you're happy here, and safe, why did yougo?"

Ginny swallowed a sob. "I had to see my mother."

"Your mother? She lives above, in the city?"

Ginny nodded.

"And alone," Father went on, guessing.

Ginny nodded again. "I'm all she has, and... her mind's not quiteright anymore. I help her with cooking and cleaning, and I do hershopping once a week... she needs me!"

"Why didn't you say something? One of our helpers could have goneto see about your mother, and done so without putting the communityat risk."

"I don't know." Ginny started crying again. "I didn't think of it.She's my mother, she's my responsibility. Gary always said that."

"Gary was wrong." Catherine made her voice firm and sure. "Youhave a larger family now, Ginny. There are lots of people who willhelp you. All you have to do is ask."

"But she needs so much... and she's all alone. She knows me, andshe wouldn't know your helpers."

Father cleared his throat. "If there's truly no one else, thenperhaps we should consider inviting your mother to live with us."

Ginny gaped. "Really? You'd let... but she can't work, not anymore..."

"That doesn't matter," Father said. "She can do as much... or aslittle... as she is able. That will be enough."

"Oh. Oh." Overcome, Ginny pressed her fists to her mouth and triednot to burst into fresh tears. "Oh, Father... Catherine."

As usual, Father responded to gratitude with gruffness. "I'llspeak to Mary in the morning... I wouldn't be surprised to find yourmother here with us by evening!"

"Oh, but what if Gary tries to follow her..."

"Don't worry," Catherine said. "We have a friend who will see tothat."

"But he knows about the tunnels now..."

"The passage he used is even now being closed off," Father said."He may find his way down, but he won't find his way to us. I promiseyou."

*****

Vincent watched Lois prowl his chamber with increasingrestlessness. "He'll be back soon," he offered, in an attempt tocomfort. "I'm sure of it."

The smile she offered him was wan, but at least there was nolonger any wariness in it. "I know. I just can't help..."

"Wishing he was here?" He finished the sentence for her. "I know.I can feel it."

"I just... miss him," she explained. "I don't so much at home...where we're from, I mean."

He nodded to show he understood.

"But here... I miss him." She shrugged, as if that was all theexplanation there was.

And perhaps she was right. "When you've been apart, and you seeone another again... what you feel in that moment is very strong, andvery beautiful."

"Oh." Her cheeks went pink. "I guess so."

"You love him very much."

"Of course." She looked surprised.

"Sometimes..." he felt suddenly shy. "Sometimes what Catherinefeels... when she sees me... is very like what I sense in you..."

"When I see Clark?" she finished for him.

He couldn't meet her steady, sympathetic gaze. "Yes."

"Well, she loves you, Vincent. Don't you know that?"

The torrent of feeling that was his love for Catherine rushedthrough him. "Sometimes I know it," he said softly. "Othertimes..."

"You're afraid."

He looked at her quizzically.

She smiled. "Catherine said you were. You shouldn't be."

"You have a faith I cannot seem to find," he observed, avoidingthe point.

The smile she gave him was playful. "Well, you have to remember,I'm the one who's married to an alien."

"Alien?" he repeated. Odd, how he hadn't thought of Clark in thatway.

"You know, extra-terrestrial. Not from around here."

"Yes," he agreed, and would have said more, but footsteps soundedin the corridor outside.

Clark came in, looking none the worse for expelling the intruder.Lois went into his arms for a brief embrace; Vincent closed his eyes,partly to give them a moment of illusory privacy, and partly to savorthe rush of emotion that suddenly filled the little chamber. Therewas so much love between those two.

And then his own love rose up as Catherine came in. "Hi," shegreeted Clark. "You took care of him?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I left him at his apartment. I hope he'll leaveGinny alone now."

Catherine sank into a chair. "His kind isn't likely to be put offby you telling him to stay away," she said in disgust. "If he thinkshe can terrify Ginny, he'll be back."

"I hope not," Clark answered mildly. "I tried to put a good scareinto him. He's afraid of heights."

The look Lois gave him was startled; she slid a hand through theair and lifted her eyebrows. Clark smiled just a little andnodded.

"Oh," Lois said, and settled into a chair.

Catherine hadn't noticed. "I'm getting a lot of domestic violencecases lately. I think Joe - that's my boss," she explained in anaside to Clark and Lois, "I think Joe's assigning them to me onpurpose."

"Because he knows you have compassion," Vincent said gently.

"I suppose," she agreed wearily. "I wish I could do more to help.I have a homicide sitting on my desk right now that's probably adomestic violence. Almost certainly, now that I know the husbandbetter." She glanced at Lois. "He's one of the cops who picked us upthat day. Dave Callahan."

"The mean one," Lois said, running a hand along her jaw. "Iremember."

"Right," Catherine answered. "But you and I can't bring chargesagainst him without exposing Vincent..."

"...and Clark," Lois added.

"And Clark," Catherine agreed. "And the police don't have enoughhard evidence on his wife's murder to make an arrest."

"Could we help?" Clark asked. "We're pretty goodinvestigators."

"I'd love to be able to put that guy in jail," Lois added.

Vincent could sympathize.

Catherine looked worried. "I really can't let reporters work on acriminal case. Joe would have a fit."

Lois looked at Clark. "Well, we could work on it on our own.Wouldn't be the first time we cracked a case before the authoritiesdid."

Catherine looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Can't you just letme..."

Lois shook her head. "No. Look what happened when you just triedto help Ginny Stevens. The man's vicious. He needs to be put away.You can't trust the police to do your investigating for you, if he'sone of them, and we can't wait."

Reluctantly Clark nodded agreement. "But it'd be easier for us ifwe had access to the same information you do. We can request thereports, but it takes a while to get them and we haven't developedany contacts in the police department yet."

"No," Lois agreed. "Just you."

Now Catherine looked surprised. "Now I'm a contact?"

"Sure, why not? Back home, we have a police lieutenant and acouple of detectives who are happy to help us out when they can. Whyshould you be different?"

"Catherine." It was Vincent, speaking up for the first time. "Ifit's true you cannot call upon the police..."

Reluctantly Catherine shook her head.

"...and it is also true that Clark and Lois have experience inthis kind of investigation... I think you must let them help you.Lois is right, this man must be brought to justice. It can'twait."

Catherine hesitated a little longer, then gave in with a gustysigh and a shrug of her shoulders. "Sure, why not? Let me get mybriefcase from my chamber..."

She was back quickly, briefcase in hand. Vincent's round writingtable took up the center of the room; she placed the briefcase thereand opened it.

Vincent settled back into his pillows to watch. He seldom got tosee Catherine working.

She was absorbed as she took folders and papers from the case andsorted through them. "Here," she said a minute later. "Here's thefile on Lucille Callahan's death. Joe wanted me to back off while thepolice conducted their investigation, so I haven't spent a lot oftime on it."

Clark pulled the file around in front of him and began to flipthrough it rapidly.

"Is Callahan the only suspect?" Lois asked.

"As far as the police are concerned, he's not a suspect atall."

"What? The man's brutal..."

"I know that, and you know that, and his wife knew that, butapparently his buddies on the police force don't."

"He enjoyed hitting us," Lois remembered.

Vincent saw Clark's fist go white at the knuckles. He supposed itwas a blessing of sorts that he'd had only an instant in which totake in the details before the bullet from Callahan's gun felledhim.

"This man is the one who shot me," he said aloud.

Catherine's gaze met his, nearly blistering him with itsintensity. "I know," she answered, and Vincent understood that herdetermination to put this man away was magnified by what Callahan haddone to him.

Clark went back to his perusal of the file.

"And he beat his wife so viciously she died of it," she went on."It had to have been him. Why else wouldn't she have called forhelp?"

"The police report suggests she was too severely injured," Clarkmurmured, without looking up. He had several eight-by-ten photographsspread in front of him. "Is this all there is?"

"It's all I have with me; I should have gotten copies of thecoroner's report, the forensic results, stuff like that, as a matterof course, but I haven't seen them yet. Of course, it's been a weeksince I was in the office. The reports are probably on my desk."

"I'd like to see those reports," Clark said. He set the policereport and photos aside.

She sneaked a glance at Vincent. "I was thinking about going backto work tomorrow, anyway..."

Vincent forced a look of approval, though his heart pounded at theidea of her going above when he was too weak to protect her.

"Lois and I have to work tomorrow, too," Clark said. "But tomorrowevening, maybe we could meet you somewhere..."

"Right here is good," Catherine answered quickly. "I'll be comingdown to see Vincent, and of course you live here now..."

"Okay, we'll meet here," Clark agreed. "After work."

"After supper," Vincent interjected.

"After supper, sure."

"I'll bring everything I have on the case," Catherine promised."We can all go over it."

Clark looked at Lois, who had picked up the police report and wasabsorbed in reading it. "Is that okay with you?"

He had to ask again before she looked up with a blank, "Huh?"

He reiterated the plan. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so." She glanced down at the police report in herlap. "Clark, are you sure about Stevens backing off on findingGinny?"

"Not completely sure, no," Clark answered, sounding surprised."Why?"

"Because if I were him, and I was still interested in finding mywife, I'd still be looking for the last person who saw her."

"Oh." His gaze, like Vincent's, went to Catherine.

"I'll be fine," Catherine argued. "I'm only going to the office, Idon't have anything scheduled in court this week."

"But you have to get to and from the office," Clark said. "Lois isright, it could be risky."

"I'll be fine," Catherine insisted.

"Callahan took us right off the street in front of thecourthouse," Lois reminded. "Stevens probably still has Callahan tohelp him. They wouldn't have to be particularly creative to get toyou even inside the Criminal Justice building. I've been kidnapped inall sorts of ways, so I know."

"I have to go back to work." Catherine's voice was low; Vincentcould feel her determination. His heart quailed, but he kept hissilence. Lois, apparently, was on his side.

"I know," Lois said, and from her expression, she did. "I'd feelexactly the same. But maybe you ought to take along someprotection."

"My gun...?" Catherine guessed.

"I was thinking of something a little more personal. Like abodyguard."

Catherine's glance went to Vincent, who struggled to keep his faceimpassive.

"Much as I hate to volunteer for this," Lois continued, "I'mthinking I should handle the Sentinel tomorrow by myself. Clark cango to work with you."

Vincent let out a long-held breath at the suggestion. Clark wouldbe perfect. He would never let anything happen to Catherine, and hewas the only man Vincent knew who could do a better job of protectingher than he could himself.

"Go to... no. I don't need a babysitter."

"It's not babysitting." Lois sounded very serious. "It's morelike... being careful. Watching out for yourself. In this case, byletting Clark watch out for you. Vincent couldn't come to you if yougot into trouble right now, and think how awful we'd all feel ifsomething happened to you..."

Clark's expression showed something very like disbelief, andVincent could sense it as an undercurrent through the haze ofdetermination from Lois and stubbornness from Catherine.

"I know how weird this is, me advising caution," Lois told Clarkin an aside. "Call it a temporary aberration."

Clark grinned. "And here I thought you were maybe turning over anew leaf..."

"Nope. Not a chance." She looked back at Catherine. "What do yousay?"

"Okay!" Catherine sounded annoyed. "Okay, Clark can come to workwith me tomorrow. Though I have no idea how I'm going to explain himto Joe."

*****

None of them stayed in Vincent's chamber much longer; it wasgetting late, and all of them were tired. Now, Clark lay beside Loisin the privacy of their own chamber. She breathed in the quiet rhythmof sleep and he wished he could join her in slumber, but tonight thesmallest, most insignificant sounds made themselves known to him.Water dripped steadily a couple of passages over; small, cautiousfeet - mice, he guessed, or maybe rats - scurried along a wall.Nearby sleepers murmured and snored and mumbled. Somewhere fartheraway, a couple were making love...

He turned over, trying to shut out the sounds. He hated intruding,even when he couldn't help it. The small sighs and whispers, thecreak of a bed, all served to trigger memory. At least he and Loishad finally found the opportunity to take advantage of their new bedand privacy. He put out a gentle hand and stroked a finger down hercheek. She sighed and rolled toward him, draping an arm around hiswaist. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and breathedquietly, loving her.

After a while, a new sound intruded. He couldn't quite identifythe dry scratching noise, but it came from the direction of Vincent'schamber. He narrowed his focus. In fact, it most likely came frominside Vincent's chamber. Another crisis? But Vincent had seemed sowell just a few hours earlier. Carefully he disengaged himself fromLois's embrace and slid from the bed.

Accustomed to his leaving unexpectedly in the night, she merelysighed and turned over, burying her face in the pillow.

Clark dressed silently, quickly, and hurried out.

The glow of many candles reached from Vincent's chamber, spillinginto the corridor outside. Clark paused there, listening. There wasonly one heartbeat, slow and steady, the quiet rustle of fabric assomeone shifted weight or posture, and still the dry, irregularscratching. He hesitated, then called out, careful to keep his voicelow.

The scratching stopped. The heartbeat accelerated. "Who is there?"Vincent's voice, low and cautious.

"It's me," Clark answered. "Clark."

Again the rustle of fabric, louder this time, and footsteps.Vincent, looking startled, appeared in the doorway. "Clark? It's verylate..."

"I know. I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you. I heard something andthought I'd better check..."

"Heard...?"

Clark was starting to feel foolish now; clearly there was nothingamiss here. "A kind of scratching noise. I couldn't place it..."

"You heard this all the way from your own chamber?"

He squirmed; it made people uncomfortable to know how much hecould hear. "Um, yeah," he admitted, finally. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Vincent stepped back from the opening and gestured himin. "I thought I was the only one who could hear things happeningfrom far away."

Clark stepped past him, into the chamber. A book, its right-handpage pristine, the left half-covered with sharp, spiky writing, layopen on the table. "It was you," he said. "You were writing. But whatkind of pen makes that sound?"

"A fountain pen." Vincent held it out for his inspection. "I'msorry if it disturbed you."

Clark shook his head. "Most times, I can shut it out, shut it off.But once in a while..."

"And tonight was such a time."

Clark nodded.

Vincent offered the ghost of a smile. "Don't tell Father; suchthings upset him."

"I won't... I didn't hear anything I shouldn't... not much,anyway."

"I trust your discretion, Clark," Vincent answered. "But as we'reboth wakeful, will you join me for a cup of tea?"

Tea and a bit of companionable conversation sounded great."Sure."

Vincent lifted a shiny copper kettle and set it on an iron grateover a coal-burning brazier. "It will take a little while for thewater to heat."

Clark gestured him back. "Let me..." He aimed a moderate burst ofheat vision at the kettle; it obliged with a rattle of the lid and agout of steam from the spout. "There."

Vincent's glance seemed one of admiration. "You did that the sameway you cauterized my wound."

Clark nodded.

"I can see such a gift could come in handy at times." He pouredthe steaming water into a china teapot and replaced the lid. "The teawill take a moment to steep... unless you have a way to hurry thatalong, as well?"

Clark laughed. "No, that's got to happen on its own." He took theoffered chair. "Should you be up?"

"Not according to Father," Vincent answered. "But I'm muchstronger this evening. I have always healed quickly."

"I'm not sure quickly is the word for it," Clark answered. "I'mimpressed."

"Don't be. It is not something that requires any effort on my part- it simply is."

"Yes." Clark knew what that was like. "So why are you awake andwriting in the middle of the night?"

Vincent sank into the chair opposite and shrugged. "I've slept somuch the past few days," he said. "Healing. Now, I find myself unableto rest."

"What are you writing?" Clark looked toward the open book.

Vincent reached out and closed it, then glanced at Clarkcuriously. "I suppose you could still read it if you wanted to."

"I could, but I won't. If you don't want to tell me what it is,you don't have to."

Vincent sighed. "It's just my journal. I was recording mythoughts, my feelings. Trying to make sense of them. Trying to findsome resolution..."

"Resolution?" Clark hesitated. Surely Vincent had friends he couldtalk to. He didn't have to bare his soul to someone he'd known only afew days. But on the other hand, could any of those friends trulyunderstand what it was to be different? He wasn't sure what he shoulddo. "Does writing help, when you're like this?"

"Sometimes," Vincent said. He poured tea into mismatched cups andhanded one to Clark. "I could easily envy you, Clark Kent."

Clark accepted the cup and sipped carefully at the tea, a soothingherbal blend. "Why?"

"Because of all the things you have..."

"That you don't?" Clark finished the sentence. "But you have somuch, Vincent."

"And yet there are things I have never known... things I ache for,sometimes... the touch of a mother's hand. To know where I came from,who I am. Why... I am."

"Oh."

Vincent's expression had gone distant and unfocused. He seemedunable to stem the stream of longing. "To be able to love Catherineas she deserves to be loved... as she longs to be loved..."

Clark shifted in his chair, bringing Vincent's gaze and attentionback to the present.

"I'm sorry," he began. "I didn't mean to..."

Clark stopped him with a raised hand. "No, it's okay. I'm sorry Ican't help you out with a mom... you'd love mine, she's terrific.She'd like you, too, once she got over..."

"The initial shock?"

"Well, it's kind of hard to shock a woman who raised a kid whofloated in his sleep," Clark answered, grinning. "But yeah, I guessthat's what I mean. And I don't know any more about your origins thanyou do... but that last thing..."

"Is the most impossible," Vincent finished, in a whisper. "I knowthis."

Clark rocked forward in his chair. "Well, I'm not so sure. I'vebeen where you are, remember? Trying to love a human woman, when Iknow I'm not human. Can never be human. No matter how hard Itry."

"Yes." Vincent's expression showed not the slightest glimmer ofhope.

"I made a lot of mistakes when I was courting Lois," Clark wenton. "One of them, a big one, was forgetting that a relationship istwo people, a partnership. I tried to make decisions for both of us -in what I thought at the time were Lois's best interests - withoutconsulting her. She was furious, and for a while I was afraid she'dnever forgive me. I'd hate to see you make the same mistake withCatherine."

Vincent seemed about to say something, then checked himself. Whenhe finally did speak, Clark had the feeling it wasn't what he'doriginally been going to say. "Catherine... does not react inanger."

"The way Lois does," Clark finished for him. He let the unspokencomment pass. "No, she doesn't seem to, does she? But it's hurtingher, the way you keep her at arms' length."

Vincent's gaze sharpened. "Did she tell you so?"

"No. But she's talked with Lois some. And I think it's pretty easyto see."

Vincent bowed his head. "How can I put her at risk?"

"In our universe, Lois is at risk every day, just because sheknows me," Clark said softly. "She's been threatened, kidnapped,hypnotized, tied to bombs, pushed out of airplanes..."

Vincent's head came up; his eyes were wide with alarm. "Bombs...and airplanes..."

"So far, I've gotten there every time... in time. But it terrifiesme to think that one day I might be too late."

"I know that fear. But I have as much fear... for what I might doto her with these." Vincent studied his hands with an expression thatmight have been loathing.

"Maybe," Clark suggested, keeping his voice very soft, "you shouldfear what you might do to her heart. Because if you keep on the wayyou have been, always pushing her away when she gets too close,someday it may be too much, and you'll lose her."

"But she'll be safe."

"There's more to life than physical safety," Clark said quietly."Much, much more. For both of you."

"If she left, perhaps she would find a man, a better man..."

"She can't do that, Vincent. She won't. Any more than you're goingto find a better woman; any more than I am. We aren't the kind ofpeople who love easily, carelessly. When we love, it's deeply andcompletely, and for always. Isn't it?"

Vincent let his breath out in a long sigh. "Yes. Always..."

"So maybe you just need to talk to her about this. About lovingeach other."

"She will say she doesn't fear me."

"She doesn't. You didn't see her when you were delirious. Everyoneelse kept back, but not Catherine. She came right to you. She knewyou wouldn't hurt her. And you didn't."

"Because you were holding me," Vincent countered.

"No. You started to quiet even before she touched you. Justbecause she was near. Once she did touch you, you completely relaxed.I could... and did... let go of you right away. After that, if yougot restless, all she had to do was reach out. You knew it was her,even in your delirium, and you couldn't hurt her. You neverwill."

Vincent's eyes were very wide, and full of sudden, impossiblehope. "If only I could believe that..."

"You can," Clark answered firmly. "You have to."

*****

Long after the candles had been extinguished, Vincent lay awake,staring into the darkness. The things Clark said had given him briefhope. If he could be sure of not hurting her...

Only in the silence did the shadows in his soul return to haunthim. He was a creature of the night. He killed... and gloried in thekilling. How could he touch Catherine in love with the same handsthat had slain in blood?

*****