No infringement on copyrights held by DC Comics,Warner Brothers, Deborah Joy Levine, Republic Pictures, Witt-ThomasProductions, Ron Koslow, or anyone else who might have a finger inthe pie, is intended.

TIMELESS

by Becky Bain

Clark Kent crossed the Daily Planet's newsroom,trying to be unobtrusive. From habit, his gaze went to his wife'sdesk, but it was unoccupied. A mug next to the keyboard still steamedsoftly, though, so Lois was probably in the newsroomsomewhere.

In his guise as Superman, he'd left home in themiddle of the night, responding to a half-heard news broadcast fromthe radio he sometimes left playing in the living room - a Greekpassenger ferry had overturned and hundreds of lives were atstake.

He'd flown straight there and salvaged the ferry,carrying it to dry land so rescue workers could enter safely andtreat the injured, then spent hours plucking other survivors out ofthe debris-filled water. By the time he got home, Lois had alreadyleft for work. He wondered what excuse she'd given for hisabsence.

"Hey, CK!"

Clark turned his smile on Jimmy Olsen. "Hey,Jimmy."

Jimmy's grin turned to concern. "How's thetooth?"

Apparently his delay had been an emergency trip tothe dentist. Clark grimaced, feigning remembered pain. "Much better,thanks," he answered. "Have you seen Lois?"

"Yeah, she's in with the chief," Jimmyanswered.

Clark wheeled to look toward Perry White's closedoffice door. "Do they need me in there, too?" he wonderedaloud.

"Gee, I don't know, CK. I can ask," Jimmyoffered.

"Never mind. Let me get some coffee, and I'll justgo on in."

"Good idea," Jimmy approved. "Oops, I gotta go.I'm supposed to be taking pictures at the museum this morning. Thatbig opening, you know."

"The Van Gogh tour," Clark said. "Yeah. Goodluck!"

"Thanks!" Jimmy bounded off.

Unlike Lois, Clark always cleared his desk off atthe end of each day, so even without his special visual talents, hecould clearly see the small rectangular object centered on hisotherwise clean blotter. The object was about six inches by two,wrapped in shiny silver paper and bound with a glittery red elasticcord tied in a bow. A white card said simply, "For You."

He grinned. Lois was mostly understanding abouthis being called away on unexpected emergencies, but occasionally,when the timing was especially bad, she succumbed to vocalfrustration. Lately she'd taken to giving him small gifts, toapologize, he was sure, for the blowups, because she really did knowthe importance of the work he did as Superman.

He pulled off the cord and parted the paper toreveal a long, red velvet jeweler's box. Intrigued, he lifted thelid. Inside, nestled in a white satin hollow, lay a gleaming blackballpoint pen. "Wow," he muttered to himself. "She must have beenreally mad this time." He lifted the pen from its nest; it balancedperfectly in his hand and its oversized barrel fit neatly between hisfingers. He flipped open a notebook and scratched a few lines to testthe point. It flowed smoothly and left a bold, crisp line. He smiled."Nice pen."

He clicked the retracting mechanism and tucked thepen into his shirt pocket, then found his coffee mug and headed forthe machine. He was on his way back, steaming mug in hand, when Loisemerged from Perry's office. She spotted him across the room andwaved. "Clark!" she called. "You're here!"

He lifted his mug in acknowledgement and quirked asmile.

They met near her desk. "How'd it go?" she asked,her voice low.

"Fine. We saved nearly everybody..."

"And the ones you couldn't save weren't yourfault," she said firmly.

"Right," he agreed, though he knew the deathswould haunt him for a few days anyway. If only he'd gotten theresooner, if only he could have performed CPR on more victims at atime, if only, if only.

You did what you could, son. His father's voicesounded in his head, making perfect sense, just as Lois did. "Right,"he said again, more firmly. "I did what I could."

"Right," she agreed. "Come on, Perry's got anassignment for us."

"Great." He set down his mug and followed her tothe elevator. "What's up?"

"Robbery at the Bank of Metropolis," she answered,stepping into the waiting car.

Out of habit, his hand went to his tie. "Do I needto...?"

She shook her head and punched the button for theground floor. "The attempt was foiled by an alert security guard."Both suspects are in custody. Perry wants us to interview theguard." She grinned. "We'll have to find out if he's trying to putSuperman out of business."

He grinned back. "Right."

Outside, the sun was bright. Clark rested his handon Lois's arm to steady her until her eyes adjusted; once, she wouldhave thrown off his concern, but now she leaned into him. "I missedyou this morning," she murmured.

"Yeah, I know. I found..."

"Excuse me? Sir?" A pair of teenagers, lookinguncertain and a bit lost, approached.

He stopped politely. "Yes?" Automatically his handwent to his pocket, ready to dispense a dollar or two to those inneed. Beside him, Lois rolled her eyes; he nudged her with a subtlechiding elbow and she subsided.

"Could you tell us how to get to the MetropolisMuseum of Art? We came to the city to see the Van Gogh exhibit, butso far nobody we asked has been able to help us."

Clark took another look at the pair and this timenoted the paint smudges on faded jeans and worn t-shirts. Buddingartists, no doubt, here to see the work of a master. He couldn'treally blame them; he'd seen the paintings himself yesterday, sinceSuperman had been asked to be present during delivery and set up, andthey were truly magnificent. He and Lois planned a visit this weekendto see the paintings again.

"You bet," he told the teenagers. "It's up onEighty-second. You go north for about eighteen blocks, then go righton Firth until you reach Maxwell..."

The girl shook her head pleadingly. "We'll neverremember all that."

"It's really very easy to find," Lois offered,eager to get rid of these pesky kids and be on her way.

Clark suppressed a grin. "Here, let me draw you amap." A few strokes with his new pen on a clean page of his notebookshowed the way - he inked in the street names and tore out the page."Here you go."

The boy studied the map for a moment, then nodded."Yeah, we can find it now," he said. "Thanks."

"Yeah, mister," the girl chimed."Thanks!"

"Boy scout," Lois muttered as the teenagers movedoff. "Nice pen," she added, as Clark went to return it to his pocket."Where'd you get it?"

Oh, so she wanted to play games. Well, he could dothat, too. "Like it?" He held it out, letting the gleaming blackbarrel catch the sun. "I found it, gift-wrapped, on my desk when Igot in this morning."

"Really?" Lois's brow puckered. "Who'd leave youan expensive present like that?"

"I have no idea," he said, putting as muchsincerity as he could muster into his voice. "Look, the pointretracts, and it's got this neat carving on the clip..."

The sidewalk lurched and tilted; faster thanthought, Clark whipped an arm around Lois to steady her. The worldaround them went bright white and dead quiet, and tipped crazily onits axis.

*****

Stupid.

Catherine Chandler silently berated herself. Itwas stupid to have stayed so late at Jenny Aronson's party; it wasstupid to have brought her car, and to have parked it two blocksaway. Stupidest of all was not accepting Paul Tucker's offer to walkher there - she hadn't wanted to take him from the party he was soobviously enjoying, hadn't wanted to make him walk the four blockround trip, so she'd lied, said her car wasn't far.

Now, walking alone on a quiet, deserted sidestreet, she had time to reconsider. Jenny's west side neighborhoodwas generally considered a safe one, but this was New York; afterdark, there was no such place as safe.

Was that a footstep she heard behindher?

Uneasiness crept between her shoulder blades.Uneasiness... and a kind of shameful longing. She pushed the feelingsaway and walked faster, her heels tapping nervously against thepavement. Almost there; she could see the gleam of her windshield inthe nearest street lamp.

Her keys were already out, clutched between herfingers like so many jagged teeth; she scanned the sidewalk, thenflipped the key ring around and found her car key by feel. She wasbending to unlock the passenger door when someone grabbed herarm.

She spun sharply, wrenching her arm free andraking the key viciously at eye-height. A blond boy, no more thaneighteen, with stringy hair and torn jeans, leaped back, swearing."Bitch," he muttered, and she saw the glint of metal. He had aknife.

Fear rose up, clutching her throat. Knivesterrified her.

She swallowed, forcing the fear down, and shiftedher purse, holding it in front of her like a shield.

"I want your money, bitch!" the boy shouted,slashing with his knife. "I want it now!"

If he'd only stop moving, only step back, she'dgladly open her purse and give him her wallet to be rid of him, to berid of the danger, but he kept moving in, crowding her back until shewas pinned against the side of her car, and the swinging knife camecloser and closer.

Something fierce and glorious rose up in her; sheswelled with it and feinted to the right, swinging her purse left,into the path of the knife, and kicking out with her left foot,aiming at his knee. She landed only a glancing blow that sent herfoot skidding off to the side; she lost her balance and went downclumsily. In an instant the boy was on her, holding the knifeperilously close to her cheek.

"Your money, bitch!" he shouted again, kneeing hershoulder roughly. "Now!"

"My purse," she stammered. Something dark insideher demanded action; she quelled it frantically. "It's in mypurse..."

With hands shaking more from the effort of controlthan from fear, she untangled the purse from its strap and pulled itopen. Her wallet came easily into her hand and she held it up. "Here,see? Take it."

He grabbed it and stuffed it into a pocket of hisragged jeans, but didn't take the knife away.

"I gave you what you wanted," she almost shouted.If only he'd go. Quickly and without hurting her. If only he'd gonow. Time was short; she could feel the rage building, gettingnearer.

But instead he caught a handful of her hair,forcing her head back painfully. "You hurt me, bitch," he told her."You shouldn'ta done that."

Kneeling on the sidewalk, head arched back, shehad a perfect view of the lethal dark form that dropped soundlesslyfrom the nearest rooftop. Too late; it was too late. The knife at herthroat burned briefly, then was snatched away. An angry roar splitthe night; along with it came a familiar rush of sensation. Shegasped with the dark pleasure of it, longed to lose herself fully,let it complete her.

Instead she fought it, struggling to her feet,reaching out for the cloaked figure who'd struck once and now coiledto strike again.

"No, Vincent!" she shouted, catching his arm."No!"

He pulled against her grasp, but not hard enoughto break free, then dropped his arms, set his feet apart, and tippedback his head, loosing a spine-tingling roar of triumph.

Catherine's keys had gone flying when the boyseized her; she had no idea where they'd landed and there was notime. Lights were going on in windows; any moment someone would lookout and see... if they hadn't already. The boy lay slumped againstthe front tire of her car; a slow stream of blood flowed steadilyfrom his shoulder where his shirt and flesh were torn. She bentquickly and pulled her wallet from his pocket; she couldn't leave itbehind.

She took an extra second to check him. He wasbreathing - she could see the rise and fall of his chest, hear theslow wheeze as he struggled to fill his lungs. Please God he wouldn'tbleed to death before help arrived; in this neighborhood, New York orno, someone had certainly already lifted the telephone to dial911.

Vincent stood now, head bowed, over theunconscious form of his victim. The bloodlust was gone; what was leftwas a vast sea of shame. She knew, because she felt it,too.

"Vincent," she said, quietly. "We have togo."

He roused enough to look at her; his eyes, paleand human in an inhuman face, held only despair.

"Come," she said, tugging. "We have togo."

*****

Colors and shapes and noise reappeared with ajerk. Clark thrust out a hand to catch the sidewalk that loomed up,holding Lois tightly to keep her from falling. The world leveled andsteadied; cautiously he stood straight and loosened his hold on hiswife.

"Did you feel that?" she demanded. "Was it anearthquake?"

"Shouldn't have been - Metropolis is built onsolid bedrock," he answered, glancing around. None of the buildingslooked damaged, and no cries for help reached his sensitiveears.

But the buildings - they looked different.And...

"What happened to the sun?" Lois sounded scared."Clark, where's the sun?"

The sky above them was navy, not azure, andpinpoints of the brightest stars gleamed through the haze of lightpollution from the city.

"The sun's still there. It's night." He pointed ata sliver of crescent moon in the eastern sky.

Her grip on his arm tightened. "But it was morningjust a minute ago. Wasn't it?"

"Yeah. It was." Clark looked around.

None of the people passing by seemed disturbed -indeed, most of them were hurrying on about their business, exceptfor a couple, nearer, who were frankly staring at him andLois.

Momentarily horrified, he glanced downward, butdespite his fears no telltale blue peeped out of tears in hisbusiness suit. Lois looked a bit disheveled, but otherwise fine, andwas already slipping back into reporter mode.

"Excuse me, sir," she said to a passing man. "Didyou feel the earthquake?"

He stared at her as if she'd lost her mind andpassed by. Lois, not one to give in to adversity, turned to the nextpedestrian. "Ma'am, what do you think about the sudden timeshift?"

The woman, too, looked confused and mildlyappalled, and hurried past.

"Look, lady," said the next passerby. "I don'tknow what you're on, but leave me alone."

"On?" Lois squawked, indignant. "What's he talkingabout?"

"Lois, come here." Clark took her arm and drewher, protesting, to the side. "Look around."

She grumbled, but she looked. And froze. "Thisisn't where we were!" she hissed. She spun, looking back the way theyhad come. "Where's the Planet building?"

"Not there. Lois, I don't think this isMetropolis. It doesn't look right."

"Not Metropolis? But where else could it be? Wewere just walking down the sidewalk! It was just a little earthquake!And a little time shift..." her voice trailed off.

"I think it's more."

"Maybe you should..." she opened her hand in aswift, uplifted motion. "Reconnoiter?"

He shook his head. "I have a better idea." Hetowed her in his wake, two blocks to the newsstand he'd spied. "CouldI get a local paper, please?" he asked the vendor.

"Which one? Times? Star? EveningStandard?"

"The Daily Planet," Lois insisted. "Do you haveone?"

The man's eyebrows rose beneath his grimy cap."Daily Planet? Never heard of it. Sorry."

"Never heard...?" Lois began to bristle; Clarksilenced her with a touch.

"What paper would you recommend as a reliable newssource?" he asked.

"Oh, for that you want the Times," the man said."'All the News That's Fit to Print.' Over there."

Clark picked up the evening edition and paid forit, then dragged Lois safely away.

"What does he mean, there's no Planet?" shedemanded. "Clark, what is going on...?"

For answer, he folded open the paper. The New YorkTimes, published on June 4, 1989, New York City, New York.

"New York?" Lois muttered. "What happened to NewTroy?"

"What happened to 1998?" he mutteredback.

"Time travel?" she guessed.

"Parallel universe," he countered.

"Or both."

"Both," he agreed.

"Tempus!" they chorused.

*****

Catherine's urging finally worked; Vincent bowedhis head and let her tug him off the sidewalk and into the darknessof a nearby alley. Desperation made her resourceful; he was tooacquiescent. She found the round outline of a manhole cover, but henudged her aside before she could kneel to struggle with it, hookingstrong claws into the crevice around it and lifting.

She went first, finding the ladder by feel anddescending until she reached the dusty floor. She stood aside, givinghim room. He replaced the cover and came down to join her.

She studied his face in the faint light, theflattened nose, the high, arching brows, the cat-like mouth. Shelonged to touch it, but she knew he wouldn't permit it, notnow.

She put out her hand to slip it in his, but heshied away. "Don't. My hands..."

Were sticky with blood. "I know," she answeredsadly. "So are mine. I'm sorry, Vincent."

His head swung her way; his eyes held surprise."Sorry? Why?"

"Because I was careless. Because I know what itcosts you to come to me that way..."

He was no more than a shadow in the gloom of thetunnel, but still she saw him look down at his clenchedfists.

"He's not dead," she added. "He's hurt, but he'snot dead."

"You stopped me," Vincent answered. "I would havekilled him, but you stopped me. Thank you for that."

"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have been thereat all," she answered, her voice harsh in her throat. "Don't thankme. Please don't."

"If I hadn't come... he might have killed you. Youmight have died, Catherine. Stopping that is worth any cost. Anycost."

To him, perhaps, but not, any longer, toher.

In silence, he walked her to the threshold beneathher apartment building. She turned to him there. "Will you be allright?" Her voice came out sounding thin and uncertain.

"You are unharmed, Catherine," he answeredquietly. "I must weigh that against the injuries of the boy who wouldhave harmed you."

The boy had been about to murder her, Catherinethought. And yet that would count for little against Vincent's senseof shame, no matter the words he said. And he'd noticed herassailant's youth. She'd hoped he wouldn't, hoped he would believehe'd attacked a full-grown man.

"He had a knife," Vincent added.

Catherine suppressed a shudder; the assault thatled her to Vincent had taken place over two years earlier, but shecould still remember the sharp blade slicing into her forehead andcheeks, still feel the warm gush of blood flowing into eyes andmouth. Every morning the harsh light in her bathroom showed the palespidery lines of scars left behind by careful plastic surgery, thebolder, unrepaired scar in front of her left ear. She'd managed toturn the association of those scars from vicious assailants to whatthey'd led her to - the wondrous being standing beside her, dark andbrooding. He loved her. He would die for her. He would kill forher.

"Yes," she agreed, forcing her voice to be strong."He did have a knife, and he would have killed me, Vincent, and itwas his choice to be there. We have to remember that. You have toremember that. It was stupid of me to walk down that street alone,but he was the one with the knife."

"Yes," he agreed. She hoped he meant it. Hoped hewould remember it later, when the dreams came. "You'll be allright?"

She nodded. "I'm fine." She didn't mention how herknees and hands stung from striking the pavement, or how she was surethe trickle of blood she could feel on her neck was her own and nother assailant's.

He wouldn't embrace her tonight, not with blood onhis hands, on his clothing. No matter that the same blood stained herfingers and palms, and probably spattered her clothes. He wouldn'ttouch her.

"Good night," she said softly, letting her lovefor him rise up, letting it engulf her, so it would show on her face,and so he would feel it, too.

"Good night, Catherine," he answered, and if therewas no joy in his face, at least there was no despair,either.

She clung to that pale thought as she started upthe narrow iron ladder.

*****

"Tempus. How did he do it?" Lois wondered. LikeMetropolis, New York seemed never to sleep, and the sidewalks werecrowded even at this late hour. She and Clark picked an aimless pathamong the pedestrians. "I never saw a time machine."

Their old nemesis from the future had tried morethan once to rid the world of Superman; to that end, he'd used bothtime travel and a parallel universe. So far, he hadn't beensuccessful.

"I didn't see one, either," Clark confessed. "Butwe're here, and until we figure out how he did it, we can't getback."

She stopped. "Oh! And if it's 1989 New York... wecan't go home. We don't even have a home!"

"Unless our counterparts work for this New YorkTimes," Clark said. They'd already established that here, there wasno such place as Metropolis, or even the state of New Troy. There wasa Kansas, but not, to Clark's dismay, a town called Smallville, whichwas where he'd grown up, and where his parents stilllived.

"Except in '89 I was barely starting out, and youwere still off wandering the world," Lois pointed out.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Well, maybe we can find you,then. Or Perry."

But a careful scouring of the Times mastheadshowed not a single familiar name. A phone call elicited the terseinformation from a night editor that neither a Perry White nor a LoisLane worked there. They got the same response from the otherpublications they tried. A call to information revealed there was noMartha Kent or Jonathan Kent in any of the Kansas towns Clark askedabout. He hung up the pay phone with a sigh.

"Lois, how much cash do you have onyou?"

"Cash? I don't know, maybe twentydollars..."

He frowned. "And I have aboutthirty..."

"Why? What's wrong?"

The look he turned on her was very gentle... andfrightening. "We're in the wrong universe at the wrong time. We'relucky our cash seems to be good, but I don't think we're going to beas fortunate with our credit cards. And your ATM card's probably notworth the plastic it's printed on."

Lois's heart fluttered up into her throat. "Thatcan't be right, Clark, because if it's right, then we're here in aparallel universe with no money and no jobs and no home and no ideahow we got here so we can't get back and..."

"Lois."

"...that would be really bad, because what wouldwe eat and where would we sleep..."

"Lois."

"...so the plastic just has to work, Clark, can'tyou see that?"

"Lois!" He took her shoulders firmly.

She let out a long, shuddering breath. "Oh,Clark," she whispered. "What are we going to do?"

Clark held up a finger. "First, we need a place tosleep."

"Fifty dollars would buy us a cheap motel room,but then what would we eat?"

"And we're going to need some otherclothes."

"Other clothes? What for? What's wrong with whatwe have on? Did I spill on myself, or do I have a thread,or..."

"Lois!"

She caught herself in mid-word. "Sorry. I justcan't help myself."

His look was tender. "I know. Look, there'snothing wrong with our clothes, but they're our only clothes, andlikely to be our best clothes for a while. I think we should savethem for job interviews and things like that."

"Job interviews?" Lois practically squeaked. "I'mnot going on any job interviews! We'll just fax our resumes. Anypaper would be proud to have two Kerth-award-winning reporters likeus!"

"Lois."

She glared at him. "Well?"

He sighed. "They may not even have Kerth awardshere. And if they do, we certainly haven't won any ofthem."

"We might," she said stubbornly.

"You're right," he conceded, "we might have. Ifwe're here, which I'm increasingly convinced we aren't. We'll checkthat out at the library, just in case. But if we aren't here, honey,then we have to face facts - in this universe, we're nobodies. Wedon't have any clippings, any references, any journalism awards, wecan't even say we have journalism degrees. The Times is not going tohire us."

Lois set her jaw. "Maybe not right away. But we'regood, Clark, and once we show everybody..."

"We're not trying to show anybody anything. All wewant is to get home. Right?"

"Okay, so you're right, we need some moreclothes..."

"No, no, go back. All we want is to get home.Right?"

"...and then maybe a place to stay, nothing fancy,well, it can't be fancy since between us we only have fifty bucks andwe have to use some of that for the clothes and maybe something toeat, although since we're technically homeless I guess we'd qualifyfor free meals at the nearest soup kitchen if we knew where that was,but we don't because we just got here, and anyway we have to get theclothes first because if we show up at a soup kitchen looking likethis they wouldn't feed us anyway, do you think?"

"I think we'd better see about finding someplaceto sleep tonight. Tomorrow morning we look for jobs."

"Right. Except..."

"Except?"

"I'm hungry. I know we don't have much money, butcan we get something to eat?"

His grin promised that nothing truly bad couldhappen as long as they were together. "Sure."

They found a modest diner that was still open andwent in. "I don't need a menu," Lois told the weary waitress who cameto their booth. "I want a hamburger and french fries, and a dietcola."

"You got it," the woman promised."Sir?"

"I'll just have coffee, thanks."

"Clark!"

He met her glare with one of his own, so shewaited until the waitress moved away before she went on.

"You're not eating?"

"I'm not really hungry..."

He'd been out half the night on a rescue, and shewas sure he hadn't stopped for breakfast before showing up at thePlanet for work. "Clark..."

"I don't need to eat, Lois. You do. Please don'targue with me."

"You don't need to eat if you're still... youknow. But what if you're not? We could be in a virtual world, or auniverse where you don't have your powers, or..."

"Lois."

She stopped, breathless.

"I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. So I don't need to eat."

"But you like to. You get hungry."

His expression remained implacable, and shesighed. It touched her to think he meant to go without in order tostretch their funds so that she could eat more often. Or longer. Orwhatever. She slid her hand across the table to touch his. "I loveyou."

His grin, as always, made her heart melt. "I know.It's because I'm such a great guy."

She responded with her first real smile since theearth lurched and threw them into another dimension. "Yeah," sheagreed. "You are."

*****

"There you go." The super pushed Catherine's dooropen. "You gonna need new keys?"

"I have a spare set here, but thank you," sheanswered. "And thank you for coming all the way up to let me in afterI was silly enough to lose my keys. I appreciate it."

"All part of the job," he answered. "No trouble.Oops, there goes your phone."

"Thanks again, Mr. Fowler," she said, and tooktime to lock the door before turning to the phone."Hello?"

"Cathy! It's Joe."

Deputy District Attorney Joe Maxwell, her boss andher friend, almost never called her at home, and never so late unlesssomething was wrong. The skin on the back of her neck prickleduneasily. "Hi, Joe. What's up?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"Some punk got beat up over on the west side;landed up against a car - Greg Hughs called me because the car tracesto you."

"My car?" She tried to sound shocked.

"Looks that way. If that's where your caris?"

"Uh, yeah," she answered, her mind racing. "I wentto a party at Jenny's - she lives not far from where I left the car."That much was true, anyway. "But I lost my keys somehow, so I took acab home."

"Thank God." Joe sounded fervent. "I gotta tellyou, Cathy, when Greg called me, I was scared. And then you didn'tanswer your phone..."

A quick glance down showed three messages on hermachine. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"No, how could you? Lucky night for you to havelost your keys, though. You might have walked right intotrouble."

"Yeah, I guess. How's the kid who gothurt?"

"I don't know, some superficial wounds to hisshoulder and a concussion, I think Greg said. It was the blood on thecar that scared me; it's probably the kid's, but we couldn't be sure,and then when the car turned out to be yours..."

"I guess I'll have to wash it." She struggled tokeep her voice light, and blessed the instinct that made her snatchback her wallet. She could never have explained that. "Did theyimpound it?"

"No, Greg said they didn't need to; it's rightwhere you left it."

"I'll get it tomorrow. Thanks."

"All right. See you in the morning."

"Yeah. 'Night, Joe."

"Bye."

She replaced the phone in its cradle and let out along, shaky breath. She hated lying to him.

In the bathroom, she washed her hands, rubbinghard to get the dried flecks of rusty red from around her nails. Thecut on her neck didn't look as bad as it felt; she washed away thethin crust of blood and smeared it with some antibiotic ointment,then daubed the scratches on her palms.

Close examination showed dark spatters on her navyblouse and gray slacks; she bundled them together and shoved theminto a paper bag. She'd throw it away on the way to work in themorning. Her shoes received a good scrubbing with wet paper towels;the towels went into the bag of clothes. A good forensics teamwouldn't be fooled, of course. There were probably still traces ofher assailant's blood in crevices of her shoes and even in the drainpipe of her sink.

She'd been lucky so far; only reporter BernieSpirko had ever noticed her connection to the slasher killings. Ofcourse, he'd been helped by Vincent's enemy Paracelsus, who hadkilled Spirko and then been killed himself by Vincent.

But how much longer could her luck hold? Somedaysomeone would figure it all out, the killings, the attacks. The factthat she was always involved, always nearby. When they did, whatwould she do? Stay up here and never see Vincent again? The verythought tore at her heart.

But equally impossible was the idea of abandoningher life, her friends, her work, and fleeing to Vincent's world.Someday, maybe, but not now, not with so many things still unsettledbetween them.

Someday someone would put the pieces together...and when they did, her life would shatter.

*****

Amazing what a juicy hamburger with a healthy sideof fries could do for a person's outlook. There'd been so much foodthat Lois was able, with much teasing, to feed Clark the last fewbites of her burger and nearly half her fries. Her rejuvenatedspirits lasted until Clark announced, after a half hour wedged in aphone cubby, that the very cheapest room he could find would costthem twelve dollars a night - in the very worst part oftown.

"I'm not afraid," Lois declared, then mustered acoquettish smile. "Not with you around."

"I'm not so much worried about that," he answered."But it'll be squalid. I mean, really, really squalid. Dirty room,dirty bed linens, a shared bathroom..."

"Don't tell me, the bathroom will be dirty,too."

"I'm afraid so."

She tried to look intrepid, but her imaginationprompted a shudder she couldn't quite suppress. "I don't suppose wehave any other choices?"

"Well, we could do what the other homeless peopledo."

"Sleep on the streets?"

He offered a little grin. "Or on arooftop?"

So they wouldn't have to sleep in squalor afterall - she should have known she could count on Clark. "A rooftopsounds just fine to me. Got one in mind?"

"Not yet. I'll have to look for one."

"Okay. Are you going to..." she lifted her browsin silent question and described a quick circle with herfinger.

"I don't think so. You-know-who isn't known here,and I don't know if it's a good idea for him to make a suddenappearance."

"Oh." A good point, and one she hadn't thought of."So what will you do?"

He glanced down at himself. "Luckily my suit'sdark; I'll blend in pretty well, I think." He reached into his pocketand extracted a five dollar bill. "You're going back into ourfavorite diner and have dessert while I find a nice, darkalley..."

"Clark, no! I'm coming with you..."

He shook his head. "Not this time. We don't knowthis city, Lois. Let me take a look around, and I'll come back foryou."

She never seemed to be able to help the rebelliousfeelings that rose up whenever he tried to protect her this way."Clark..."

"Lois." Something in his eyes, his voice, stoppedher. "Please."

He was truly frightened for what might happen; theshift in time and universe had shaken him, too, more than she'drealized. In ordinary times, she'd have pushed anyway. Now,reluctantly, she retreated. "All right." She took the folded billfrom his hand. "I'll let you buy me a piece of pie. And I'll waitinside until you come back. Okay?"

Relief showed in his smile. "Okay." He brushed abrief kiss across her lips.

At the diner's doorway she looked back; he stillstood on the sidewalk, watching to be sure she was safe. She lifted ahand in farewell; he returned the gesture, then melted into theshadows.

"Hi, honey." It was the same worn waitress. "Yourboyfriend go off and leave you?"

"He's my husband," Lois corrected, "and yeah, Iguess he did. He had something he had to do. He'll be back for me ina few minutes."

The woman nodded, but her world-weary air saidclearly that she'd heard it before and didn't believe a word. Loisstifled the explanation that sprang to her lips. She knew Clark wouldbe back for her; what difference did it make what someone else,someone who'd obviously been through a lot, and much of it unhappy,thought?

"I saw French Silk pie in the dessert case when Iwas in earlier," she said instead. "Can you bring me apiece?"

"Sure, honey. Drown your sorrows in chocolate,hmmm?" She moved away before Lois could retort.

With a sigh, she turned to look out into thenight. Strange. She never thought of herself as clingy; even thoughshe and Clark were partners at work as well as in life, she wasn'tjoined to him at the hip or anything. They frequently split up topursue different angles of a story or even different stories andthought nothing of it.

But that was in Metropolis. Where things werefamiliar, and safe, and they had a home to go to at the end of theday. Here, who knew? At least there probably wasn't any Kryptonite,she consoled herself. And Clark was impervious to other kinds ofharm. He'd be fine. And back before she could finish herpie.

She nodded sketchy acknowledgement to the waitresswho placed a fresh, fluffy slice in front of her, and turned herattention to the copy of the New York Times Clark had purchasedearlier. Might as well catch up on the news.

Two hours later she was still there, a cup ofcoffee gone cold in front of her. After she finished her pie, she'dset the paper aside to watch for Clark; after the first hour ofstaring through the glass so hard her eyes ached, the waitress hadwordlessly set the coffee in front of her. Lois had looked around instartlement, so frantic for Clark that she couldn't find the words tosay she hadn't ordered it, that she didn't want it.

The woman gave her a small, sad smile. "On thehouse," she whispered. In her eyes, Lois saw sympathy she didn'tneed, didn't want. Clark was coming back. Of course hewas.

Unless he couldn't.

Now, sick with dread, she closed her eyes. "Whereare you, Clark?" she whispered.

"Right here."

Her head snapped up. He stood beside the booth,looking disheveled and weary, but solid and real. She leaped up, andinto his arms. "I was so scared," she murmured, into his ear. "Ididn't know where you were, and I was so scared..."

He held her tightly, patting her back. "I know,I'm sorry. There was a serious accident in a tunnel that runs under ariver near here - a tanker full of hydrochloric acid overturned. Ihad to help..."

"Of course you did," she agreedpromptly.

His arm around her shoulders, he guided her out ofthe diner. "I used my superbreath to clear the fumes," he said. "And,um, arranged for some debris to move in such a way that it formed adam to keep the spilled acid contained. I thought about changing..."his finger described a quick whirl, "...but like I said earlier, Idon't know if having Superman here is a good idea ornot..."

"I'm glad you were able to help." She leaned intohim.

"And while I was out..." His voice held a note ofsuppressed grief.

"What?"

"I took a quick side trip to Kansas."

She wanted to berate him for it, when she'd beensitting in the diner worried sick, but she knew the trip would havetaken him only seconds; even looking around wouldn't have consumedmore than a minute or two. She took a deep breath. "Did you findthem?"

He shook his head. "There's a farm where ours is -in the other universe, I mean - but the farmhouse is in a differentplace, the road is different. It's not our farm, and my parentsweren't there. Not anywhere around there, either. Ilooked."

She linked her arm with his and gave a sympatheticsqueeze. "I'm sorry, Clark."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I didn't have a lot of hope,after I found out they didn't have a phone, but..."

"Yeah." She tugged at his arm. "So, did you find aplace for us to sleep?"

"Yep." He glanced around quickly, then slippedinto an alley.

She followed him, grinning. When they were deep inthe shadows, he put his hands on her waist and floated them bothstraight up.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked a littlelater.

"Mmm. You picked a very nice roof," she murmured.Wrapped in Superman's cape and snuggled into Clark's arms, shefloated with him lazily a mere inch above the concrete surface. "Ican almost see the stars..."

"Almost," he agreed, and tightened hisgrip.

She twisted to look up at him. "Clark?"

"Hmmm?"

"What are you thinking?"

He shrugged, taking care not to dislodge her headfrom its place on his shoulder. "About us. About being here, when weought to be home, in our own house, in our own bed."

"Mmm. Safe and fed and warm?"

He grinned, just a little. "Something likethat."

"I'm happy, as long as I have you."

He turned a tender look on her. "I was thinkingthat, too. I keep thinking it must have been me Tempus was trying toget rid of; what would have happened if you hadn't been right there,beside me, when it happened? If I hadn't grabbed you? Would I havecome by myself? Left you behind?"

"I thought of that. In the diner, when you didn'tcome back." She shuddered and pressed her face into his neck. "Thatwould be awful, Clark. Not knowing where you were - not being withyou. I can stand anything as long as we're together."

"Yeah. Me, too." He kissed her forehead. "I justwish there was a way to let our friends know we're okay."

"And your parents."

"Yeah." His reply was so terse, she knew he'd beenthinking about them, worrying about them.

"You don't think we're going to be stuck here, doyou?"

His quiet "no" didn't quite carry the convictionshe'd have liked. "However Tempus got us here, there's got to be away back. We just have to find it."

"Right," she answered.

He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Right. Tomorrow.And now..."

"We go to sleep."

*****

"Radcliffe!" Joe Maxwell hailed Catherine from hisoffice before she even had time to reach her desk.

"Yeah, Joe?"

Her boss invited her into his tiny, glass-walledcubicle with a crooked finger. "I've got something foryou."

She set her briefcase and purse - a differentpurse than last night's, since she didn't know what evidence it mightcarry - on the battered naugahyde couch and picked up the file heslid toward her.

"Woman found dead in her apartment this morning,"Joe explained as she scanned the faxed copy of the preliminary - andvery sketchy - police report. "Looks like she suffered a prettysevere beating. I want you to get over there, see what you can findout. And Cathy..."

She paused in the act of retrieving herthings.

"The victim is a cop's wife, so the detectives atthe scene are going to be touchy. Watch your step."

The victim's apartment was a modest one in theEast Village. Catherine flashed her ID at the uniformed officerguarding the building's entrance and was directed to the fourthfloor. There, she found a dozen police personnel - uniforms,detectives, and forensics techs - milling in and out. "Excuse me,"she said to the nearest uniform. "I'm from the D.A.'s office." Onceagain she displayed her ID. "Can you tell me who's in charge of theinvestigation?"

"Over there." The young, and thoroughly shakenlooking officer pointed. "Detective Briggs."

Catherine thanked him and picked her way acrossthe room. Detective Briggs, a burly man in a crumpled tan suit andstained tie, was talking in a low voice to a man whose face andposture spoke of deep distress.

She stopped a discreet distance away and waitedfor Briggs to finish. At last he clapped the man on the shoulder."It's going to be okay, Dave," Briggs said. "We're going to get thebastard who did this. I promise."

"Yeah," Dave answered.

The victim's name, Catherine knew from the policereport, was Lucille Callahan. Her husband's first name was David; nodoubt the man being comforted was him.

He pushed past her unseeing; she stepped back torecover her balance and turned to Briggs. "Detective?"

"Yeah?" The look he gave her was swift andsuperficial. "I don't know what you want, lady, but this is a crimescene. You don't have any business here."

For the third time that morning, Catherine pulledout her ID and flipped the folder open. "I'm with the D.A.'s office,"she said crisply; she had no patience for sexist attitudes. "Tell mewhere you are in your investigation."

It didn't improve Briggs's attitude, but he becamemarginally more cooperative. "Here," he said, shoving a dog-earednotebook into her hands. "You can read my notes. I'm busy." Hestalked off, calling instructions to one of the forensicstechs.

Catherine followed closely. "Excuse me," she saidsharply, when she caught up with him. "My office sent me over tocheck on the status here, not to read your notes." She slapped thenotebook into his hand. "I'm sure all this information will end up inyour report, which will no doubt be on my desk by the end of today.What I want from you now is an overview of what'shappened."

"What's happened is a cop's wife got killed!"Briggs snapped. "Any fool can see that."

"I'm not a fool, Detective Briggs," she answered."My office will be prosecuting when you bring a perpetrator to trial;do you want us well prepared, or don't you?"

That stopped him. He flushed, looked away, andfinally muttered, "Sorry. You're right. We're just upsethere..."

"And with good reason," she answered, letting hervoice soften. "The man you were talking to... that's OfficerCallahan?"

"Detective Callahan, yeah," Briggs confirmed."Dave and I have been buddies for as long as he's been with theforce. This is tearing him up..."

"How did it happen?"

He shrugged. "He came off shift this morning,found her lying in the kitchen. She was already cold..."

"When did he last see her?"

"Last night. Dinnertime. They ate, and then hewent to work..."

"Any signs of forced entry?"

He waved towards the forensics team. "Nothingobvious - no splintered door jambs or broken windows - but we'restill looking."

Catherine nodded. "The report I have says she wasbeaten?"

Briggs hunched his shoulders and shoved his handsin his pockets. "Her face was swollen and bruised; so were her arms,legs, and torso. Looked like a pretty savage beating."

"Have you canvassed the neighbors?"

"I've got some uniforms taking care ofthat."

"And you'll let me know what they findout."

His muttered "yeah," was grudging, but sheaccepted it.

"Okay if I take a look around?" She made her tonebrisk, daring him to challenge her. He didn't.

"Suit yourself; the body's beenremoved."

She expected as much - it had been hours since themurder had been reported and officers had responded. And she hadn'tseen the coroner's wagon outside.

She surveyed the scene. Except for scatterings ofblack fingerprint powder and one broken vase lying on the floor nearthe television set, the living room was almost unnaturally neat; theforensics crew looked incongruous against such a setting.

The kitchen, where the body had been found, wasnot so tidy; a canister was overturned and white drifts of flourspread across the counter. Footprints showed where the flour hadsifted down to cover the floor. The ugly taped outline of a sprawledbody surrounded a wide smear of blood on the floor. Near the outline,a bunched dishtowel lay crumpled and damp.

Catherine swallowed the despair and sorrow shealways felt at such scenes, and went down the short hallway to theapartment's single bedroom. It had the pristine neatness of theliving room, marred only by a man's white dress shirt tossed onto thebed so carelessly that one arm dangled onto the floor.

Not surprisingly, the bathroom was immaculate.After a cursory look, Catherine returned to the living room. "I thinkI've seen all I need to, Detective," she told Briggs. "Here's mycard. I'll expect your report, and of course you'll keep me apprisedof anything that turns up..."

He muttered something that might have beenagreement and shoved her card into his pocket.

Catherine opened her mouth to speak, thoughtbetter of it, and retreated quietly. She didn't have to like the man,all she had to do was work with him.

She nodded politely to the lone forensics techleft in the living room and went out.

*****

Clark's carefully chosen roof faced southeast, soabout mid-morning, Lois woke to a dazzling ray of sun warming herface. She tried turning away, but it was just too bright; therewasn't anything for it except to wake up. She yawned and stretched...and dropped abruptly to the roof as she accidentally lost contactwith Clark and his aura quit holding her up.

"Ouch." She sat up grumpily, rubbing herelbow.

Clark, who evidently hadn't wakened until he heardher grunt of surprise, sat up beside her. "Are you okay?"

"Bumped my elbow." She showed him it wasn't evenbruised, then laughed when he kissed it anyway.

"Sorry you fell," he murmured.

"My fault. I forgot where I was."

"Mmm." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I sleptokay. How about you?"

"Very comfortable, thank you, except for the dropat the end."

"I said I was sorry."

"I said it was my fault." She pretended to glareuntil he grinned. "So what's on the agenda for today?"

"First the clothes."

They gathered up their few possessions and Clarkspirited away the red cape. After a careful look around, he floatedthem down between buildings to land lightly in a dank alley. Loismade a face and tried not to breathe as she picked her way to thealley's mouth, and fresh... well, fresher... air.

They outfitted themselves at a Goodwill outlet andchanged in the restrooms of a nearby McDonald'srestaurant.

Lois emerged plucking at the sleeve of herbuttondown blue denim shirt. "I hate wearing other people's clothes."She sniffed. "They smell funny."

"You'll get used to it." Clark looked great in amaroon t-shirt and tight jeans. Red boots peeked out at the bottom,and Lois stared. "Those are..."

"Yep. My dress shoes looked weird."

He had his suit slung over his shoulder; he musthave tucked the shoes into pockets. Or put them wherever it was thathe kept the cape.

Lois sighed and draped her own suit - her bestsuit, the one that hugged her waist without pinching and laid justright over her hips and always made her feel terrific - over her armand offered silent thanks that she'd chosen comfortable shoes with amedium heel yesterday; she could have been stuck withspikes!

"At least it's not a total backwater here," shemuttered. "They have McDonald's. Can we get something? I'mstarving."

Clark hesitated - adding up their dwindling funds,she was sure. "Yeah, why not?" he said finally.

*****

By afternoon, Catherine had not only thepreliminary police report on Lucille Callahan's murder, but also whatlooked like a full set of forensic photos. Slowly she shuffledthrough the stack of 8x10 black and white glossies. The woman hadbeen horribly beaten, over enough time for the bruises to discolorand swelling to distort her eye, her cheek, her jaw. Trails of driedblood ran from mouth and nose. Her unswollen eye was open, staringaccusingly at nothing.

"My God," Catherine muttered, half to herself andhalf in prayer. The police report contained little that she hadn'tobserved or surmised for herself. She picked up thetelephone.

"Detective Briggs, please."

It was minutes before Jimmy Briggs came to thephone; when he did, he was brusque. "What?"

"This is Catherine Chandler, from the D.A.'soffice," she answered, keeping her voice civil. "I have thepreliminary report on Lucille Callahan on my desk. Thank you for thephotos, by the way."

"Right," he said grudgingly. "Thought you coulduse them."

"Since I didn't get to see the body in situ, I doappreciate them. I'm wondering, though... there's no mention in yourreport of any suspects?"

"Don't have any suspects yet," Briggs answered."Still working on it."

"Any evidence of a sexual assault?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"How about the possibility that the victim'shusband could be involved?"

There was a long silence. "Look, lady," Briggssaid finally. His voice trembled with what she guessed was suppressedrage. "I've known Dave Callahan for ten years, and he's one greatguy. I'd trust him with my life. I have trusted him with my life. So,no, the husband is not a suspect in this case."

"I'm sorry if I upset you, Detective, but I had toask."

He backed off. "I know, Miss Chandler, and I'msorry, too. Losing his wife this way is tearing Dave up. If you knewhim... if you could see him..."

"I understand." And she did. But still, if thehusband wasn't the suspect, who was? "You're looking at an outsideperpetrator, then," she said aloud. "With what motive?Robbery?"

"Possibly," Briggs answered. "We'll know moreabout that when we get the results of the autopsy and the forensicsreport."

"Right," Catherine agreed. "I'll get copies ofthose too, of course."

"Of course."

*****

Lois felt like hitting somebody. Unfortunately,the only victim handy was Clark, and he wouldn't notice. So shegrowled instead. "I can't believe you expect me to recreate all thearticles I've written in the past week." She kept her voice down tokeep from disturbing other patrons in the library.

Clark leaned back from the computer terminalbeside her and grinned. "Come on, Lois, you know no paper is going tohire us unless we provide them with clippings. So write. Don't forgetto leave out specific references to Metropolis, or NewTroy."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't remember what I said, or howI said it. I hardly remember what the articles were about! Write itand move on to the next story, that's what I do." The faint click ofthe keyboard accompanied her muttering; paragraph after paragraphrolled up the screen.

She stopped muttering just about the time she hitthe last period. "There. Happy?"

"Yeah." Clark, who'd probably finished recreatingall his articles an hour ago, grinned. "Want me to look themover?"

"You'd better. Tell me what Perry took out oradded."

"Okay. And you can look over mine."

Right. As if he wouldn't remember, word for word,what he'd written, what Perry had changed. They switchedterminals.

"It all looks great," Lois said, after skimmingClark's articles. "How're mine?"

"You did really well," he answered. "You forgotthe paragraph Perry asked you to add to your story about the drugring... and you left in the part about the mayor's office that Legalthought was treading a bit close..."

"Okay," Lois muttered. "Go ahead and fix it. Istill think the Planet's readers should know what the mayor's officeis up to."

"What you think they're up to," Clark correctedabsently. His fingers flew over the keyboard. "There. Let's save allthis to disk..." he performed the action as he spoke, "and take it toone of those printing places to use their laser printer."

Technologically, 1989 New York seemed about on apar with 1989 Metropolis - which meant that laser printers were stillnew and very expensive. They had to visit four print shops beforethey found one with the capability they needed. Clark formatted thestories for the print shop's system and printer at high speed, thenprinted them. Lois gathered the stories into a neat stack and tuckedthem safely into folders.

"Thanks," Clark told the shop's proprietor as hepaid for the printing. "You were a big help."

"You're mighty fast on that computer, young man,"the proprietor replied. Lois glanced at him quickly, but he didn'tseem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Probably he'd justnoticed how quickly the job got done.

Clark nodded. "Thanks."

"You must be one of those computer whizzes I keephearing about."

Clark gave a little laugh. "No, I've just usedthem a lot..."

"Listen, I have customers come in with jobs theydon't quite know how to manage for themselves," the man went on, asif Clark hadn't spoken. "And goodness knows I'm not much on thecomputer myself! I'd get more use out of all this expensive machineryif I had someone to operate it for me..."

Clark gave Lois a glance that could only be calledinquiring; she nodded tightly, giving her approval. Who knew how longit would be before they found real jobs? They had to eat. Or atleast, she did.

"I could help you out some," Clark offered. "If Iknew what time to be here...?"

"I can't pay you unless there's a job," the manwarned. "But if I put a sign up - Computer Expert, maybe?"

"Computer Consultant," Lois suggested.

"Computer Consultant," he agreed, nodding. "Yes,that's better. I'll put a sign up, with hours - say, two 'tilsix?"

That would leave mornings open for job hunting."Perfect," Clark agreed. "Starting tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," the proprietor agreed, and extendedhis hand. "I'm George Schofield."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Schofield," Clarkanswered, taking his hand to seal the agreement. "I'm Clark Kent, andthis is my wife Lois."

"Ma'am." Schofield acknowledged the introductionwith a bob of his head. "Pleasure."

The smile that came to Lois's lips wasn't evenforced. "No, Mr. Schofield, believe me. The pleasure is allmine."

*****

It was late when Catherine got back to the office.Most people were gone for the day, but light spilled from Joe'soffice.

"Hey," she said, sticking her head in. "You'rehere late."

He waved toward his heaped desk. "Got some stuffto finish up. How're you coming on the Callahan thing?"

She shrugged. "There's not much so far. We'rewaiting on the forensics and autopsy reports."

"Police have any suspects?"

"Not yet."

"Okay. Then in the morning I want you to work withRita preparing the witnesses for the Brugundi trial. Openingarguments are tomorrow, so they'll be calling witnesses soon, and wecan't afford to lose that one."

Catherine understood that. Nineteen year old AlanBrugundi was accused of robbing a pizza restaurant - and shooting allfour of the restaurant's employees so they wouldn't be able toidentify him. Three of his victims had died. Losing the case wouldnot only mean bad publicity for the D.A.'s office, but would alsomean putting a callous, cold-blooded murderer back on the street.Nobody wanted to be responsible for that.

"Sure," she agreed. "I'll put Callahan on the backburner."

"Fine," Joe said. He fished in his desk drawer andtossed something onto his blotter. "Look familiar?"

"My keys!" She started to reach for them, thenremembered, with a start, where she'd seen them last. She drew backher hand. "Where did you get them?"

"Greg brought them by. Said they were foundunderneath that punk they found bleeding on your car lastnight."

"Oh." Catherine stared at the keys. Ordinarily,something found that close to a crime scene would be held asevidence. Joe was looking at her oddly; she grasped for something tosay. "I must have dropped them when I was getting Jenny's present outof the car." That sounded reasonable.

"Yeah," Joe agreed. "Cathy, are you all right?You're white as a sheet."

"I'm fine," she insisted with perhaps a bit morefervor than was strictly warranted. "Just a little startled, Iguess... and it's been a long day."

"And not a particularly pleasant one for you,either." He pushed the keys toward her. "Here. Go on home, get somerest."

She gestured vaguely toward her desk. "I was goingto finish up the Ketter appeal..."

"It'll keep. Do it in the morning, before youstart on the witnesses."

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Joe." She swept the keys intoher hand. "See you in the morning."

"Right." He was engrossed in the file on his deskbefore she'd even made it all the way out of his office.

*****

Four days after their arrival in New York, afterinterviewing with progressively smaller and smaller newspapers andmagazines, Lois and Clark landed a job.

"Good, tight writing." Editor-in-Chief Alex Martinof the West Side Sentinel laid the folder of their clippingsaside.

"Thank you, sir," Clark answered.

Lois waxed indignant for a moment; how did he knowthe man wasn't talking about one of her pieces? Then she realized hewas offering thanks from both of them. She let out a tightly heldbreath and tried to relax; this process of interviewing was wearingon her, and she was sick of hearing editors praise their reportingstyles... and then dismiss them because they lacked experience. Nexttime she got thrust through a temporal warp, she was bringing herjournalism awards along to wave in the faces of tight-lipped editorswho didn't want to hire her. She'd bring Clark's awards,too.

"Not much experience in a big city, though,huh?"

Here it came. Lois gritted her teeth, determinednot to scream. The stories, of course, were as close to the originalsas she and Clark could make them - but the paper they were claimingto have written them for was a small midwestern daily that had closedits doors a month ago. Lois understood the logic behind it, but thesmall town aura it gave them had closed too many doorsalready.

"Trouble is, there are two of you, and I have onlyone opening," Martin went on. "I'm willing to hire either of you,though, so you two talk it over and let me know who's coming to worktomorrow."

Coming to work tomorrow? Lois gave Clark acautious glance. Had she heard right? Did they have a job? Or rather,did one of them have a job?

As quickly as it had risen, her heart sank. She'dspent months resisting the idea of a partner - but now, the thoughtof working without Clark beside her seemed hollow. "You take it," shealmost said, but then it would be him working without her, and thatwould be just as bad.

"We'll both be here, sir," she heard Clarksay.

What?

"I'm sorry," Martin repeated. "There's only oneopening. I have only enough in the budget to pay onereporter."

"We understand that, sir, but we're a team.Partners. We'll both work."

Martin's eyebrows went up. "For onesalary?"

"That's right."

Only Clark's increasingly strong grip on her handkept Lois silent as Martin outlined the job parameters. Was he nuts?Two reporters for the price of one... and a bargain basement price,at that. Her salary at the Planet was nearly twice the figure Martinnamed.

"That's fine, sir," Clark said. "Full medicalbenefits, of course?"

That was for her; Clark never got sick or hurtunless Kryptonite was involved, and he couldn't very well go to aconventional doctor for that. For a moment, Lois lamented the loss ofSTAR Labs and Dr. Klein.

Martin confirmed the benefits and offered hishand, which Clark took. Lois, recovering, shook hands aswell.

"We'll be here first thing tomorrow," Clarkpromised.

Outside the shabby building, he swept her up in abear hug. "We did it, Lois! We're hired."

"For peanuts!" she growled. "And two for the priceof one. Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm not working without you," he answered. "Ithought you felt the same way?"

"Well, I do," she admitted. "But Clark, he'sgetting both of us, and for that salary!"

"It's not much, I know. But with two of us on thejob, I can keep on working for Mr. Schofield in theafternoons."

Lois admitted the sense of that; Schofield's printshop had kept them eating for the past four days.

"Well, he's not going to be paying us peanuts forlong," she vowed. "We'll find a big story to crack and he'll see whatwe can do! The whole city will see. We'll have our choice ofjobs."

"Lois, we don't need our choice of jobs. We havegreat jobs, remember? We just have to figure out how we're going toget home to do them."

But all those slamming doors had Lois's back up;she hardly heard him. Somewhere in this city was a huge story justwaiting for them to stumble on it, she knew it. And she'd findit.

*****

Catherine stepped onto her balcony for a breath ofnight air before retiring. She studiously did not look to her right,toward the shadowed corner. He wouldn't be there, any more than he'dbeen there the past five nights.

And she missed him, with a deep ache that wouldn'tbe soothed.

The boy who'd attacked her, and been attacked byVincent in return, had been released from the hospital this morning.His injuries had turned out to be minimal, and he was expected tomake a full recovery. Catherine wished she could expect as much fromVincent. But each time he descended into that darkness on her behalf,it took something from him. Each time, he retreated a little fartherinto himself, and it took a little longer for him to comeback.

And he wouldn't let her help him.

She bent her head in sorrow. He had to stop comingto help her; she had to stop putting herself at risk.

Tomorrow. She'd talk to Joe tomorrow.

*****

"Clark?"

"Hmmm?" He was reading a copy of the West SideSentinel in light so dim she could barely see.

She curled against his side, floating on thecushion of air provided by his aura and his ability to fly. She shookhis arm. "Clark!"

"Hmmm? What?" He finally tore his eyes away fromwhat he was reading and looked at her, his glasses glinting in thefaint glow of distant streetlights.

"Why do you wear those? They don't help you see,and I know what you look like without them."

"What?" His hand went self-consciously to hisface. "I guess I'm just used to them. I'll take them off if it'llmake you happy."

She sighed. "No, that's okay. I'm justbored."

"Well, do something."

"Like what? We're on a rooftop here, Kent, in caseyou hadn't noticed. Not even enough light to read by. Unless, ofcourse, you're Superman. Which I'm not."

"I'm sorry, honey. Want me to read toyou?"

She laid her head back down against his arm. "No."She couldn't summon much interest in what their new employer's papermight have to say.

He folded the paper and laid it aside. "Want totalk?"

"I want to be home, with my computer and my TV andmy VCR..."

His arm slipped around her, bringing her close. "Iknow. I do, too."

"I just wish I knew how we got here. And if we'reever going to get home again."

"Well, actually, I've been thinking about that.How much do you remember about the day we came here?"

"Everything," she said fervently. "I remember itall."

"Specifically? Right before the shift?"

"Before we came?" She thought back. "We were onour way to talk to that bank guard..."

"Right."

"And those kids came up to you." She looked athim. "Do you think the kids were in on it? Zapped us somehow and sentus here?"

"Zapped us?" he repeated, teasinggently.

"Well, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, and no, I don't. I think they were justkids, looking for directions to the museum."

"Well, that's all I remember. We started walkingand next thing we knew, we were here."

"And I had that pen in my hand!" He said it asthough it were a new discovery.

"Yeah? That was a nice pen, by theway."

"Yeah, it was, and I never thanked you forit."

"Why would you thank me?"

"Because you gave it to me?" He made it aquestion, but there wasn't any uncertainty in his eyes.

She frowned. "I did not."

"Well, then, who did? I found it on my desk thatmorning, gift wrapped. I figured it was another one of your 'I'msorry I got mad about you having to...'" his hand sliced the air andhe looked at her questioningly.

Lois sat up straight. "I do not give you presentsto apologize for being mad! I don't even get mad anymore. All thatmuch. Hardly ever." She paused, thinking over what she'd just said,and decided not to amend it any more. "I give you presents because Ilove you."

He drew her toward him for a kiss. "I know," heanswered. "And I love getting them for just that reason."

"But I didn't give you that pen."

"If you didn't, then who..."

"Tempus!"

"That means it must be the transport device!"Clark exclaimed.

"That means, if we can figure out how it works, wecan go home!" Lois clapped her hands in excitement.

"Um..."

"Clark, you have the pen, don't you? It was inyour hand when..."

"Yeah. But I haven't seen it since we got here. Inall the confusion, I didn't even remember having it."

"It came with us, though. It had to have come withus."

Neither of them really understood how H.G. Wells'stime machines worked, though, much less any modifications Tempusmight have made. "I don't know," Clark answered slowly. "I hope itcame with us."

"But if it did, you'd have it. And youdon't."

"I could have dropped it. The ground was lurchingand shaking and I was scared you'd be hurt. I grabbed you, remember?I wasn't even thinking about the pen."

"So it might be there, where we camein?"

"It might be." Clark's voice was cautious.Remembering the expensive gleam of the pen's black barrel, Loisunderstood. But still they had to look.

"Let's go," she said, popping to her feet. "Rightnow."

Five minutes later, they stood on the pavementwhere they'd arrived so precipitously nearly a week before. "Righthere," Lois said. "Wasn't it? Right here."

"I think so," Clark agreed. "I remember thisstorefront, and down there's the newsstand where we bought thepaper..."

"So if you dropped it, it should be around heresomeplace." She scuffed at a bit of trash in the gutter. "I wish Ihad a flashlight."

"It's okay, honey, I don't need a flashlight,remember?"

Of course she remembered, but she hated juststanding by not doing anything. It made her feel even more helplessthan she already did. Feeling helpless made her cranky, and poorClark had already put up with a lot of cranky this week.

He already had his glasses pulled down; she waitedwith as much patience as she could muster as he slowly scanned thesidewalk, the gutter, and the nearby street. He walked up and down,covering half a block in either direction before he finally sighedand pushed his glasses back up. "It's not here."

"Are you sure? It could have rolled, people mighthave kicked it..."

"I'm sure. I looked everywhere, even into thestorm drain under the street," he pointed to a nearby grate. "It'snot here. Honey, I'm sorry."

For the first time since their ordeal began, herresolve wavered. "Then how will we get home?" she whispered, hatingit that her voice trembled. "Clark, how will we get home?"

He wrapped his arms around her. "I don't know," heanswered softly. "I don't know."

*****

"Joe, could I talk to you aboutsomething...?"

"Yeah? About what?" It was almost a growl, and shevery nearly lost her nerve. Only the memory of anguish in Vincent'seyes kept her going.

"I've been an investigator for you a long time.Longer than most new hires..."

He looked up then, dark eyes suspicious. "You'regood at it, Radcliffe."

"But there's more risk. Joe, I want to get intotrials. More than I have been, I mean. I don't want to go out on anymore investigations."

Joe's expression changed subtly, softening withsurprise... and something else she couldn't quite read. He got up,came around his desk, pushed his door shut with a quiet click, andturned to face her. "What's going on? You getting scared?"

Compassion. That was the something else. Shemustered a smile. "Not scared so much... just, like maybe I've usedup all my luck. I think it's time I started watching mystep."

Joe scowled at the papers scattered on his desk."Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You'vescared the life out of me enough times, I know that. Be nice to knowyou're sitting in a nice, safe courtroom. And you did a nice job onthe Nolan case. Pulled it out when half the office didn't think youwould."

She refrained from asking which half he'd been in."So, is it a deal? No more investigations?"

He let out a long sigh. "Yeah. I'll talk toMoreno. I'll go to bat for you, and I don't think he'llobject."

"Great. Thanks, Joe."

"Yeah," he agreed morosely. "Great for you. ButI've got to find somebody else to do my investigating."

She laughed, and returned to her desk with alighter heart. Maybe tonight she'd go below, find out if Vincent wasready to see her. She could tell him about the arrangement with Joe;she wouldn't say so, but he'd understand she was removing herselffrom danger for his sake... for her own sake. For them.

*****

Lois and Clark shared a job, but they didn'tactually have to share a desk; Martin had arranged to have a secondbattered metal desk wedged into the tiny cubicle that was barelylarge enough to hold one. It was crowded, but they could manage.Barely.

But there was only one computer. Lois had custodyof the keyboard all morning, playing with the software and generallygetting acquainted with the antiquated system.

"It's not antiquated here," Clark reminded her,when she muttered aloud. "Well, not very." The West Side Sentinel wasa small neighborhood paper; its budget hardly ran to state-of-the-arttechnology.

"Yeah, I know," Lois answered. "Actually, it's notmuch different than what they had at the Planet when I started. Ijust got used to bigger and faster."

"I wouldn't know," Clark said pointedly. "Ihaven't gotten to touch it yet."

"Yeah, but your learning curve is shorter," sheanswered absently. "Boy, not much stored on the networkserver."

"Lois, you aren't looking..."

"Trying to," she admitted, and gave a sheepishgrin. "But I don't have Jimmy's knack with computers. I can't crackthe passwords."

"Good," Clark said, with emphasis.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," she announced, andthrust the keyboard in his direction. "Here, you can play for awhile."

"Where are you going?" he askedsuspiciously.

"Not out of the building, I swear!" But mischiefwas dancing in her eyes as she waved goodbye.

She was back twenty minutes later with a cardboardbox. The way she handled it made it look heavy, and he jumped up totake it. "You could have called me," he scolded lightly. "I'd havecarried it for you."

"I'm perfectly capable of carrying my own boxes,"she reminded him archly.

"I know, but..."

"Partners, Kent."

"Right," he conceded, grinning. "Partners. Sowhat've you got?"

She plunked the box down in the middle of his deskand opened it. "Back issues," she announced, and started pulling themout.

"Back issues?"

She nodded, dividing the stack unevenly andpushing the shorter pile over to her own desk. "Back issues of theSentinel, along with the last couple weeks' worth of the Times andthe Post and the Daily News."

Clark gazed at the stack of newspapers remainingon his desk. "What am I supposed to do with them?"

Her grin was teasing. "Read them."

She settled into her own chair and opened the toppaper in her stack with a snap.

"Why?"

She peered over the top of the paper. "Becausewe're in a new city."

Light began to dawn. "Oh."

"We don't know anything about the people who runthis city," she went on. "Or who live here, who operate businesseshere..."

"Familiarization," he said.

"Right."

"Good idea."

The look she gave him was smug. "Ofcourse."

Clark sat and began to riffle through his ownstack of papers, learning about the city and its government and itspeople. Names became familiar; so did places, and situations. Hefinished the stack in short order, and turned to see how Lois wasdoing.

She was racing through the papers, turning pagesquickly. Her discard pile nearly rivaled his.

"Hey," he challenged. "I thought we werereading."

She looked up guiltily. "I am."

"No, you're not. What're you doing?"

"Reading," she insisted.

He dropped his voice. "Superman doesn't read thatfast."

"Yes, he does," she answered, with a pointed lookat the stack of papers he'd already been through.

"Okay, but you're giving him some competition!"Clark waved at Lois's discard pile.

"I'm just good at weeding out the importantstuff," Lois said, glancing sideways at him to see if he wasbuying.

He wasn't. "Lois, you're skimming. What are youlooking for?"

"I'm not looking for anything," she began. "Okay,in particular!" she added, when he gave her a pointedlook.

"But in general?"

She sighed and came clean. "I'm looking for astory."

"The editors in this world assign stories justlike they did back home," Clark told her.

"Not just any story. A big story."

So that's where this was going. He sighed."Lois..."

"I know you say we don't need a big story, Clark,but face it, we've been here over a week and we don't really know howwe got here, it might be that pen, but it might not be, and we don'tknow how we're going to get back, and I hate living on a rooftop andtaking showers at the Y and brushing my teeth in the ladies' room atMcDonald's and only having two outfits to wear and one of them wasn'tmine to begin with and we have to go to the laundromat practicallyevery day and I don't have my car and we're crammed into this littlecubicle, and no one respects us..." Breathless, she wound to a stop.Clark stared at her, hurt.

"Oh, Clark, I didn't mean..."

"I hate it, too, Lois," he said quietly. "I hatenot giving you the things you want, I hate us not being able to gohome at the end of the day. But we have a home, and we have jobs. Iwant to concentrate on getting back, not on making our wayhere."

"But we're not even sure how we got here!" shewailed.

"I know. But we'll figure something out.Meanwhile," he nudged the papers on his desk, "I think your idea wasgood. We do homework."

"Yeah." She went back to the paper in her hands.Slowly, this time.

"Hey," she said, a few minutes later. "Here'ssomething."

"What?" Clark murmured, without lookingup.

"A story."

"Mmm?"

She folded the paper in her lap and used it toswat his upraised knee. "Clark!"

"What?" He dropped his feet to the floor with athump.

She thrust the paper into his hands. "Look at thisarticle."

"Little bitty thing," he commented. "Buried on theback page."

"Yes, but read it!"

He did, very quickly. "Okay, I read it. A teenagerwith questionable intentions got hurt. I'm sorry for him, but I don'tsee a story..."

"No, it's how he got hurt! See, it says here hewas slashed, but the police don't know what kind of weapon or toolmight have been used, it looks kind of like claws..."

"Ninja claws," Clark answered promptly. "I'msurprised you didn't think of them, considering your martial artsbackground."

"I did think of them, but apparently they've beenruled out somehow... wait, you didn't see that article yet, it's inthe next day's paper, wait a minute, I'll find it..."

A moment later she came up with the succeedingarticle. "See, it says here that there have been other slashings,with some deaths, over the past couple of years."

"And you think we ought to make it our business tofind out who's been doing the slashing?"

"Yes! This could be the story that makes ourreputations!"

"I already have a reputation. I'd just like to gethome so I can enjoy it."

"Yeah, me, too, but as long as we're stuck here...and we're writing stories anyway..."

He looked at her first with doubt, then with alarmas he saw her expression. Uh-oh.

With a seductive smile, she insinuated herselfinto his lap and wound her arms around his neck. "Please?" shemurmured, close to his ear. "I'll be really nice toyou..."

He couldn't help it - he laughed. "You'reshameless."

"Yeah," she admitted, smiling. "But only withyou."

Persuaded, Clark flipped rapidly through the restof the stack, reading at superspeed and pulling out the few articlesrelated to the slasher attacks, then went down to the Sentinel'sclippings library and brought back the file of slasher-relatedarticles.

"Looks like it started a couple of years ago," hesaid, placing the copies in front of Lois.

"Mmm," she agreed absently, intent on the articleshe was reading. A minute later she looked up. "There's a name thatkeeps cropping up as a witness. An assistant D.A. Her name'sCatherine Chandler."

"Yeah, I noticed that."

"And didn't tell me?"

He grinned. "What, and take away your joy ofdiscovery?"

She gave him a mock glare and turned back to theclippings. "Wonder why the police never made the connection?" shemused. "I mean, you'd think they'd have hauled this woman in forquestioning by now."

"Probably because the killings have taken place inso many different precincts," Clark suggested. "The same officershaven't investigated every time."

She peered at him. "We've only been here a week -how do you know where the precincts are?"

He grinned and gestured toward the towering stackof papers on his desk. "I read."

"Oh, yeah. It's not fair, either. You whiz, Islog..."

He leaned down to kiss her. "You don't slog. Youread pretty fast, actually."

She smiled up at him. "Yeah," she agreed. "Maybe."She looked back at the clippings. "I think we need to talk to thiswoman."

Clark's smile faded. "Lois, maybe we should juststick to the story we were assigned..."

"A new lion cub at the zoo? I don't think so. Thisis the story that's going to put us back on top!" She stabbed at theclippings with an emphatic finger, then grabbed her notebook. "Youwrite the story about the lion, okay? I'm going over to the D.A.'soffice."

"Lois!" But it was too late. She was alreadygone.

*****

Lois got all the way down to the sidewalk beforeshe remembered she didn't have a car here. She didn't have enoughmoney for a cab either. And to top it all off, she hadn't been herelong enough to know where to find the D.A.'s office. Exasperated, shespun around and stalked back into the building.

The Sentinel's part time receptionist provided aphone book and a map of the city. It didn't take Lois long to locatethe D.A.'s offices - far south of where she was - and call for a busschedule.

The bus ride took longer than she expected; whenshe finally did step off, tired and disheveled, Clark was waiting outin front of the Criminal Justice building.

"Hi," he greeted, with aggravatingcheer.

"How'd you...? Never mind," she answered herself."Did you write the story?"

"Wrote it and sent it off to Alex," he agreed,still cheerfully. "He liked it."

"He would. Aren't you supposed to be at the printshop about now?"

"I called Mr. Schofield and told him I'd be alittle late."

She gave up being grumpy with him. "Okay. I guessI'm glad to have you along."

They made their way up to the fourteenth floor,where the D.A.'s offices were housed.

"Miss Chandler? I think she's... yes, she's overthere." The clerk they'd waylaid pointed out an attractive woman ofabout thirty. Her fair coloring and small stature made her lookvulnerable, but the look she turned on them was anythingbut.

"May I help you?" she asked, glancing from one tothe other.

"Yes." Lois plunged forward. "I'm Lois Lane, andthis is my partner, Clark Kent. We're reporters for the Da - WestSide Sentinel. Is there some place we can talk?"

"I'm sorry, I'm on my way out. If you seeCharlene," she pointed out the receptionist who was just returning toher desk, "she'll make you an appointment. Excuse me."

Catherine moved past them, toward thedoor.

Lois wheeled and hurried after her. "MissChandler, it'll only take a few minutes. We'll walk down withyou."

Catherine looked skeptical, then shrugged. "Suityourselves. The West Side Sentinel. I've heard of it, but I'm notsure I've ever read it. It has a good reputation."

The remark sounded just a touch wary to Lois'scynical ear, but Clark seemed to take it at face value. "We haven'tbeen with the paper long," he said, "but its reputation was one ofthe things that drew us."

"I see." She punched the button to summon theelevator, then turned to face them. "What can I help you with? Yourealize I can't talk about any of my current cases."

Clark managed to sound apologetic. "No, MissChandler, we wanted to talk to you about something else."

"A series of slasher murders," Lois added,watching the other woman closely. "You were a witness to a number ofthese murders..."

The elevator arrived just then; Catherine turnedtoward the opening doors, lowering her head so that her hair swungdown to hide her eyes.

By the time they'd all entered the car andarranged themselves, she seemed composed, but the color was gone fromher face. "I'm familiar with the killings," she said, and punched thebutton for the ground floor. "But I've already told the policeeverything I know."

Clark took up the questioning. "We're wonderinghow it is that you seem to be in the vicinity when so many of theseincidents take place."

"I don't know." Her voice was flat andexpressionless, but the look on her face was one ofdefiance.

All Lois's instincts prickled. "In at least acouple of the cases, you were reported missing shortly before theslashings occurred," she pursued. "Can you comment onthat?"

Catherine Chandler seemed to look inward for amoment. "Sometimes my job is dangerous," she said, finally. "I deal,obviously, with the criminal element. Sometimes I am threatened in aneffort to get me to change my actions."

"Yes, but that doesn't explain the slashings,"Clark pointed out. "Is it someone who's protecting you? And if so,why hasn't he or she made a statement to the police?"

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to tell you that,"she answered, looking grim. The elevator arrived on the ground floorand the doors slid open. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have anappointment..."

She walked away rapidly. Lois would have followedand continued to question, but Clark held her back. "Let hergo."

"All right," Lois agreed. "But tonight, when shegets off work..."

He looked at her wearily. "I know. We followher."

*****

In the tiny threshold chamber below Catherine'sapartment building, Vincent stood braced against the wall; hisstillness was stark counterpoint to the agitation within.

Catherine was distressed to the point of tears,and had been since mid-afternoon. It was well past the supper hournow, but Catherine had only reached her building a few minutesbefore. Her urgency had drawn him, and held him here. She wouldn't belong.

They hadn't met since that night nearly a weekago. He dreaded the moment, fast approaching, when she would climbdown the ladder and turn to look at him.

In her eyes, he knew, would be tenderness, andboundless love.

And in him would rise up a magnitude of shame. Soit had been each time he protected her, and so it would continue.Until finally she realized what he was and what he wasnot.

Then the love she had for him would turn tohorror. And he would be once more alone.

The low door at the top of the ladder opened,spilling light into the small, dark chamber. She climbed downquickly. He waited for her to turn and find him in the dim littleroom.

He ached to sweep her into his arms; it had beendays since he'd held her and he missed the comfort of her touch.Instead, he asked, "What is it?"

She shook her head in weary frustration. "Somereporters. Asking me about..." She stopped.

Searching for the right words. But he knew. "Aboutme. When I... come to you."

"Yes. It's been months, Vincent, and we've been socareful! I've been careful... except for the othernight..."

"You were on a public thoroughfare, going aboutyour own business..." His first instinct, always, was to shieldher.

"After dark, alone," she counteredbitterly.

Despair ran between them; hers, he thought, thoughhe couldn't be sure. He succumbed to longing and instinct and tookher arm, drawing her toward him. She came willingly. He hoped shefound as much strength in their embrace as he did.

"I wish..." she began, speaking softly from justunder his chin. She let the words trail away. What did she wish? "Iwish I'd been smarter," she said finally. "I wish I'd paid moreattention to what I was doing - to you, to myself..."

"Don't blame yourself, Catherine," he said gently."It is I..."

"Who saved my life more times than I can count,"she answered quickly, roughly, pulling away. "Who would do anythingto keep me safe. I'm the one who got into trouble, Vincent. I'm theone..."

"If you have committed any crime, Catherine, it isonly one of carelessness."

She swung around to stare at him.

He looked down at his own clenched fists. "Not ofmurder."

"It's not murder to protect yourself, Vincent.It's not murder to protect the life of someone else."

"Is it murder... to glory in the killing ofanother? No matter the justification for the killing itself?" There.He'd said it. He'd dropped the terrible thing into the silencebetween him. Now she would be horrified. Now she would go.

But she stayed. Stayed looking at him withcompassion and love. "No," she answered softly. "It's a terriblething, but it's not murder." She approached him, and put her hand onhis arm. "Will you talk to me about it?"

Shame rose up, closing his throat. He couldn'tmeet her look. She must not have understood, and he couldn't say itagain. How could he explain the joy and triumph that surged withinhim at each kill? Where would he find the words? "Perhaps... later,"he temporized. "But now... tell me about these reporters."

"Vincent..." There was pleading in hervoice.

"The reporters," he repeated. "You've beendistressed all afternoon..."

She gazed at him a moment longer, then looked awaywith a sigh. "They came to me asking about... the killings. Myinvolvement." She seldom was agitated enough to pace, but she did sonow, crossing and recrossing the small square chamber with impatientstrides.

Vincent settled against the wall and strove forcalm. "Your story has always been, in every case, that you were beingthreatened, and that you didn't see what came to yourrescue."

"Yes," she answered. "But I'm not sure it'll holdup in front of experienced reporters who are linking all the...incidents... together."

"They may conclude there is something - someone -who protects you," he said, wishing only to dispel her fears. "Butthey cannot disprove your assertion that you have not seen yourprotector and do not know who it is."

"They can't disprove it, but they don't have tobelieve it, either." The look she gave him was ragged withdesperation. "If I were them, I'd be following me right now. We haveto be very careful now. I can come to you here, they can't get pastthe doorman, but I shouldn't use any of the other entrances, and youshould be very careful about getting messages to me, if you shouldneed to."

"Yes," he agreed immediately. The precautions madesense. But the idea of separation was agonizing. Seeing her used tobe a desire; now, in some way he couldn't explain, it was a need,deep-running and constant. "How long do we go on thisway?"

"I don't know," she confessed. The look on herface said she was as anguished as he. "The paper they work for isreputable - at least we're not dealing with the Inquiring Star thistime - but it's also very small... I'd guess they wouldn't have theresources to keep two reporters on one story for very long. A week ortwo?"

He nodded acceptance, but the longing made himreach up and touch her face. "You must be even more careful. It wouldbe dangerous for me to come to you while these reporters arewatching."

"I know." She moved her head, pressing her cheekinto his palm. "I talked with Joe today... about not doinginvestigations any more."

Something inside him went cold and still. "Whatdid he say?"

"He thinks it's a good idea. He's going to talk toMoreno, but he thinks it'll go through. I'll be safer then. Justoffice and courtroom work." She bent her head. "I don't want you tohave to come for me any more, Vincent," she said, her voice low. "Idon't want it to be that way, between us. Not ever again."

But if it was not that way, what way would it be?Regret rose where there should have been relief. Was he so addictedto the kill? So drawn by that rush of ecstasy that he would ratherrisk Catherine's life than give it up? "I want you to be safe." Thatmuch he could say, truthfully. Somehow, shamefully, he couldn'tsummon gladness.

*****

A week's separation from Vincent, enforced byoccasional glimpses of one or both reporters from the West SideSentinel, was wearing on Catherine; once again she hadn't slept well,and got to the office a few minutes late.

Joe's voice summoned her before she could evenreach her desk. "Radcliffe!"

She headed toward his office. "Yeah?"

He motioned her all the way in.

"What's going on, Joe?"

"I need you to go check out a case."

Catherine stiffened. "I thought I wasn't doinginvestigations any more."

"You aren't," Joe answered. "Just like we agreed.Except this one."

"Joe..."

"I know, I know, but we need you onthis."

"Let Baxter do it," she said, naming the newestinvestigator in the D.A.'s office.

"Baxter wouldn't be any good at this, Cathy. Weneed you."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Greg Hughs just called me - about a 911 call thatcame in last night." He slid a shiny-curly sheet of fax paper acrosshis desk. "Here's the police report."

Catherine owed Hughs a number of favors, the mostrecent of which was the return of her keys. She couldn't begin totrack what she owed Joe, who had always been her friend. Reluctantlyshe reached for the folder and flipped it open, skimming quickly."Domestic call?" She glanced at Joe. "No charges filed? I thoughtthat was a requirement now, whether the victim wanted to presscharges or not."

"Yeah, it is," Joe confirmed. "Except in thiscase, the husband is Officer Glen Stevens... of the NYPD. By the timea patrol got there - and they took their sweet time on it - it wasall over, including the shouting, and the wife wouldn't even come tothe door to talk to the officers."

"Who went away without insisting they at least seeher to be sure she was all right." Catherine could see itall.

"Yeah. Hard to insist, I guess, when it's yourfellow officer telling you things are fine."

"Has anyone talked to her today?"

"Greg called the house after the husband's dutyshift started. She answered the phone, but when he identifiedhimself, she hung up on him. I don't like this, Cathy. Greg and I arehoping she'll talk to you."

"Because I'm a woman," Catherineguessed.

"And because you're not a cop," Joe agreed. "It'sinvestigation, Cathy, but it should absolutely not bedangerous."

"Where have I heard that before?" she muttered,wryly.

"Daytime, good neighborhood," Joe coaxed. "You godown there, you talk to the wife, you see what you can find out.Okay?"

"All right," she conceded, finally. "I'll do it.But this is the last one, okay?"

He regarded her thoughtfully, then offered hisfirst smile of the day. "Okay."

*****

Clark and Lois watched Catherine emerge from theCriminal Justice building and turn left, striding down the sidewalkwith confidence. "Where do you suppose she's going?" Lois asked. "Notthe courthouse."

"No," Clark agreed. "Wrong direction. Maybesomething's finally happening."

At the corner, Catherine lifted her arm; a yellowtaxi swerved obligingly to the curb and she got in.

"Uh-oh," Lois muttered. "We're going to lose her.Darn, I wish I had my car!"

"We could splurge on cab fare," Clark suggestedtentatively. "Wait a minute." He gestured for silence and focused hissuperhearing, then turned to Lois. "Any idea where 744 South Loganmight be?"

She rolled her eyes in answer. It took a fewminutes to find a phone booth with an intact phone directory, butafter that it was only a matter of seconds to locate South Logan onthe map. Clark slapped the book shut and caught Lois's hand. "Comeon. A cab will take too long."

He dragged her into a nearby alley, glanced aroundto be sure no one was looking, then put his arms around her and shotinto the air faster than the human eye could follow.

"Whew!" she exclaimed, when he slowed, high abovethe city. "Sometimes you take my breath away!"

He held her closer and grinned. "Oh,yeah?"

She pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw."Yeah. And sometimes we aren't even flying."

The only answer for that was a kiss. When itended, Clark flew them to where he judged 744 South Logan would beand located a secluded spot in which to land. "We have to go down asquickly as we went up," he warned.

"Taking my breath away again already," she teased,in answer. "This time I'll be ready." She tucked her head under hischin. "Okay."

"Okay." He took careful aim and dropped straightdown, easing up only in the last foot to land them gently.

"Wow." Lois stepped back and smoothed her handsover her mussed hair. Usually when they flew together, he held hercradled in his arms, and went more gently. But she didn't seem tomind the more rapid form of transit.

The alley they'd landed in gave out on LoganStreet only a half-block from 744. Mere minutes after their arrival,Catherine's cab pulled up to the curb. They waited a discreetdistance away while she paid the driver and entered thebuilding.

Clark surveyed the area, then veered to cross thestreet.

"Hey!" Lois called, then scrambled to follow."Where are we going?" she asked, catching up.

The buildings on either side of the street werethree- and four-story brownstone townhouses in varying stages ofdisrepair. Clark zeroed in on the wide concrete steps of a houseacross the street from the one Catherine Chandler had entered. Hetook Lois's shoulders and guided her to sit, then sat beside her."We're about to have a heart-to-heart talk," he told her.

"About what?"

"About anything your little heart desires," heanswered, grinning. "Since I won't be listening."

"Oh." She glanced at the building across thestreet. "Actually, we'd better be having a low-voiced argument. Sinceyou're not going to be looking at me."

"Good idea."

Lois slid away from him, turned, and leaned towardhim, making her body language confrontational. She began speaking,keeping the pitch and volume low.

Clark had already tuned her out, concentrating hishearing on the house across the street. After a minute he took offhis glasses and rubbed his forehead, as if weary.

The house across the street had apparently beenconverted to apartments; his x-ray vision located Catherine climbingto the third floor. She approached one of the two doors opening ontothe dingy landing and knocked gently.

*****

"Mrs. Stevens?" Catherine pitched her voice tocarry through the battered door.

"Who is it?" The voice behind the door was stiffand inhospitable.

"My name is Catherine Chandler," she answered."I'm with the District Attorney's office. I'd like to talk to youabout the 911 call you made last night?"

The silence that ensued went on so long thatCatherine wondered if the woman had simply walked away from the door."Mrs. Stevens?"

"I don't know anything about any 911 call," thewoman answered.

"A call was made from your number," Catherineanswered. "Please. I'll only take a moment of your time."

She heard the snap of a lock being turned and thedoor opened on the chain; beyond, she could see a wedge of theapartment. It looked tidy; in a corner stood a baby's playpen. No onehad mentioned children might be involved.

"I told you, I don't know anything about any 911call." The voice came from behind the door. "So you can just leavenow."

"Please. I want to help you."

A woman's face - her lip split, her cheek vividwith bruises, her eye swollen nearly shut - slid into view. "Youcan't help," she hissed, between bruised lips. "No one can. Don't youunderstand that?"

The door shut; locks clicked back into place withgrim finality and nothing Catherine could say roused any furtherresponse.

*****

Clark blinked and turned off the x-rays. He lethis hearing come back to normal too, and only then realized thatinstead of invective, Lois was giving him a detailed description ofwhat she might do to him if they were only in private, occasionallyadding a comment about what he might do to her in return.

It distracted him enough to make him glance ather, but wasn't enough to hold his attention. His gaze returned tothe building across the street.

Lois put her hand on his. "Clark? What is it,what's going on?"

Only then did he realize his fists were clenchedso tight the knuckles were white. "I couldn't hear it all," he said,his voice choked. "There're kids playing in an apartment downstairs,making noise..."

"Okay, but what did you see?"

"The woman... she's been beaten, Lois. Beaten sobadly..." Part of him longed to get his hands on the man - he wassure it was a man - who'd administered the beating. The rest of himsuspected it was just as well the culprit was safely out ofreach.

"Beaten...?"

"Bruised and swollen... on her face, herarms..."

Lois's voice went soft and tentative. "Maybe shefell..."

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Youdidn't see her. Nobody gets hurt like that from a fall. She lookslike a boxer the day after a losing match."

That was an image Lois could understand. She lether breath out slowly. "Who do you think might have..."

"I don't know. I heard Miss Chandler say somethingabout a 911 call, but the rest of it..." He shot to his feet. "Comeon. I want to talk to some of the neighbors..."

He'd only taken a step when the front door of thebuilding opposite began to open. Catherine Chandler was coming out;another second and she'd see them. Clark didn't doubt for an instantthat she would recognize them, and know they were followingher.

Lois had risen to follow him; he swung around andcaught her up in a hard embrace, pressing his lips to hers. She wentstiff with startlement, then, just as quickly, relaxed and began tokiss him back.

Without breaking the kiss, Clark tipped his headjust a little and peeked across the street; Catherine emerged fromthe house with her head down and did no more than glance their waybefore turning north.

Clark waited until she was halfway down the blockbefore he ended the kiss.

"Mmm," Lois said, when he released her. "Not thatI'm complaining, but what was that for?"

He nodded at the rapidly retreating back of theirquarry. "If she'd recognized us, you can bet she'd have been overhere accusing us of harassment."

Lois smacked him in the chest. "You kissed me as acover?"

He grinned. "Yeah. But I enjoyed it."

"Hmph." She started off down the sidewalk, butstopped when he didn't follow. "Come on!" she urged. "We're going tolose her."

Still he didn't move.

"Clark!"

"Listen, Lois, you go on and follow her, okay?" Heglanced at the converted brownstone across the street. "I want to aska few questions... and then I have to get to Mr.Schofield's."

She came back to him. "Questions? Clark, I havenothing but compassion for that poor woman, but an assault - or evendomestic violence - just isn't as newsworthy as what we'reafter."

"The slasher," he said heavily.

"Right."

"You know I'm not enthusiastic about thatstory..."

"Yeah, and I don't know why not. It's the kind ofthing we're good at! Hunting down the truth."

Clark looked to where Catherine Chandler wasturning the corner. "Yeah. But somehow, I don't think this truthneeds to be hunted down."

"You're a sentimental softy, you know that,Kent?"

He managed a grin. "How could I forget? You remindme often enough."

Her look softened. "So, we're splittingup?"

"Yeah. Don't go anywhere too unusual, okay? I wantto be able to find you. If the earth suddenly shifts under myfeet..."

"If it moves under mine, I'll yell," shepromised.

"And I'll be there before you finish," heanswered. "I'm not going back to our universe without you, and I'mnot letting you go without me."

"My hero." She stretched up to give him a quickkiss. "Gotta go, or I'll lose her."

"She went left at the corner," he advised, andstood on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, until Lois disappearedfrom view.

*****

That night, Vincent came to Catherine's balcony.His claws clicked lightly against the glass of her French doors; sheleaped to her feet and hurried outside.

"You shouldn't have come," she said as she wentinto his arms.

He held her close. "How could I not come? I knowhow distressed you are."

"It's just work," she answered, pressing her faceinto his vest, inhaling his scent. "Not anything I can'thandle..."

"But it's upset you, Catherine," he said gently,releasing her and stepping back. His expression, in the dim lightfrom her living room, was grave. "More than your work usually upsetsyou. I thought you needed to talk."

She glanced uneasily over the balcony rail. "Idon't suppose my faithful shadows can see you," she decided. "Stayback from the edge, though, please?"

"I will if you will talk to me," he agreed."What's troubling you?"

She looked out over the city, gathering herthoughts. "I went out on a new case today. A woman was beatenviciously, almost certainly by her husband, and she won't talk to usabout it."

He looked horrified. "Why?"

"Because she's scared. She made a 911 call lastnight, but when the police finally got there, things were quiet andher husband sent them away. Joe wanted me to see if she'd talk to me.She wouldn't, though. She acted terrified. I left my card, but Ireally don't expect to hear from her... and she'd been severelybeaten, Vincent. If you could have seen her face..."

Vincent sank onto a narrow, wrought iron bench. "Icannot comprehend the thinking of a man who would use his strengthagainst someone who loves him."

"I can't, either," she answered, sitting besidehim.

His hand crept over to cover hers. "She needs yourhelp, Catherine."

"How can I, when she won't talk to me?"

"You must try again. And keep trying until shelistens to you. You must not let her be alone in this."

Catherine nodded slowly. "I won't. I'll go backtomorrow. And the next day, and the next. Until shelistens."

*****

"No, Lois, I'm not going to x-ray thebuilding."

"Oh, but, Clark!" Lois leaned against his arm andwheedled. "Just a little peek?"

He pulled his glasses down and peered at her overthe rims. "No. Not even the tiniest glance. Those are people's homesin there! I'm not going to spy on people in their homes."

"I don't want you to spy on all of them. JustCatherine Chandler." She leaned back and crossed her arms. "Youdidn't mind peeking into people's homes earlier."

"Just the public hallway," he said, not without asquirm of conscience.

"But you saw the woman's face..."

"Uh, yeah. But she was standing at her front door,talking to Miss Chandler..."

"You're splitting hairs, Kent. I don't want you towatch women undressing... in fact," she poked him with her elbow,"you'd better not watch women undressing! I just want a little peekto see which apartment's hers, and make sure she's there, andalone..."

"And if she's undressing when I peekin?"

"I expect you to do the virtuous thing and lookaway."

"Virtuous. Right." He sighed. "Okay, but just aquick peek."

Lois settled against him with a happy sigh."Great. I checked her address - her apartment's 21E. So start withthe twenty-first floor."

Clark counted windows. "There is no twenty-firstfloor."

"What?" Lois counted, too. "You're right. It stopsat twenty floors. How'd she get to be 21E?"

"Some builders skip the thirteenth floor," Clarksuggested. "I'll try the twentieth floor." He scanned quickly, andfrowned. "Those apartments are numbered 23, A through F."

"Weird," Lois commented. "Twenty-one fromtwenty-three is two; try two floors down."

"Got it. 21B... 21D... ah, there it is, on theeighteenth floor. And I thought your old apartment building wasnumbered strangely."

"Is she there?"

"What, you think she slipped out the back when weweren't looking? I have to be careful here... don't want tointrude..."

"Have to avoid peeking at women undressing," Loisagreed solemnly. "Did you find her?"

"Yeah. She's on her balcony." He frowned. "Shelooks kind of pensive... I wonder what's wrong?"

"Well, she knows we're on to her, for one," Loissaid.

"I suppose." Clark slid his glasses back up wherethey belonged. "Lois, I've been thinking about that woman thisafternoon..."

"The one in the apartment?" Loisguessed.

He nodded. "I think there's a story inthere..."

Lois took a deep breath. "Clark, it's not that Idon't have compassion for that woman - I do. But vile as domesticviolence is... and I'm making a leap here by assuming that's whathappened... it's not news. It probably ought to be, but it'snot."

"Not usually," he agreed. "But I talked with someof the neighbors, Lois. The husband's a police officer."

"Even that's not so uncommon," Loisargued.

"This isn't the first time she's had bruises. Theneighbors all told me it always takes the police a long time torespond when they call. Too long."

"Maybe they were busy with more urgentcalls?"

Clark tapped his ear. "The city was quiet lastnight, honey. Oh, there were the usual rash of muggings and a coupleof hits on liquor stores and stuff... but for the most part it wasquiet. And it still took the police over an hour to respond. Thereporter's instinct you helped me to hone tells me there's somethingthere."

"You think the police are covering for thehusband?" Lois asked thoughtfully.

"I think it's possible. And if it's true, it's aheck of a story."

"Yeah. Police corruption always is." She nodded."Okay. When we get to the office tomorrow, we'll have to see aboutgetting a copy of the police dispatcher's log."

Clark grinned. "I think that's a good idea." Hegestured vaguely upward. "So, can we give up on this slasher thingnow?"

"No!" Lois looked affronted. "The policecorruption thing's only a maybe, Clark. We need a big story, and *my*reporter's instinct says we're onto something here."

He sighed, and looked sideways at her. "It meanssplitting up again tomorrow. One of us has to work on the mood pieceAlex assigned us."

"Oh. Yeah. I forgot about that."

"I know you hate doing that kind of thing... wantme to take it, while you work on the dispatch logs?"

She smiled. "Okay. And then I'll pick up Chandlerin the afternoon, while you go to the print shop."

"Great." He leaned back, glancing upward. "Oh, herlights are out. Guess that means we can go home?"

"Home. Right." Lois gave him a crooked smile."Rooftop, sweet rooftop."

The darkened expanse of Central Park was at theirbacks; they faded into its shadows. When Clark was sure they wereinvisible from the street, he put his arms around Lois and tookoff.

He set her down a moment later on the rooftopthey'd come to think of as theirs and, whipping his cape into being,spread it out.

She sank down on it and looked up at him. "Clark,how long do you suppose it'll be before we can afford a place tolive?"

He sat beside her and tugged at his boots. "Idon't know. A few weeks, maybe. The Sentinel doesn't pay much, andwe'd have to save up first and last month's rent and a damagedeposit."

"A few weeks!" Lois modulated her voice witheffort. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound critical... but Clark, Ican't live another few weeks on a rooftop! With no running water, andno furniture and we have to worry about someone seeingus..."

"Yeah, Lois, I know," he said. "I wasn't going totell you yet, but I was talking with Mr. Schofield about that thisafternoon. About us needing a place to stay."

"Yeah?"

"And he thinks he might know of a place. He'sgoing to check and let me know tomorrow."

"Oh! Oh, Clark, that'd be great! Just think, abathroom..." she ran a seductive finger down his chest, "...and abed..."

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips,kissing her fingers. "I miss having our own place... and bed... asmuch as you do. This probably won't be much - a furnished room in aboarding house, maybe, but it'll be better than arooftop."

"Especially..." Lois held out an experimentalhand. Yes, she was right, moisture was dropping from the sky,"...when it's raining!"

Quicker than thought, Clark scooped her and theirbelongings up and whisked them across a handful of rooftops to onethat boasted a deep overhang. They stood in its shelter, watchingwater run from the edge.

"You rat." Lois's smile and hug belied her words."You've been holding out on me."

"I spotted this a few days ago," he admitted."It's not as comfortable as our usual rooftop, and I don't think it'sas secure, but I thought it might come in handy."

"It's kind of nice," Lois admitted, looking out atthe rain. "Kind of cozy."

Clark tightened his arm around her shoulders,turning her towards him. "Yes, it is," he agreed softly.

"Kind of... intimate."

"Mmm." He nuzzled her neck.

"Even kind of... romantic?"

"Yeah."

"You know, we've been here nearly three weeks, andwe haven't..."

"I know." He nibbled delicately on herear.

"And it doesn't look like we're going to bedisturbed..."

"No," he agreed. "What with all therain..."

"Mmm." She leaned against him. "But we're warm anddry..."

"Yes..."

"So we can..."

"Yes."

*****

Catherine was at Virginia Stevens' apartment firstthing the next morning. She lingered outside until a fair, slenderman emerged from the building that housed the Stevenses' apartment.He wore the uniform of a patrolman in the NYPD; he whistled as hestrode down the block.

Catherine had done her homework yesterday, andrecognized the man as police officer Glen Stevens. She shook off thechill that went down her spine and mounted the steps, thinking ofVirginia Stevens and her eight-month-old son.

"Mrs. Stevens?" she called through the closedapartment door.

There was no answer; the chill cameback.

Catherine knocked harder. "Mrs. Stevens, it'sCatherine Chandler from the D.A.'s office again. I'm not leavinguntil you talk to me."

At last she heard the rattle of locks.

"Mrs. Stevens?"

"Go away!" An eye, the surrounding flesh bruisedand swollen, showed in the narrow opening between door and frame."You've done enough harm!"

"Mrs. Stevens, I want to help you."

"And I told you yesterday, you can't! No one can.All you're doing is making it worse!"

"Mrs. Stevens, please..."

"Don't you understand? He talks to the neighbors!They told him you were here yesterday."

Catherine went cold. "Did he hurt youagain?"

There was no answer, but the door didn'tclose.

"Mrs. Stevens, I can take you, you and your baby,to a place where you'll be safe. Someplace he can't get toyou."

The answering hiss was low and bitter. "You stilldon't get it, do you? He's a cop. He knows where the safe houses are.He'll find me. He'll kill me."

"No. I know a place he can't find. Mrs. Stevens, Ipromise you... for your own sake, for your child..."

"I can't..." But there was a waver in hervoice.

Catherine leaned closer, pitching her voice low."Mrs. Stevens, I am not making this up. I know a place your husbandwon't know about. It's not an official safe house, so the policearen't aware of it. But I have friends who live there, and I knowthey'll take you in. They'll keep you safe."

"But for how long? Sooner or later I'd have tocome out... try to make my living. He'd find me then."

"Not this place. You can stay there forever if youneed to. You can live there and work there, your child can go toschool... Mrs. Stevens, please believe me. Get your baby and comewith me, now. Your life could depend on it."

A low moan sounded from behind the door. "If I do,he'll kill me. If I don't... he's going to find out you were here.He's going to be so angry..."

"Then you have no choice. You have to comenow."

Half an hour later, Catherine carried a suitcaseand bulging diaper bag down the stairs. Virginia Stevens followed,her son clutched in her arms. A cab, summoned by a telephone callonce Catherine had been admitted to the apartment, waited outside.They hurried into it and sped off.

Catherine watched, but no one followed. Still, apolice officer could access the cab records, so she asked the driverto let them off at a random corner, where she let the cab disappearinto traffic before hailing another. They changed cabs in this waythree times before Catherine was satisfied, and gave the driver alegitimate address. "These are friends," she said, as they pulled upin front of Long's Grocery. "They'll help."

Young Edward Long was waiting to guide them. "Isent a pipe message after you called, Miss Chandler," he said as heled them into the shop's basement. "Someone should bewaiting."

Someone was. Catherine recognized the blond youngwoman, and the dark-haired teenager at her side.

"Hi, Catherine," the young woman greeted. "Edwardsaid you need help."

"Not me," Catherine said, moving aside. "But myfriend does. This is Virginia. Virginia, this is Jamie..."

Jamie's eyes widened, but whether that was atVirginia's battered appearance, or just that Catherine was bringingher to the tunnels, Catherine wasn't sure.

She pushed on doggedly. "...and Zach."

Zach was better at covering his surprise. "Hi,Virginia."

Virginia mustered a tiny smile. "Nice to meet you.You can call me Ginny."

"Ginny," Zach repeated, politely.

Jamie fixed Catherine with an incredulous stare."Does Father know...?" she hissed.

"It's okay, Vincent and I talked about this lastnight."

"Did he tell you to bring her?" Jamie's voice heldmore than a trace of suspicion.

"No," Catherine admitted. "But he'll back meup."

"You know he will, Jamie," Zach said. "He alwaysdoes."

"Father," Jamie predicted grimly, "is going toexplode." She reached for the suitcase.

"Are you coming, Catherine?" Zachasked.

"I can't. I have to get to the office... I'm latealready." She turned to Ginny Stevens. "Jamie and Zach will take careof you. You'll be safe."

Fear shone in the woman's eyes. "Where will yoube?"

Catherine smiled. "Acting as if I don't knowanything about it." She pressed Ginny's hand. "I'll come see you, allright? Tonight, if I can."

Ginny glanced uneasily at Jamie. "If it's okaywith these people...?"

"It'll be fine," Zach assured her. "Catherinecomes to visit all the time. Here, can I carry the baby foryou?"

"I don't know if he'll go to you," she answereddoubtfully.

"Sure he will," Zach answered cheerfully. "Babieslike me. Come on, little guy, I'll bet you get heavy after a while.Let's give your mom a rest."

Catherine had tried several times to carry thebaby herself, but he would have none of it. But to her surprise, hehesitated only a moment before consenting to be taken into Zach'sarms.

"See?" Zach bragged. "What'd I tellyou?"

Catherine laughed. "Well, I can see you're in goodhands."

Ginny was staring at her young son, who seemedenthralled with Zach's nose. "I guess so," she agreed. "Thank you somuch, Cathy. I can't believe I'm finally going to befree..."

*****

"I'm sorry you lost your story, Clark." Loisworked at putting sympathy in her voice, but must not have been assuccessful as she'd have liked; the look her husband gave her wasbaleful. "I am!" she insisted.

"Yeah, honey," he conceded. He was sprawled on thepark bench across the street from Catherine Chandler's apartmentbuilding, where they'd spent the past few evenings. "I know you are.I just wish I knew where Virginia Stevens was, so I could talk toher."

She shifted on the hard bench. "Don't you have anyleads?"

His grin was wry. "One. The person who took heraway was a woman, late twenties or early thirties, dark blonde hair,wearing a gray suit..."

Uh-oh. "Catherine Chandler was wearing a gray suittoday..."

"I know. And she's the one person in this city Ican't approach."

"Oh, Clark! That means you lost your story becauseof mine. Now I feel awful."

He grinned. "About me losing my story, and aboutyour story being responsible. But not about your story."

"Well, no." She wrapped her arms around his upperarm and leaned against him. "But you knew that."

He kissed her nose. "Yeah. Hey, I forgot to tellyou, Mr. Schofield wants us to come by the shop tomorrow afternoon -there's somebody who wants to meet us."

"Meet us?"

"Yeah. I have the feeling we're going to be underthe microscope. But if we pass muster, it means we'll have a place tostay."

The thought of even the tiniest, grubbiest roomsounded heavenly, as long as it had running water and a bed. "Oh,Clark! What is it, a rooming house, a tenement apartment,what?"

"I don't know, Mr. Schofield didn't say. But I gotthe impression it's more of an extended community."

"Extended...?"

"Like a group of families living in the samebuilding, but with common rooms. Maybe kind of like a collegedorm?"

"Oh. So you have to fit in with the community tobe accepted?"

"I guess so. Anyway, we're supposed to be there atthree."

"No problem. Alex really liked the piece we did onthe church renovation; now he wants us to write a feature on achampionship girls' soccer team..." She just barely kept from rollingher eyes.

Clark laughed. "You did most of the work on thechurch piece; the least I can do is cover the soccer story for you.At least I understand the game."

"Huh. You probably even played when you were akid."

"Sure. I was a pretty good keeper in myday."

"Keeper?"

"Goalkeeper. You know, the one who keeps the ballfrom going in..." He broke off, staring upward. "There's someone upthere."

Lois followed his gaze, but from this distance,she could barely discern which balcony was Catherine Chandler's."Catherine?" she wondered aloud.

"No. I mean, she's there, too, but there's someoneelse." He tipped his glasses down to peer over them. "Big guy, longhair, dressed in this black..." He stopped again.

"Clark? What is it, what do you see?"

He stood. "I need a closer look. I'll be rightback."

Before she could protest, he'd stepped into thebushes. A puff of wind stirred her hair; seconds later another puffheralded his return.

Lois craned her neck to look up at him as hestepped out behind her. "Who is it?"

"That's exactly what I'm asking myself... and if Itold you, you wouldn't believe me." He held out his hand. "Come on.I'll show you."

He picked her up. She locked her arms around hisneck and held on as he lifted off, rising slowly until they werelevel with Catherine Chandler's apartment.

Two figures stood together on the little balcony.Chandler was already prepared for bed, wearing a very pretty and notvery concealing silk robe. The other figure had his back to them. Ahooded black cloak covered him from shoulders to mid-calf; longgolden hair cascaded over his shoulders.

"Who is he?" Lois wondered quietly, into Clark'sear. "And what are they saying? Take me closer so I canhear."

"Lois..." his voice was doubtful.

"Come on," she wheedled. As his ear was soconvenient, she coerced him further by gently nipping thelobe.

He caught his breath, then turned his head togrin. "No fair."

But he drifted closer, edging sideways to keepthem in shadow and rising a bit to take them out of the line of sightof the pair on the balcony.

"I'm glad Ginny's okay," Chandler said. Her voicecarried clearly. "I was worried about leaving her. She seemed solost..."

"And so she was, but Mary and Olivia have takenher under their wings." The voice was deep, husky, obviouslymale.

"Good."

"What about your reporters? Are they stillfollowing you?"

Lois gave Clark a quick glance, but he seemedintent on the conversation on the balcony.

"Not in the daytime. And they definitely weren'twith me this morning. But I thought I saw them this evening, when Icame home."

Lois remembered the quick look Chandler had castover her shoulder as she entered her building. "She saw us," shewhispered into Clark's ear, keeping her voice low so it wouldn'tcarry beyond the two of them.

The black-cloaked figure whirled, and stared rightat them.

Lois caught her breath in an audible gasp as hisface came into the light; at the same time, Clark darted upward,carrying them away.

A moment later he set her down on a nearbyroof.

"Did you see him?" she hissed in excitement. "Hisface?"

"His hands," Clark answered. "Yes. I sawhim."

Already her imagination was framing the firstparagraph of the story she'd write. "This is enough to get us aPulitzer!" she crowed. "I wish we had photos, but... his hands, yousaid you saw his hands. He's the one who killed those people, he hadclaws, did you see them, they looked sharp. And maybe we can get somepictures later. She's a D.A., I wonder how she squares what he doeswith her job and her conscience, but she must be in danger when hecomes to her, so I guess it's justifiable, I mean..." She broke off,and looked around for Clark.

He stood at the roof's edge, staring down. Hisarms were crossed, his back stiff.

Something was wrong. "Don't you think so?" sheprodded, gently.

"I think it's enough to ruin their lives," heanswered finally. He turned.

The grim look on his face made her hesitate."What... what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about being different. About being sodifferent that if people found out about it, it could destroyyou."

Funny, she never thought of Clark as different. Hewas just... Clark. That he could fly, that bullets bounced off hischest, that he could see through things, or lift buildings, was justincidental. But the tone of his voice, the rigidity of his stance,reminded her that his differences were something he neverforgot.

"But you aren't that different," she arguedaloud.

"Aren't I?" he asked. For the first time in hermemory, his voice sounded bitter. Suddenly he floated in the air overher head. "Isn't this different enough?"

"Yes, but..."

He settled to the tarred and graveled roof besideher. "But my differences aren't on the outside, where people can seethem," he finished for her. "What if they were? What if you'd beenable to see, the moment you met me, how different I am?"

I'd have loved you anyway. She started to say it,but paused. If she said it too quickly, without thought, it wouldn'tmean anything. So she considered, carefully. Of course she loved hisdark eyes, with their faintly foreign slant. His thick hair, and theone endearing lock that kept falling over his brow. She loved hisbroad chest and wide shoulders, the smooth skin of his arms andback.

But those things weren't why she loved Clark. Sheloved him for his gentleness, for his quick wit, and easy humor. Forhis intelligence, and honesty, his generosity and his sensitiveheart. And for a hundred other things she couldn't begin toname.

Then she tried to picture him, with those innerqualities she treasured, with that face she'd seen on CatherineChandler's balcony. Tried to imagine Clark looking at her with thoselight, alien eyes, smiling at her with that odd, cat-like mouth.Touching her with those big furred hands whose fingers were tippedwith deadly claws.

"It might have mattered then," she answeredslowly. "If you had looked like that. It might have taken me a whileto see past it."

His faint smile reminded her of just how long ithad taken her to see past a blue and red costume. She resisted theurge to smack him.

"But once I knew you, if you were the same personyou are now... I'd still love you. I couldn't help but loveyou."

He gazed at her a minute, silent and pensive, thenopened his arms. She went into them willingly, feeling them foldingher close. When he spoke, his warm breath ruffled her hair. "I can'twrite a story about him just because he's different, Lois. Ican't."

Visions of Pulitzers wavered, faded, and finallycollapsed in understanding. "I know," she whispered, into his chest."Neither can I."

*****

From the tunnel beneath Catherine's building,Vincent looked up. When he'd left her, Catherine's hands wereshaking, her voice trembling as she urged him to go. Even now, fiveminutes later, he could feel her fear. For him.

He shouldn't have gone there two nights in a row.It was a terrible risk, and one he shouldn't have taken, no matterhow much he longed to see her, hold her, hear her voice.

Someone had been watching them. He'd heard thevoice, though he couldn't make out the words, and then he'd sensed apresence. More than one presence, actually, though the sensation,like the sound, had disappeared so quickly he couldn't be certain. Hethought he'd caught a flicker of movement when he spun toward thesound, the sensation, but he couldn't be sure of that,either.

Perhaps it was the two reporters who wanted towrite of the slashings. His handiwork, he thought darkly, gazing athis own lethal hands. Perhaps it was someone else, in which case thedanger to him, to his world, was doubled.

But whoever it was, nothing he could think ofwould explain why the voice he'd heard, the presences he'd sensed,had come from a point in mid-air, ten feet from the nearest buildingand nearly two hundred feet off the ground.

*****

Lois woke early, to the realization that insteadof the usual cushion of air, she was lying on the hard concretesurface of the roof. Clark must have heard something, and gone, inthe dark clothing he reserved for those instances, to see if he couldhelp.

But he wasn't gone. He was sitting, very still, atthe roof's edge.

Stiffly she got up and crossed to him."Hi."

He smiled, but didn't take his eyes off thatdistant something only he could see. "Good morning," he answered."Sleep well?"

"Not as well as I might. I missed you." Shesettled down beside him.

"Sorry. I couldn't sleep." He lookedpensive.

She laid her head against his arm. "So. What arewe going to do on our day off?"

"I want to find him, Lois. I want to talk tohim."

"Him? The guy from last night?"

"Vincent," he said softly. "I heard her call himVincent."

She suppressed a shiver. "He scares me, alittle."

Clark looked at her. "Because of how helooks?"

"Because of what he's done. You saw thephotographs..."

"Yes. I saw them." He let his breath out in a longsigh. "But you know, my hands aren't entirely clean. People have diedbecause of things I've done... things I haven't done..."

"It's not the same thing," she argued. "You can'tbe everywhere."

"I'm talking about when I am there. And peopledie."

She stared; she'd never heard him say this before."Like when?"

"Like Spencer Spencer, and his doctor. I frozethem, Lois, and when a ricocheting bullet struck them, theyshattered. They wouldn't have died if I hadn't frozenthem."

She remembered the incident clearly, but neverknew he'd been letting it haunt him. "Clark, Spencer Spencer wastrying to kill you, or have you forgotten that part?"

"I haven't forgotten. But I'm stronger. I'mfaster. I say I stand for something higher, something bigger... andthen I make people die."

"It wasn't your fault. You weren't the one firingthe bullets, you weren't the one putting them in danger."

"But I'm the one who froze them," he answeredquietly. "And there've been others. Johnny Corbin - I melted hislegs, and he died."

"Clark, he was already a cyborg. You didn't knowRollie Vale was going to remove the kryptonite that powered him, andkill him."

"What about Nor? I didn't kill him... but I wantedto. I tried to. It was only his own superpowers that saved him fromme."

"Nor was trying to..."

"I know what he was trying to do!" Clark's voicehad a sudden angry edge to it. "I know. But that doesn't absolve mefrom responsibility for my own actions. I froze Spencer Spencer. Imelted Johnny Corbin's legs. I tried my best to kill Nor."

Lois stared at him. She hated feeling sohelpless.

He looked at his hands. "I've saved you, Lois, somany times. I never killed anybody doing it. I never even came close.Because I'm so much stronger, so much faster. But what if I wasn't?What if I were an ordinary man? With an ordinary man's speed andstrength? I might have had to kill in order to save you."

"No, Clark, you're not like that. You don't hate.You don't kill."

"But if you were in mortal danger... if there wereno other way. I would. If I had to, if it was the only way, I would."He looked at her then, his eyes stark. "I would."

Under the intensity of his stare, she believedhim. She swallowed once, hard, before she spoke. "Okay. Okay. But thereality is, you don't have to. You never have had to. And this otherguy... this Vincent. He has."

"Yes," Clark agreed softly, turning his gaze backto the horizon. "He has."

He was lost again in dark thought.

"Clark, the people who got hurt because of you...that wasn't your fault. Or," she amended, when he fixed her with amerciless gaze, "not entirely your fault. Those people chose to dothe things they did; if they got hurt, if they were killed, it'sbecause of the choices they made. They were trying to hurt otherpeople, innocent people, and you stopped that. You didn't mean forthem to die, but it's always been the bad guys who've gotten killed.You always save the good guys."

"That's true," he admitted. "I tell myself thatconstantly; if I didn't, I don't think I could continue beingSuperman."

"The world... our world... needs Superman,Clark."

"I know. And so I try to learn from my mistakes,and I keep on. But still, people have died. At my hands. Just as theyhave at Vincent's hands."

Lois remembered the grisly crime scene photos andshuddered. "I think his hands are a little more closely involved thanyours are."

"But the people who have died... who he'skilled... they've all had criminal pasts, been armed, beenthreatening people."

"Threatening Catherine Chandler," Loisclarified.

"Mostly, yeah. I understand that. But he's onlygoing after the bad guys, too."

Lois could see his point, sort of, but she stillcouldn't reconcile in her mind the idea that Vincent, who killedbloodily, with his hands, was anything like her Clark, who tried hisbest to be noble and good. "I guess so."

Clark didn't seem to notice her reluctance. "Ifeel an empathy with him," he went on. "A... kinship. He's asdifferent in his way as I am in mine. I've never met anyone like thatbefore."

"That different?"

He nodded.

"What about the New Kryptonians who came toMetropolis?"

"It's not the same. They're Kryptonian, like me,but they grew up in a Kryptonian society. They were just likeeveryone else. I grew up Kryptonian on Earth, and I've always knownhow different I am."

"I guess I can see that," she conceded. "If youfind him, do you think he'll talk to you?"

"I don't know. But I have to try."

"How will you find him? Following CatherineChandler hasn't done us much good."

"I have an idea about where he might be." Clarktipped his glasses down and raised his eyebrows; obviously he plannedto utilize his x-ray vision. "Want to come with me?"

The idea of looking for the fearsome creature oflast night was faintly appalling. And anyway, she had something elseon her mind. "I don't think so. I've been thinking, too. AboutCatherine Chandler. I keep remembering all the times it looked likeour secret was going to get out. How scared I've been. We scared her,Clark."

"I know we did. I wish now we hadn't. She loveshim, you know."

Love? Affection, certainly, Lois could see that.But love? For that alien creature with his bloody hands? "How can youtell?" she asked, her voice going ragged.

"When I first saw him... them. They were hugging.And the way she looked at him..." His expression went tender. "Youlook at me that way."

She managed her first smile of the morning andforced away all her doubts. "Then you must be right. I want to tellher we aren't going to write our story, Clark. I want toapologize."

*****

After breakfast at their favorite diner, theyseparated.

"Yell if you need me," Clark said as theyparted.

"If the earth moves," she agreed, smiling. "I'llprobably find her and be done by lunchtime. Want to meetsomewhere?"

"I don't know yet. Tell you what, I'll leave amessage with Mr. Schofield if I can't make it. And we have to be atthe print shop by three, anyway."

"Oh, that's right. Okay. Be careful."

"You, too." Her hurried kiss fell half on hischeek, and he had to grin as he watched her striding away.

Only when she had passed from sight did he starton his search. He began at Catherine Chandler's building, which hex-rayed carefully; Vincent had reached Chandler's balcony withoutClark's seeing him, and he certainly hadn't used the front door. Theonly two logical points of access were from the roof and thebasement, so he focused his attention in those areas. And there, inthe basement, he spotted an opening, carefully hidden, that led intoa small, forgotten subbasement. From there, a brick-walled passagegave way to a veritable warren of other tunnels andpassages.

"It's like a maze down there," Clark mused aloud,pushing his glasses back up. "And I'll bet all those passages gosomewhere."

But where? There was one way to findout.

He supposed he could try to talk his way intoChandler's building, and access the tunnels from there, but he'dnoticed that some of the brick-walled tunnels tied into storm drainsand utility access tunnels beneath the city streets.

He strolled in and out of three different alleysbefore he found what he wanted - a manhole cover out of sight of thestreet. With a quick glance around to be sure he was unobserved, hetoed aside the heavy steel cover, stepped out over the opening, andfloated down, pausing only to replace the cover.

He found himself in a round cement pipe, largeenough in diameter that he could stand comfortably without hittinghis head. The floor of the tunnel was dusted with a fine layer ofsilt; from the look of it, no one had passed this way since the lastrain turned dust into mud.

He peered over the top of his glasses, scanningthe area, but it didn't help much. Tunnel after tunnel wound off intothe distance, but he saw nothing to indicate where Vincent might befound.

He did, however, know where to find CatherineChandler's apartment building. He pushed his glasses back into placeand set off.

Before long, he came to an intersecting passage.He paused, studying it. The dirt floor here had been disturbed, andrecently. Imprints left by large, heavy boots showed where someonehad traveled, and then come back the same way. Other impressionsappeared older, and were less clear, but tipping his glasses down forcloser inspection revealed a number of other tracks, including afaint set that were clearly made by a woman's heeled shoe.

Catherine Chandler's apartment was to the north;Clark went south.

He'd expected it to be quiet underground, butpipes running along the sides and top of the tunnel clattered andgurgled and hissed. The clattering was the loudest, and the mostannoying. The pipe to his left rang in a flat pattern that soundedrepetitious.

There were lights here, too, and the faint scentof damp wool underlying the more earthy smells.

"That's far enough."

The voice seemed to come from nowhere andeverywhere. Clark tugged his glasses down and swung his head fromside to side, seeking the source. It didn't take long to locate afalse wall cleverly built into the side of the tunnel. Beyond thefalse barrier, looking fierce and protective, was Vincent.

"I didn't come to make trouble," Clark said,lifting his free hand in a conciliatory gesture. "I only want to talkto you." He saw startlement in Vincent's eyes before he pushed hisglasses back into place. He waited, and noticed for the first timethat the clatter of the pipes had stilled. The tunnel was ominouslyquiet.

The voice, when it came again, was moredefinitive, and more easily located. Vincent, if it was Vincent whospoke, had moved to a spot some yards ahead of where Clark stood. Andhe had done it so stealthily that Clark hadn't heard himgo.

He turned toward the voice, showing his openhands. "Please. I just want to talk. Vincent."

"You know my name."

"Yes. Mine's Kent, Clark Kent."

This time he did hear something - the rustle offabric, maybe?

"The reporter," Vincent said, after amoment.

Clark was only faintly surprised. "Yes. I'm sorryabout that. We didn't know."

"Didn't know...?"

"About you. Until last night."

"It was you I heard from Catherine'sbalcony."

"My wife, actually. Whispering to me. You havevery sharp hearing."

Vincent let that go by. "Your wife... the otherreporter?"

Clark nodded, then remembered Vincent couldn't seehim. "Right. But you don't have to worry about that now. There won'tbe any story. Not about you."

"You frightened Catherine." Vincent's tone wascarefully neutral, but still it sounded like an accusation. Clarkwondered how his own voice would sound, speaking to someone whoscared Lois that much.

"I know. I'm sorry. My wife is looking for hernow, to apologize."

"And you are here. Why? To amuseyourself?"

"No." He hesitated. Standing in the cold, damptunnel wasn't exactly what he had in mind. "Is there someplace we cantalk?"

"We can talk here," Vincent answered.

Right. Vincent obviously had no intention oftaking him further into the tunnels. Clark let his breath out slowly."Okay. I'm not here for fun, or to get a better look at you, oranything like that." He swallowed; saying this was harder than he'dexpected. "I want to talk to you... because for the first time in mylife, I've found someone who's as different as I am."

The silence that ensued seemed to go onforever.

Clark almost tugged his glasses down for a peek,but changed his mind. "Vincent?"

"I am here," the voice replied. "But I amwondering what you saw last night, or if you have recently consulteda mirror. You and I are... not alike."

"Not like each other, no," Clark agreed quickly."But not like those around us, either. You're different on theoutside... my differences are inside, where they can't be seen. Butthey're there."

Another silence.

"Look," Clark said, feeling desperate. "I'll showyou."

Except that Vincent couldn't possibly see him,unless he, too, had x-ray vision, and somehow Clark doubtedthat.

"You'll have to come forward," he added. He didn'twait for a response. He levitated, rising above the tunnel floor andhovering there, his hair brushing the ceiling.

Clark folded his arms and waited, tracking Vincentwith his ears. The sound of slow breathing, barely audible even tohim, came closer. Something dark and formless moved at the bend inthe tunnel. Clark waited until he was sure Vincent had a clear lineof sight, then rotated his body forty-five degrees, until he wassuspended, on his back, in the middle of the tunnel. He hung therefor a handful of heartbeats, then rotated again to hover upside down.A half twist brought him around to face Vincent. "Convinced?" heasked, keeping his tone conversational.

For the first time, he detected uncertainty in theother man's voice. "This is... not possible."

Clark flipped neatly and settled on his feet."Some people," he pointed out, "would say that about you."

*****

Tracking down Catherine Chandler was harder thanit should have been, but Lois finally caught up with her outside thecourthouse.

"Miss Chandler!" she called, and hurried acrossthe sidewalk.

Catherine paused just long enough to see who wascalling, then walked on, her expression suddenly grim.

"Miss Chandler. I've been looking foryou."

"What do you want?" The question was snapped, notasked. "If it's about your absurd theories..."

"They aren't absurd," Lois retorted, stung. "Weboth know that. We saw him last night on your balcony."

If she hadn't been watching for a reaction, she'dhave missed the tiny hesitation in Catherine's stride. She took amomentary satisfaction in that, before remembering why she'd come.She reached out and caught the other woman's arm.

"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that... atleast, not in that way. I scared you, and I didn't meanto."

Catherine Chandler's gaze was haughty. "Scared me?Don't be ridiculous." Only an experienced eye would have noted theterror lurking behind the cool exterior.

Lois consciously softened her voice. "I'm not. Wedid see him last night. Vincent."

Catherine paled visibly. "I don't know what you'retalking about," she managed, and tugged to free her arm.

Lois held on. "And we realized... Clark realized,"she corrected, wanting to be honest, "that we couldn't do a storyabout him. And that means no story about the slashings. He protectsyou, doesn't he?"

Catherine pulled loose and stalkedaway.

Lois hurried after her. "He does. That's why youdon't turn him in."

Catherine continued walking as if she hadn'theard.

"Look, I'm going about this all wrong. I didn'tmean to say those things. Not yet, anyway. I just meant to say I'msorry."

Catherine stopped so abruptly that Lois overranher. "Sorry for what?" she demanded.

"For scaring you. For threatening to expose yoursecret."

"Assuming I have a secret. Which Idon't."

"Right. Whatever. But if you did have a secret,I'd feel bad about coming too close to it... because I know how it'sfelt the times people have come too close to my secret. Mine andClark's."

Catherine refused to be deflected. "Speaking ofyour partner, where is he? I thought you two were a matchedset."

Lois managed a grin. "Not always. Today's our dayoff; I wanted to come find you... and he wants to talk to Vincent.He's looking for him."

If it was possible, she thought Catherine wouldhave gone even whiter. Lines of strain around her eyes and mouth grewdeeper, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Catherine Chandler!" A man's voice, harsh anddemanding, interrupted.

Catherine swung toward the voice, her expressionat once annoyed and expectant. Lois turned, too.

A mid-sized blue sedan pulled up to the curbbeside them. The passenger threw open his door.

"Where's Gary's wife and baby?" he demanded,coming toward them.

Puzzled, Lois looked to Catherine.

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about,"Catherine said, standing her ground. But her voice held the sameindefinable note it'd had when Lois and Clark had first approachedher about the slashings. She was lying.

And in an instant Lois knew what was going on. Thestory Clark had been following, the policeman's wife who'd beenbeaten and then spirited away. By Catherine Chandler.

What Clark could learn, a policeman could learn.And while Clark had morals and ethics, Gary Stevens had no suchrestraints. He'd obviously sent someone to make threats to learn whathe wanted to know.

Somehow, though, Lois didn't think CatherineChandler could be coerced by threats.

The man moved closer, invading Catherine'spersonal space, forcing her to take a step back. "Tell me where tofind Gary's wife and son."

Catherine had to crane her neck to look up at him,he was so close. "I told you," she said, through gritted teeth. "Idon't know."

"And I know you're lying, lady." This came fromanother man, dark and burly, who'd emerged from the sedan's passengerside. He seized Catherine's arm and her shoulder, spinning her andshoving her up against the car.

"Callahan!" The name came out in a gasp. Catherinestruggled briefly, but the man had her in a solid grip, exertingpressure to hold her in place. When she let out a whimper of pain, hegrinned.

Never one to back away from battle, Lois steppedforward, looking for a way to effectively intervene.

"Johnson!" snapped the man. "Get her."

She remembered the first man too late; suddenly hewas behind her, gripping her wrist and twisting her arm painfully."What do I do with her?" He sounded anxious. "You said we were justgoing to..."

By now, Catherine was in handcuffs; the man whoheld her forced her into the rear of the car. "Shut up and bring her.She might be useful."

"Hey! What's going on here?"

Johnson swung around to see who had spoken, givingLois a clear view of an older man in a coat and tie, lookingconcerned.

Callahan brought out a slim leather folder andflipped it open. "Police business," he snapped, showing the man abadge.

"Oh, sorry, officer. Detective." The concernedcitizen backpedaled. A pair of women who had stopped to watchclutched at each other's arms and pointed.

There would be no help from thatquarter.

Callahan swung around on his partner. "I said, puther in the car!"

Johnson hesitated and Callahan growled, comingaround the car to deal with her himself. As Johnson released her,Lois kicked backwards, trying to free herself, but Callahan knew hisstuff; he deflected the kick and caught her arm, forcing it highbehind her back, until she thought her shoulder would come out of itssocket.

If Superman were here, in this universe, now wouldbe the time to shout for him. She could shout anyway, and Clark wouldbe here in an instant, but that would expose him, or force him toconjure up Superman after all, or...

She felt the cold snap of handcuffs around herwrists as the pressure on her shoulder eased, and then Callahan waspushing her into the car. It was now or never...

She took a deep breath. "Help!" she shouted."Superm..." The rest was lost as a meaty hand, stinking of nicotine,slapped over her mouth.

"Shut up!" Callahan hissed. "Johnson, get me someof that duct tape."

The hand was replaced by a strip of wide silvertape, sticky and cold across her lips and cheeks. With it in place,all she could manage was a muffled "mmmm!"

She tumbled into the back seat of the car. Behindher, the door slammed. The men threw themselves into the front seat,and sped off.

*****

"I know what that's like," Clark said. "I know nowwhere I came from, why I'm so different, but for years I didn't haveany idea. I..."

Across the room, Vincent's expression went frominterested to distracted, quivering alertness. Clark listened, butdidn't hear anything out of the ordinary. And then he did.

*Help!* He snapped to attention himself. That wasLois. *Superm...* Her voice cut off in mid word, and there hadn'tbeen time for him to get a fix on her location.

"Catherine," Vincent breathed. He was on his feet;he snagged a long, black garment from the back of a chair and rushedout the door.

Clark was right behind him. He protects her, Loishad said. He remembered the slashed and bloody bodies left behind.Catherine was in danger... and Lois was with her. With her, andcalling not for Clark, but for Superman.

Vincent sprinted through the winding passagesfaster than anyone Clark had ever seen. Even so, the pace chafed athim. He left his feet and hovered alongside. "Where are they?" heshouted. "I'm faster than you. I can help!"

Vincent ran on as if he hadn't heard. And perhapshe hadn't; his eyes were glazed and far-seeing, focused totally onsomething Clark, with all his supersenses, couldn'tdetect.

And Lois didn't cry out again.

Clark reached out and caught Vincent's shoulder."Where are they?"

Vincent shook him off with a force so powerful, itthrew Clark against the tunnel wall; shocked, he went down in ashower of dislodged rock and dust. He was up again, running thistime, before the debris finished rolling.

It was clear he wasn't going to get any directionfrom Vincent. He'd have to follow, have to confine himself toVincent's pace, which, fast though it was, seemed laborious to him.But running felt like he was working harder; flying was just toofrustrating. Simmering with impatience, he pounded along in Vincent'swake.

*****

"I'm sorry." Catherine Chandler's voice was low,in her ear.

Lois fought her way up until she was sitting, moreor less straight, in the back of the car. "Mmmph?" She tried to lookquestioning.

"For getting you involved in this. I'msorry."

In the front seat, Johnson leaned across to hispartner. "Should I put tape on the other one?" he hissed, barely loudenough for Lois to hear.

Callahan shook his head. "She's not yelling, isshe?"

"I thought we were just going to scare her!"Johnson continued, a little louder.

"Well, we did," Callahan answered, casting aglance over his shoulder. "She looks plenty scared to me. They bothdo."

To Lois, Catherine looked not so much scared asdetermined. But she knew her own heart was pounding inapprehension.

"But the one, the D.A.... she knows who youare!"

"So what? She talks about cops kidnapping her offthe street, who's going to believe her?"

Probably just about everyone, Lois thought. Itwasn't a pleasant notion.

"We're just going to take them someplace where wecan scare them good," Callahan continued. "Someplace quiet, where wewon't be interrupted."

He was taking entirely too much pleasure in thesituation for Lois's comfort. She could only hope Clark had heard herhalf-voiced cry for help, that he was on his way. But how could heever find her?

She couldn't identify the area to which Callahandrove them; if she had to write a story based on what she knew now,she could only say it was minutes from the courthouse, and lookedpretty seedy. The car pulled up in front of a boarded-up warehouseand stopped. Lois wrenched her body around to fight when the door onher side was yanked open.

Johnson dodged her awkward attempt to kick,reached in, and dragged her out of the car by her arm. Once out, shetried to twist away from him, but he held her easily, and in such away that she couldn't reach him with any telling blows.

On the other side of the car, Catherine wasputting up a similar struggle with Callahan, with similar results.Finally he cuffed her hard on the side of the head, growling, "Cut itout!"

Catherine quieted; Lois hoped she hadn't beenbadly hurt by the blow, but her eyes seemed clear. And then Loiswondered why Catherine, whose mouth was not taped, didn't call forhelp. The area looked deserted, but surely someone was near enough tohear.

The men wrestled them over to a metal door setflush with the smooth concrete side of the warehouse. Callahanproduced a small tool and worked for a moment on the lock.

"Breaking and entering. That's good." Catherine'stone was calm but acerbic.

"Breaking and entering's the least of my worries,"he retorted, and shoved her through the open door.

Lois, still held firmly in Johnson's grip, wasforced to follow.

The warehouse was wide and cavernous... and very,very empty. Their footsteps echoed in the hollow space. The men tookthem to a small room tacked onto the far wall - an office, Loisguessed, spotting the battered metal desk and two wooden chairs thatstill occupied the space.

Callahan pushed Catherine roughly into one of thechairs; on his command, Johnson forced Lois into theother.

With a hard hand on her wrist, forestalling anychance of escape, Johnson unlocked one of the handcuff braceletsaround Lois's wrists, then fastened it again, very quickly. Hereleased her, stepping away for the first time. A tug confirmed herfear - the handcuffs had been threaded through the slats in the backof the sturdy wooden chair before being refastened. She was nowchained to the chair.

A quick glance showed that Catherine had beensimilarly restrained.

"Now what?" Johnson looked to Callahan forinstructions.

In answer, Callahan swaggered around to stand infront of Catherine.

"Lieutenant Callahan," she said coolly. "I'd thinkyou'd be concerned with finding your wife's murderer."

"Oh, I am. But right now, I'm more interested inhelping Gary." He stood before her, cold and menacing. "Now, MissChandler," he said. "Tell us where to find Gary's wife andson."

Catherine's expression went grim. "I don'tknow."

Callahan's hand swung so fast, Lois barely saw theblow. But she heard it, as his hand connected with Catherine's jawwith solid force. Catherine let out a grunt and slumped to the side."Wrong answer." He tangled a hand in her hair and pulled her upright."I'll ask again. Where is Gary's wife? Where's his son?"

"I don't know."

This time, Catherine tried to dodge the blow as itcame, but she wasn't quick enough. When she lifted her head again,blood trickled from her nose and mouth.

"Again," Callahan said. The pleasure in his eyeswas unnerving. "Where...?"

Lois thought she might be sick. Each timeCatherine denied knowledge of Stevens's family's whereabouts,Callahan hit her. Her jaw was becoming misshapen, and one eye wasswelling shut.

"This isn't working," Callahan announced, afterone more telling blow. "She's just too damn stubborn. I hit her manymore times, she'll be unconscious, and that's no good."

"What are you going to do?" Johnson asked him. Helooked uneasy.

Callahan's gaze turned toward Lois. "You knowwhat?" He sounded scarily cheerful. "Chandler's a do-gooder.Softhearted. What you want to bet it'll be harder for her to watchher friend get beat up?"

"She's not my friend," Catherine managed, betweensplit and swollen lips. "I don't even know her."

"No?" Lieutenant Callahan was plainly skeptical."I guess we'll just have to see about that."

He whirled on Lois so fast, she didn't have timeto try to dodge the blow. It exploded against her cheek, driving herhead sideways and bringing the sharp metallic taste of blood to hermouth. Callahan turned away. "So, you going to tell me now? Where isGary's wife?"

Catherine's eyes, seeking hers, were full ofsorrow as she answered. "I don't know."

*****

It seemed they'd been running forever, and Clarkwas sure they'd changed direction entirely at one point. Still, hehadn't a hope of finding Lois by himself unless she called for himagain, so he stayed close on Vincent's heels. They were in a maze ofbrick-walled tunnels now, near to the surface; above them, Clarkcould make out the whir of rubber tires on asphalt, of heels oncement. In the distance a siren wailed; somewhere nearer, jackhammersstuttered. The tunnels twisted and turned, divided andjoined.

Vincent charged unerringly through them, neverpausing to choose his path, never slowing to catch his breath. Andthen he let out a savage roar and hurled himself straight at thebricks that marked another turn.

*****

At first, Lois thought the roar was in her ears,the result of another heavy blow to her head, but Callahan pulledback, turning to look at the little office's far wall. She lookedtoo. At the edge of her peripheral vision, she saw Callahan yank outhis gun.

And then the wall imploded, scattering brickseverywhere. A figure, black and golden and terrible, burst throughthe opening and sent Johnson flying with one sweep of his arm. Besideher, two shots rang out, and then Clark was there, too, shovingCallahan against the wall, dropping a bullet, caught in midair by aninvulnerable hand at superspeed, into the dust.

One bullet. When there had been twoshots.

She heard Catherine say in a choked voice,"Vincent."

The creature, gold and black but no longerterrible, staggered and went to his knees. Crimson blossomed on thegray of his vest. He fought for balance... and then, with terribleslowness, toppled forward.

"Vincent!" Catherine was struggling to freeherself, struggling to reach him.

Clark hesitated for a heartbeat, hanging onindecision, then flashed across the room to Catherine's chair. Aninstant later he was back at Lois's side, pulling her to her feet.Her hands were free, and beyond him, she could see Catherine fallingto her knees beside the recumbent creature. Vincent, she remindedherself. Vincent.

Clark clutched her to his chest. "Are you allright?"

She reached up between them to pull the tapegingerly from her mouth. "I'm okay," she mumbled, through swollenlips. "More or less. But he..."

Clark glanced over his shoulder.

Catherine hunched over Vincent, struggling to turnhim over. "Vincent?" she whispered.

Clark gave Lois one last squeeze, then moved away."Here," he muttered. "Let me..."

He put a hand on Vincent's shoulder and eased himover to his back. The dark splotch on his chest had grown, and wasstill visibly spreading. His eyes, half-closed, sought Catherine'sface.

"Oh, God..." Catherine's voice was low, heartfelt,despairing. "Oh, no."

"Cath..."

"Shhh," she whispered. "Don't talk."

"He's bleeding badly," Clark said, slipping an armunder Vincent's shoulders. "I have to get him to ahospital..."

Catherine caught Clark's wrist. "No! You can't. Hecan't."

Clark paused, uncertain. "He needs help. He needsit now."

Vincent moaned, and tried to escape Clark'ssupporting arm. "No. Catherine..."

"She's fine," Clark told him. "You're the onewho's hurt. I'm getting you to a doctor."

Catherine paused, swallowed hard. "His father is adoctor. If you can get him home... he lives..."

Clark broke in. "I know where he lives. I'll gethim there as fast as I can."

He looked past Catherine to where Lois stood,watching. "Be careful."

She nodded once, jerkily. He lifted Vincent in hisarms and was gone.

*****

Catherine staggered back. Where had the suddengust of wind come from? And where had the man carrying Vincentdisappeared to? She hadn't seen him go. The reporter - Lois, shereminded herself - caught her arm, steadying her. "How did he..." shebroke off, and shook her head. She was woozy from the beating she'dtaken; she must have just lost a few seconds of time. "Never mind."She dragged in a deep breath, and looked at the other womancarefully.

Lois's face looked the way Catherine's felt:bruised, swollen, and very painful. "You're all right?"

Lois offered a grimace that was meant to be asmile. "Pretty much. You?"

The ache in her head was nothing compared to thedeep, pounding fear in her heart. "Better if I knew Vincent was allright. But okay." She longed to race after him, to see how badly hewas hurt. But protecting him came first. She looked around. "We haveto clean up here before we can go..."

Lois looked confused. "Clean up... can't we justcall the police?"

Catherine glanced at her. "We could have. Before.Not now. What could we say? How would we explain..." Her gesture tookin the gaping hole in the wall beside them.

Blessedly, that seemed to be enough. "Oh," Loissaid. "I guess you're right."

Catherine didn't like placing so much trust insomeone who had so recently been threatening to expose Vincent, butreality gave her no choice. "We can't leave evidence to link us tothis place." She took the handcuffs that had so recently restrainedher and tucked them into the waistband of her skirt, then scrubbedhard at the back slats of the chair with her sleeve. "Nofingerprints. Did you touch anything but the chair?"

Lois looked thoughtful, then shook her head. "No."She put her own handcuffs in her pocket, and wiped down the back ofthe chair.

"Did they touch anything?"

"Clark touched the bullet," Lois said, and bent toscrabble in the dust.

Catherine gave her a long, incredulous stare. Shecouldn't possibly have heard what she thought she'd heard. Theringing in her ears, the slow dull thumping of her pulse in her head,must be interfering. She turned to examine the body of OfficerStevens. He breathed with slow, noisy breaths, but he wasn'tbleeding. Vincent must have caught him with a backhand, or a forearm,instead of deadly claws. She said a brief, chaotic prayer of thanksfor small blessings, and glanced toward Callahan, sprawled againstthe wall where the other reporter - Clark - had thrownhim.

"He's alive," Lois said, mumbling through swollenlips. "Clark doesn't believe in killing."

Catherine wondered if that was some kind ofchallenge, wondered if Lois thought Vincent did believe in killing,if maybe he liked it. Just as quickly she shied away from theperilous thought.

"They were going to kill us if you'd told, weren'tthey?" Lois went on.

"They would have had to," Catherine admitted,giving in to a thought that she'd kept at bay until now. Shesuppressed a shudder of horror and rubbed the back of her hand acrossher bruised forehead. There was no time for that now.

A palm-sized pool of dark liquid on the concretefloor showed where Vincent had fallen. How much blood? A couple oftablespoons? A quarter cup? She didn't have any idea, but it lookedlike a lot. More than should have dripped in the minute or so Vincenthad lain there. Much more.

Oh, God. She wanted to cry. How badly was he hurt?Was he still alive? No, he had to be. She'd know if he wasn't. She'dfeel it. He was alive, he was hanging on, and she had to be strongfor him, had to protect him.

She stiffened her spine and lifted herchin.

Lois came to crouch beside her. "Blood," shesaid.

Catherine nodded. "We can't leave ithere."

"Why not?" Lois sounded genuinely curious, ratherthan challenging, and Catherine found herself answering.

"Forensics. I don't know what story these two..."she gestured impatiently toward the two unconscious men, "will comeup with when they wake up, but it's just possible they'll call in thelab. We can't let them test Vincent's blood."

"They'd trace it to him?" Lois ventured, asounding little lost.

Catherine shook her head. "No. It just... let'sjust say it's not a good idea for them to test it. Come on, help meclean it up."

Lois's purse was lying beside her chair. By somemiracle, it had made the whole trip with them, though Catherine hadlost her own briefcase somewhere early on. Lois snatched up the bagand rummaged. "Here are some tissues," she said.

Catherine accepted the wad of crumpled tissues andpressed them into the pool. They came away crimson, leaving theconcrete wet and smeared.

Lois stood over her, watching. "Water," she said."We need water. A building this size should have a restroom,shouldn't it?" She didn't wait for Catherine to formulate a reply; amoment later she was back with a handful of soaked paper towels."Here. Guess the building's not as abandoned as it looks."

"Thanks." Catherine exchanged the wad ofblood-soaked tissues for the dripping towels; when she finishedmopping, there were no visible traces of blood. No traces of the dustthat pervaded the room, either.

"It's too clean," Lois said. "And no way you gotrid of all the traces." She kicked dust toward the spot. It billowedup in a cloud, then settled wetly. "That's going tostick."

"Give it a minute to dry," Catherine advised. Sheheld the wad of tissues and paper towels cradled in both herhands.

"No, wait." Lois disappeared for a minute,returning with another handful of paper towels, these dry. Sheblotted at the damp spot, absorbing what she could, then sat back."It's still going to have to dry some more. Here, you're dripping."She soaked up the spots of moisture at Catherine's feet, then offeredthe dusty, damp paper towels as a cradle for the soggy ones inCatherine's hands. Catherine accepted gratefully.

When the spot on the floor looked drier, Loiskicked and shuffled her feet, stirring the dust until it looked asdisturbed and no cleaner than the rest of the floor. Catherine eyedthe dirt on the tunnel side of the broken wall.

"Footprints in, no footprints out," she murmured,thinking aloud. "That ought to cause some confusion." She didn'tvoice her own.

Lois ignored her questioning look. "Look, theycould wake up any time," she said instead. She put a hand to herhead.

"Hurting?" Catherine asked.

"A little." Her look, unexpectedly, was wry."Probably not as bad as yours; they hit you harder, and more. I don'tknow how you're still on your feet."

"Me, either," Catherine confessed. Except shecouldn't stop, couldn't rest, until she knew how Vincent was. And shecouldn't do that until she'd finished covering their tracks. "Weshould go."

She let Lois go first, and paused in the doorwayto be sure they hadn't missed anything. Chairs, wiped. Handcuffsgoing with them. Weren't they? "Do you have your cuffs?" she askedaloud.

"Yeah," Lois said, from behind her. "Righthere."

Okay. So everything was wiped, and the blood spotscarcely noticeable, unless you knew where to look. Satisfied, shestarted across the warehouse. "The bathroom," she said suddenly,stopping. "When you got the water. What did you touch?"

Lois thought. "The door and the faucet, I think.I'm pretty sure."

Catherine nodded toward the tissues and papertoweling filling her hands. "Can you get it?"

"Yeah. I'll be just a minute."

Catherine thought about hurrying away; if she wasquick, she could lose Lois and make her way to the tunnelsunobserved. But with her head pounding and her mouth tasting ofblood, her heart racing and her hands shaking, quick wasn't reallysomething she felt up to. Besides, this part of town wasn't thesafest, even for someone who seemed to have her own very capableprotector. She'd wait.

But she'd do it outside.

The sunshine and open air was a relief after theoppression of the dank, unlighted warehouse. She crossed to thelocked car and peered through its windows to make sure they'd left noevidence that would link either her or Lois to the scene.

Her briefcase, tweed and honey-colored leather,was wedged on the floor of the backseat.

"Damn," she muttered, under her breath.

"What?" Lois stood behind her, squinting againstthe bright sun.

"My briefcase." She nodded toward it and held outthe wad of soggy, bloody paper towels and tissues. "Look, can youhold these for a minute?"

Lois gingerly accepted the dirty, wet mass,holding it at arms' length and looking as if she were trying not tothink too hard about what it was.

A discarded length of two-by-four lay against thewarehouse wall. Catherine picked it up and hefted it, then swung ithard against the rear door window on the passenger side of the car.The window shattered into small, roundish bits of safety glass thatcascaded down into the back seat. She used the two-by-four to brushaway bits of glass that clung to the window frame, then reachedthrough and pulled out her case.

"Got it," she said. "Here." She opened thebriefcase and pulled out a stiff manila envelope. "Put that mess inhere."

Lois deposited the soggy mass in the envelope andwiped her hands on the thighs of her jeans.

"I know," Catherine said, grimacing. "Thank youfor helping."

"I kind of didn't have a choice," Lois pointedout. "Now what?"

Now I get you out of here, so I can go to Vincent."Do you know where we are?"

Lois looked reluctant, but finally shook her head."Not really."

Catherine pointed. "Two blocks that way will bringyou to a major street. You can catch a cab there."

Lois whirled on her. "And where will yoube?"

Catherine's face was stiff with bruising. Shetightened her lips. "You don't need to know that."

But Lois wasn't so easily dissuaded. "You're goingto wherever Clark took him," she persisted. "I'm going,too."

Oh, God. She had to get below, had to find out howVincent was. And she couldn't bring a stranger down with her. "It'sno place for you," she countered. "You won't be welcome. I'm sureyour partner will be back at your office soon."

Lois's eyes narrowed. "He's not just my partner,he's my husband," she all but spat. "He won't leave until he knows...Vincent... will be okay. And where he is, I'm going."

Worse and worse. "You can't, okay? Father's goingto be angry enough without me bringing some stranger down..." shebroke off, knowing she'd said too much, and fought back suddentears.

Lois started to speak, then seemed to reconsider."Look, I'm sorry. I know you're worried, and you want to get to wherehe is to be sure he's okay. But you need to understand, I'm worriedabout my husband, and I know he wants to see me, too."

Catherine softened as she eyed Lois's face,swollen and bruised, and all because she happened to have beenstanding at Catherine's side when Callahan and Stevens approached.She wondered briefly if her own face looked as bad, and let out along breath. This argument could go on all afternoon, and Lois Laneobviously had no intention of backing down. And she couldn't wait anylonger.

What difference did it make, really, anyway? ClarkKent was already down there. Already knew... everything. "All right,"she said roughly. "Come on."

*****

Shock. It must be shock, or reaction from thebeating, that made her legs so shaky. Only dogged determination keptLois trudging along behind Catherine through sewer pipes ("stormdrains," Catherine had corrected her tersely, the one time she'd saidit aloud) and brick tunnels and now these cave- like passages thatseemed to be carved out of solid rock. At least, she hoped it wassolid rock, thinking of the tons of earth that must be above theirheads by now. She had no idea what was keeping Catherine, whosebeating had gone on longer, on her feet.

But Catherine never hesitated, striding along asif she knew exactly where she was going. After a while, the dimelectric lights gave way to flickering torches in sconces, andcandles set into niches. The passages through which they traveledwidened and the floors smoothed. And then Catherine turned into awide-mouthed opening, almost like a door. They came into a room aboutthe size - and curiously, about the configuration - of Clark's oldapartment. As in the apartment, the entrance opened onto a wide kindof landing that stood above the main level.

Below, the hum of voices stilled as at least twodozen faces turned their way. Suspicion blossomed as they caughtsight of Lois.

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

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

Catherine nodded once, jerkily, and descended ashort flight of wrought iron stairs to reach the level where theothers had gathered. They parted before her, some reaching out totouch her shoulder or press her hand, then closed ranks behind her,leaving Lois standing, a bit bewildered, at the top of thestairs.

Then she spotted Clark, hands deep in his pockets,leaning against the wall nearby. Gingerly, expecting at any moment tobe accosted or questioned, she crossed to him. He watched herprogress, lowering his head as she neared.

"Are you okay?" One hand came out of his pocket togently trace the side of her face.

"It aches," she admitted. She wouldn't tell himabout the pounding in her ears, or the alarming way her visionblurred at the edges. "But I'm okay."

His eyes closed. "After they got Vincent intosurgery, I went back for you, but you were gone. I knew you'd makeCatherine bring you here."

She laid her head against his shoulder andnodded.

"I hated leaving you there, especially with youhurt. But he was bleeding so much...

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

"If I'd taken any longer getting him here..."Distress was evident in his voice, and she slid her hand into his andsqueezed. "He'd have died. He may still die." He nodded toward thefar side of the cave-like room. It was partitioned off with whitecurtains; behind the curtains shone bright light, incongruous in theotherwise dim place.

"I can hear them," he whispered, more to himselfthan to her. "They're having trouble reaching the bullet, they'reafraid of him losing any more blood."

"They're going to help him," Lois said, with moreassurance than she felt. "He's going to be fine."

"I hope so."

"You saved us today," she reminded him. "Catherineand me. It was only going to get worse, the beating, because shecouldn't tell them what they wanted to know. If she had told, theywould 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, butyou were cut off, and I wasn't sure where you were. Vincent foundyou. Somehow he knew Catherine was in danger, somehow he knew whereshe was. I only followed." He looked down at his hands. "I think, ifI hadn't been there, he'd have managed to save both of you all byhimself."

"With a bullet in his chest."

His glance was full of irony. "Yeah. With a bulletin his chest. The man has an incredible will, Lois. He should havedied right there. He was bleeding so much that even as fast as Icould bring him, I didn't think we'd be here in time. I tried tocauterize the worst of it, but I was afraid to stop for long, andthere was so much blood, and I was afraid of doing more damage thangood... I don't know if I helped."

"You did. Of course you did. He'd have bled todeath on that office floor if not for you. Catherine and I couldnever have moved him by ourselves."

Someone nudged her elbow. She looked down to see achild of perhaps ten or eleven holding out a cloth-wrapped bundle."Olivia said to give you this," the boy said. "For yourface."

He was trying to be polite, she thought, but themarks on her face were too compelling. He stared, looked away, thenstared again.

She held out her hand, let him put the bundle intoit. It was cold... an ice pack, she realized. "Thanks. Um, Catherinecould use one of these, too."

The boy pointed. "She has one."

Lois looked. Someone must have brought Catherinethe ice pack while Lois was absorbed in talking to Clark.

The boy still stood at her elbow.

"Did you need something else?" Clark askedgently.

The boy looked embarrassed. "I'm supposed to askif she's okay. If her face is okay."

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

In the lower part of the room, a woman was goingfrom person to person with a big steaming pot, dispensing streams ofdark-colored liquid into proffered mugs and cups.

"Coffee," Lois murmured longingly, then wonderedif the hot drink would sting the cuts on the inside of hercheeks.

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

Tea was better than nothing, and maybe it'd washaway the metallic taste of blood.

The boy darted off, returning moments later with aheavy mug and a chipped china cup. "I'll tell Olivia you want some,"he said, handing them the vessels. He hurried down the stairs andcrossed to whisper into the woman's ear. She glanced their way andnodded, then kept pouring. Someone brought her a second big teapot toreplace the first, which must be nearing empty by now. Eventually shereached the upper level where Lois and Clark stood in relativeisolation.

"Geoffrey said you wanted tea," she said, offeringthe pot.

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

The woman filled the cup, then hesitated, lookingat Clark's shirt. She leaned up and murmured in his ear.

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

The blood-soaked shirt must be sticky andstiffening; probably he could even smell the blood as it dried. Itwas kind of the woman to offer him a change of clothes.

She almost asked to go, too, but her head wasaching and she didn't want to alarm Clark by doing something stupid,like swaying or stumbling. "Okay," she whispered, instead.

"I'll be right back," Clark promised, and followedthe woman out.

Lois pressed the ice pack against her temple andlooked at Catherine Chandler.

More and more people had trickled into the roomover the past hour, until now it was a seething, if reverentiallysilent, mass of waiting humanity. Except for a small, polite circlearound where Lois stood... and an equally polite circle aroundCatherine.

She could understand the space here. She and Clarkwere strangers, not a part of this strange community. But Catherinewas one of them... wasn't she? Of course she didn't live down here,but then Lois's reporter's eye already told her that many of thepeople crowded 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 how she felt about Vincent. Or maybe they blamedher for his injury. After all, he'd been hurt while saving her. Theymust all know that by now. But she remembered the quiet murmurs, thesimple touches when Catherine had first gotten here. Even now, newarrivals pressed forward to pat her shoulder or nod in mute sympathybefore withdrawing into the crowd.

Suddenly Lois wanted very much for the fearsomecreature behind the curtain to live. Not because she could write astory about him, nor even because he'd led Clark to where she andCatherine were, and saved them. No. She wanted him to live for onereason; because Catherine Chandler loved him.

"Excuse me."

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

She followed the boy's gaze to the lower level,where a wispy young blonde woman stood with an equally blonde baby onher hip. The young woman smiled, and gestured toward the empty chairshe was guarding.

Lois hated showing weakness, but her head ached,her face hurt, and every once in a while the room tilted a little.Sitting down probably wasn't the worst thing she could do. Shestretched her bruised mouth into a smile and followed the boy to thenarrow wrought iron stairs that led to the lower portion of the room.The way was crowded, but the boy led her through withease.

"Hi," the blonde woman greeted, when they reachedher. "I'm Lena, and this," she hitched the baby higher, "is Cathy. Ihope you don't mind me saying so, but you look prettybad."

"I'm okay," Lois said stubbornly.

"Yeah?" Lena looked skeptical. "Well, I'm sureyou'd be more comfortable here than leaning up against thatwall."

"I guess so." Lois made the concession grudgingly,and eased herself into the offered chair. It did feel good to sitdown. "Thanks."

Lena crouched beside her and balanced the baby onher knees. "Geoffrey, bring her some more tea, would you?" The boyvanished and Lena transferred her attention to Lois. "So, what's yourname?"

"I'm Lois Lane." Habit made her give her fullname.

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

She managed a little smile. "Yeah. It'sokay."

"You came with Catherine, didn't you?" Lena wenton. "Is she a friend of yours?"

Lena's expression was curious. Well, Lois hadn'tseen much of this underground world, but she supposed there wasn't alot to do down here. Gossip was probably a primeentertainment.

"Not a friend," she said carefully. "Just someoneI know."

"Oh."

"Excuse me, Lena? I believe William's looking foryou. You have kitchen duty this afternoon?" It was the woman who'dbeen serving the tea, the one who'd taken Clark off to change hisshirt.

"Oh. Yes, right." Lena flushed and scrambled toher feet. "Here, Livvy, could you take Cathy to Brooke for me? Iappreciate it." She handed off the baby, gave Lois an apologeticsmile, and hurried away.

The older woman watched her retreat, then turnedto Lois. "I'm sorry about that. Lena hasn't been with us long andsometimes she forgets we don't ask many questions here." Her gazesoftened. "I don't know your name. I'm Olivia."

"I'm Lois." Mindful of Lena's comment, she gaveonly her first name.

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

"That's right," Lois answered cautiously. Clarkmust have been talking about her.

"He should be back here any time," Oliviacontinued. "Are you comfortable? Can I get you something?"

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

"All right. If you're sure. Keep that ice pack onyour face, it'll help with the bruising and swelling."

"Okay." Lois pressed the cold pack to the sorestpart of her cheek. "Thanks."

"Well." Olivia looked across the crowded room."I'd better get Cathy to the nursery and then see about taking careof all these people..." She drifted away.

Even with the ache in her head, the growingstiffness of her face, Lois couldn't help observing and making mentalnotes about everything that went on around her. The throng of peopleconstantly shifted and surged, although they did it so quietly, andkept their voices so hushed, that it seemed almost surreal. Shecaught occasional glimpses of Catherine, who sat not far away, butthere was no chance to exchange so much as a sympathetic look, muchless a word.

Clark came back a few minutes later, dressed inhis own jeans - she could still see the dark splotch down one hip -but wearing a light-colored shirt with full sleeves and a darktunic-like thing that made him look impossibly romantic. Loiscouldn't help a little smile as he paused in the entry and swept theroom with his gaze. He found her, and visibly relaxed. He came downthe stairs quickly and threaded a path to her side.

"Hey," he said, hunkering down beside her. "Youmoved."

"Yeah. Somebody named Lena found the chair for me,and then tried to pump me for information, but somebody else namedOlivia ran her off."

He smiled. "Olivia. She's the one who foundthese." He plucked at his sleeve.

"Yeah. Same one. She seems nice."

"They all seem nice." His expression grewdistant.

"What? What do you hear?"

He refocused on her and shook his head. "Vincent.I think they've got 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 protectivehand on her shoulder.

Someone came by and filled his teacup, someoneelse proffered a plate of cookies and small cakes. Clark took acookie, but didn't eat it. Lois, swallowing the faint beginnings ofnausea, declined.

Time crawled.

And at last a man, gowned in dark-spattered white,emerged from behind the curtain. He pulled his surgical mask downwith a sigh that was clearly audible in the sudden hush.

The room seemed to lurch toward him as peopleshifted, straining to see and hear. Lois came to her feet and wasswept forward before Clark's arms came around her, steadying her, hisbigger body shielding her from the crowd. They came to stand not fivefeet from where Catherine stood poised as if holding a precariousbalance.

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

"We removed the bullet," Peter answered, pullingoff his surgical cap and running a hand through his hair. "It nickedseveral major blood vessels, and he had lost a lot of blood by thetime we could get in to repair them. But he's strong; he's holdingon."

A second man, similarly gowned, stepped out besidePeter. "I'll need four of you to help move him to his own chamber,"he ordered. "Peter will supervise." He pulled off his own cap andmoved down, into the crowd. It parted for him, making a path straightto Catherine. He stopped before her.

"Is he going to be all right, Father?" shewhispered, her voice strained. "Is he?"

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

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

"Good." He nodded to where the other doctor wasoverseeing a small knot of men in moving the stretcher. "Go alongwith Peter," he said. "I'll have a look at your bruiseslater."

She didn't have to be told twice.

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

"Here, sir." Clark moved forward, taking Lois withhim.

Father looked at him. "What's yourname?"

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

"You can call me Father," Father interrupted. "Ifmy son lives, it is because you brought him here so quickly. I wantto thank you for that."

Clark went utterly still; for a moment, Loisthought he wasn't going to answer. "I'm glad I could help," he said,finally.

"If ever you need anything we might be able toprovide," Father went on, "you have only to ask. We are in yourdebt."

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

Father swung Lois's way, fixing her with a steelygaze. "Young woman. I haven't seen you before, have I?"

Before Lois could answer, Clark put his arm aroundher shoulders. "This is my wife," he said, sounding proprietary andprotective. "Lois."

Father looked vaguely puzzled. "But she wasn'twith you..."

"I was with Catherine," Lois said, working to keepher voice steady. Clark's grip on her shoulders tightened.

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

The ice must have had an effect; it hurt, but notas much as it had at first. "I'm okay," she answered.

"We'll have a closer look after we've seen Vincentsettled," he said. "Before you go back."

He turned and gestured; a young woman of perhapstwenty appeared at his side. "Yes, Father?"

"Jamie. These are our new friends, Clark and Lois.Please take them to William and find them something to eat, and whenthey're finished, take them to the hospital chamber. Peter or I willbe along to attend to Lois's injuries. After that, you may escortthem up top, and give them instructions on how to contact us in thefuture."

"Sure, Father," Jamie answered. "Father... isVincent really going to be okay?"

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

He patted her shoulder, then moved off through thecrowd, but his progress was slow; people thronged around him, all ofthem asking after Vincent.

"Come on," Jamie said, after a moment. "I'll takeyou to the kitchen."

It seemed almost like charity, and that stungLois's pride, but she was dead on her feet, and her face hurt, andClark probably had saved Vincent. She was too nauseated to be hungry,but Clark probably wanted to eat, and she didn't want to be rude. Soshe allowed Clark to accept for both of them, and permitted him toguide her in Jamie's path with a hand in the small of herback.

"Clark!"

The voice was familiar, and Clark's hand droppedfrom her back as he stopped. "Mr. Schofield?" He soundedincredulous.

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

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

"It's all right," George Schofield answered. "Iheard about what you did. We're all very grateful." He looked pastLois to where Jamie waited. "I hear Vincent's doing okay."

"So far," Jamie agreed. "I think it's too soon totell. But the council meeting's been canceled. Your candidates willhave to wait. I hope that's okay."

Schofield's quick glance took in both Lois andClark before returning to Jamie. "Well, as it happens... they'rehere."

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

He held up a hand to stop her. "I do, and you knowI would never endanger the community that way. In fact, I was on myway to tell Father that my candidates hadn't come when I heard aboutVincent. Imagine my surprise to find that my candidates hadn't shownup at the shop... because they were here."

"Here?" Jamie wasn't stupid. "You mean..." Hergesture took in both Lois and Clark.

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

"But..." Clark began.

Schofield shook his head playfully. "Don't tell medifferent, Clark," he said. "I know the pair of you have beensleeping on the street, or in a shelter. You have that new job at theSentinel, but you're still down on your luck. I thought you could usea little help to tide you over."

Jamie looked at them. "Why didn't you tell Fatheryou needed a place to stay?" She sounded genuinelybewildered.

Clark shuffled his feet, and Lois might havegrinned, if she weren't all but swaying on her feet. So he did havehis pride, after all.

George Schofield answered for them. "It'sdifficult for some folks to accept a helping hand," he explained."I'm betting that right now, these two are trying to figure out howto offer to pay for anything you give them."

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

Clark's feet shifted again, and Lois felt hercheeks warming beneath the bruises.

"Except I'm guessing that might be consideredinsulting?" Clark said, sounding sheepish.

"Don't worry, Clark, you'll pay for anything youreceive," George Schofield assured him. "Only you'll pay for it infriendship, and by helping when you can."

"Like you've already done," Jamie added. "WithVincent."

"I didn't really..." Clark began, but stopped whenLois put her hand on his arm.

If she didn't shut him up, there was no tellingwhat he'd say. She knew he felt bad about Vincent, but saying heshould have stopped both bullets wasn't going to help now, and itwould give away his secret. Their secret.

"Clark was glad to help Vincent," shesaid.

"Yeah," Clark agreed, catching on. "I'm only sorryI couldn't do more. But we're glad to accept any help you can giveus."

Lois supposed that if said help included a placeto lie down, she was glad to accept it, too.

"I'll catch up with the two of you later," GeorgeSchofield promised, and disappeared into the crowd. Jamie led Loisand Clark the other way, taking them out of the crowded chamber andthrough a warren of intersecting rock-walled passages to a warm roomfull of mismatched tables, chairs, and benches. There she introducedthem to a florid, beefy man called William, who fed them steamingbowls full of hearty stew. Nausea kept Lois from doing more thannibbling at hers. "Just tired," she assured Clark, when he looked ather worriedly. She didn't want to tell him how her head pounded, orher jaw ached.

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

"Here," she told them. "You can stay here. As longas you like."

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

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

"Yeah." He sounded distracted. "Lois, honey, areyou all right?"

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

"You're not acting right."

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

"Yeah." He touched her cheek. "Here, let me helpyou."

Moments later she was tucked under layeredblankets and quilts. "Hey," she murmured, summoning her mostseductive tone. "Wanna join me?"

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

She affected a pout, but already her eyes weredrifting closed. "Not fair," she muttered, into her pillow. "Wehaven't been in a bed together in weeks."

"I know. Later, I promise."

"Hmph." She would have argued with him, but sleepcame up and silenced her.

*****

Vincent was so still. He lay flat on his back, hishead elevated by a single pillow. An IV line went into one arm; theother arm, like the rest of him, was hidden by a sheet pulled to hischin.

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

Behind her, Father and Peter conferred quietly,while Mary fussed over things that had been brought in and placed onVincent's writing table. Catherine didn't acknowledgethem.

Instead, she watched Vincent's slow and shallowbreathing, too quick for him, Father had said, and agonized throughthe interminably long second at the end of each exhale, before hisbroad chest lifted again.

My fault, she thought numbly. He's here because ofme. Because I was in danger. All my fault.

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

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

Her head and jaw ached from the beating she'dtaken; Father and Peter had both prodded her bruises, peered into hereyes, and checked her reflexes before diagnosing a mild concussion inaddition to the various swellings and discolorations. Rest, they hadadvised, but she couldn't. Not until she knew Vincent would beokay.

And how could she know that when he lay soterribly still?

She should have protected him. Should have keptherself safe.

Then she thought of Virginia Stevens, whose facewas no less battered than her own. Her fingers tightened convulsivelyover Vincent's still ones. How could she have left the woman in sucha dangerous situation? Even if doing so would have kept Catherine -and by extension, Vincent - safe? How was she supposed to make thatkind of choice, valuing one life above another?

She let out a weary, pained sigh and put her headdown on the bed.

Jamie arrived at just that moment, entering thechamber cautiously. Her first glance was for Vincent, lying so stillin the bed, before she turned to Father. "The new people, Clark andLois... they've eaten and I've put them in the guest chamber, butClark's worried about his wife and wonders if somebody can come lookat her?"

Father ran a weary hand through his already mussedhair. "Of course, I said I would. But what are they doing in theguest chamber? I thought they'd be on their way home bynow."

"Because George said... oh, that's right, youweren't there for that part," Jamie remembered. "George'scandidates... they're them."

"What?" Father looked bewildered. "The young manwho brought Vincent to us, the young woman Catherine brought down...they are the young couple George planned to present as candidates forresidence with us?"

Catherine had thought she'd used up all her body'sreserve of adrenaline coping with the day's events, but Jamie's wordsdredged up another surge from somewhere; her heart quickened and herthroat constricted. Beside her, Vincent stirred restlessly, movingfor the first time since emerging from surgery. She tightened herhold on his hand and fought for calm.

"I'll stop by on my way out, Jacob," Peter wassaying. "You need to be here with Vincent."

Father nodded acquiescence; Peter gathered up hiscoat and his medical bag and followed Jamie out.

"Here, what is it?" Father asked, coming toVincent's side. He took Vincent's hand from Catherine's grasp andturned it, pressing his fingers to the wrist, laying his other handagainst Vincent's forehead. "He's agitated, but there's no fever..."he muttered, and reached toward his bag.

"Father, don't." Catherine caught his arm. "It'snot 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, youmustn't be frightened. He's badly injured, yes, but if there are nocomplications he should be able to make a fullrecovery..."

"No. I mean, I am scared for him, but that's notwhat... it was what Jamie said. About the Kents."

"Clark and Lois?" Father went tense and wary."What about them?"

"It's what I know about them. What I know that noone else knows."

Father's face couldn't have turned any whiter. Hepulled a chair close and sank into it. "What do you know?"

"That they're reporters... newspaper reporters.For the West Side Sentinel."

Father relaxed perceptibly. "Yes, I believe Georgementioned that. The young man also has a way with computers, andworks afternoons in George's shop."

"I don't know about that. But I do know they wereplanning a story - were researching a story." There wasn't enough airin the chamber; she fought to fill her lungs. "About the series ofslashings, of killings..." she gasped for breath "...followingme..."

Even though she couldn't quite manage all thewords, Father got it. His fingers gripped the arms of his chair."What?" He very nearly roared the word, and Catherine bent herhead.

Vincent writhed on the bed, almost pulling loosethe IV needle that went into his arm.

Father reached out and caught that arm,restraining it, just as Catherine seized the other hand. It took aminute or two to calm him and get him tucked back under the blankets;when he was settled, Father snatched Catherine's wrist and hauled herbodily to the far side of the chamber.

"Are you telling me," he hissed, "that we havenewspaper reporters, intent on exposing Vincent as a murderer, livingamong us?"

"I don't know!" It burst out of her before shecould stop it. "I don't know," she repeated, more softly. "Thewoman... Lois... she was saying something about Clark looking forVincent and about a secret when Callahan and his buddy..."

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

"Clark was already here!" she shouted back. "Whatdifference did it make?"

Vincent let out a strangled growl and lurched offthe bed. He tangled in the blankets and fell.

Catherine reached him first, dodging a flailinghand and throwing herself to her knees beside him. Father was almostas quick, bending to place a comforting hand on Vincent's head.Vincent shook him off. Catherine caught at his arm, but he threw heroff, too, and tried to struggle to his knees. The glazed, unfocusedlook in his eyes frightened her.

"Please, Vincent!" She lunged, wrapping her armsaround him as far as she could, holding on hard. "Please."

He quieted, rolling toward her and burying hisface against her. His eyes closed and his big body wentlimp.

"Oh, thank God," Father muttered. "He could havepulled out his stitches..." He busied himself setting Vincent torights, then heaved himself to his feet. "If you can hold him forjust another minute, I'll summon help, and we'll get him back intobed."

Catherine nodded, though Vincent was heavy andsupporting the weight of his head and shoulders made her armsache.

Father was back a half a minute later with whatlooked like a small army. A closer look revealed it to be four of thecommunity's older teenagers, plus Matthew, an adult whom she knewonly slightly.

"Be careful of the IV," Father warned. "And don'tjostle him... watch out for those bandages..."

While Father fussed, Matthew took charge,directing Zach, Joshua and Stephen; Catherine eased herself away asMatthew bent to take his share of Vincent's weight. Lea, the solegirl in the group, kept the IV line from tangling or getting in theway, and in moments Vincent was once more ensconced in his bed.Catherine tucked him in, smoothing the blankets.

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

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

Father's eyebrows rose. "To see me? Whatfor?"

Again the exchange of uneasy glances among theteenagers.

"The kids..." a sweep of Matthew's hand took inthe four at his side, "...were on sentry duty this morning. Lea wasup near the northern Broadway entrance; the boys were strung outalong a series of passages leading to the docks on the southside."

"And...?" Father prompted.

"And they saw some things. Some things that soundreally strange, maybe even impossible. But they insist they saw whatthey did, and so I thought you ought to know."

"Go on."

Matthew turned to Lea. "You start."

She nodded and visibly braced herself. "It's aboutthe stranger who brought Vincent back after he got shot. Thatman."

"Clark?" Father asked.

Lea nodded. "Yeah, him. He was down here before,this morning. In the north tunnels, where I was. There was anintruder alert, you probably 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,"Matthew offered.

"What sort of weird things?" Fatherasked.

Lea swallowed. "After Vincent came... he... theman... he floated."

"What?"

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

Father stared. "Lea, when was the last time we hadyour eyes checked?"

"There's nothing wrong with my eyes!" she burstout. "Vincent saw it too! And he talked to him - the man - and theywent off together."

"To Vincent's chamber," Zach added. "Mouse sawthem."

Father's eyebrows all but disappeared into hishairline. "Vincent brought Clark here?"

"And then later, I saw them." That wasJoshua.

"So did I," chimed Stephen.

"Me, too," said Zach.

Father ran a hand through his hair and sighed."Tell me what you saw." He jabbed a finger at Stephen. "Youfirst."

"I saw Vincent run by; in a hurry, you know? Likehe gets sometimes." The boy carefully did not look in Catherine'sdirection, but it was clear that everyone in the room knew whyVincent got like that sometimes.

Father nodded understanding.

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

"Running behind him, surely," Fatherinterjected.

Catherine had seen Vincent run, knew how fast hecould be. No one could keep up with Vincent when he was in ahurry.

"Right behind him. Right with him."

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

Zach nodded. "The other man keeping up withVincent. Running with him."

Joshua had seen the same.

Father ran that same thoughtful hand through hishair once more. "I suppose it's possible for someone to be as quickas Vincent. A world-class runner, perhaps, one who is in topcondition... this Clark is built like an athlete..."

"There's more, Father," Matthew saidsoberly.

Catherine fought the sudden urge to sit down. Atleast Vincent was quiet, seeming impervious to the tension fillingthe room.

"Go on, then," Father said.

"When he came back, when Clark came back, carryingVincent..." Stephen stumbled over his own words and paused,swallowing visibly. "He wasn't running anymore. I swear to you,Father, when he passed me, his feet weren't touching theground."

"That's impossible!" Father burst out, echoingCatherine's own instinctive response. "Stephen, you've imaginedthis..."

"But I saw it, too," Joshua insisted. "And he wasgoing fast. Faster than when he and Vincent were running. Way faster.Almost a blur..."

"Same when I saw him," Zach echoed. "Father, hewas flying. I don't know how he did it, but he never touched theground. And he was going faster than Vincent can run. We all sawit."

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

"That's what I told them," Matthew said, "but theyinsisted. And with all four of them seeing the samething..."

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

All four shook their heads vehemently. "Wewouldn't joke about something like this, Father!" Lea sounded moreangry than defensive. "We all saw it. He can fly."

"Father." Even to herself, Catherine's voicesounded thin. "What if they're right?"

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

"That's what Vincent said to him... to Clark," Leasaid quietly. "That it was impossible. And then Clark said that'swhat some people would say about Vincent."

*****

Lois woke slowly; her head felt stuffed withcotton, one eye wouldn't open all the way, her jaw ached, and hermouth tasted faintly of blood. She struggled to focus, blinking untilshe could mostly see. Flickering candlelight and bare rock wallsreminded her of where she was, and she pushed to oneelbow.

"Clark?" She turned to look for him, but thoughhis side of the bed was mussed, the pillow still indented where hishead must have been, he was gone.

She sank back down on the pillow. She rememberedJamie showing them to this chamber, remembered climbing into bed, butthe rest of the night was a jumbled blur. She had a dim memory ofClark waking her, of another man prodding and poking at her face andshining a bright light into her eyes, but sleep had seemed to be theimportant thing at the time.

And she had to admit, despite the way her facehurt, she felt better for the rest. If only she knew where Clark hadgone.

Slowly she sat up, surprised to find her muscles,especially in her neck and shoulders, stiff and sore. Gingerly shestretched as far as she could, then slipped out from under the coversand onto the thickly carpeted floor. A pair of moccasin-like slipperswaited for her; she scowled and slipped her bare feet into them. Itwas too cold down here to be choosy, even though the moccasins showedclear signs of previous wear. At least they looked clean.

A similarly worn but clean-looking dressing gownwas draped over the foot of the bed and she sighed and put it on. Shewished Clark would get back; she could send him for their own things,which were safely stashed... well, wherever it was that Clark stashedthings.

Not that her own things here included warmslippers and a thick robe.

A white square of paper propped against acandlestick on the dresser caught her eye; she moved closer and readher own name... in Clark's writing. Fury began to build even beforeshe snatched up the paper and unfolded it to read Clark's apologeticnote.

'Lois, I'm sorry I'm not there to see you wake up,and to take care of you. But Dr. Alcott -' that must be the man who'dbeen poking and prodding last night - 'promised you weren't seriouslyhurt, and if at least one of us doesn't show up at the paper, we'lllose our job.' And they needed the job desperately. 'Jamie promisedto look in on you,' the note continued. 'Please do what Dr. Alcottsaid, and rest today. I'll see you tonight. I love you.' It wassigned with a scrawled initial C.

She'd bet a dollar - not that she had a dollar -that Clark was keeping an ear out for her. She put her hands on herhips and addressed the ceiling. "You rat! Going off and leaving me...I'll get you for this, Kent, see if I..."

She broke off, suddenly aware she was no longeralone.

The girl called Jamie stood in the doorway, herexpression at once confused and amused. "Talking tosomebody?"

Lois vacillated for an instant, wondering what tosay, then decided to go with the truth. "I was yelling at myhusband," she admitted. Jamie didn't have to know she actuallyexpected Clark to be able to hear her. "For going off and leaving mehere."

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

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

Jamie moved closer. "Are you feeling okay? Youlook pretty..." Her voice trailed away, her hands flutteringwordlessly.

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

"I'll bet. Are you hungry?"

Lois thought about it. Last night's nausea wasgone. "I guess so."

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

"Make it where?"

"To the dining chamber. William serves breakfastfrom six-thirty until nine, and not a minute later. Or so he says.Actually, he feeds anybody who's hungry. But if we're there beforenine, we won't have to listen to him complain."

Lois looked down at her borrowed robe. "I'm notexactly..."

"Oh, right. There should be some things in thedresser over there." Jamie pointed. "Olivia said she took care ofit."

"Oh." Lois crossed to the dresser and found theright-hand drawers full of patched sweaters, darned blouses, andmended skirts. The clothes on the left side were larger anddefinitely masculine - for Clark, obviously. She remembered howdashing he'd looked last night in the shirt and tunic Olivia hadgiven him to wear, and wondered if these worn and patched garmentswould suit him as well.

Behind her, Jamie cleared her throat softly andLois hurried to choose a skirt and sweater.

"Dress in layers," Jamie advised. "You'll bewarmer."

Jamie's words made Lois conscious of the chillcreeping in through the thick robe; quickly she chose a soft,longsleeved shirt to go under the sweater. Remembering the layersthat everyone down here seemed to favor, she added a long knittedvest to the stack and stepped behind the wooden screen standing inthe corner. She dressed quickly, fumbling only a little with theunfamiliar ties and fastenings, emerging a few minutes later toJamie's approving look.

She had to admit the unusual fashions made herfeel feminine and pretty. That lasted just until she looked in themirror to comb her hair.

"Oh, no," she murmured, touching fingers to herbruised and swollen cheek. A trail of dried blood showed where hersplit lip had opened during the night.

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

"I'll bet she does," Lois answered, rememberingyesterday's brutal beatings. Catherine had absorbed a lot more blowsthan she had. She bent over the china basin and splashed a handful oftepid water over her face, then swilled another handful around in hermouth to wash away the bloody taste. She spit carefully into a chinamug sitting beside the basin, and grimaced.

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

Lois took another look in the mirror. "I guessso." She thought of something else. "How's Vincent?"

Jamie lifted one shoulder in a shrug that wasmeant 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 from the wall where she'd been leaning. "Come on,I'll take you to breakfast."

After breakfast, Jamie showed Lois the way back tothe guest chamber and left her there. Lois tried to rest, but sittingback passively 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 werehappening.

So she paced. Five steps took her from therough-hewn doorway, across a faded carpet to where an antique cherrydresser stood against the far wall. Five paces took herback.

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

The man called Father entered slowly, leaning on astick. His face looked worn and haggard. "I'm sorry to be so late,"he began. "I wanted to see to your injuries."

Lois touched her cheek; she'd been so busy fumingover Clark's going off and leaving her, and fretting over what to dowith the next few hours, she'd almost forgotten about her face. "Imust look a sight."

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

Beautiful? When she knew she was unkempt andbruised? Was the guy hitting on her? But his expression was open andcaring, his smile warm and friendly. So maybe he just wanted to makeher feel better. She smiled back, cautiously, careful of her hurtlip. "Thanks."

"Sit here, my dear." He patted the back of astraight-backed chair. "Let me look at you."

She sank gingerly into the chair. Father moved anoil lamp from the nearby dresser and turned up the wick. "There," hesaid, and put gentle fingers under her chin, tipping her face towardthe light.

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

He sat back and looked at her in consternation. "Ibeg your pardon?"

Geez, she hadn't meant to upset him. She was justmaking conversation. "I mean, you are a doctor, aren't you? Youoperated on Vincent..."

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

That piqued her curiosity. "You've been down herefor that long?"

His smile was kind. "Not everyone enjoys thehustle of the city," he said, prodding gently along her jaw. "Some ofus are happier with a slower pace, more traditionalvalues."

"I guess so," she said doubtfully. She couldn'tsee spending more than a few days in all this peace and tranquility,herself.

"You have some cuts here... and here." His fingersjust brushed her cheek. "I'm sure Peter disinfected them when helooked at you last night, but I'm going to do it again, and leave yousome salve to apply. I'm as sure as I can be, without an x-ray, thatyour jaw isn't broken."

That possibility hadn't occurred to her; her jawached, but not sharply enough, surely, to be fractured. "Maybe whenClark gets back, he can..." She broke off, appalled that she had beenthinking aloud.

"Ah. Clark. Your husband is... a very unusualyoung man." Father took a small brown bottle from the bag and openedit. Pungent fumes wafted up, stinging her nose and eyes.

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

"Is he? This will smart a bit," Father warned, anddabbed at her cheek with a bit of gauze soaked in the pungentliquid.

"Ow." She tried not to flinch.

"Some of the sentries seem to think your Clark ismore than average," he went on. He produced a small glass jar andused a narrow wooden paddle to scoop out a bit of yellow salve thatsoothed the sting of her cheek. Father capped the jar and placed iton the table. "I want you to put some of this salve on those cutstwice a day, and let me know if there are any signs of infection.Redness, swelling..."

"I know what to look for," she answered. Maybethey'd gotten off the topic of Clark and his oddities.

But no. Father sat back and looked at her. "I havea feeling your Clark is as far from ordinary as my ownson."

Stonewalling seemed the only option. "I don't knowwhat you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do." Father busied himselfputting away the bottle of disinfectant and tidying away the gauzeand wooden paddle.

Maybe a change of subject was in order, and therewas certainly something she wanted to know more about. "You calledVincent your son?"

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

"Clark is adopted, too," she said, then could havekicked herself for bringing him back into theconversation.

"Ah." Father set the bag aside and settled backinto his chair. "So Clark is as ignorant of his origins as is myson."

"No, he knows where he comes from," she answeredautomatically, then clamped her mouth shut. All those blows to thehead must have addled her brain; what was she thinking? Worse, whatwas she saying?

Father gazed back at her. He looked tired, shethought, and worried, but there was a gleam of curiosity in his eyethat she'd seen too often in her own mirror.

"Is Vincent going to be all right?" she askedhastily, hoping to distract him.

Father rubbed a hand over his face. "It's too soonto be sure," he answered. "He lost so much blood... and there'salways the danger of infection. But if he stays quiet, and healscleanly... Peter and I both believe he will make a fullrecovery."

"Good. That's good."

"No small thanks to your Clark," he added. "Hebrought Vincent to us so quickly... I wonder how he did that." Thelook he gave her was openly speculative.

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

"Yes, I imagine he is." He shook his head andlevered himself to his feet. "I'm sorry; I've kept you talking whenyour head must ache - I'm not entirely sure you don't have aconcussion. You should rest, my dear, and I should go check on myson."

*****

Catherine floated in a haze of exhaustion; in thetwo days since Vincent had been shot, she had slept only in snatches,mostly sitting up beside him. Twice she had been persuaded to go to anearby chamber to rest, but each time she had managed only an hour ortwo of fitful sleep before anxiety brought her back to Vincent'sside.

She'd hoped - they'd all hoped - Vincent would beawake by now, and on the road to recovery. Instead, he seemed weakerthan ever.

Catherine sighed, roused herself, and reached forthe compress laid across Vincent's brow. She turned to dip it in thebasin of water at her elbow, but someone took her wrist and removedthe compress from her hand.

"I'll do this, Catherine." Mary's voice, soft andcaring. "You need to go lie down for a bit."

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

"You've been hurt, you haven't rested, you'vescarcely eaten. What good will it do Vincent for you to make yourselfill? Please, Catherine. Go and rest, just for an hour or two. I'llwatch over him for you."

The thought of putting her head down for a fewminutes was tempting; it still ached from the beating she'd taken twodays earlier. But Vincent was so very sick, and she was so scared forhim.

"Go on, Catherine." Father, looking as weary andheartsick as she felt, added his encouragement. "You can't go on theway you have been. When he's better, Vincent will need you to bestrong."

If he gets better. She stifled the traitorousthought as quickly as it came, and felt guilty for even lettingherself think that way. If only he weren't so terribly still. If onlyhe'd wake up.

Finally, reluctantly, she nodded. "For an hour,"she said. "I'll go rest for an hour. Send someone to wake meup?"

"I'll send someone right away if there's anychange," Mary said, and Catherine knew that was as much promise asshe was going to get.

She nodded, and lifted Vincent's hand, pressingher lips to his fingers. It made her heart ache to put his hand down,to untangle her fingers from his. She lingered a moment, smoothingthe ruffled fur with her fingertips, then finally, wearily, turnedtoward the exit.

Father wrapped an arm around her when she passedhim. "Nothing will happen in the next few hours," he said, his voicegentle. He seemed to know how much she was hurting. He pressed a kissto her forehead. "Go on."

She was so tired that walking took most of hermeager concentration; she rounded a corner without looking and ranhead-on into 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 upto see who it was.

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

She managed a nod. "Fine. Just... reallytired."

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

"It's not far," she demurred. "I'll be all right.The guest chamber where I'm staying is just down this passage. I'msupposed to get some rest."

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

He seemed genuinely concerned for her, and she hadno strength to resist him. "All right," she conceded, and took thearm he offered. A moment later she stumbled, too tired to pick herfeet up properly, and felt his arm slip around her shoulders, holdingher up. It felt good to lean on someone. He guided her gently, nothurrying her.

"How is Vincent doing?"

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

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

She shook her head; her eyes filled with suddentears. "He's worse. He's started running a fever; Father says there'san infection. 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'tblame yourself, Clark," she said tiredly. "You did everything youcould for him."

They reached the entrance to the guest chamber."This is it. Thank you for your help. I'm so tired, I'm not sure I'dhave made it on my own."

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

"Good night, Clark."

*****

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

"Hi." He bent and kissed her. "Payday. I broughtyou a present."

She all but clapped her hands. "A present? Forme?"

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

She opened it eagerly; she hated surprises, butshe loved presents if they were from Clark. Inside the bag were twowide, flat bars, wrapped in bright blue and white."Candy?"

"Chocolate crunch bars," he explained. "They don'tseem to have the Double Fudge Crunch brand here, so I got youthese."

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

"Yeah. Because I bring you chocolate."

"Among other things." She stopped unwrapping thechocolate long enough to give him her best seductive look - they'dspent two nights in a real bed and still hadn't done anything butsleep.

"Yeah." His answering smile didn't quite reach hiseyes.

She put the candy down. "Clark? What'swrong?"

"Nothing."

She recognized evasion when she saw it. "It's notnothing. Did something happen at work? A story?"

"Today I wrote a story about graffiti, and whatthe city's doing to remove it."

He was trying to divert her. "Clark?"

He looked at the candy bars in her lap. "I wasthinking, next payday, I'd like to get something for the community.Like a thank you."

So he was determined to be cheerful. Well, shecould be determined, too. But for now she'd follow his lead. "Ithought Jamie made it clear they didn't want us to buy themthings."

"I know, and I'm not talking about something big.We couldn't afford that, anyway. But the kids have so little in theway of small pleasures - little toys, candy, that kind of thing. So Iwas thinking, maybe we could get something for the kids. But Icouldn't think of anything appropriate. That all the kids wouldenjoy, but that wouldn't be too expensive, or seem like charity, youknow? Maybe you could think of something, you've spent more time herethan I have."

She had to smile at his generosity. "Yeah, I feltbetter this afternoon, and ended up helping wherever they needed help- did you know they make their own candles down here? And that meltedwax is really hot, hot enough to burn?" She held out her hand so hecould see the faint pink burn on the back of her thumb.

As she expected, he picked it up and pressed agentle kiss to the spot. "I'm sorry you got hurt."

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

"My mother always said I shouldn't listen togossip," he answered automatically.

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

There. That was it. She could tell by the way hisexpression changed, turning vulnerable and a little hurt. And so verysad.

"What is it?"

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a longsigh. "It's Vincent. I ran into Catherine on the way home tonight...or rather, she ran into me. She was exhausted, so I helped her get tothe chamber 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 wasstill sore, but most of the swelling was gone and the bruising wasstarting to fade.

"And when I was so sick that Christmas, youremember?"

Of course she did. A creative genius hadresurrected a Kryptonian virus and infected him with it; he'd nearlydied. And she'd been so frightened. "Oh."

"And I just feel so guilty."

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

"I should have caught the first one. But I wasdistracted... I followed Vincent through the wall, and the firstthing I did was look for you. Not for the danger, the threat, but foryou. And Vincent might die because of it."

"You looked for me because you were scared forme," she said, laying her hand on his. "Because you love me, and youknew I was in danger. I don't know how you could have expected to doany different."

"But I do expect it. I'm Superman, Lois, I'msupposed to protect people. And I didn't. So many times, Ididn't..."

"... Clark?"

His gaze had gone distant, focused on somethingneither of them could see.

She touched his arm. "Clark?"

He made a quick, impatient gesture, asking forquiet. Then he blinked, breathed, and came back to her.

"Trouble?" She knew that look, thatgesture.

"In Vincent's chamber. There's something wrong inVincent's chamber."

Lois lurched up out of her chair and followed himat a dead run. She lost ground with every step, but he couldn't moveas fast here in the close confines of the tunnels as he could up topin the open, so she could almost keep up and Vincent's chamber wasn'tfar.

She could hear the commotion long before sheactually reached the small knot of people gathered outside theentrance to Vincent's chamber. Apparently everyone within earshot hadbeen drawn by the noise - it sounded like a combination of scaldedcat and angry lion in there, accompanied by a half-dozen more humanvoices shouting a frenzy of instructions or just plainyelling.

The entrance itself, a low, narrow tunnel aboutfour feet long, was jammed with bodies; the ones Lois could seeseemed to be straining forward, trying to get in. She couldn't makeout what was stopping them.

Clark yanked down his glasses and peered at thewall; he must not have liked what he saw, because he jammed them backup his nose, reached for the nearest obstacle - a young man dressedin the patched layers that were endemic in this community - andpulled him out of the way.

"Get back!" The voice that emerged was Superman's,bold and commanding. "Let me through!" A few people were startledenough to obey. Meanwhile, the roars and snarls continued from insidethe chamber. She couldn't see over the people crowding the doorway,and headroom 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 seizedanother person blocking the doorway and moved him aside. She caughthold of Clark's jacket and hung on, following closely as he cleared apath. Once the people trying to get in were moved, the tide changed;those already inside the chamber were trying to get out. Clarkflattened against the wall of the tiny passage, flinging one arm backto protect Lois. As soon as the bottleneck cleared, he chargedthrough.

Lois followed.

Inside, pandemonium reigned. Vincent, not lookingnearly as sick as Lois had been led to expect, half-crouched,half-sprawled beside quilts and pillows tumbled from a high, narrowbed. His face contorted savagely; the roars and snarls she'd beenhearing were issuing from his throat. Two men circled warily toeither side of him, feinting forward and dodging back, tryingunsuccessfully to get hold of him.

Father filled a hypodermic needle with tremblinghands. "If you can just hold him, just for a minute," he said. "I cantry to sedate him..."

Vincent rose from his crouch to strike, fast anddeadly, at the man nearest him. The man leaped back, stumbled over achair, and fell. Vincent advanced, letting out a low growl as hewent.

"Dear God!" Father cried. "Matthew, gethim!"

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

"Clark, you mustn't, he isn't himself..." Fatherbegan, speaking quickly.

But Clark never hesitated. He caught Vincent's armin mid-strike, holding it fast, then caught the other flailing arm,as well. "Where do you want him?" He was speaking to Father, but hishard gaze never left Vincent's frenzied face.

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

Clark nodded once, curtly, and moved Vincentback.

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

"Someone stop him!" Father called. "He's going tobreak open those stitches... he can't afford to lose any moreblood..."

But by that time, Clark had Vincent to the bed. Hepushed him down, still holding his wrists. Vincent bucked andflailed, kicking and struggling, wild-eyed and snarling like avicious animal.

"Stop him!" Father pleaded again.

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

He rolled Vincent back and pinned him with his ownbody. Vincent arched again, trying to fling Clark off; Clark appliedmore pressure, holding him down with visible force.

Father, filled syringe in hand, approachedcautiously. "If you can just keep him still for another moment..." hemuttered, and reached for Vincent's arm.

Vincent was effectively pinned to the bed, unableto move arms or legs. Snarling, he bared his teeth and snaked hishead toward Clark's throat.

Father jumped back. Behind Lois, someonegasped.

Vincent closed his jaws on Clark's neck andjerked; the motion, Lois was sure, would have ripped an ordinaryman's throat out. Clark merely grunted and shifted his hold onVincent's wrists, pinning Vincent's head to the mattress with oneforearm.

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

The main casualty seemed to be Clark's glasses -they'd been knocked askew by Vincent's lunge, and now hung half-offhis face. He tossed his head to try to get rid of them, but theglasses clung tenaciously.

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

She gave a wary look at Vincent, who was stillstruggling as best he could, considering it was Superman holding himdown, and stepped forward.

"No, you mustn't go near," Father said, catchingat her arm. "He could break free..."

"He won't," she told him, with assurance. "Clarkcan hold him." Clark would never summon her unless he was certain ofthat. She stepped closer and reached out, grasping the glasses by onetemple and 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 steppedforward himself, wielding the loaded hypodermic.

"Let me through. Let me through!" The voice wasfemale, and very determined. The people - there were only ahalf-dozen or so, Lois realized now - in the entrance shifted andCatherine slipped in.

She looked frantic. Even Father didn't try to stopher from hurrying to Vincent's side. She spared one incredulousglance for Clark, still exerting a great deal of effort to holdVincent in place, and then slid her hand under Clark's arm and placedit against Vincent's temple. "It's okay," she crooned, softly. "I'mhere now."

The result was instantaneous. Vincent was pinnedso effectively he couldn't move, but he let his breath out in anaudible sigh, and all the fight went out of him. His eyes fixed onCatherine's for a moment before they slowly closed.

Clark released his hold on Vincent's wrists andclimbed off. He stepped back from the bed, running a hand over hisruffled hair and straightening his tie. His jacket, Lois noticed,loose enough not to be completely protected by his aura, had beentorn in the scuffle.

Catherine knelt beside the bed, soothing Vincentwith murmurs and touches. Now that the danger was over, the peoplegathered in the chamber entrance pushed inside, spreading out. All ofthem stared at Clark.

Father finally managed to close his mouth andbustle over. "Are you hurt? Let me see your neck..."

Clark warded him off with a raised hand. "I'mfine, Father. He didn't hurt me."

"He had your throat in his teeth," Father saidsharply. "He struck at you."

"Yes, but he didn't hurt me. See?" Clark turnedhis head, letting Father - and everyone else crammed into the littleroom - see the smooth, undamaged skin of his throat.

The murmurs became louder, and Lois could pick outa phrase here and there. "...should have torn his throat out...""...not possible..." "...stronger than Vincent..." "...who is thisguy?"

Father stepped back. "Yes, I see. Well." Hehesitated, as if searching for the right words. "I'm rather surprisedyou were able to restrain Vincent by yourself. He's quitestrong..."

"Oh." Clark looked momentarily flustered. "Well, Iwork out a lot... I guess I'm stronger than I look..."

"Do you know, some of the sentries had some ratherstartling stories to tell about you, the other day. When you broughtVincent back."

"Oh." Clark's expression turned wary. "They did? Idon't know why..."

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

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

The young man nodded crisply and pushed his wayfrom the chamber.

Father addressed the others. "The rest of you, Ido appreciate your concern for Vincent, but he needs quiet now, so ifyou could all be on your way..."

"Is there anything we can do for him, Father?" Thevoice was young and earnest.

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

*****

Clark, sitting quietly with Lois at Vincent'sround table and trying to keep out of the way, watched Peter Alcottstraighten and run a weary hand through his hair. "It's as you said,Jacob. The infection's spread. It's not responded at all to theantibiotics."

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

Peter shook his head. "We've already tried themost powerful antibiotics I know. This infection is veryresistant..."

"There's nothing more you can do?" That wasCatherine, looking frail and weary, and very, very scared.

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

"Keep him calm." Father's voice was resigned."Easier said than done, Peter. You weren't here earlier, when he wasraging... it's lucky he didn't pull loose any of his stitches, thoughwe did have to re-start the IV - he'd pulled the needle rightout."

"I know, Jacob. I'm sorry. I wish I could be ofmore help." Peter turned away, folding his stethoscope and tucking itinto his bag. Only then did he seem to notice Clark and Lois. "Hello,young lady," he greeted Lois, and came closer, peering intently ather face. "Looks as if those are healing up nicely."

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

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

Lois opened and closed her mouth experimentally."Okay, I guess. Still a little stiff. Father says he's pretty sureit's not broken."

"If the stiffness continues, let me know, andwe'll see about getting you some x-rays," Peter said.

Alarmed, Clark eased his glasses down and took asurreptitious peek. But not, evidently, surreptitiousenough.

"So, is it?" Lois inquired, without bothering tolower her voice.

"What?"

"Is it fractured?"

"How would I know?" He could hear the pitch of hisvoice rising.

"Come on, Clark, I saw you..." she mimed peekingover glasses. "So is it fractured?"

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

The look Lois gave him was half weary, halfamused. "Give it up, Clark," she told him. "I've been hearing allkinds of stories about you the past couple of days. Four sentries sawyou bring Vincent back, and I hear there's a girl telling everyoneshe saw you stand on your head in midair. Not to mention what you didin here a little while ago, when Vincent was... well, you know. Thiswas just the last straw. You're not a secret anymore."

"Secret," Father said flatly. "I knew there wassomething..."

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

Lois rolled her eyes and lifted her hands in atiny I-give-up motion. "He just x-rayed my jaw."

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

Clark looked at Lois in horror. "No, I..." hebegan, but stumbled to a stop. What could he possibly saynow?

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

Clark stood up, flustered by Father's intensegaze. "Sir, I'm sorry. It's just such a habit, to keep the things Ican do... to myself."

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

Any minute now somebody was going to want todissect him. Like a frog. "I know it sounds impossible..."

"It is impossible. Except that I watched Vincenttry to tear your throat out, and you don't have a scratch. So maybeit isn't so incredible that you can x-ray things with youreyes."

"He can do Catherine's, if you want," Loisoffered. "She was beaten worse than I was."

Catherine, listening from her place at Vincent'sside, gingerly touched her bruised cheek and looked at Clark withdisbelief.

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

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

"Yeah."

This time, Catherine's glance went to Vincent, whohadn't moved once. "Sure," she said finally, in an I'm-humoring-youtone. "Whatever you want."

Clark lowered his glasses and looked. Catherinestared back at him. When he made a little "move, please" motion withhis fingers, she turned her head, but her eyes never left his face.Finally he pushed the glasses back up his nose. "You've got somethingright here..." he ran a finger over his own cheekbone, under hisright eye. "But I can't quite tell..."

"My God," Catherine whispered. "You really can seethrough things with your eyes."

"Cathy?"

She touched her cheek in the place Clark hadindicated. "It's an old fracture, Peter... you remember, when thosecops came to my apartment..."

"I remember." He turned an incredulous gaze onClark. "And you could see it. Just by looking."

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

Catherine had thought of something else. "Youreally did catch that bullet."

"Uh..." Clark glanced at Lois, who openly grinnedat his discomfiture. "Well, yeah." His gaze went briefly to Vincent,lying so still. "I wish I'd caught both of them."

Father's look was incredulous. "How can you befast enough to catch a bullet? And why didn't it tear up yourhand?"

"For the same reasons I can see throughCatherine's skin, I guess. Because I'm not from here, and mybiology's totally different than yours."

"Like Vincent," Peter suggested.

Right. Like Vincent. Maybe he wasn't in fordissection, after all. "Well, different from humans like Vincent'sdifferent from humans. But I don't think Vincent and I are anythingalike, really."

"You are, in your willingness to help others,"Father observed. "Don't think we aren't grateful for that, Clark. Itseems we owe you so much already, I hesitate to ask for one morething..."

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

"You're evidently stronger than Vincentis..."

Clark nodded cautiously.

"...and he doesn't seem to be able to hurt you.His fever's so high, he could go off in another delirium at any time.I know you worked all day, you must be tired. But if I had a cotbrought in for you, would you be willing to stay here tonight, withhim? Just in case? If you don't, I fear what he mightdo..."

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

"So she does," Father agreed, "but in his deliriumhe might not know her, and she isn't strong enough to hold him.Nothing would devastate him more than to recover and learn he'd hurther..."

Lois sighed. "Another perfectly good night in abed, wasted," she muttered under her breath.

*****

After Vincent's outburst, Catherine refused toleave him again, even to get some much-needed sleep. Clark made hertake the cot brought in for him, pulling it close to the bed so shecould reach out and touch Vincent without getting up, but she sleptscarcely more than he did, waking every time Vincent grew restless,touching him and speaking to him in soft, unintelligible murmursuntil he quieted.

At first, Clark tried to help, but it soon becameclear that Vincent didn't tolerate Clark's touch as well as he didCatherine's. They both feared the resulting agitation would offsetany benefit, so Clark settled for being Catherine's support system,bringing her water, making sure she was covered when she napped. Inbetween, he sprawled in a chair and dozed.

Morning brought Father, who bent over his patientwith a worried scowl. He answered Catherine's questioning look with aslow shake of his head. "His fever's up, his pulse is racing. There'sno question the infection is still raging; the antibiotics seem to behaving no effect at all..."

"What happens now?" Catherine's voice held justthe faintest tremor.

"We wait, and hope he is strong enough to fight itoff," Father answered. "We pray. We... I just..." he broke off,burying his face in his hand.

Clark had seldom felt so helpless. Father's fearfor Vincent was palpable; clearly he believed Vincent mightdie.

Catherine recognized it, too; fear and the faintbeginnings of grief shone in her eyes.

"Hello?" It was Lois's voice, calling from theoutside passage.

Clark started for the entrance, but on thisoccasion Father was faster. "Come in!" he called.

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

"Where do you think you're going?" Clarkdemanded.

"To work," she answered.

"No, you're not." He said it despite the defiantgleam in her eye.

"Yes. I am. You've been up all night, Clark, andbesides, you've been working the past two days while I got better.Now it's my turn."

"You're still hurt," he protested. "You're stillhealing. You look awful."

She put a self-conscious hand on her cheek, wherebruising was still visible. "I feel fine. Perfectly capable ofwriting a story about whatever fascinating subject Alex has for ustoday."

"Pigeons," Clark said.

"What?"

"He said he was going to send us out to talk to aboy who raises pigeons on his tenement's rooftop."

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

"Huh?" Catherine looked blank for an instant, buttiredness must have kept her from noticing the true oddness of thequestion. "Yeah. We have Pulitzers. You should do something aboutthose bruises first, though."

"I'm going to tell people I got mugged," Loissaid, sounding just a bit defensive. "I won't say what reallyhappened."

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

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

"I have something that works pretty well."Catherine crossed the chamber to where her briefcase was proppedagainst the wall. She rummaged inside, coming up with a small bottleof flesh-colored liquid. She squinted at it critically in the flareof candlelight. "My skin tone's lighter than yours, Ithink..."

"Let me see..." Lois reached for the bottle,turning it in her hands. "Yeah, but maybe if I cover it with myown..."

The discussion of makeup ended with Catherine'sbottle tucked into Lois's purse. "I'd better hurry, I'm going to belate."

"You're not going," Clark said again. "Ican..."

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

He knew when to give up; he raised his hands insurrender. "Got it. But you be careful!"

She nodded, kissed him quickly, and hurriedout.

*****

Over the next two days, Vincent's temperaturesoared even higher as his body fought the infection raging throughhim. He slipped in and out of a delirium that frightened everyone andkept Catherine within arms' reach. Clark stayed close, too, when hecould, but circumstances conspired to draw him away more thanonce.

First he diverted a minor flood created by a citywater main break. Then he helped clear a tunnel whose saturated roofhad collapsed, 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 hadlimits, especially down here in the dark, and Clark was tired in bodyas well as spirit when Peter Alcott came on the second evening toexamine the patient and confer with Father. Clark tried not tooverhear, but even their quiet murmurs carried to him clearly. Bothphysicians believed Vincent was at the end of his strength. Theantibiotics had made no difference to his condition. Barring amiracle, Vincent would die.

*****

Lois hurried through the tunnels in the wake ofher long-legged teenaged guide. She wished she'd paid a bit moreattention when the boy had come to get her; if she knew his name, shecould ask him to slow down. But she didn't know it, didn't want toyell, "Hey, you!", and pride wouldn't let her give up. She wasbreathless and footsore when they reached the hub of the community.She'd asked to be taken to wherever Clark was; that, apparently, wasstill Vincent's chamber. She wondered if he'd had a chance to resttoday at all. She knew he hadn't slept much the past two nights, andwhile Superman didn't need as much sleep as the average human, he didrequire some rest.

The boy left her at the entrance to Vincent'schamber, which this evening was guarded by a middle-aged man Loishadn't seen before.

"Excuse me," she began, but the man cut heroff.

"Sorry. You can't go in. No one can go in.Vincent's really sick and Father doesn't want himdisturbed."

Habit and inclination made her bristle, but memoryof Vincent, lying so still this morning when she'd stopped by to seeClark, moderated her reply. "You don't understand," she began,working at staying pleasant. "My husband's in there, and I think Ihave an idea..."

The man was stubbornly shaking his head, standingby his instructions, and she was considering bopping him one anddashing past when Clark appeared in the entrance behindhim.

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

It didn't surprise Lois at all that in the fewdays they'd been in the tunnels, Clark had already become someone whowas listened to, and obeyed.

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

The way he held her told her the gravity ofVincent's condition. She hugged back hard, offering her own strengthto supplement his. It was a long time before he releasedher.

A quick glance over her shoulder showed thesentry, Marc, studiously ignoring them. She turned back to find Clarklooking into her eyes with a sadness she could feel. His face wasdrawn; she'd seldom seen him look so drained.

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

Catherine slumped in a chair, her head pillowedagainst Vincent's forearm. Father and Peter conferred quietly, sadly,on the far side of the room.

Both turned when she and Clark came in. "Lois,"Father said, not unkindly. "Perhaps this isn't a good time tovisit... Vincent isn't well."

What was it with these people and their attemptsto keep her from her husband? She quelled the sharp retort thatsprang to her lips, and said instead, "I know. And I've beenthinking."

"Thinking?" That was Clark, behind her; did shedetect the faintest note of alarm in his voice?

She turned to him. "You remember the article wewrote a couple of months ago? About an experimental treatment forinfected wounds that resisted antibiotics?"

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

It was Peter's turn to look perplexed. "Lasers?They've been used for many things in the medical field, but treatmentof infected wounds? I haven't read anything..."

"As I said, it's very experimental," Lois rushedto say. She didn't want to get into interdimensional time-travelright now. "They use a laser beam to sterilize and cauterize thewound. If I'm remembering right..." She looked to Clark forconfirmation.

"I think that's right," he answered; she could seehe was thinking back, remembering.

Peter's hopeful expression fell. "Even if thistreatment would work, we don't have access to the kind of laser we'dneed... and if we did, how would we get Vincent there?" He put a kindhand on Lois's arm. "We do appreciate your thinking of ways to help,but..."

"No, you don't understand. Clark could doit."

"What?" Both men spoke simultaneously.

Catherine, awake now, stared from herchair.

Clark looked at her with incredulity. "Lois, haveyou lost your mind? I don't have the knowledge to do what you'resuggesting... I could do him irreparable damage... I could killhim."

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

"Yes, but I don't know enough!" Clark repeated,more loudly. "I haven't studied anatomy, I wouldn't know how much, orfor how long..."

"But if you don't, he'll die." Catherine wasstanding now, swaying slightly. "He's going to die. The infection iskilling him." There was no question, no doubt in her voice. Loiswondered how long she'd known the grim truth, and more, how she stoodthere quietly when inside, she must have wanted to scream.

Clark's resistance faltered. "I know," he answeredquietly.

"If there's a chance... even a small chance... youhave to try, Clark. Please." Hope spawned desperation. Catherine'shands wound together in supplication. "Please."

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

"If you can really do this, he has a chance."Peter's voice shook with fervor. "Any chance is better thannone."

Clark's desperate glance returned to Lois. "Howmuch do you remember from our notes? About intensity, or the amountof time... anything?"

She shared what she could dredge from memory; itwasn't much, but added to what he remembered, it might be enough. Ithad to be enough.

Father produced a battered medical text and openedit to a color-plate diagram of a man's chest, showing Clark nervesand blood vessels, things to be avoided. "We think Vincent's anatomyis very similar," he said at last. "But there are differences, you'llhave to be careful. Will you be able to see what you'redoing?"

"Yes," Clark assured him. "I can x-ray him first.And intermittently 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 thinkI'll be able to trace the path of the bullet, and possibly even seethe infection, or rather the signs left by the infection."

Father shook his head in disbelief. "It's notpossible," he murmured, even as he moved to the bed and began tounbutton Vincent's shirt. "Catherine, you'd better step back," headvised.

"No," Clark objected. "I want her here. He'll bequieter if she's holding him. If he moves..."

Lois had seen what an intense blast of his heatvision could do; she shuddered to think how it would affect flesh andbone. But of course he could control the intensity; more than oncehe'd used a mild burst to warm her when she was cold.

Catherine crouched at the head of the bed,cradling Vincent's head in her hands, crooning to him. Father steppedback, giving Clark room at the bedside.

Clark removed his glasses, folded them, and placedthem carefully on the table. He stepped forward and spent agonizinglong minutes simply staring; using his x-ray vision to assess thewound and plan the best approach for the use of his heat vision, Loiswas sure. Finally he moved, placing one knee on the bed at Vincent'swaist, and bending over him. He reached out, taking Vincent's wristsin his hands, and narrowed his eyes.

Lois, standing between Father and Peter, waitingbreathlessly for something to happen, saw Catherine go even whiter,if that was possible. Catherine grimaced and swallowed hard, but kepther hands against Vincent's skin, kept up her low, wordlesscrooning.

The stench reached Father, Peter, and Lois amoment later. It smelled like burning, rotted meat. Lois's stomachroiled; she didn't know how Catherine stood being so close to thesource.

Vincent bucked suddenly, letting out a sharp crythat sounded more human than animal. Clark lifted his head for aninstant and murmured something to Catherine, who nodded briefly andmoved her hands down so that her palms were in full contact with thebare skin on Vincent's neck. Vincent quieted, and Clark turned hisgaze back to the angry wound on Vincent's chest. When he looked upagain, it was to release Vincent's arms and back away from the bed.The edges of the wound were charred and the whole chamber reeked withthe stench of burnt flesh.

"There," he said quietly. "I think I got it all. Ihope I did."

Father hurried forward to tend to his son; it wasPeter who lavished Clark with effusive thanks.

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

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

*****

Catherine had never smelled anything quite sonauseous. She'd been close enough, too, to see the swollen, reddenedflesh of Vincent's wound bubble and sear as Clark stared, to hear thehiss that reminded her of broiling meat. Only the knowledge thatVincent needed her to be close, to be touching him, kept herthere.

It had hurt him, the cauterization. He'd stiffenedimmediately, trying to lift his arms against Clark's restraint, buthe'd listened to her half-voiced pleas to be still, to let them helphim. Only once had he given in to his desire to fight this new agony,arching helplessly against a man who was stronger than he.

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

He knows I'm here, she thought, but neverthelessshe did as Clark asked, sliding her hands from Vincent's wild,tangled mane to his neck, her fingers grazing the soft fur on hisshoulders. He seemed to hear her then. He stilled, holding himselfrigid as Clark continued his gruesome task.

Relief surged through her when Clark finally letgo of Vincent's wrists and stepped away from the bed. Vincent relaxedslowly, letting his big body go limp.

Catherine let out a long sigh and lowered her headto the pillow beside Vincent's. He turned his face toward her; healways knew where to find her, even in the depths of illness. Shestroked his cheek and wished she could just close her eyes and sleepright here.

It had been so long since she'd slept; exhaustionoozed from every pore in her body.

Father bent over the bed, examining Vincent'swound, checking his pulse, listening to him breathe.

Catherine blinked gritty eyes and swallowed ayawn. An hour's sleep... just an hour.

She must have dozed off; when she next becameaware of her surroundings, her neck ached, and only Clark and Lois,standing close together on the far side of the room, werethere.

"Where... where are Father and Peter?" she managedthickly.

"Peter's gone home," Clark answered, coming towardher. "He has surgery in the morning. Father's gone to get somesleep."

Catherine nodded. Father had spent nearly as muchtime at Vincent's side as she had, and he was older. "How long was Iasleep?"

"About two hours." That was Lois. Her smile wastentative, as if unsure of her welcome.

Catherine rubbed at her face with her hands, thenwinced.

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

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

"Maybe I could speed that up a little bit," Clarkoffered. "For Lois, too. I've been thinking about it."

"How?" Lois looked suspicious.

He touched the edge of his glasses. "I think alittle heat vision might help. It couldn't hurt."

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

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

In answer, Lois pushed her hair back and liftedher face. "Go ahead."

Clark pulled his glasses down and gazed intentlyat Lois's face for a few seconds. "There," he said, pushing theglasses back up. "How's that?"

"Warm," Lois answered, smiling. She touched herbruised cheek experimentally. "Better, I think."

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

Lois smiled back and said, "NowCatherine."

Involuntarily Catherine drew back. Whatever he'djust used on Lois was the same thing he'd used on Vincent earlier,the same thing that had burned away the infection in Vincent's wound.Now he wanted to use it on her face?

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

Had she been that obvious? Embarrassment overcameexhaustion. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't help..."

"Remembering," Clark finished for her. "I won't ifyou don't want me to, but I really think it will help with thebruising."

She'd seen her reflection in a mirror only thatmorning. Most of the swelling was gone, but the bruising, faded nowfrom vivid pinks and purples to ugly greens and yellows, was stillclearly visible. Anything that minimized it could only be good. AndClark, she reminded herself firmly, wouldn't do anything to hurt her.He'd already used the technique on Lois.

"All right," she said, and lifted herface.

Clark took his glasses off completely and laidthem on Vincent's table, then turned to face her.

Catherine closed her eyes and waited.

Her first perception was simply one of warmth,like the sun. It did feel nice, but not particularly healing. Then,suddenly, the sensation changed, moving deeper somehow, soothingaches she didn't know were there. Too soon, the warmth faded.Catherine opened her eyes to find Clark putting his glasses backon.

"Better?" he asked.

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

"It should look a lot better bymorning."

"Thanks." When she rubbed at her face this time,it didn't hurt.

"You look exhausted. Why don't you lie down andsleep?" He gestured toward the cot.

She shook her head. She hated the low, narrow cot.It was hard and uncomfortable and she had to stretch to touch Vincentwithout getting up. She'd rather nap in a chair. She flatly refusedto leave the chamber. "I'm going to sit with him a whilelonger..."

"Okay. But come around here..." He moved her chairfrom the bed's head to its side, so she could not only strokeVincent's face, but also hold his hand.

"Thanks."

Clark ran a hand through rumpled hair. He lookednearly as tired as she felt. "Listen, if you're going to be awake fora little bit..."

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

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

From the look of it, that made sense to Lois, butCatherine was still perplexed. "Sun?" She glanced automatically ather watch. "But it's dark up there now... isn't it?" She'd been awakefor so long... had she managed to confuse day and night? But no, itmust be evening because Lois had arrived from work only a few hoursago.

Clark offered a small grin. "Don't worry, I canfind sunlight when I need it. But I don't want to leave Vincentunless you're here."

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

"Just an hour or so..."

"Sure," she repeated. Anything. She'd doanything.

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

The look Lois flashed him might have been one ofalarm, but Catherine was far too tired to take offense. "If shewants," she answered. "I'll be okay by myself."

"No, you need someone to sit with you," Clarksaid. "Lois will stay. Won't you?"

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

"Thanks, honey." He kissed her so tenderly thatCatherine felt like an intruder, watching.

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

"Be careful." Lois looked more sad than trulyworried, and Catherine found the energy to wonder just how powerfulClark was, anyway.

He touched her cheek with his hand. "I will," hesaid, making it sound like a promise. "I love you."

*****

Lois watched him go with just the tiniest twingeof panic. She wasn't good at sickrooms, she wasn't good atcomforting. What should she say? What should she do?

Well, she'd have to do something. Resolute, sheturned to face the sickbed.

Catherine was watching Vincent, stroking his armwith absent fingers.

"Can I get you anything?" Lois offered, feelingawkward.

Catherine shook her head. "I'm fine. Justthinking."

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

Catherine seemed to feel Lois's gaze upon her.Without turning, she spoke. "About something Clark said. Vincentnever would have said that to me." Her voice was very quiet, verytired.

"What?" Lois ran back over everything Clark hadsaid to her, and fixed on the most recent. "That he lovesyou?"

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

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

Catherine looked at her. "Something he saidyesterday morning. When you were... disagreeing about whether or notyou were going to work."

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

"No, not that. He looked at your face, and saidyou looked awful."

Lois grimaced and touched her faceself-consciously. "He didn't mean it that way. He wasjust..."

"I know how he meant it." For a moment she lookedwistful. "There was such concern in his voice when he said it. Andsuch affection. But Vincent would never tell me I looked awful, evenif I did." She managed a small grin. "Even though I do."

Lois answered with a smile of her own. "Neither ofus would win any beauty contests this week, that's for sure," sheagreed. "But I'm not sure what you're getting at."

Catherine sighed. "What you and Clark have betweenyou - it's so easy, so comfortable. I love Vincent, more than I everthought it was possible to love anybody, and I know he loves me, butwe don't have that. He's always so worried about who he is, what heis, and I'm always afraid I'll say the wrong thing and he'll leave,or send me away."

"Send you away? Would he do that?"

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

Lois leaned her chin on a fist. "Really? Justbecause he's different?"

"Yeah. Just because he's different."

Lois pondered that. "I guess Clark's done that,too," she said finally. "He broke up with me once, before we weremarried. Because he said that his being involved with me was puttingme in danger. Which was really stupid, since we work together, we'repartners! How was his loving me going to put me in more danger than Iwas in already? But he can be really hardheadedsometimes."

"Vincent, too. He worries about me... and some ofthat'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 denyit."

Catherine managed a tired smile. "I won'ttell."

That topic exhausted, Lois kicked into reportermode. "So, tell me about you and Vincent?"

The look Catherine flashed her was wary. "Tell youabout...?"

"You know, how you met."

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

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

Catherine stared. "Another planet?"

Oops. Hadn't they said that before? She was sureClark had said something... or maybe not. Well, the cat was out ofthe bag now. "Another planet," she repeated firmly. "It was calledKrypton. It exploded when Clark was a baby, but his parents sent himto Earth, so he didn't die when they did."

"Another planet," Catherine said again. She lookedstunned, or maybe that was just the exhaustion.

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

Catherine's smile was faint but genuine. "No," sheadmitted. "I never thought that."

"Well. We think it's because Krypton had a redsun. He has a dense molecular structure, and somehow he draws energyfrom the Earth's yellow sun, and nobody knows why he can do the restof the things he does."

"The sun? That's why he wanted to go up and findsunlight. He was tired."

"Yeah. Pretty drained, I guess, from the stuffhe'd been doing down here, and not seeing the sun at all for a coupleof days. I don't think he's ever gone this long without seeing thesun."

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

"He'll just fly west until he finds it," Loisanswered. "He's probably in California by now..."

"So fast?"

Lois couldn't resist a grin. "He was probably inCalifornia ten minutes ago," she answered. She glanced at her watch."It's later than I thought, maybe he's in Hawaii..." She blamed thetwitch of nostalgia on exhaustion. "We were supposed to spend ourhoneymoon in Hawaii..."

"Why didn't you?"

"Oh, well..." To her amazement and horror, Loisfelt herself blushing. "I guess we got sort of... distracted. It wasour honeymoon, 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, we don't..."

It took Lois a moment to figure out what it wasthat Catherine and Vincent didn't do; then she blushed even more."Oh. Well, Clark and I waited. Until after we were married. It washard, but I'm glad we did."

Catherine looked away. "This isdifferent."

Lois frowned. "Different?"

She nodded slowly. "Because there isn't going tobe a wedding for us. He isn't ever going to ask me..."

Lois had never felt quite so bewildered in all herlife. From everything she'd heard and seen, if any two people lovedeach other, Vincent and Catherine did. "Why not?"

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

"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 ironbars and lifting cars. "Just because he can hurt you doesn't mean hewill."

"I know that. I know." Defiance was in Catherine'svoice, and Lois remembered how, even when Vincent was in the depthsof rage, Catherine hadn't feared him. She'd gone to him, touched him,and brought him back.

"I'm so tired..." Catherine's voice was so low,Lois wasn't sure at first she'd heard it. "When do you think Clarkmight be back?" That was stronger, but weariness stillshowed.

"I don't know, but you don't really have to waitfor him, do you? Vincent can't tell if you're asleep or awake, justthat you're close or not close. Right?"

"Yes. Well, I think so. All the times I've beenasleep, I've been away from him, too, so it's hard totell."

"No, you haven't," Lois disagreed. "Clark and Iwatched you sleep for two hours with your head on the pillow thereand Vincent never moved."

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

"Vincent's bed isn't that narrow. If I were you,"Lois said decisively, "I'd just crawl up there beside him and go tosleep. The IV line's on the other side, so you wouldn't have to worryabout tangling with it."

Catherine's glance at the spot Lois had indicatedwas longing, but she shook her head. "I couldn't. Father would have afit."

"Let him."

"What?"

"Let him have a fit. I don't know what he'sthinking, anyway. You're exhausted. It's been four and a half daysand you haven't slept in a bed at all, have you? Plus you took thesame kind of beating I did. Peter made a point of telling me I neededto get extra rest because of it and you haven't had any rest at all.Whatever Father's afraid of, it isn't going to happen any time soon,what with you so tired and Vincent sick, and..." She shut upabruptly. "Sorry. I get carried away sometimes..."

Catherine was smiling. "It's okay." She took adeep breath. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I should lie down here andsleep a little bit."

"Not a little bit. The whole night." Lois got upand crossed to the bed. "Maybe we can move him over." She put herhand out to try pushing, then thought better of it. "He won't mind ifI touch him, will he?"

"I don't know," Catherine answered. "Try andsee."

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

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

Lois put a tentative hand on Vincent's shoulder.He shifted a little at her touch, but didn't seem to mind. His body,through the thin nightshirt, was big and muscular... bigger and moremuscular than Clark's, even. She tried not to think about that."Here, you push and I'll push and we'll see if we can scoot himover."

They moved him a little bit, but Vincent reallywas solid, and dead weight besides, and they couldn't get muchleverage.

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

"Vincent doesn't like Clark touching him,"Catherine answered. "I guess because he held him down. Or maybe justbecause he doesn't know him. He doesn't seem to mind you, though.Let's give it another try."

They shoved again, and succeeded in moving Vincentanother couple of inches.

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

"As tired as I am, I'm not going to be doing anytossing and turning," Catherine answered. "There's enoughspace."

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

"Tuck me in?" There was a hint of laughter inCatherine's voice as she stretched out on the bed besideVincent.

Lois wrestled a pillow out from under Vincent'sshoulders and positioned it to support Catherine's head, then took aquilt from the foot of the bed and spread it over her.

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

"Good night."

Catherine was asleep in seconds. Lois stood by thebed a moment, wondering what she should do. She couldn't just leave -Clark would be disappointed if he came back and she wasn't here.Anyway, she wanted to see him again before she went to bed and he'dbe back soon. But if she stayed, what would she do? Watching Vincentand Catherine sleep wasn't exactly exciting, and anyway it feltintrusive.

Before she could turn away, Catherine sighed andshifted, settling against Vincent's side; reflexively his arm camearound her, holding her close.

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

Abruptly she turned away, unwilling to intrude ontheir privacy any longer. She selected a book from the many in thechamber, turned her chair firmly away from the bed and sat down toread.

The book she'd chosen was Jane Eyre. She'd read itin college, for one of her classes, but she seldom had time to readfor pleasure these days. She moved the candelabra closer, opened thebook, and soon was engrossed in the story.

She didn't hear Father until he cleared histhroat. She jumped.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he apologized. "You didn'tseem to hear me." He looked around the chamber. "They haven't leftyou here alone, have they?"

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

Father's glance went to the cot, then darted tothe bed. "Has she lost her mind...?" He stepped forward, as if towake her.

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

"You don't understand, it isn't safe..." He triedto shake off her restraining arm.

Lois held on. "Of course it's safe," she answered."You trust Vincent not to hurt her when she's awake, why do you thinkhe'd hurt her when she's sleeping? And he's too sick for you to beworried about anything else."

He spun around, glaring at her.

Lois glared back, and finally he deflated. "Isuppose you're right. It just shocked me, seeing them likethat..."

Like what? Lois looked to see that while she wasreading, Vincent, still on his back, had shifted himself, givingCatherine more room on the single bed. For her part, Catherine hadrolled onto her side, facing him; one arm was draped across Vincent'swaist, and her forehead was pressed against his shoulder. The quiltthat covered her had shifted, and Lois moved to straightenit.

"They look fine," she whispered, coming back towhere Father stood. "Catherine was exhausted, and she wouldn't leavehim. I don't blame her," she added, with a touch of defiance. "Ifthat were Clark, I wouldn't leave, either. She needs to sleep," sheadded, belatedly trying to make her voice conciliatory.

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

"Reach over her," Lois said firmly. "I'll bet tendollars she doesn't wake up."

She'd have won the bet, if Father had taken it.When he finished his cursory examination, Father sighed again. "He'sholding on," he said. "Perhaps the treatment was effective afterall..."

"When will we know?"

"He heals fast. Faster than anyone I've everseen."

He'd obviously never seen Clark heal. But then,without any green Kryptonite around, Clark wouldn't be gettinghimself wounded any time soon. "So..." she prompted, when Fatherseemed to stall.

"So we should know something tomorrow. He'lleither be appreciably better, or..." He didn't finish his sentence."I suppose your husband will be back soon?"

Lois nodded. "Any time now. He just went out for alittle while."

"It must be difficult for him, cooped up in thissick-chamber as he has been..."

"I don't think it's that. Clark likes helpingpeople. He just needed... well, he just needed to go up top for alittle while."

Father's keen look said he suspected there wasmore to Clark's excursion than simply a need for fresh air, but hedidn't press the issue. "It's very late," he said instead. "I can sitwith him - with them - if you'd like to return to your ownchamber."

Her own chamber, where she'd spent the past twonights in solitary splendor. Not likely. "Thanks, but Clark will comehere when he comes back. I'll wait for him, if that's allright."

Father rubbed at his eyes with a tired hand. "Ofcourse," he agreed. "I'll be in my chamber, just down this passage ifyou need me."

"There's a sentry right outside who can call forhelp faster than I can," she pointed out. "It'll give him somethingto do besides keep out visitors."

"So it will," Father agreed. "I'd forgotten he wasthere. You'll be all right by yourself, then?"

"Fine," Lois answered.

He stumped out, making enough noise with hiswalking stick that she wondered how she'd missed hearing him come in.Must have been the book.

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

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

"Yeah. Somewhere over the Pacific." Hegrinned.

"You look better. I didn't know being out of thesun would drain you that fast."

"I didn't, either. I guess this is the longestI've been without seeing the sun at all. Plus I've been using a lotof my powers. X-raying, and cauterizing Vincent's wound andstuff."

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

"News travels fast around here," hesaid.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I'm glad you're back. I wasgetting lonely."

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

"There." Lois pointed.

Clark's eyebrows went up. "Father's going to havea fit," he predicted.

"That's what she said. And he kind ofdid."

"He's been here?"

"Right before you came. But I talked tohim..."

His grin said he could guess how she'dtalked.

"... and he finally went away again. He said tocall him if I needed him, but neither one of them has moved.Catherine's so tired..."

"She'll probably sleep into tomorrow," Clarkagreed. "Wish she'd thought of crawling in bed with Vincent sooner,but I suppose she was afraid of what Father would say."

"She didn't think of it this time, either," Loisannounced. "I did. It was just plain silly for her to sit there, tootired to think, when the bed's big enough for both of them." Sheglanced at it. "Barely."

She adopted her best coquettish expression. "Sosince Catherine's here and Vincent's sleeping, can you come sleepwith me tonight? We have that nice, big bed..." She couldn't havemade the hint any broader, but regretfully he shook hishead.

"I can't, honey. You know I'd like to. But Ipromised Father I'd stay with Vincent until he wasbetter."

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

"If I knew there wasn't going to be anybodystanding or walking in the passages, or the entry," he agreed. "Butthe tunnels are narrow, the turns tight. I wouldn't dare fly anywherenear my fastest in such close confines, when people are around. If Iran into somebody..."

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

"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 the cot..."

"And where will I sleep?" he inquired. "The cot'snot big enough for two."

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

"No, it won't," he answered. "There's a sentryright outside that door, and Father or Mary or one of the otherscould come in at any time. Nothing's going to happen."

"Well, I know that. What do you think I am, anexhibitionist? All we'd need is for Catherine to wake up in themiddle..." She reached up and caught hold of a fold of his long, softtunic, and pulled him toward her. "But we can neck a littlebit."

He smiled. "Good idea."

*****

Vincent opened his eyes slowly, to muffled painand soft candlelight, and a feeling of peace so deep he didn't wantto move for fear of dispelling it. He blinked quietly and thingsslowly came into focus.

He was lying on his back, in his own bed, in hisown chamber. The last thing he remembered...

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

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

The face that hovered over him was only vaguelyfamiliar - dark hair and kind eyes partially masked by wire-rimglasses that glinted in the candlelight. He struggled for a name."Clark?" he managed, finally.

"Yeah. I've been sitting with you while you weresick." He grinned. "Father thinks it's safer with me here, but I'mthinking that as long as she's with you..." He nodded towardsomething at Vincent's side.

Vincent craned his neck to look.

Catherine, soft and warm and deeply asleep, curledagainst his side.

"Let's not wake her up," Clark suggested, keepinghis voice low. "She's been sitting with you for daysnow..."

Vincent stirred, trying to edge away, but themovement made the muffled pain flare sharply. He gasped and sank backdown. "She should not... it isn't safe... I might..."

As little sense as he was making, Clark seemed tofollow it. "You already did," he said, shaking his head. "Your woundis infected and your fever went so high you becamedelirious."

Vincent closed his eyes and rolled his headaway.

"Nobody got hurt," Clark said, as if he knew whatVincent was thinking. "I got here quick and held you..."

Vincent rolled his head back to stare; Clark, byhimself, had restrained him?

"...but that was all I could do, keep you fromhurting somebody, or hurting yourself. I couldn't calm you down. ThenCatherine came back, came running in... and as soon as she touchedyou, you quieted. I think you missed her, knew she was gone, andmaybe flashed back to right before you got hurt, when she was indanger. I think you wanted to go to her, and it enraged you that youcouldn't."

He mustered words with effort. "I could... havekilled..."

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

"Catherine." He thought back to the danger she'dbeen in, the fear she'd felt, and found the strength to speak again."...all right?" Muddled memory gave him a blurry image of the scenewhen he'd burst in to rescue her. "And... anotherwoman..."

"My wife," Clark told him, and nodded toward thefar side of the chamber.

Vincent looked, and saw a dark-haired womansleeping on a narrow cot set up against the bookshelves.

"They're both going to be okay," Clark assuredhim. "They were seriously beaten, but there's no lastingdamage."

Vincent went inside himself, to the link he sharedwith Catherine, examining it closely. There was sadness andexhaustion, but no thread of physical pain. "Yes," he agreed, aloud.Just staying awake was tiring; talking, even in abbreviatedsentences, was wearing him out. But he had to know if Catherine wasall right. "She grieves..."

Clark looked surprised. "You can tellthat?"

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

"What she's feeling? Father said something aboutthat, but I thought I must have misunderstood."

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

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

Vincent nodded, grateful that Clark seemed to bemaking these leaps by himself, that he didn't have to find the wordsto explain.

"You can feel where she is." There was wonder inhis voice, and awe.

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

Understanding shone in Clark's eyes. "That's foryou," he explained. "She's grieving for you. Because until a fewhours ago, we all thought you were going to die."

*****

Vincent slipped back into sleep. A healing sleep,Clark hoped. But he supposed he should call for Father, just in case.He cast a regretful look at the cot where Lois lay giving everyappearance of enjoying a good night's sleep. Clark wasn't sure howshe 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 morethan half his weight. Maybe that made a difference. He didn't know.In any case, he wasn't likely to be joining her any timesoon.

He was right. Father came at once when Clark sentthe sentry after him; he was still pulling his robe on when heentered the chamber. He crossed directly to Vincent's bed and bentover him in a swift examination that ended with him graspingVincent's hand and calling his name.

There was no response, not even the flickering ofan eyelid.

Father spun sharply. "Marc says you told himVincent was awake?"

"He was," Clark answered, and wondered why he feltdefensive. "For just a couple of minutes."

"Did he say anything? Did he seemlucid?"

"Very lucid. He asked about Catherine, mostly.Almost entirely," he amended, remembering. "Talking seemed to tirehim out, but he wouldn't relax until he knew she wasokay."

Father grunted. "I'm surprised he couldn't tellwithout asking."

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

"Grieving. Well, of course. None of us knew ifhe'd get better or not, even after you... treated him. She must havegone to sleep thinking about him, worrying about him."

"Probably," Clark agreed.

"I should have thought of that," Father chidedhimself. "Well, I can do something about it now."

He bent over the bed. While Clark was stillwondering if he should interfere, Father laid a hand on Catherine'sarm and shook it gently, calling her name.

She came awake with a start and a gasp.

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

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

"He's better." Father said it quickly, overridingwhatever she'd been about to say.

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

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

That brought her bolt upright. "He did?" Shelooked over her shoulder. Vincent hadn't moved. "What did hesay?"

"That he was worried about you."

"Oh." She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of herhands. "I was dreaming... a nightmare, almost, except it wasn'tscary, only sad..."

"I thought you might be," Father said kindly. "Iwouldn't have awakened you otherwise."

"And he's better." She looked from one of them tothe other, her eyes beseeching. "He's really better."

"I'm not the doctor here," Clark said softly, "buthe really seemed better to me."

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

"He's better," she said again. "Oh, thank you."This last was directed to no one in particular; Clark thought itmight have been a prayer. "I guess I should get up." She soundedsheepish, even embarrassed.

"Don't you dare."

Clark spun. Lois stood behind him, sleepy-eyed butwith all the signs of being ready to do battle.

"You've only been sleeping..." she paused andleaned over Clark, picking up his wrist to look at his watch, "...alittle over four hours. It can't possibly be enough. So you just putyour head right back down on that pillow."

"I recommend you do what she says," Clark saidmildly. "You don't want to see her get mad."

Lois smacked his shoulder, as he'd expected shewould.

"See?" he asked.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Fathersuppress a chuckle.

The look Catherine gave Father was wary, but whenhe didn't protest, she gingerly lowered her head. After aninterminable moment, Father pulled the quilt a little higher over hershoulder. "You go back to sleep," he told her. "We'll keep watch overVincent."

*****

Catherine woke slowly, consciousness creeping inlike morning mist. She was warm and safe, and for the first time indays, completely rested. She blinked in the hazy candlelight, andthen caught her breath, remembering where she was.

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

"Hi," she whispered.

"Good afternoon," he answered.

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

"I'm afraid so."

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

"Yes."

"Really better."

"Yes. Father's been in half-a-dozen times toexamine me today, and he concurs."

"I slept through Father examining you?"Self-consciously she eased away from him, just a little. "I must havebeen more tired than I thought."

"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 was Father, who entered briskly. "Catherine, you're lookingrefreshed."

"I feel refreshed, Father, thank you." She sat upand swung her legs over the edge of the bed, trying not to feelguilty. After all, Vincent said Father had been in and out allmorning, and besides, she had a dim memory - or maybe it was a dream- of Father actually tucking her in.

But now he was all business, opening his blackdoctor's bag and pulling out instruments.

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

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

Catherine fled.

There was time enough, while Father examinedVincent, to not only make use of nearby sanitary facilities, but alsoto stop by the guest chamber assigned for her use and wash her faceand brush her hair. That done, she examined her reflectioncritically. Clark's heat treatment the night before seemed to havedone some good; the bruises were visibly lighter. In a couple of daysthey'd be gone. Her split lip was nearly healed, too. The darkcircles had been erased by sleep, and the tight lines around hermouth had been eased with relief. All in all, she'd looked worse inher life - and she knew Vincent's love wasn't dependent on how shelooked, anyway.

So why, when she was lying beside him, did he holdhimself so tensely? Why did he shrink away, almost imperceptibly,when she laid her hand on his arm?

She shook her head. She knew why. He was afraid.Once, she'd accepted his fears, and the limits he set. Now, envy ofLois Lane, whose husband's differences were on the inside, who'd beenable to marry the man she loved, rose up hot and ugly. She fought itback as she fought the tears prickling her eyes. Envy didn't doanybody any good, least of all her.

If she stood here feeling sorry for herself muchlonger, Vincent would try to come to her, so she took a deep breathand forced composure. The simple truth was, she loved Vincent withall her heart, all her soul. And if loving him meant acceptinglimits, then she'd accept them. No matter what.

*****

Clark stayed near for the rest of the day, just incase, but Vincent grew better rapidly. That night, he was able tosleep in his own chamber, which made Lois happy. Catherine spent alonely night in her own chamber.

The next morning, the second following Clark'sradical treatment of his infection and cauterization of his wound,Vincent was able to sit up.

Catherine spent the morning with him, readingaloud just as he'd once read to her when she was recovering frominjury, and watching over him when he napped. After lunch, Fathercame again to examine Vincent, and Catherine tactfully retreated toher own chamber for a few minutes.

She allowed enough time for Father to finish hisexamination, then made her way back to Vincent's chamber. She hadjust reached the entrance when she heard voices from within. Shepaused, uncertain. She didn't want to interrupt Father or embarrassVincent if the examination wasn't over.

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

"Hi," she answered, and moved past him, pausing inthe doorway.

Lois was here, too, standing stiff and awkward atVincent's bedside.

Vincent was propped up on pillows, just as she'dleft him. The look he gave her was puzzled. "You didn't come in," hesaid, and she understood that was how Clark had known she was there.Unless, she thought suddenly, he'd divined her presence through oneof his mysterious powers. The idea made her shiver inside.

"I heard the voices," she explained, feelingsuddenly as awkward as Lois looked. "I didn't want tointrude..."

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

Once more she fought down unreasoning resentment.Clark couldn't help who he was, any more than Vincent could. Andbesides, she liked Clark, who was kind and gentle and, she'd noticed,very nice-looking. "Thank you. I think he's much betternow."

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

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

Lois seemed reluctant, but Clark smiled. "Sure. Wecan stay for a little while, as long as we don't tire youout."

Catherine gave Vincent an appraising look anddecided he was probably as strong as he looked, which meant he wasgood for an hour or so. She stepped easily into the role of hostess."Sit down," she invited. "I'll get us some tea."

"Geoffrey's already gone for it," Vincent toldher. "He tells me there are freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies,too. He's going to try to filch some."

The note of conspiracy in his voice made him soundlike a little boy; it was such a contrast to the way he'd been onlytwo days ago that she almost laughed. "And you're encouraginghim?"

"Let's say I'm not discouraging him," Vincentanswered. The tips of his teeth showed in a small smile. "I thinkWilliam would be disappointed if he baked and no one tried to makeoff with the results."

"It's like a game," Lois suggested.

"Yes," Vincent agreed. "Why else would Williamleave baked goods out on the kitchen tables when he has a perfectlygood cupboard that locks?"

They all smiled; just about that time, Geoffreycalled out from the corridor.

"Come in!" Vincent called back, his voicesurprisingly strong for someone who'd been at death's threshold notforty-eight hours earlier. He really was better.

Geoffrey and two other children carried in ladentrays and set them carefully on Vincent's writing table. "This isregular Earl Grey," Geoffrey explained, pointing to a flowered teapotwith a mismatched lid. He indicated the other steaming pot, itssurface crazed by tiny cracks in the glaze. "And this is an herb tea.Father says Vincent should only drink this one, but everyone else candrink what they want."

"I brought cookies," Samantha announced. "Wedidn't have to steal them, either, William said we could bring them.He sent some carrot cake, too."

"I got to bring the cups and plates!" young Jeremyannounced, his face aglow.

"You did well," Vincent approved, while the othershid smiles behind their hands. "Would you like some cookies beforeyou go?"

Geoffrey could take a hint. "Come on, you guys,"he said, taking charge. "Get your cookies and let's leave thegrownups alone."

"Yeah," Samantha chimed. "Come on."

Each of the children took a handful of cookiesbefore running out. When they were gone, Catherine spent a fewminutes serving tea and offering cake and cookies, while Clark movedchairs to include Vincent in the circle.

When everyone was served, Catherine settled intothe chair nearest Vincent with a cup of Earl Grey and groped forsmall talk. Relieved of worrying over Vincent and with two goodnights' - and the better part of the intervening day - sleep behindher, she could spare the energy now to be curious. "So, Clark," shebegan. "If you have all these powers, how come no one seems to haveheard of you? Or your abilities?"

Clark and Lois exchanged glances.

"Well," Lois said, too brightly, "It's not exactlythe kind of thing we'd want to make public, is it?"

"People who are different are a curiosity," Clarkadded. He looked at Vincent. "You know that."

Vincent nodded. "Someone would demand answers, andthe only way to get them would be from you."

"Yeah. I wouldn't especially like that." Clark'sgrin was crooked, and quite endearing. "My dad used to tell me thatif people found out about me, they'd dissect me like afrog."

Vincent chuckled. "My father tells me much thesame thing. Repeatedly."

"Guess fathers are all alike, huh?" Clark's grinwidened.

"Is your father... like you?" Catherine asked."Different, like you?"

Clark shook his head. "No, I'm adopted. LikeVincent is. My folks are completely normal. Completely human. I grewup in Kansas. Which," he added, "is a lot like the Kansas you havehere."

"What kind of statement is that?" Catherineremembered something from the haze of time when Vincent was so sick,and she so very tired. She turned on Lois. "Wait a minute, you saidsomething like that, didn't you? Except you were asking aboutPulitzer Prizes."

Lois actually looked flustered. "Oops."

"Oops?" Catherine repeated.

Vincent spoke. "Is there something... about yourpast... that you might wish to share with us? We don't mean to pry,but..."

Clark lifted a hand. "No, that's okay, we don'tmind if you know. We're just not sure anybody's going to believeus."

"Hey, we believe you fly," Catherine told him, tolighten the moment.

Clark obliged with a grin. "Okay. Then let's talkabout parallel universes."

"Parallel... what?" That was Vincent; she'd seldomheard him sound so bewildered.

"Parallel universes. The real reason you haven'theard of me and the things I can do is because we aren't from here.Not just from New York, but from your whole world. We're from aparallel Earth, from a city called Metropolis. And we're from nineyears in the future."

Only great dint of will kept Catherine's jaw fromdropping. "What?"

"He's telling the truth," Lois said, with a traceof belligerence. "We're reporters, we know how it sounds... but it'strue. About five weeks ago, we were walking down the street outsideour newspaper in broad daylight... and the next thing we knew, wewere on a New York City street at night, with no idea how we gothere. And instead of being 1998, it was 1989. We've been here eversince."

It was incredible, yes, but after all, was itreally any more astonishing than a man who could catch bullets withhis bare hands? "Can't you get back?" Catherine asked.

Lois looked down; Clark reached across the smallspace separating them and took her hand. "Not so far," he answered."We're still not completely sure how we got here."

"Oh."

"Would it be so terrible," Vincent asked softly,"if you had to stay?"

"Not terrible, I guess," Clark answered slowly."But this isn't our home. We have our families, ourfriends."

"Our jobs, our house," Lois added. "And I really,really miss my car!"

That evoked a laugh, as Lois had clearly intendedit to.

"And," she added, "I'm kinda starting to missSuperman."

"Superman?" Vincent raised his eyebrows in aquestion.

She grinned. "Yeah. Big guy, nice pecs, bluetights."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Lois..."

"Oh, and did I mention he flies?"

Vincent's puzzled expression turned to one ofamusement. "Blue tights?" he asked, managing to soundskeptical.

"Hey, my mother made the costume," Clark answered,smiling. "And she says it..."

He broke off abruptly; his face went still anddistant.

Vincent's expression was similarly intent. Amoment later he threw back the covers and swung his legs over theside of the bed.

Catherine caught hold of his arm. "Where are yougoing?"

"Intruder," he answered, and tried to shake heroff. "I must..."

"Vincent, no! You're still weak..."

"I'll go," Clark interrupted. "A man... followinga woman?" He gave Vincent a questioning glance.

"You understand our pipe codes?" Vincent askedhim.

"I'm sort of good with languages." Clark lookedalmost embarrassed at the admission. "But there are some parts Ididn't quite understand."

"Ginny Stevens. There's a man following GinnyStevens."

"So she's here," Lois said. "We should haveguessed."

"I knew," Clark told her. "She was there, inFather's study, when Vincent was in surgery. You've never seen her,so you wouldn't have recognized her."

"The lady with the baby and the black eye," Loisguessed. "I remember her, sort of."

"Right. And the man who's following her now isprobably her husband," Catherine said.

"Possibly," Vincent answered.

She looked at Clark. "He's a police officer - hemay be armed."

Clark grinned. "Don't worry. Bullets don't haveany more effect on me than Vincent's teeth did, remember?" Hevanished in a puff of wind that left the candle flamesfluttering.

Behind him, Vincent said, "Myteeth...?"

*****

Clark streaked through the tunnels as fast as hedared, using every aerobatic trick at his disposal to make the tightturns. This part of the tunnels was unfamiliar to him, so he followedthe insistent 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 to free the other. Her husband held it in a hardgrip. "What do you mean, trying to run from me?" hegrowled.

"Gary, no, please!" she begged. "I'm sorry, I'm sosorry! Please, Gary, the baby!"

"You don't run away from me!" he thundered, andpulled his hand back.

Clark leaped forward. "Hey!"

Stevens dropped his hand and turned, still holdinghis wife's arm. "This is none of your business, pal," he snapped. "Sojust keep moving."

"I don't think so," Clark answered, planting hisfeet and crossing his arms. "This stops now."

Stevens was obviously spoiling for a fight. "Yeah?And who's going to stop me?"

"Please, mister! It'll be okay. Just go away, andit'll be okay." There was real fear in Ginny Stevens' voice as shepleaded with him not to make things worse.

Clark remembered Lois's battered face andstruggled for control. No man should hit a woman. Ever. "Let her go,"he commanded.

"This is a family thing, so you just go on towherever you were going," Stevens retorted.

"No," Clark answered. "Let her go."

"Okay." Stevens shoved Ginny away; she cried outas she stumbled against the rock wall, twisting to protect the baby."Come on," Stevens challenged. "Let's see what you'vegot."

Clark could take Stevens out with the flick of afinger, but he had to make it look hard, and he didn't want tomisjudge and really hurt the man. Easy, easy, easy, his mind chanted.He swung his arm in a lazy arc, tapping Stevens on the chin with hisfist. Stevens dropped like a stone, out cold.

Rapid footsteps echoed down the tunnel and amoment later Zach, breathless from running, reached them. "Oh, good,you got him," he said to Clark. He turned to Ginny. "Come on, let'sget you where it's safe."

Ginny held back, looking at her unconscioushusband. "Gary..."

"Clark will take care of him," Zach said. "Won'tyou?"

Clark didn't have any good ideas about how to dothat; at home, he'd just drop the fellow off at the police station.Superman's word was all the police needed to effect an arrest. Here,things were different. Nobody knew who Superman was, and the man athis feet was a police officer himself. He nodded anyway. "Yeah. I'lltake care of him."

"You won't hurt him, will you?" Ginny Stevens'voice was pleading.

I'd like to, he thought. I'd like to show him howit feels to be at the mercy of someone stronger. I'd like to make himthat afraid.

But doing so would go against everything hebelieved in. "No," he said, sighing. "I won't hurt him."

"You promise?"

Amazing that the woman could trust in promisesafter all she'd been through. "Yes," Clark said gently. "Ipromise."

"Come on," Zach urged. "I'll take thebaby..."

Clark waited until they were out of sight beforebending to scoop Stevens, still unconscious, into hisarms.

*****

The pipes had been repeating one insistentmessage; Lois picked up on the repetition after about the first threerounds. But suddenly the familiar pattern changed. Vincent cocked hishead, listening.

"It's over," he said. "Clark stopped him, Ginnyand the baby are safe." He gave Catherine a quizzical look. "What wasshe doing topside?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to her since shecame down..." Catherine sounded regretful, which made Lois wonder;after all, Catherine had scarcely had time to breathe in the past fewdays. When did she think she should have been seeing GinnyStevens?

Catherine stood up. "I should go make sure she'sall right." She sounded regretful about that, too, which Lois couldunderstand. Leaving the man you loved to attend to duty was alwayscause for regret.

Alarm blossomed in her as she realized that ifCatherine left, she'd more or less have to stay; it would be rude tojust walk out and leave Vincent alone. Not that she had trouble beingrude when circumstances - like a breaking story - warranted, but thiswas different. This would be rudeness to cover discomfort and she wastrying really hard not to do that any more.

"Come back," Vincent said to Catherine, "afteryou've seen to Ginny."

She nodded. "I will." She threw a quick glanceLois's way and then bent to give Vincent a brief, chaste hug. Loiswondered if it would have been more, maybe even a kiss, if she hadn'tbeen here watching.

Catherine hurried out, leaving Lois feelingawkward. Stupid to feel this way about Vincent, who had so recentlyhovered near death. Who was still so weak he needed to be helped outof 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 heardher denial. "All the messages say the intruder has been subdued. Isthere something there that might harm him? I know he's impervious tobullets... and teeth..."

She was surprised to hear him bring up theteeth... Catherine had a hard time explaining Clark's last remark tohim, and even after she did Lois wasn't sure Vincent was comfortablewith it. She knew she wasn't. If Clark wasn't invulnerable, he'd havedied right there in a gush of blood.

"I'm not upset," she insisted, as if saying itcould make it so.

"You are," he answered softly. "I can feel it. Ifit isn't worry for 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 distancewith Catherine. But I am sensitive to strong feelings in peoplenearby... and I feel you now. Are you... afraid of me?"

Shame made her rush to deny it. "No! Of coursenot..." The remembered image of him bursting into the warehouse,roaring defiance and scattering bricks, tossing a grown man asidewith a casual backhand blow, rose up in her mind's eye; involuntarilyshe shivered.

"You are. You're afraid of me." He looked away."You've seen me... at my worst." He worded it delicately, but shesuspected his thoughts were darker, more explicit. "I'msorry."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry. I'm not afraid,exactly... it's more like nervous, and I'm ashamed of how I feel,because I know that most of the time, you're kind and gentle andgood. Like Clark."

"But Clark doesn't lose himself in rages so darkhe cannot control them." Bitterness edged his voice. "Clark doesn'ttry to tear out the throats of men who are only trying tohelp."

She swallowed hard. "No, he... his parents madehim learn to keep his temper. Because he could do so much damage ifhe ever lost it."

"Yes," Vincent agreed. "I know. Even though he isstronger than I, you've never been afraid of Clark."

She blinked, remembering. "Actually, I have been.Sort of..."

"Sort of?" he repeated. His look wasquestioning.

She sighed. "Things happen in our universe thatdon't seem to happen in yours. Like time travel, and paralleluniverses, and alternate dimensions."

"Like men who can fly," he offered.

"Yes. And once... there was a small-time crook whoneeded to get close to a big-time crook... only the big-time crookhad a contract out on him. So the small-time crook had to change hisappearance. He did this... by switching bodies."

"Excuse me?"

"Switching bodies. He took possession of anotherbody, and the person, the soul, of that body ended up inhis."

"All right." Vincent sounded cautiously accepting,so she plunged on.

"The body the small-time crook switched with...was Clark's."

He looked distinctly startled at that. "So for atime, Clark was completely human? Or did his abilities transfer withhim?"

"No, it's the body that has the superpowers. Andanyway, Clark has been without powers before, that's not the point.The point is, here was this small-time crook inside of, in controlof, Superman's body. And he got angry because I wouldn't tell himwhere to find Clark, the real Clark in the other body..."

"Yes, I see," Vincent said,encouraging.

"And he came toward me... with such malice on hisface. I knew he could kill me, probably without even meaning to,because he wasn't used to having that kind of strength. It was worsebecause it was Clark, I mean, his face, his eyes, his expressions.Only he'd never looked at me that way before. I was sure he was goingto kill me."

"And you were frightened."

"Terrified," she admitted. "I've never told Clarkabout it; I never wanted him to know I was afraid of his strength,his abilities."

"But it wasn't really Clark."

"No. And so I don't have to be afraid of him now.Of the real Clark, body and soul together."

"But I am not always in control," Vincent saidsoftly, looking at his hands. Those strong, furred hands with theirdeadly claws. From his expression, he was looking inward, brooding.She wondered if sometimes he frightened himself.

She swallowed. "Vincent, can I ask yousomething?"

That shook him out of introspection. He looked up."Of course."

She forced herself to meet his steady gaze. "Whatwould have happened to me, when you burst into the warehouse, ifClark hadn't been there, if they hadn't shot you? You came to saveCatherine, because she was afraid. But what would you have done tome?"

His fists closed tight around the blankets; if hewas easily able to walk, Lois thought he'd be pacing now. "Nothing,"he insisted, quickly. "Have you been thinking I would have... no. Youweren't a threat, not to me, not to Catherine. I would have knownthat. I wouldn't have harmed you."

"How can you be sure?"

Despite his earlier instinctive protest, he had tothink about it. "I just... I have never harmed anyone who was notthreatening harm to others. Never."

She'd seen the rage at its fullest; it left littleroom for cognizant thought. "But how do you know? How do you tellwho's a good guy and who's a bad guy?"

He looked thoughtful, perplexed. "I don't know. Ijust do."

"Even when you're..." She let the words trailaway, unsure how to say it.

But he knew. "Yes. Even then."

She let out a breath she didn't know she'd beenholding. "So it's not the same."

"Not the same as what?"

"As when Clark... wasn't Clark. Even whenyou're... the least you, there's some you left. Somecontrol."

He looked surprised, and then thoughtful. "I don'tknow..."

"Catherine does." Lois's words surprised her asmuch as they did Vincent. She hadn't known she'd been thinking thisway, but once said it made perfect sense. "She knows who you are,Vincent. And she's not afraid."

He looked again at his hands, pensive. "Perhaps,"he said quietly, "she should be."

*****

Clark waited patiently, arms folded. A soft nightbreeze briefly lifted the folds of his cape. It felt good to bewearing the red and blue again. At his feet, Gary Stevens moaned andstirred. He was waking up.

Before Stevens regained full consciousness, Clarkgrabbed a fistful of his leather jacket and lifted off. When Stevensopened his eyes, they were hovering a good thousand feet above thecity. Clark tightened his grip; much as he despised the man, hedidn't want to make a mistake and drop him.

Stevens blinked hazily a couple of times then cameto alertness with a jerk. "Uhhh... what... oh, God, we're going tofall!" He flailed like a panicked drowning victim, grabbing any partof Clark he could reach.

Clark held him carefully at arm's length. "No,you're not. I've got you."

Stevens grabbed a fistful of cape and pulled oneside loose from Clark's neck. This seemed to panic him even more andhe pinwheeled his 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 you on purpose, but if you keep struggling likethat..."

He switched hands on Stevens' jacket and used hisnewly freed hand to tuck his cape back into place.

Stevens got a death-grip on Clark's forearm, whichwas all he could reach, and hung on. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Getme down from here!"

"I'm a friend," Clark said. "Here to give you apiece of friendly advice."

"Friendly?" Some of Stevens' bluster came back."This isn't too friendly."

"I didn't say I was your friend. As a matter offact, I'm a friend of your wife's."

"That bitch..."

Clark cut him off with another shake. This one wasrougher than the last, and Stevens gasped, his grip on Clark's armtightening convulsively.

"Real men don't hit women," Clark said, keepinghis voice even only with effort. "Real men don't hit anyone who'ssmaller or weaker, and if they can help it, they don't hit at all.There are other ways of resolving conflict."

He didn't wait for Stevens to respond. "So you'renot going to hit your wife anymore. You aren't going to bully her. Idon't care what she does, or how angry you get, you aren't going torespond with violence. You're going to find another way."

Stevens responded with reflex bluster. "She's mywife, she does what I say! And if she doesn't..."

Clark cut him off. "I know who you are, I knowwhere you live. And if you touch your wife again in violence, if youtouch any woman," Lois's bruised face flashed in his mind's eye, andhis voice hardened, "I'll know, and I'll come and findyou."

Stevens made the mistake of looking down; hejerked convulsively at the end of Clark's outstretched arm. "You..."he gasped, struggling for words. "There's nothing holding youup!"

"Nothing but me," Clark agreed.

Stevens' eyes rolled back in his head; the acridstench of urine rose between them. Overcome by terror, Stevens hadwet himself - and fainted.

*****

"We trusted you!" Father was in full rant. "Wetook you in when you had no place to go, and you repay us withbetrayal!"

Catherine tried to intervene. "Father, she didn'tmean..."

Father turned on her. "And you! You brought herhere. You promised she would obey our rules..."

"And she will! Father, she made amistake..."

"A mistake that could cost our communitydearly!"

Ginny Stevens cowered, in tears, in a nearbychair. Father had been lecturing, with increasing passion, ever sinceCatherine and Zach had brought her back. Thankfully, Mary had alreadycome and taken the baby to the nursery. "I'm sorry," Ginny sobbed,for the dozenth time. "I'm so sorry... I didn't mean..."

"It doesn't matter if you meant it, it happened!Our secret's been exposed..."

Catherine couldn't stand it any more. "Father,that's enough."

He broke off to stare at her in shock. "I beg yourpardon?"

"I said, that's enough. She knows what she did waswrong, and she's sorry. Now, if you're going to kick her out, say so,so I can find her someplace else to live."

Father's mouth worked, but it was a minute beforeany sound came out. "Kick her out? Of course we're not going to kickher out, Catherine, you know that."

Satisfied that she'd succeeded in jolting him outof 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 fierceto tender in an instant. He drew a chair up beside Ginny's and tookher hand. "My dear, I'm so sorry I frightened you. Vincent frequentlywarns me about my temper..."

Ginny lifted her tearstained face. "I'm sorry Ibroke your rules. I didn't think it would hurt anything, I tried tobe careful!"

"But, my dear, if you're happy here, and safe, whydid you go?"

Ginny swallowed a sob. "I had to see mymother."

"Your mother? She lives above, in thecity?"

Ginny nodded.

"And alone," Father went on, guessing.

Ginny nodded again. "I'm all she has, and... hermind's not quite right anymore. I help her with cooking and cleaning,and I do her shopping once a week... she needs me!"

"Why didn't you say something? One of our helperscould have gone to see about your mother, and done so without puttingthe community at risk."

"I don't know." Ginny started crying again. "Ididn't think of it. She's my mother, she's my responsibility. Garyalways said that."

"Gary was wrong." Catherine made her voice firmand sure. "You have a larger family now, Ginny. There are lots ofpeople who will help you. All you have to do is ask."

"But she needs so much... and she's all alone. Sheknows me, and she wouldn't know your helpers."

Father cleared his throat. "If there's truly noone else, then perhaps we should consider inviting your mother tolive with us."

Ginny gaped. "Really? You'd let... but she can'twork, not any more..."

"That doesn't matter," Father said. "She can do asmuch... or as little... as she is able. That will beenough."

"Oh. Oh." Overcome, Ginny pressed her fists to hermouth and tried not to burst into fresh tears. "Oh, Father...Catherine."

As usual, Father responded to gratitude withgruffness. "I'll speak to Mary in the morning... I wouldn't besurprised to find your mother here with us by evening!"

"Oh, but what if Gary tries to followher..."

"Don't worry," Catherine said. "We have a friendwho will see to that."

"But he knows about the tunnels now..."

"The passage he used is even now being closedoff," Father said. "He may find his way down, but he won't find hisway to us. I promise you."

*****

Vincent watched Lois prowl his chamber withincreasing restlessness. "He'll be back soon," he offered, in anattempt to comfort. "I'm sure of it."

The smile she offered him was wan, but at leastthere was no longer any wariness in it. "I know. I just can'thelp..."

"Wishing he was here?" He finished the sentencefor her. "I know. I can feel it."

"I just... miss him," she explained. "I don't somuch at home... where we're from, I mean."

He nodded to show he understood.

"But here... I miss him." She shrugged, as if thatwas all the explanation there was.

And perhaps she was right. "When you've beenapart, and you see one another again... what you feel in that momentis very strong, and very beautiful."

"Oh." Her cheeks went pink. "I guessso."

"You love him very much."

"Of course." She looked surprised.

"Sometimes..." he felt suddenly shy. "Sometimeswhat Catherine feels... when she sees me... is very like what I sensein you..."

"When I see Clark?" she finished forhim.

He couldn't meet her steady, sympathetic gaze."Yes."

"Well, she loves you, Vincent. Don't you knowthat?"

The torrent of feeling that was his love forCatherine rushed through him. "Sometimes I know it," he said softly."Other times..."

"You're afraid."

He looked at her quizzically.

She smiled. "Catherine said you were. Youshouldn't be."

"You have a faith I cannot seem to find," heobserved, avoiding the point.

The smile she gave him was playful. "Well, youhave to remember, I'm the one who's married to an alien."

"Alien?" he repeated. Odd, how he hadn't thoughtof Clark in that way.

"You know, extra-terrestrial. Not from aroundhere."

"Yes," he agreed, and would have said more, butfootsteps sounded in the corridor outside.

Clark came in, looking none the worse forexpelling the intruder. Lois went into his arms for a brief embrace;Vincent closed his eyes, partly to give them a moment of illusoryprivacy, and partly to savor the rush of emotion that suddenly filledthe little chamber. There was so much love between thosetwo.

And then his own love rose up as Catherine camein. "Hi," she greeted Clark. "You took care of him?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I left him at his apartment. Ihope he'll leave Ginny alone now."

Catherine sank into a chair. "His kind isn'tlikely to be put off by you telling him to stay away," she said indisgust. "If he thinks he can terrify Ginny, he'll beback."

"I hope not," Clark answered mildly. "I tried toput a good scare into him. He's afraid of heights."

The look Lois gave him was startled; she slid ahand through the air and lifted her eyebrows. Clark smiled just alittle and nodded.

"Oh," Lois said, and settled into achair.

Catherine hadn't noticed. "I'm getting a lot ofdomestic violence cases lately. I think Joe - that's my boss," sheexplained in an aside to Clark and Lois, "I think Joe's assigningthem to me on purpose."

"Because he knows you have compassion," Vincentsaid gently.

"I suppose," she agreed wearily. "I wish I coulddo more to help. I have a homicide sitting on my desk right nowthat's probably a domestic violence. Almost certainly, now that Iknow the husband better." She glanced at Lois. "He's one of the copswho picked us up that day. Dave Callahan."

"The mean one," Lois said, running a hand alongher jaw. "I remember."

"Right," Catherine answered. "But you and I can'tbring charges against him without exposing Vincent..."

"...and Clark," Lois added.

"And Clark," Catherine agreed. "And the policedon't have enough hard evidence on his wife's murder to make anarrest."

"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 letreporters work on a criminal case. Joe would have a fit."

Lois looked at Clark. "Well, we could work on iton our own. Wouldn't be the first time we cracked a case before theauthorities did."

Catherine looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Can'tyou just let me..."

Lois shook her head. "No. Look what happened whenyou just tried to help Ginny Stevens. The man's vicious. He needs tobe put away. You can't trust the police to do your investigating foryou, if he's one of them, and we can't wait."

Reluctantly Clark nodded agreement. "But it'd beeasier for us if we had access to the same information you do. We canrequest the reports, but it takes a while to get them and we haven'tdeveloped any contacts in the police department yet."

"No," Lois agreed. "Just you."

Now Catherine looked surprised. "Now I'm acontact?"

"Sure, why not? Back home, we have a policelieutenant and a couple of detectives who are happy to help us outwhen they can. Why should you be different?"

"Catherine." It was Vincent, speaking up for thefirst time. "If it's true you cannot call upon thepolice..."

Reluctantly Catherine shook her head.

"...and it is also true that Clark and Lois haveexperience in this kind of investigation... I think you must let themhelp you. Lois is right, this man must be brought to justice. Itcan't wait."

Catherine hesitated a little longer, then gave inwith a gusty sigh and a shrug of her shoulders. "Sure, why not? Letme get my briefcase from my chamber..."

She was back quickly, briefcase in hand. Vincent'sround writing table took up the center of the room; she placed thebriefcase there and opened it.

Vincent settled back into his pillows to watch. Heseldom got to see Catherine working.

She was absorbed as she took folders and papersfrom the case and sorted through them. "Here," she said a minutelater. "Here's the file on Lucille Callahan's death. Joe wanted me toback off while the police conducted their investigation, so I haven'tspent a lot of time on it."

Clark pulled the file around in front of him andbegan to flip through it rapidly.

"Is Callahan the only suspect?" Loisasked.

"As far as the police are concerned, he's not asuspect at all."

"What? The man's brutal..."

"I know that, and you know that, and his wife knewthat, but apparently his buddies on the police forcedon't."

"He enjoyed hitting us," Loisremembered.

Vincent saw Clark's fist go white at the knuckles.He supposed it was a blessing of sorts that he'd had only an instantin which to take in the details before the bullet from Callahan's gunfelled him.

"This man is the one who shot me," he saidaloud.

Catherine's gaze met his, nearly blistering himwith its intensity. "I know," she answered, and Vincent understoodthat her determination to put this man away was magnified by whatCallahan had done to him.

Clark went back to his perusal of thefile.

"And he beat his wife so viciously she died ofit," she went on. "It had to have been him. Why else wouldn't shehave called for help?"

"The police report suggests she was too severelyinjured," Clark murmured, without looking up. He had severaleight-by-ten photographs spread in front of him. "Is this all thereis?"

"It's all I have with me; I should have gottencopies of the coroner's report, the forensic results, stuff likethat, as a matter of course, but I haven't seen them yet. Of course,it's been a week since I was in the office. The reports are probablyon my desk."

"I'd like to see those reports," Clark said. Heset the police report and photos aside.

She sneaked a glance at Vincent. "I was thinkingabout going back to work tomorrow, anyway..."

Vincent forced a look of approval, though hisheart pounded at the idea of her going above when he was too weak toprotect her.

"Lois and I have to work tomorrow, too," Clarksaid. "But tomorrow evening, maybe we could meet yousomewhere..."

"Right here is good," Catherine answered quickly."I'll be coming down to see Vincent, and of course you live herenow..."

"Okay, we'll meet here," Clark agreed. "Afterwork."

"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 policereport and was absorbed in reading it. "Is that okay withyou?"

He had to ask again before she looked up with ablank, "Huh?"

He reiterated the plan. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so." She glanced down at the policereport in her lap. "Clark, are you sure about Stevens backing off onfinding Ginny?"

"Not completely sure, no," Clark answered,sounding surprised. "Why?"

"Because if I were him, and I was still interestedin finding my wife, I'd still be looking for the last person who sawher."

"Oh." His gaze, like Vincent's, went toCatherine.

"I'll be fine," Catherine argued. "I'm only goingto the office, I don't have anything scheduled in court thisweek."

"But you have to get to and from the office,"Clark said. "Lois is right, it could be risky."

"I'll be fine," Catherine insisted.

"Callahan took us right off the street in front ofthe courthouse," Lois reminded. "Stevens probably still has Callahanto help 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 waslow; Vincent could feel her determination. His heart quailed, but hekept his silence. Lois, apparently, was on his side.

"I know," Lois said, and from her expression, shedid. "I'd feel exactly the same. But maybe you ought to take alongsome protection."

"My gun...?" Catherine guessed.

"I was thinking of something a little morepersonal. Like a bodyguard."

Catherine's glance went to Vincent, who struggledto keep his face impassive.

"Much as I hate to volunteer for this," Loiscontinued, "I'm thinking I should handle the Sentinel tomorrow bymyself. Clark can go to work with you."

Vincent let out a long-held breath at thesuggestion. Clark would be perfect. He would never let anythinghappen to Catherine, and he was the only man Vincent knew who coulddo a better job of protecting her than he could himself.

"Go to... no. I don't need ababysitter."

"It's not babysitting." Lois sounded very serious."It's more like... being careful. Watching out for yourself. In thiscase, by letting Clark watch out for you. Vincent couldn't come toyou if you got into trouble right now, and think how awful we'd allfeel if something happened to you..."

Clark's expression showed something very likedisbelief, and Vincent could sense it as an undercurrent through thehaze of determination from Lois and stubbornness fromCatherine.

"I know how weird this is, me advising caution,"Lois told Clark in an aside. "Call it a temporaryaberration."

Clark grinned. "And here I thought you were maybeturning over a new leaf..."

"Nope. Not a chance." She looked back atCatherine. "What do you say?"

"Okay!" Catherine sounded annoyed. "Okay, Clarkcan come to work with me tomorrow. Though I have no idea how I'mgoing to explain him to Joe."

*****

None of them stayed in Vincent's chamber muchlonger; it was getting late, and all of them were tired. Now, Clarklay beside Lois in the privacy of their own chamber. She breathed inthe quiet rhythm of sleep and he wished he could join her in slumber,but tonight the smallest, most insignificant sounds made themselvesknown to him. Water dripped steadily a couple of passages over;small, cautious feet - mice, he guessed, or maybe rats - scurriedalong a wall. Nearby sleepers murmured and snored and mumbled.Somewhere farther away, a couple were making love...

He turned over, trying to shut out the sounds. Hehated intruding, even when he couldn't help it. The small sighs andwhispers, the creak of a bed, all served to trigger memory. At leasthe and Lois had finally found the opportunity to take advantage oftheir new bed and privacy. He put out a gentle hand and stroked afinger down her cheek. She sighed and rolled toward him, draping anarm around his waist. He pressed his cheek against the top of herhead and breathed quietly, loving her.

After a while, a new sound intruded. He couldn'tquite identify the dry scratching noise, but it came from thedirection of Vincent's chamber. He narrowed his focus. In fact, itmost likely came from inside Vincent's chamber. Another crisis? ButVincent had seemed so well just a few hours earlier. Carefully hedisengaged himself from Lois's embrace and slid from thebed.

Accustomed to his leaving unexpectedly in thenight, she merely sighed and turned over, burying her face in thepillow.

Clark dressed silently, quickly, and hurriedout.

The glow of many candles reached from Vincent'schamber, spilling into the corridor outside. Clark paused there,listening. There was only one heartbeat, slow and steady, the quietrustle of fabric as someone shifted weight or posture, and still thedry, irregular scratching. He hesitated, then called out, careful tokeep his voice low.

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, andfootsteps. Vincent, looking startled, appeared in the doorway."Clark? It's very late..."

"I know. I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you. I heardsomething and thought I'd better check..."

"Heard...?"

Clark was starting to feel foolish now; clearlythere was nothing amiss here. "A kind of scratching noise. I couldn'tplace it..."

"You heard this all the way from your ownchamber?"

He squirmed; it made people uncomfortable to knowhow much he could hear. "Um, yeah," he admitted, finally."Sorry."

"Don't be." Vincent stepped back from the openingand gestured him in. "I thought I was the only one who could hearthings happening from far away."

Clark stepped past him, into the chamber. A book,its right-hand page pristine, the left half-covered with sharp, spikywriting, lay open on the table. "It was you," he said. "You werewriting. But what kind of pen makes that sound?"

"A fountain pen." Vincent held it out for hisinspection. "I'm sorry if it disturbed you."

Clark shook his head. "Most times, I can shut itout, 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 tellFather; such things upset him."

"I won't... I didn't hear anything I shouldn't...not much, anyway."

"I trust your discretion, Clark," Vincentanswered. "But as we're both wakeful, will you join me for a cup oftea?"

Tea and a bit of companionable conversationsounded great. "Sure."

Vincent lifted a shiny copper kettle and set it onan iron grate over a coal-burning brazier. "It will take a littlewhile for the water to heat."

Clark gestured him back. "Let me..." He aimed amoderate burst of heat vision at the kettle; it obliged with a rattleof the lid and a gout of steam from the spout. "There."

Vincent's glance seemed one of admiration. "Youdid that the same way you cauterized my wound."

Clark nodded.

"I can see such a gift could come in handy attimes." He poured the steaming water into a china teapot and replacedthe lid. "The tea will take a moment to steep... unless you have away to hurry that along, as well?"

Clark laughed. "No, that's got to happen on itsown." He took the offered chair. "Should you be up?"

"Not according to Father," Vincent answered. "ButI'm much stronger this evening. I have always healedquickly."

"I'm not sure quickly is the word for it," Clarkanswered. "I'm impressed."

"Don't be. It is not something that requires anyeffort on my part - it simply is."

"Yes." Clark knew what that was like. "So why areyou awake and writing in the middle of the night?"

Vincent sank into the chair opposite and shrugged."I've slept so much the past few days," he said. "Healing. Now, Ifind myself unable to rest."

"What are you writing?" Clark looked toward theopen book.

Vincent reached out and closed it, then glanced atClark curiously. "I suppose you could still read it if you wantedto."

"I could, but I won't. If you don't want to tellme what it is, you don't have to."

Vincent sighed. "It's just my journal. I wasrecording my thoughts, my feelings. Trying to make sense of them.Trying to find some resolution..."

"Resolution?" Clark hesitated. Surely Vincent hadfriends he could talk to. He didn't have to bare his soul to someonehe'd known only a few days. But on the other hand, could any of thosefriends truly understand what it was to be different? He wasn't surewhat he should do. "Does writing help, when you're likethis?"

"Sometimes," Vincent said. He poured tea intomismatched cups and handed one to Clark. "I could easily envy you,Clark Kent."

Clark accepted the cup and sipped carefully at thetea, a soothing herbal blend. "Why?"

"Because of all the things you have..."

"That you don't?" Clark finished the sentence."But you have so much, Vincent."

"And yet there are things I have never known...things I ache for, sometimes... the touch of a mother's hand. To knowwhere I came from, who I am. Why... I am."

"Oh."

Vincent's expression had gone distant andunfocused. He seemed unable to stem the stream of longing. "To beable to love Catherine as she deserves to be loved... as she longs tobe loved..."

Clark shifted in his chair, bringing Vincent'sgaze and attention back to the present.

"I'm sorry," he began. "I didn't meanto..."

Clark stopped him with a raised hand. "No, it'sokay. I'm sorry I can'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 whoraised a kid who floated in his sleep," Clark answered, grinning."But yeah, I guess that's what I mean. And I don't know any moreabout your origins than you do... but that last thing..."

"Is the most impossible," Vincent finished, in awhisper. "I know this."

Clark rocked forward in his chair. "Well, I'm notso sure. I've been where you are, remember? Trying to love a humanwoman, when I know I'm not human. Can never be human. No matter howhard I try."

"Yes." Vincent's expression showed not theslightest glimmer of hope.

"I made a lot of mistakes when I was courtingLois," Clark went on. "One of them, a big one, was forgetting that arelationship is two people, a partnership. I tried to make decisionsfor both of us - in what I thought at the time were Lois's bestinterests - without consulting her. She was furious, and for a whileI was afraid she'd never forgive me. I'd hate to see you make thesame mistake with Catherine."

Vincent seemed about to say something, thenchecked himself. When he finally did speak, Clark had the feeling itwasn't what he'd originally been going to say. "Catherine... does notreact in anger."

"The way Lois does," Clark finished for him. Helet the unspoken comment pass. "No, she doesn't seem to, does she?But it's hurting her, the way you keep her at arms'length."

Vincent's gaze sharpened. "Did she tell youso?"

"No. But she's talked with Lois some. And I thinkit's pretty easy to see."

Vincent bowed his head. "How can I put her atrisk?"

"In our universe, Lois is at risk every day, justbecause she knows me," Clark said softly. "She's been threatened,kidnapped, hypnotized, tied to bombs, pushed out ofairplanes..."

Vincent's head came up; his eyes were wide withalarm. "Bombs... and airplanes..."

"So far, I've gotten there every time... in time.But it terrifies me to think that one day I might be toolate."

"I know that fear. But I have as much fear... forwhat I might do to her with these." Vincent studied his hands with anexpression that might have been loathing.

"Maybe," Clark suggested, keeping his voice verysoft, "you should fear what you might do to her heart. Because if youkeep on the way you have been, always pushing her away when she getstoo close, someday it may be too much, and you'll loseher."

"But she'll be safe."

"There's more to life than physical safety," Clarksaid quietly. "Much, much more. For both of you."

"If she left, perhaps she would find a man, abetter man..."

"She can't do that, Vincent. She won't. Any morethan you're going to find a better woman; any more than I am. Wearen't the kind of people who love easily, carelessly. When we love,it's deeply and completely, 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 loving each other."

"She will say she doesn't fear me."

"She doesn't. You didn't see her when you weredelirious. Everyone else kept back, but not Catherine. She came rightto you. She knew you wouldn't hurt her. And you didn't."

"Because you were holding me," Vincentcountered.

"No. You started to quiet even before she touchedyou. Just because she was near. Once she did touch you, youcompletely relaxed. I could... and did... let go of you right away.After that, if you got restless, all she had to do was reach out. Youknew it was her, even in your delirium, and you couldn't hurt her.You never will."

Vincent's eyes were very wide, and full of sudden,impossible hope. "If only I could believe that..."

"You can," Clark answered firmly. "You haveto."

*****

Long after the candles had been extinguished,Vincent lay awake, staring into the darkness. The things Clark saidhad given him brief hope. If he could be sure of not hurtingher...

Only in the silence did the shadows in his soulreturn to haunt him. He was a creature of the night. He killed... andgloried in the killing. How could he touch Catherine in love with thesame hands that had slain in blood?

*****

Four of Clark's "deep heat treatments," as Loishad dubbed them, had rendered Catherine's bruises nearly invisible.Careful application of makeup took care of any lingering shadows, sowhen she stepped off the elevator and into the D.A.'s office the nextmorning, Clark, who was following her quietly, was her only concern.Any hopes she had of getting to her desk without being noticed weredashed before they were through the door.

"Hey, Cath." The first to greet her was Larry, themost competent clerk they had on this floor. "You feelingbetter?"

She'd been thinking so hard about Clark, she'dmanaged to forget she'd been out of the office for a week. Blindlyshe wondered what excuse Peter had given for her absence; if he'dtold her, she'd forgotten. "Yeah," she answered cautiously. "I'mfine."

"Glad to hear it. Food poisoning's nothing to messaround with."

Food poisoning? She didn't know whether to praiseor curse Peter's imagination. "No, it isn't," she answered aloud."But I'm better now."

"Great. Maxwell's spent half his time worrying'cause you were sick, and the other half getting mad because yourwork's piling up..."

He was carefully not noticing Clark, who waitedpatiently a pace back, and Catherine didn't try to introduce them.Instead, she gave Larry a cheerful wave and smile and moved pasthim.

"Hey, Cathy." Joe's secretary Charlene was thenext to greet her. She glanced over Catherine's shoulder. "Who's thehunk?" she asked, lowering her voice.

For an instant Catherine pictured Charlene's faceif she told the truth: "My bodyguard." But of course she couldn't saythat. Couldn't say the other truth, that he was a reporter, either.Joe would hit the roof.

"He's a... law student," she said, improvising."Here to observe."

Charlene accepted that with a knowing smile, andCatherine moved past her. She threaded her way through the crowdedwarren of desks and filing cabinets with Clark on her heels, roundedthe final corner, and stopped short, staring in dismay. Her desk washeaped with buff file folders, unopened mail, pink message slips,slippery-curly faxes, and computer printouts.

"Somebody remind me never to take a day off again,ever," she muttered under her breath. Behind her, Clark chuckled, andshe remembered his hearing was as acute as Vincent's. Maybemore.

She sighed. "Look at it. I'll never get throughall that."

Clark moved closer and touched her arm. "Sure youwill. I'll help."

"I can't let you help, Clark, what if somebody sawyou?"

"It won't even take a minute..." He fingered hisglasses and glanced around the room. "Nobody's looking..."

Before she could protest further, Clark moved afew files, then pulled his glasses down, peering over the rims andstaring hard, as if he could see right through the buff folders andenvelopes.

Which, she reminded herself, he could. Some thingsweren't easy to get used to.

His hands blurred in a flurry of motion; when theystopped, the untidy piles of folders, unopened mail, interofficememos, and faxes had been turned into a half-dozen neatstacks.

"Wow."

"I tried to sort things by case; if I wasn't sure,I put it in that pile there." He pointed. "And there were a fewthings with Callahan's name on them; they're here." He offered her aslender sheaf of faxes, smeary copies, and unopened brownenvelopes.

"Wow," she said again. She'd thought, afterknowing Vincent, she was beyond amazement... but Clark was, well,amazing. His grin was infectious; she grinned back as she sat downand began slitting envelopes and opening files. "You're handy to havearound."

"That's what my mom used to tell me." Clarkdragged a spare chair over and began helping her openmail.

"You must miss her very much."

"I do." Clark looked wistful. "I wonder if I'llever see her again."

She laid an impulsive hand on his wrist. "Ofcourse you will! You'll find a way to get home..."

"I hope so."

"Radcliffe!" Joe's voice made her look up. "Can Isee you in my office?"

"Be right there!" she called back. She looked atClark. "If you'll excuse me?"

He nodded and she crossed to Joe's glass-walledcubicle.

"Close the door," Joe said, before she was welland truly through the opening.

"Okay." She shut it behind her, gently. "What'sup?"

"Good to see you back here," he said. "You feelingokay now?"

She gave a cautious nod. "Fine,thanks."

"Good."

"I took the Bradley case away from you and gave itto Mark," he told her. "Seeing as how it goes to courttomorrow."

"Okay. I'll check with him, make sure he can readmy notes."

"Fine. I'll try not to put anything new on yourdesk until you've had time to go through stuff."

"Okay, good. Thanks." She hesitated. "Anything newon the Callahan case?"

"The cop's wife? I don't think so. The policestill don't have a suspect there."

"I've been thinking about that, Joe. And the moreI think about it, the more I think the husband'sinvolved."

"Yeah? What does Jimmy Briggs say?"

"Last time I talked to him, which was the day ofthe murder, he was saying his buddy Dave wouldn't do a thing likethat."

Too bad she couldn't add a detailed rendering ofexactly what Jimmy Briggs's friend Dave had done to her.

"Look, Radcliffe, I know you get really focused ondomestic violence cases, but we don't even know that's what this is,and anyway, you've got plenty on your desk to keep you busy. Let thecops..."

"...do their job," she finished for him. "Iremember. You mind if I go through things, get the facts inorder?"

"As long as it doesn't interfere with pendingcases," Joe agreed. "We're going to trial on Monday on the Fastonthing..."

"I saw it on my desk, I'll take care of it," shepromised. "Is that it?"

He leaned back in his chair. "One morething."

She waited expectantly.

"That guy you brought in with you... nice lookingguy."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Nice guy, too."

"You don't usually bring guys to work with you. Issomething going on that I should know about?"

She made her expression as innocent as she could."No. He's a law student from Columbia University. Where I went to lawschool," she added, in case he'd forgotten. "He's going to be here acouple of days observing. Didn't you get my memo?"

"Uh... yeah, I think I saw it." Joe was bluffinglike mad, pretending to have seen her fictitious memo. "Just remembersome of the stuff that goes across your desk should be keptconfidential."

"I'll be careful," she promised.

"Okay." He leaned back and tapped a pencil againsthis open palm. "Speaking of being careful, Radcliffe..."

She paused, waiting.

"I know it's none of my business, but you dorealize he's wearing a wedding ring, right?"

Relief made her smile wide. "Yes, I know. I've methis wife."

She wasn't sure, but she thought Joe might havebeen blushing. "Oh, okay," he said, nearly stammering in his haste toregroup. "The two of you seemed pretty friendly... I was just makingsure..."

"You were just watching out for me," Catherineinterrupted him, fondly. "I know. And I appreciate it."

She went back to her desk. Clark had finishedslitting all the envelopes and was standing by the window lookingout, his hands in his pockets. He turned as sheapproached.

"Sorry," she began. "He just wanted to talk tome..."

"I'm fine." He hesitated. "He cares about you, youknow."

"Joe? I guess he does."

"Enough to warn you about me," Clarkadded.

"You heard that? Of course you heard it," sheadded, to herself. She couldn't help a sigh. "It's not enough I haveVincent knowing everything I feel..."

She didn't finish the thought, but Clark hunchedhis shoulders. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop... sometimes Ican't help overhearing..."

She waved off his apology. "No, it's okay. I'm...kind of used to it now... someone else knowing..." She took a deepbreath, summoned her will, and turned brisk. "So, let's see what's inall these envelopes..."

*****

Playing bodyguard to someone who never left theoffice had to be the most boring job in the world. Clark spent theday alternately watching Catherine work and looking out the window.The only break came near lunchtime, when he heard distant cries forhelp punctuated by shouted oaths and the smack of fists againstflesh.

And abruptly he decided he'd stood by long enough.New York was his new home; it was time for it to be Superman's home,too.

"Listen, Catherine," he said hurriedly. "I'm goingto get us something to eat, okay?"

She looked up, distracted. "What? Oh, sure, thatsounds good."

He hesitated. "You won't go anywhere while I'mgone, will you? Not to meet a witness, or be in court, or visit withthe newspaper vendor in the lobby?"

Her look was amused confusion. "What?"

The cries were more frantic now... he tugged athis tie. "Promise?"

"I promise."

Before the words were well out of her mouth, hewas gone.

The cries were coming from a nearby side street,where an angry mugger was taking his frustration out on his victim.Clark changed on the fly, swooped into the alley at superspeed andyanked the mugger up by his collar. It was the work of split-secondsto push the punk up against the high board fence that blocked thealley's end, wrap him up in scrap wire, and fix the wire's end to apost exposed by broken slats.

An instant after that, he was kneeling at thevictim's side. "Are you all right, sir?"

The man's injuries were severe; Clark was about togather him up in his arms and fly him to the nearest hospital when heheard the wail of sirens. Someone in this huge, heartless city musthave called the police. Paramedics too.

Passersby were starting to gather, pointing andstaring. He stood a moment, letting them get a good look at thetights and cape, then shot into the air. A moment later he pushedthrough the excited crowd in his street clothes.

He wondered if he should repeat what he'd done asa new reporter at the Daily Planet and make his first big story oneabout Superman, but the second time around it seemed like cheating.Before he could decide, a police car pulled up with a squeal ofbrakes.

To Clark's surprise, the officer who stepped outof the passenger side was Gary Stevens. That settled the question ofwhether or not he was writing this story; Stevens had seen him upclose twice last night, once as Clark and once in the suit. It wouldbe tempting fate to let Stevens see him again in either guise sosoon.

The crowd surged forward, eager to tell the policeabout the strange man in the red cape. Clark eased back and waited onthe periphery to make sure the injured man was cared for.

Stevens pushed the people back without listening.A second police car pulled to the curb; one of its officers steppedin to help with crowd control, while the other went to check on theperpetrator, still wired to the fence and yelling bloodymurder.

The officer came back a minute later, shaking hishead. "We're going to need pliers or wire cutters or something to gethim loose," he said. "Wonder who tied him up like that?"

A chorus of voices answered, telling of thestrange man in the blue suit.

This time Gary Stevens heard them, and understood.Clark watched him go pale, and glance nervously over hisshoulder.

The officer with him noticed. "Hey, Gary, youdon't look so hot," he said. "And what happened to your face?" Heindicated the livid bruise that marred Stevens's jaw. "Your brothertake a swing at you?"

Stevens shook his head. "It wasn't Dave," heanswered. "It was... some other guy. Not Dave."

"Whoever he was, he must pack a hell of a punch.You look like you're about to fall over. Go sit down orsomething."

But apparently the absence of the blue suit wasenough to let Stevens recover; he shook his head and went back tocrowd control, saying, "Just wait, we'll take statements from youfolks in a while, just step back now and give the ambulanceroom..."

The paramedics arrived, and hurried through toattend to the injured victim. Clark lingered and listened just longenough to be sure the man was going to be all right, and walkedaway.

He stopped for sandwiches and then hurried back tothe D.A.'s office, half-convinced by long association with Lois thatdespite her promise, Catherine would be gone, and knee-deep introuble.

But she was there, right where he'd left her. Helet out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and laid hersandwich on her desk.

She looked up. "Thanks. What'd you getme?"

"Chicken salad," he answered, and smiled at herquestioning look. "I heard somebody say you liked it."

"Oh, yeah, that great hearing again." But shesmiled as she said it and reached for her sandwich.

"Speaking of hearing..." Clark began, sitting downbeside her.

"What?"

"I overheard something when I was out justnow."

"Oh?" She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed,listening.

"I... happened on the scene of a mugging," hebegan, choosing his words carefully.

"Uh-huh." She looked skeptical.

"And I stopped to see if I couldhelp..."

"Uh-huh," she said again, and took anotherbite.

She was clearly not buying his story so far; whathad she and Lois discussed during their privateconversations?

He plugged on. "Anyway, when the police responded,one of the officers was Gary Stevens."

That got her. She swallowed a half-chewedmouthful. "Ginny's husband?"

He nodded. "And... some stuff was said that kindastartled him, made him go pale."

"Uh-huh." That again.

He sighed. "Okay, I'm coming clean here. I heardthe cries for help from here and on the way I decided that if we'rehere for good, Superman - that's the name I use when I'm... helping -ought to be here, too. So I changed into the suit..."

"The blue tights?" she asked, lookingintrigued.

"Yeah. Blue tights, red cape, the whole thing. Istopped the mugging and detained the mugger. By that time, people hadnoticed..."

"I'll bet."

He glanced at her sharply; the look she gave himin return was bland to the point of deadpan, but her eyes weredancing. "Okay." Doggedly he went on. "So I let 'em look for aminute, then flew off. I changed and came back, blending into thecrowd..."

"Dressed as you, this time," she said, seekingclarification.

"Right. I wanted to be sure the victim was okaybefore I left for good. Stevens and the other officers showed up andthe crowd started talking about, well, me having beenthere..."

"In the tights and cape," she supplied. There wasno mistaking the little smile that played on her lips.

"Yeah. And since I wore the suit last night, whenI was trying to put a scare into Stevens..."

"Wait a minute, Zach said you decked the guy, buthe didn't say anything about tights or a cape. And I'm pretty surehe'd have mentioned it."

"Yeah, well, I decked him before I changed.Because Clark Kent can do that. But only Superman flies."

"You took him flying last night?"

"I hoisted him up over the city and threatened todrop him if he didn't change his ways."

"You wouldn't have dropped him." There was nodoubt in her voice.

"No, but he didn't know that. It was the best Icould do on short notice."

"And it just might work," she said wonderingly."So go on about this afternoon."

"Okay, so Stevens heard about the cape and hestarted to look not so good, and one of the other officers commentedon it."

"Okay," she said carefully. He could see she wasstarting to wonder where he was going with this.

"What he said was something like, 'Did yourbrother hit you?' And Stevens answered, 'It wasn't Dave.'"

"Dave?" He saw her expression change as she gotthe connection. "Clark, there are lots of men calledDave..."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"And their last names are different."

"I know that, too, but I have a hunch. Is thereany way we can run a check, find out who Stevens' brother Daveis?"

Catherine studied him for a long minute, thensighed. "Yeah. Let me call someone I know at the policedepartment..."

Five minutes later she put down the phone and gavehim a look of amazement. "You're good, Kent. And you're right. DavidCallahan and Gary Stevens are stepbrothers; Stevens's mother marriedCallahan's father when Stevens was just a toddler. Callahan seniorwas a cop, too, and apparently influenced both boys into joining theforce. And my friend told me one other thing."

"What's that?"

"David Callahan's mother, his real mother, diedunder suspicious circumstances. Her husband claimed she fell down aflight of stairs, but according to my source, the story that wentaround the department at the time is that it looked more like she'dbeen beaten."

"Family history of violence," Clark saidinstantly. "No wonder both sons think hitting women isokay."

Catherine's expression went grim. "Wonder if theson-of-a-bitch who called himself their father hit the boys,too?"

*****

When the day ended, Catherine gathered a fewfiles, the Callahan one among them, and put them in her briefcase.She snapped it shut and smiled at Clark. "You must be dying to getout of here."

"Looking forward to it," he agreed, and followedher toward the elevator.

"Does it really bother you," he asked hesitantly,when they were riding down, "that Vincent knows what youfeel?"

Where did that come from, she wondered. And thenshe remembered her comment of this morning, after a brush withClark's superhearing: "It's not enough I have Vincent knowingeverything I feel..." He must still be thinking aboutthat.

She took a moment to frame her answer; she didn'twant to accidentally give Clark a wrong impression. "I used to," shesaid finally. "He feels everything, you know, not just what I wanthim to feel."

"I kind of figured that," Clark agreed. Theelevator reached the ground floor and he stood back to let her exitfirst.

"It was hard at first," she continued, when hecaught up with her. "I'd get angry, and of course he'd know. He neverasked about it, but he knew, and he'd be sort of extra formal for awhile, extra careful. I hated that, hated thinking he had to editwhat he was feeling, on my account. So I learned to edit what I wasfeeling."

"Really? Can you do that?"

"It isn't easy, but yeah, I can do it. It's almostautomatic by now. I can't let myself get too depressed, or too angry,or even too scared, unless I really need him to come... and I'mtrying really hard not to need him that way anymore..."

"Why?"

"Because it puts him in danger. Look how you andLois followed the trail back to me and found him. I can't risk thatanymore."

"Oh. That was Lois, mostly... but I see what youmean."

"And it tears him up inside," she added, her voicesoft. "Every time he kills for me..."

"Vincent wouldn't like having to kill," Clarkoffered. Was it her imagination, or did he soundtentative?

She dragged in a deep breath. If she was going tobare her soul, she might as well bare it all. "Well, you see, that'sthe trouble. He does like it. He likes it too much."

*****

"I hate research," Lois announced as she slid intothe cab beside Clark.

"I know. Is that what Alex had you doingtoday?"

She shook her head. "Alex had me write a piece ona retiring elementary school teacher. The research was my own. Orrather, ours."

Catherine leaned around Clark, who was betweenthem in the cab's back seat. "Ours? You mean on Callahan?"

"Yeah," Lois confirmed, and pulled out anabbreviated stack of dusty file folders. "I pulled everything thereis on police corruption and domestic violence. There's even a verythin folder on Detective David Callahan."

"You took the files from the morgue? You didn'tmake copies?"

"Clark, it would take days to make copies of allthis! Besides, we'll take good care of them and give them back whenwe're done."

Clark sighed. If the clippings made it back intothe morgue, it would be because he returned them. By then, Lois wouldbe hell-bent on the next story, and far too busy.

"I don't know that any of it will actually helpCatherine's case," Lois added, patting the files, "but I've beenthinking about a possible article..."

"Me, too," Clark agreed. "After being at theD.A.'s office all day, I think I might have an angle for it,too."

"I don't know much about the newspaper business,"Catherine said, "But I'm guessing there's not much story until youhave a bad guy."

"Well, I made some progress on that, too," Loisannounced.

Clark felt a familiar clenching in the pit of hisstomach.

"I got done early with the story for Alex," shewent on, blithely. "So I went down to the precinct where Callahanworks and talked to some of the cops there."

Clark's hands formed themselves into fists. "Youdid what?"

"I found out that on Wednesday afternoons - andremember Lucille Callahan died on a Wednesday night - Callahan andsome of his buddies meet at a park and play basketball.

"And then I went to the park and asked around... acouple of the guys there play on Wednesdays, too, and they knowCallahan. And they remember that Wednesday."

"How can they be sure?" Catherine objected. "Thatwas weeks ago..."

"Because of something that happened," Lois said,sounding smug.

"I can't believe you went off by yourself..."Clark began, trying without much success to keep his voice level."After what you said to Catherine last night, I thought you finallyunderstood..."

"I do," she said, and patted his hand. "But thiswas important."

"And what if Callahan had been there, and seenyou? What if he'd recognized you?"

"He works nights, which means he's asleep in thedaytime," she said, dismissing his concern. "I was fine, Clark. Andanyway, you haven't heard what I found out."

She was never going to change. And he was nevergoing to stop worrying about her. He let his breath out in a longsigh. "Okay. What did you find out?"

"That Callahan was mad when he went home thatnight. Really, really mad."

"Why?" That was Catherine, leaning forward to seepast Clark.

"I guess there were some women there that day, andthey asked if they could play. Callahan and some of the other guysdidn't want to let them, but some of the other guys did, so theyfinally let the women into the game. Callahan ended up guarding oneof them... and I guess she cleaned his clock. From what the otherguys said, he couldn't get a rebound, couldn't keep her from scoring,couldn't score himself. They found out later she's a starter for theNYU women's team."

"That would have made a guy like Callahanfurious," Catherine said.

"Yeah. The guys he played with say he stomped offthe court in a huff; none of them have seen him backthere."

"Not that a wife-beater ever needs much to set himoff," Catherine said, "but I think you just found out what triggeredCallahan, Lois. Thank you."

*****

On their way back to the tunnels, they stopped offat Catherine's apartment building. "I want to be sure Vincent'sreally okay before I come home for good," Catherine explained as sheled the way toward the building's polished glass doors. "But I reallyneed to pick up a few things... like a change of clothes!"

"No problem," Clark answered, taking Lois'shand.

She squeezed his fingers, letting him know sheloved him. He smiled and squeezed back.

"Miss Chandler." The doorman tipped his cap. "Youbeen on vacation?"

"No, Roger, just staying with friends for a fewdays. I'm not really home yet, just stopped by to pick up somethings."

"Yes, ma'am." He swung the heavy door open andheld it. "There was a gentleman asking for you a few daysago."

Catherine stopped walking. "Agentleman?"

"A man." Roger modified his description. "OnTuesday, I believe it was. Wondering if we knew where you could bereached."

"What did you tell him?" Clark soundedworried.

The doorman gave him a look of mild affront. "Wedon't give out information on our residents, sir."

"I know you don't, Roger," Catherine soothed him."What did this man look like?"

The description was sketchy, but it matched GaryStevens. "Lois was right," Clark said as soon as they were in theelevator. "He's been looking for you."

"Tuesday isn't today," Catherine reminded them."But I guess you were right, Lois. It wasn't a bad idea to have Clarkcome with me today. If nothing else, it put Vincent's mind at ease. Iwant him resting and getting well, not worrying about me."

"I'm sure he'll be much better when we see him,"Lois offered. She knew, better than anyone, the way Catherine felt.She'd felt that way herself more than once. And Clark, after all, wasinvulnerable. Vincent wasn't.

Catherine's apartment was small but gracious."Make yourselves at home," she invited as they came in. "I'll justget a few things..."

She disappeared through double louvereddoors.

"Look, Clark," Lois whispered. "A TV." She touchedthe dust-free surface of the screen. "I haven't watched TV in weeks."She glanced at her watch. "And the news is on..."

"Catherine, do you mind if we turn on the TV?"Clark raised his voice so Catherine could hear him from the otherroom. "The news is on."

"Sure, go ahead," Catherine calledback.

Lois hit the power button. The screen came to lifewith a slight hiss, and she switched through channels until she cameto a local news broadcast.

"Most amazing of all," the impeccably dressed andcoiffed anchor was saying, "is that all of the witnesses agree thatwhen the mysterious man left the scene... he flew away, apparentlyunder his own power."

The camera angle changed to include a secondanchorperson, this one a woman. "I don't know, Phil, I'm not sureeven New York's ready for an incredible flying man wearing bluetights and a red cape..."

Lois punched the volume switch, turning it down."Superman?" she whispered, turning to stare at Clark. "You broughtSuperman out where people could see him?"

Clark looked sheepish. "Well, yeah. I figured itwas about time I came out of hiding..." He paused, and peered at her."Honey, what's wrong?"

Her breath caught, the tiniest hitch. "Does thismean we can never get back?"

His arms came around her quickly, drawing herclose. "No, honey, no! We won't give up trying. But we've been hereso long now..."

She nodded against his chest, keeping her headdown so he wouldn't see her tears. "I know," she whispered. "You justcouldn't stand it any more..."

She'd seen his ultra-alert listening pose morethan a dozen times the past few weeks, and then seen the dejectedslump of his shoulders when he remembered he wasn't Superman here,that he couldn't safely respond. Now he'd decided to do somethingabout it, and she was determined not to dampen hisenthusiasm.

But he knew, just as he always did. Carefulfingers cupped her chin and tilted her face upward."Lois?"

Emotion came on in a rush. "I'm sorry." The wordstrembled on her lips. "I guess I'm just a littlehomesick."

"I know."

She sniffled and lifted a hand to wipe the erranttears away. "Would you believe it?" she said, trying for a note oflevity. "I'm even missing my mother."

He chuckled as he was supposed to, and let go ofher chin to stroke a finger down her cheek. "You know what? So amI."

"What's so funny?" Catherine asked, coming backinto the room.

"We're homesick," Clark answered, moving to takethe zippered nylon bag that dangled from her hand.

"And that's funny?" They stepped out into the halland Catherine fumbled for her keys to lock the door.

"Kind of," Lois explained. "Since we're both tothe point of actually missing my... Clark?"

He'd gone on alert, listening to something only hecould hear. When he looked at her a moment later, she wasready.

"Go."

His finger was already tugging at his tie, but hehesitated. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Go. We'll see you downthere."

"All right." He leaned forward and kissed hercheek. "Be careful."

"We will be," she promised.

"Catherine, what's the quickest way out of thebuilding?" he asked.

"The elevator... you mean for you?"

He nodded.

"The balcony," Lois remembered. "You can go fromthere."

"But if someone sees him..." Catherine began,obviously thinking that attention drawn to her balcony could bedangerous later for Vincent.

"No one will," Lois assured her, and pushed thedoor open.

Clark vanished in a blur of color; the sheercurtains over the french doors leading to the balcony swung wildly inhis wake.

"Wow," Catherine said, looking at the space wherehe'd been.

Lois grinned.

*****

They traveled down in the elevator, bypassing thelobby and going all the way to the basement.

"There's a tunnel entrance here," Catherineexplained in answer to Lois's questioning look. "Vincent made it forme. It's safer."

It involved a climb down a vertical ladder, nomean feat for a woman in a skirt and heels, but Lois managed it.Catherine, who had changed to jeans at her apartment, followed moreeasily.

"This way," she said, and started down a long,dusty passage.

Clark caught up with them just as they reached theinhabited area of the tunnels.

"Traffic accident," he explained, straighteninghis tie. "I freed a trapped driver."

"It's so incredible that you can do those thingsopenly," Catherine marveled. "Vincent could do so much more if hedidn't have to worry about being seen."

"That's why I have a secret identity," Clarkanswered. "Er, everyone here does know they shouldn't talk about mebeing the guy in the blue suit, right?"

"I'm not sure anyone besides Vincent and me knowsyou have a blue suit," she answered. "But Vincent will take care ofit. Don't worry, everyone here knows how to keep importantsecrets."

"I know that," Clark answered, with dignity. "Ijust wanted to be sure they knew that part was a secret." He turnedto Lois. "There was a reporter for the Times there..."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Her. Yeah, I thought I'd better. I didn't tellher much."

"Enough to blow our chance at the scoop." Shesighed. "Oh, well, writing about Superman's not as much of achallenge as it used to be, when I had to worry about how to get holdof him for a quote." She gave him a coquettish sideways glance. "Youalways seemed to get the good quotes."

"Yeah," he agreed cheerfully. "But Icheated."

*****

When they reached his chamber, Vincent, lookingmuch improved over yesterday, and as if he'd never been at death'sdoor seventy-two hours ago, was on his feet, waiting forthem.

Catherine hesitated just inside the doorway,conscious of Clark and Lois standing behind her, but most of herattention was for Vincent. The look he gave her was so intense itmade her soul ache, but he made no move to touch her. She curled herfingers around the handle of her briefcase and concentrated onkeeping her breathing even.

After an eternity, Vincent's gaze flickered andshifted. "You kept her safe," he said to Clark, who nodded. "Thankyou."

Catherine, having spent the entire day with Clarkin attendance, half-expected him to brush it off with a joke, but hedidn't.

"My pleasure," he answered, instead, and hesounded as if he meant it. "I owed you one, remember?"

Now Vincent looked bewildered. "I beg yourpardon?"

"For Lois," Clark explained. "I know you weregoing for Catherine, but Lois was there, too. I could never havefound them in time, by myself. Lois's mouth was taped," he said, asif that were an explanation. And, considering his hearing, itprobably was. Catherine remembered Lois giving an abbreviated yell asthey were thrust into the police car.

Even without that knowledge, Vincent seemed tounderstand. He nodded briefly. "Even so, I am grateful."

And now Clark lost his solemnity, breaking into abroad smile. "Any time, my friend. All you have to do isask."

After a supper brought on trays by some of thechildren, Catherine opened her briefcase. After she and Clark openedher mail this morning, she'd gone through what she had on Callahanand requested reports that were missing. Most of the items she'drequested had arrived on her desk this afternoon. She spread thefiles and envelopes on Vincent's round writing table.

There was no way to know what was important untilthey'd looked at it, so each of them grabbed a file.

"Wow, you asked for everything," Lois murmured,head bent over a sheaf of photocopies stapled together in one corner."Lucille Callahan's medical records. She's been to the emergency roommore times in the past five years than I have in my wholelife."

"And I'll bet that every time she told them shefell down, or ran into a door," Catherine answeredbitterly.

She could feel Lois and Clark both pause in theirown reading to look at her, and was even more conscious of Vincent,sitting on the bed behind her, watching her. She bent her head to herown file, the original police report, plus an update summarizinglater investigation. There wasn't much she hadn't seenbefore.

"Hey," Clark said, a moment later. "Callahan hasan official reprimand in his personnel file. For hitting his wifeback when they were first married."

"No kidding, really?" Lois said, and caught hiswrist, pulling the papers in his hand over so she could see them.Good-naturedly, Clark allowed this. Seeing for herself seemed tosatisfy Lois; a moment later she released Clark's arm and settledback in her chair. "Wonder if he ever got the counseling InternalAffairs told him to get?"

"Don't know," Clark answered, riffling through thefew sheets in his hand. "There doesn't seem to be any follow-up."

"I can work on that tomorrow," Lois offered."After I churn out whatever heartwarming syrup Alexwants."

"Don't call it that, honey..." Clarkbegan.

"Why not? That's what it is. I'm an investigativereporter, Clark, and all this sickening-sweet stuff is making mecrazy!"

"I know." He reached across and patted her hand."Just stick with it a while longer."

"Until we break the story about Detective DavidCallahan beating his wife to death," she agreed.

"Which you can't do until we have enough evidenceto have him arrested," Catherine pointed out.

"Right," Lois agreed. "So let's get back towork."

She returned to her perusal of the dispatcher'slog for the night Lucille Callahan died. "Two calls," she announced,running a finger down the list. "Two calls, nearly twenty minutesapart, from the same neighbor. And her body wasn't found until herhusband got home the next morning."

"No response at all?" Catherine asked.

"No... wait, yes, here it is. An hour andforty-five minutes after the first call... an officer went to theaddress, got no answer to his knock, and left."

"Is there a copy of that officer's report?" Clarkasked. "Will there even be a report?"

"If he didn't get an answer and didn't talk toanyone, probably not, but I'll put in a request for it tomorrow,anyway," Catherine answered. "Maybe we can talk to the officer. I'mthinking about the neighbors... if someone called it in, someone musthave heard something."

"Yeah," Clark agreed. "Right."

"So why are there no reports taken from any of theneighbors? Does the police report say anything aboutthat?"

Clark skimmed the official report. "No. Not aword."

"But somebody called it in," Lois said. "I couldgo over there and..."

"Honey..." Clark interrupted, lookingdismayed.

"Maybe it would be better if Clark and I went,"Catherine suggested. "I can make official inquiries."

"But people might be more willing to talk to areporter," Lois argued.

"I'm a reporter," Clark reminded her gently. "Theycan talk to me."

*****

Catherine lingered after Clark and Lois saidgoodnight, hoping Vincent would talk to her, touch her, anything. Shetucked files away in her briefcase and then looked up to find himwatching her.

"You should rest, too," he said gently.

"Really, Vincent, I'm not that tired. I'd liketo..."

But he was shaking his head, shutting her out, ashe had so often done before. "That's not true. You're exhausted. Youneed a good night's sleep."

Not as much as I need you, she thought wanly. Sheforced a smile past the misery in her throat. "I guess you'reright."

She hesitated, hoping he would reach for her, givesome indication that her touch would be welcome.

But he only sat, looking at her with an expressionshe couldn't read.

"Goodnight, Vincent." I love you, she addedsilently.

He rose to walk her to the door. "Goodnight,Catherine."

*****

Lois and Clark were nearly to their chamber whenClark stopped. "Listen, honey, can you go on without me? There'ssomething I have to do..."

"You hear something?"

He hesitated. "I just need to talk toCatherine."

"About the story?" She had turned to look at him;suspicion was creeping onto her face.

But he couldn't lie to her. "Not about the story.About... something else."

"Oh." Her look was doubtful and for an instant,Clark thought she was going to protest, but at last she nodded,grudgingly. "Okay. Don't be long."

He kissed her quickly. "I won't," he promised, andheaded back the way they had come.

The sound that had attracted his attention grewlouder as he approached Catherine's chamber. He paused at theentrance, and in the custom of a community without doors, called out.After a moment Catherine's voice, muffled but recognizable, answered."Go away!"

He stepped closer and tried again. "Catherine? MayI come in, please? It's Clark."

There was a longer pause, one he tried hard not tolisten to. Finally she appeared in the entrance, eyes moist and voicejust the tiniest bit shaky. "What do you want?"

"I just want to talk to you for a minute.Please?"

He could sense her reluctance in the way shehesitated, the way she held her arms folded across her body, butfinally she gave a brief, jerky nod and stepped aside.

Like the space he shared with Lois, this chamberwas charming, but in an impersonal, nobody-really-lives-here kind ofway. It reminded him that her residence here, like his and Lois's,was temporary.

She didn't follow him in, didn't offer him a seat.Instead she waited, stiff and formal, by the entrance. "It's late,Clark, I'm tired. Can we make this fast?"

He brushed that aside. "Are you allright?"

She flinched, just a little, but didn't unbend."Of course."

"But you've been crying."

She dashed furtively at her eyes, as if afraid alingering tear was giving her away. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Whatdo you need?"

I need to help you, he thought, but didn't say.She probably wouldn't understand his compulsion to assist when hecould. "I just... I thought you might need somebody to talk to.Vincent was kind of - stiff - this evening."

She let her breath out in a long sigh. "I know. Heworries..."

"Yeah, I know."

The look she gave him was startled."You...?"

"We talked some, last night. When neither of uscould sleep."

"Oh." She swallowed. "I'm glad. He needs somebodyto talk to, and you can probably understand better than mostpeople."

He nodded. "He's afraid, you know."

"Afraid of hurting me. I know."

"It terrifies him. He wants to love you,Catherine, but he's so scared."

"I know," she said again. "I don't understand it,but I know."

He found his gaze drawn by a the flame of a candlethat sputtered and hissed, as if its wick were wet. "I understand,"he said softly.

"What?"

"I hurt her once." He looked at his hands,clenching his fists in remembered guilt.

"Who? Lois?" Startlement was in hervoice.

He nodded.

"You wouldn't do that, Clark. I know youwouldn't."

"But I did. I didn't mean to, but I did." Hisvoice dropped to a whisper.

She stood quietly, her eyes full of compassion."What happened?"

"There's this... substance... in our world, wherewe come from. It affects me oddly, and differently each time. Thistime, it made it impossible for me to control my powers, mystrength.

"I hugged her. That's all, I just hugged her. Shedidn't want me to know, so she tried to hide it, but I saw it later.A bruise on her arm, just the size of my hand. I could see the marksof my fingers..." His voice trailed off as he relived the devastationof that moment.

"You weren't yourself," Catherine said, her voiceeven. "You'd never do that if you were yourself."

"No, but see, that's the point. I wasn't myself,and I hurt her. Vincent is sometimes not himself, and he's terrifiedhe'll hurt you. It's the same thing. And the fact that neither of youis afraid doesn't make any difference."

"But you don't let it keep you from lovingher."

"No. But if I'm feeling even the slightest bit...off... I'm careful not to touch her. I don't think she's noticedbecause I haven't had to do it often, and I usually figure out what'swrong pretty quickly, but I'm always aware now."

She gave him a shaky smile. "Lois is a very luckylady."

"I'm a very lucky guy." He peered at her. "A lotof people figure you and Vincent are pretty lucky, too."

She looked up quickly. "We are."

He took a deep breath. Now was the time to ask."Then what did you mean, this afternoon when we were leaving youroffice, when you said he... liked it... when he... protectedyou?"

He saw her throat muscles working as she swallowedconvulsively once, twice. "I meant what I said," she managed finally,whispering.

"That he likes to... kill for you."

And then, in a way that reminded him suddenly ofLois, defiance sparked in her eyes as her chin came up. "I shouldn'thave said it. You shouldn't have heard it."

"But I did hear it. You did say it. But I can'treconcile it with the Vincent I know. So what did youmean?"

She closed her eyes against his gaze.

He waited.

Finally she spoke. "When he kills. What hefeels... I feel it, too."

Astonishment nearly stole his voice. "You feel...I didn't know you could feel him, I thought he..."

"Usually," she interrupted, eyes still shut tight."Usually only he can do it. But when he's coming for me... when he...it's so intense. I feel it... I feel it all. It's like... almostlike... making love... but not. And I have so little, I have to fightso hard not to want him that way, not to put myself in danger... andsometimes I do anyway, even though I don't think I meanto..."

Her words were coming fast and breathless, likeLois in full spate, only this wasn't to cover confusion or disquiet,this was deep and so full of despair he wanted to weep.

She stopped and stared at him, appalled. "Oh,God," she whispered. "I've never said that to anyone before. Nevereven dared to think it... Oh, God."

Clark hovered for an instant, indecisive. Shouldhe try to touch her, offer her the comfort of an embrace? Or mutter ahasty apology and hurry out? Or maybe just wait until she collectedherself and could talk to him reasonably, rationally. If she couldtalk about it, she'd feel better.

The sound of running feet reached him a baresecond before Vincent, breathless and ashen, burst in snarling. Clarkbacked up a hasty step and put his hands up, palms out. "Hey, it'sokay," he said. "I'm not doing anything..."

The change in Vincent's face took place in thespace of a heartbeat; his expression eased, and humanity returned tohis eyes. "Catherine," he breathed, and turned to findher.

"I'm here, I'm okay," she said, as he gathered herinto his arms.

Vincent must have sensed her distress andmisinterpreted it, Clark decided. A simple "Help!" was easier... butthen the victim had to be able to yell, and the rescuer to hear.Maybe their way was better, after all.

He started to excuse himself, not that either ofthem was noticing his presence any longer... but paused whenVincent's knees buckled.

"Vincent!" Catherine cried, and struggled to holdhim up.

Clark was at his other side in a flash, easingVincent's considerable weight from Catherine's shoulders and movinghim toward the bed. "You're not healed enough for a mad dash throughthe tunnels," he said, trying to lighten things up. "Should we getFather?"

"No," Vincent rasped, through quick, painfulbreaths. "He'll just fret and lecture. I'll be all right in aminute..."

On his other side, Catherine was murmuringsomething that sounded suspiciously like "I'm sorry."

And then, from outside, came Lois's voice, callingCatherine's name. She looked up, startled, but it was Clark who roseto his feet. "I'll talk to her," he muttered, and went out throughthe short passage that connected the chamber to the tunnelbeyond.

Lois looked both guilty and petulant. "Aren't youcoming back?"

"Yeah, I am. In a minute. Something'shappened..."

"What, in there?" Lois craned to see around him,then glared when he refused to budge. "Clark, what is going on here?You're keeping secrets from me, and you promised you wouldn't do thatany more."

"I know, honey, but it isn't my secret totell..."

He saw her struggle between impatience andcourtesy, trying to quell her inborn drive to *know* with the tenetsof civility.

He reached for a desperate promise to keep her atbay. "I'll be there as soon as I can..."

"It doesn't matter, Clark." From the chamber cameCatherine's voice, sounding infinitely weary. "She can comein."

Surprised, Clark shrugged and stepped aside. Loishesitated, then stepped past him, into the chamber. Hefollowed.

"Oh," Lois said, catching sight of Vincent. "Ididn't realize..."

"I said something that got Catherine upset," Clarkexplained. "Vincent didn't know why she was upset, he only knew shewas, so he came to see about her. But he came a little more quicklythan his state of healing called for."

Vincent was sitting up now and had more color inhis face, but clearly wasn't as strong as he'd seemed earlier, in hisown chamber.

Lois frowned. "What did you say, Clark? Vincentwouldn't have been running unless it was something...big."

Clark glanced at Catherine, who was white-faced,her expression pleading. The look Lois was giving him was implacableand demanding. He sighed. "Look, I can't..."

"Can't betray Catherine's confidence by repeatingwhatever the two of you were discussing," Lois finished for him."Okay, fine. I can live with that. And anyway, I think I can guess.Some of it, anyway."

Catherine dropped her gaze; Vincent fixed his onthe far wall.

Lois crossed her arms and planted her feet. "I'vebeen watching you two dancing around each other and it's driving mecrazy." She let out a low, exasperated laugh. "You remind me of meand Clark."

Vincent's eyes widened. "But you and Clark donot..."

"Not anymore," she answered. "But we used to. Ifigure it cost us at least a year... how long do you suppose it'scost you?"

Catherine gave Vincent a swift, surreptitiousglance, then looked away. Vincent stared at the floor.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talkingabout." Lois pointed. "You love him, right?"

Startled, Catherine nodded. "Yes," shewhispered.

Lois turned on Vincent. "And you loveher."

Vincent's gaze went to Catherine, who was watchingher hands. "More than my life," he admitted softly.

"But you don't talk to each other. Not about thethings that are really important." She eyed them both narrowly. "Youboth have secrets you're keeping."

Catherine glared at Clark, fury in her eyes. Therewasn't any way to tell her that Lois was working on pure intuition.He shrugged.

Vincent closed his eyes briefly and lookedaway.

"Don't you?" Lois demanded of him.

He nodded. "Yes." His voice was so low, even Clarkcould scarcely hear it, but Lois seemed satisfied.

She looked at Catherine. "You know what? I'mbetting it's different sides of the same secret."

Vincent shook his head. "It is my shame," hewhispered. "No one knows. No one can ever know. It is too deep, toodark, for sharing."

"But it'd be lighter if you shared it, Vincent."Clark spoke up for the first time. "I know."

Lois glanced at him with approval. "And anyway,"she added, "I'll bet Catherine already knows. Some of it, anyway."She gave Vincent a small, almost tender smile. "You can't hide fromsomeone who really loves you. So talk to each other. Tell each other.It'll be all right." She turned and slid her hand into Clark's. "Comeon," she said to him. "They'll be all right by themselvesnow."

*****

Vincent watched them go with growing dread. Loiscouldn't be right that Catherine knew this terrible darkness, thisshameful secret, but she was right about something else. They had totalk about it. He had to tell. Catherine had to know.

He would open himself, let her see all thedarknesses gathered inside. Then she would be horrified. Then shewould leave. It would be over, all of it. The lying... and theloving. Her loving.

Because of course he would continue to love heruntil the day he died.

Only his love gave him courage to speak."Catherine..."

"No, Vincent, let me. Please."

The intensity in her voice surprised him. "Allright." The delay was welcome; he'd have a few more moments with herbefore the end. He studied her, memorizing the curve of her cheek,the shining fall of her hair. Soon memory would be all hehad.

He regretted the troubled look on her face, theapprehension he could feel in her heart. He hated that he had putthem there.

She closed her eyes briefly; he could sense hergathering courage. "You feel everything I feel," shebegan.

He nodded, perplexed. They had both known this fora long time.

"But what you don't know is that sometimes I canfeel you, too."

"I do know that," he reminded her. "When Fatherand I were trapped in the Maze, you knew, and you came to help. Whenyou were in California, and in danger..."

"Okay, right, I remember those times. But there'vebeen other times. Times I haven't told you about."

"Why not?"

"Because I was afraid."

"Of me?"

"Of what you would do if you knew."

His heart ached. He swallowed hard. "What... mightI do?"

Hurt me, he waited to hear her say. Take pleasurein hurting me. Like Gary Stevens and David Callahan took pleasure inhurting their wives. He was no different, no less a monster. He hatedhimself.

"You might leave me," she whispered.

Astonishment held him in place. "Catherine, Icould never..."

"You could," she interrupted. "You might. You...have. When you thought it was for my own good."

Oh. "Why might I have thought it was for your goodthis time?" he asked carefully.

"Promise you won't leave. Promise you'll stay, andhear it all. Please?"

He'd already decided to do so, but she couldn'tknow that. The plea in her voice wrenched at his heart. "Whatever itis, Catherine, you can say it to me. I will listen. Ipromise."

"Okay."

He watched her straighten her shoulders, liftherself with determination, and braced himself.

"When I am in danger... and you come to me..." Shebrought the words out slowly, haltingly. "...I know what you feel. Ifeel... what you feel."

"No..." Nothing he'd imagined was this terrible.He shook his head. "No. Not..."

"Yes, Vincent." She was looking at him now, hergaze strong and sure. "I know what rushes through you when you kill.I know... because it rushes through me, too. It's dark, andterrible... and glorious. It makes my heart pound, makes my mouth godry, makes me want to tip back my head and shout. And sometimes it'sall I can do to keep from putting myself into danger so you will cometo me, and I can feel it again."

"No." He sank to his knees, and clutched his headin his hands. "No. Not that. Please."

And then she was beside him, her arms around him,holding him close. He should pull away from her, should end it now,before he dragged her any more deeply into the darknesses thatgripped him. But he couldn't. There was comfort in her touch, a peacehe never had at any other time. He gave in to longing and laid hishead on her shoulder, breathing her scent, hearing the murmur of hervoice in his ear as her hands stroked through his mane.

At last he found voice to speak. "I should neverhave... I should never... it's my fault, all my fault..."

And then she was drawing away from him, pushinghim away. "It's not," she argued, her expression fierce. "It's notyour fault, Vincent, don't you see? I wanted you to come. I... itfilled a need in me, when you killed for me. Maybe it goes back towhen I was attacked the first time, when my face was cut. Maybe Ineeded to feel that power, to know what it felt like to stop them, tohurt them the way they hurt me. And then... that power is addictive.You know it is. I think I've known for a long time how destructive itall was... but I didn't want to admit it, didn't want to give up thefeeling when you..." She paused, and shook her head. "There are somany things we can't share, don't share... but we could sharethat."

Of course. For the first time in this painfulconversation, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. "What will we sharenow?"

She studied him for an endless moment. "May I askyou something?"

"Of course," he answered instantly. "You know youmay."

"Will you answer me? Truthfully, with noevasions?"

Trepidation beat inside his chest, making hisanswer slow to come. But at last he nodded. "If I can."

"Right." She looked away; he could feel hergathering strength, marshalling courage. "Why haven't you ever kissedme?"

Panic clutched at his throat. But he'd promised.He swallowed, and closed his eyes against the earnest, pleading lookin hers. "Kissing you... is an intimacy I dare not allowmyself..."

"Why?"

"Because... because it leads to... itmight..."

"Because it's a first step?"

"Yes."

"Why are you afraid of that?"

He dropped his gaze to his hands, curled againsthis thighs, the deadly claws catching the candlelight in dullreflection. "Because of what I am..."

"I know what you are," she answered. "I love...what you are. Who you are. All of you. You have to believe thatnow."

Amazingly, he did. Finally. She knew all of him,his darkest, most shameful feelings... and she loved him. Wonder andgratitude made him drop his head once more to her shoulder. Her armswent around him, holding him close.

"What if I hurt you?" he whispered. "If I everhurt you..."

"But you wouldn't, Vincent." Her voice was low andcertain. "You always know, and you would never hurt me. Even when youwere so sick..."

"Clark said that," he interrupted, remembering."That I was delirious, lashing out... but that when you touched me, Iknew you, and I stopped."

"Yes. I held you still when he cauterized yourwound. With just my fingers against your skin, I held you. It wasterribly painful, and you would have fought him, otherwise. But youknew my touch, and you were still."

"Perhaps..." He wanted so badly tobelieve.

"If you know me when you're delirious with fever,or when you lose yourself in rage... you'll know me in passion. Youwill."

If only she was right. If only.

Catherine let go of him, sliding her hands acrosshis shoulders, down his arms. She paused with her hands on his. Herfingers caressed his palms. "Kiss me, Vincent."

He hesitated, his fear stronger than hisdesire.

After an endless, aching moment, Catherine let herbreath out in a long, soft sigh and moved away from him. "I'm sorry,"she whispered. Heartbreak was in her voice, but he didn't need tohear her. He could feel it, vibrating between them. "I asked for toomuch... I'm sorry."

'Maybe you should fear what you might do to herheart. Because if you keep on the way you have been, always pushingher away when she gets too close, someday it may be too much, andyou'll lose her.' Clark Kent's voice echoed in his mind.

'You'll lose her.'

He desperately didn't want that.

And what harm could there be in a singlekiss?

He put out a trembling hand and laid it on herarm.

Her eyes, when she looked up, glistened withunshed tears, and he felt his own heart breaking.

"Oh, my love," he whispered, and drew her into hisarms.

She came without protest, wrapping her arms aroundhim and holding on hard. He held her tight, rocking her, burying hisface in her hair.

But an embrace, even one as intense as this one,wasn't what she'd asked for.

Hesitant, he brought a hand to her face. He lethis palm caress her cheek while he gathered courage, then tipped herface up to his.

She waited, breathless, watching him, letting himset the pace. She'd never looked so beautiful.

And at long last, after years of wanting, years ofdenial, he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.

*****

Something was up. Vincent and Catherine couldhardly look at each other this morning, but there was none of thetension that had pervaded the air the day before. Today, Clark hadthe distinct feeling that if they'd actually met each other's shyglances, one, or possibly both, would have blushed and broken out ingiggles.

Lois sensed it too; when he caught her eye, shesmiled a knowing smile, no doubt pleased with the way things weregoing, relationship-wise.

Their suspicious were confirmed when it was timefor Lois, Clark, and Catherine to go topside for work. Catherinepaused at the entrance to Vincent's chamber. Vincent hesitated aninstant, no doubt because of the audience, then switched his focus toCatherine and gathered her into a very tender, very intimate hug."Take great care," Clark heard him whisper, before he let hergo.

"I will," she promised, gazing deep into hiseyes.

Lois squeezed Clark's hand and gave him a smuglittle grin when he glanced her way. Who'd have thought matchmakingwould suit her so well?

In the passage outside, she let go of his hand andhurried to catch up with Catherine, who was setting a quickpace.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Well, what?" Catherine answered, with clearlyfeigned innocence.

"What happened last night? From the sappy look onyour face, it had to be terrific."

"I don't have a sappy look on my face," Catherinedefended herself.

"Yes, you do," Lois countered. "You look justabout like I probably did after... well, after a few things,actually. So what happened?"

Catherine glanced back at Clark, obviouslyreluctant to share feminine secrets with him withinearshot.

"Don't mind him, he's pretending he's not here,"Lois said. "What happened after we left last night?"

Catherine lowered her voice, which of coursedidn't keep Clark from hearing every word, but which probably madeher feel better. "We talked... about things."

"Like..." Lois prompted.

"Like... things." Catherine clearly did not wantto talk about this.

But Lois was persistent. "Come on. You're dying totell somebody."

"No, I'm not." Was there a quiver of uncertainty,an undercurrent of excitement, in Catherine's voice?

"Yes, you are. Or at least, you're dying to talkabout something." Lois thought for a minute. "Okay, skip what youtalked about. What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Catherine's denial was a bit tooemphatic.

Lois circled in for the kill. "Did he finally kissyou?"

Catherine could keep her face impassive, but shedidn't seem to be able to stop the rosy flush that crept up hercheeks.

Lois clapped her hands together. "He did! Hekissed you!"

"Shhhh!" Catherine looked around anxiously,obviously worried about being overheard.

Clark pulled his glasses down for a quick peekthrough the nearest walls. "It's okay, nobody's around."

Catherine pressed her hands to her eyes; when sheremoved them, her expression was calmer. "I guess it doesn't matter.You won't say anything to Father, will you?"

"If Father gives you any trouble, I'll just turnLois loose on him," Clark offered, and was gratified by Catherine'squick smile.

"She does seem to have a way with him, doesn'tshe?"

"Hey, I've been dealing with Perry White foryears. That's our editor, back home," Lois added. "Father's apushover in comparison."

"Not quite a pushover..." Clark began, but Loishad already shut him out.

"Tell me about the kiss," she prodded Catherine."Was it good? Was it great? First kisses are soimportant..."

Clark rolled his eyes.

Catherine sighed. "It was... I don't know.Unusual."

"Unusual? How? You mean because his upperlip..."

"Do you know, I don't think I even noticed that.His mouth felt... well... but... remember your first kiss? Eighthgrade or so?"

"Eighth grade, exactly," Lois said."Yeah."

"I was in tenth grade when I had my first kiss,"Clark volunteered. That might distract Lois long enough to getCatherine off the hook.

Lois spun around and began to walk backwards. "Whowas it?" she challenged. "Lana, or Rachel?"

"Neither," he answered, grinning. "JulianneSimmons."

"What are you doing kissing somebody I never heardof?" she demanded.

"At the time, I'd never heard of you!"

"That's no excuse." But she was smiling, obviouslyintrigued by this glimpse into his completely un-sordidpast.

Catherine shot out an arm to keep Lois frombacking into a low lintel.

"Thanks," Lois said, turning around. "Okay, backto Vincent," she said to Catherine. "He kisses like an eighth grader?And you're starry-eyed over it?"

Catherine cast a quick glance at Clark, who hadexhausted his repertoire of distractions. He shrugged and droppedback, giving them the illusion of privacy.

"Ignore him," Lois commanded. "Give."

Catherine blushed, smiled, and gave in. "He kisseslike an eighth-grader because he's... well...inexperienced."

"Inexperience isn't necessarily a bad thing," Loissaid. "In fact, my last encounter with inexperience was pretty darngood."

By now Catherine was clearly longing to share whathad happened. She glanced again at Clark, who did his best to lookuninterested. She turned back to Lois. "There's something...primal... in his kiss."

"Ooh." Lois all but shivered. "Primal. I don'tknow if I've ever had a kiss I'd call primal. Primal is good. Andinexperience can be cured. In fact, curing it can be a lot of fun.The main thing is, he kissed you."

Catherine's face lapsed into the slightlyunfocused look it had worn earlier. "Yeah," she agreed."Yeah."

*****

"No, ma'am, no police ever came to my door whenthat woman died." The woman in the apartment immediately above theCallahans' was positive. "My boy was sick that day, too, so I washome."

"Well, I'm sure they just missed you," Catherinesaid, though they shouldn't have. According to the police report, allthe neighbors had been questioned, and no one had heard anythingunusual the night Lucille Callahan died. But maybe they had justmissed this one apartment. Catherine struggled to keep an open mind."Well, I'm here now. Do you mind if I ask you a fewquestions?"

The woman glanced over her shoulder. "Huh? Oh,yeah, I guess so. If you don't mind the mess... I was up half thenight with my boy. He's sick again."

She stepped back to let Catherine and Clark intothe apartment.

The boy in question appeared to be eight or nineyears old; he was lying on the couch under a colorful knitted afghan,watching TV.

"My throat hurts, Mom," he said, as they camein.

"Just a minute, Brad, I have to talk to thesepeople first."

"But I want a drink!" Brad's voice rose nearwhining.

"I said in a minute!"

"Go ahead and get him his drink," Clark said,quietly. "I'm sure he doesn't feel well..."

"Well, all right..." The mother went to the tinykitchen and returned a moment later with a canned soda. She poppedthe top and set it on the coffee table where the boy could reachit.

He didn't bother to thank her before grabbing forthe drink.

"If he's sick, wouldn't juice be better for him?"Catherine regretted the impulsive comment before she'd finishedmaking it; no one liked criticism, even when it was onlyimplied.

"He don't like juice," the mother bristled. "Helikes pop."

"Oh." Catherine bent over her notebook to hide theblush she could feel creeping up her cheeks. "Can we sit downsomewhere?"

The woman had lost some of her already grudgingcooperation, but she led Catherine and Clark to thealuminum-and-formica kitchen table. "Here," she said. "Brad's got thecouch."

Catherine carefully stayed away from the subjectof Brad. "Mrs. Willow, were you home the night your downstairsneighbor was killed?"

"All night. My boy was sick, like I toldyou."

"What time did you get home?"

"I never left. Brad come home sick from school, sowe just never went anywhere. Stayed right here."

"So you were home all evening."

"I said that."

"Yes, I'm sorry. Mrs. Willow, did you hear anyunusual noises coming from the apartment downstairs? Any time thatnight or early the next morning?"

The expression on the woman's face changed subtly."Unusual? No, can't say I did."

"No sounds of a scuffle, banging, perhapsshouting? Someone calling for help?"

"You didn't ask that. You asked was anythingunusual."

Catherine contained the retort that sprang to herlips. "I'm sorry, I'll rephrase. Did you hear any sounds ofscuffling, any shouting, any other loud noises, from the apartmentdownstairs, any time that night or the next morning?"

From the corner of her eye, she could see Clarknodding approval under the guise of taking notes.

"About seven o'clock," the woman answered, aftersome thought.

"In the morning?" Catherine glanced at her ownnotes; according to the police report, the body had been found byDetective Callahan at about 7:15 am.

"Not the morning. The night before. About seventhe night she died. I know because Brad was trying to watch hisfavorite show, and we had to keep turning it up, the sound, you know,so he could hear. They were so loud!"

"Who? Who was loud?"

"Them downstairs. I don't know the name, but thehusband's a cop."

"The Callahans?"

"I guess. The ones downstairs. The ones where thewife got killed."

Her lack of compassion would have been shocking ifCatherine hadn't seen it so often before. Now it just made her sad.She wondered what Clark thought, and how people reacted to murderwhere he came from. His expression, when she glanced up, told hernothing.

"Mrs. Willow, what did you hear?" heasked.

"The usual. Him yelling, her crying, then a coupleloud knocks like this..." she demonstrated by reaching over andstriking the wall sharply with the side of her closed fist. It made aclear, loud thud. "... and then more crying and moreyelling."

"Did you call the police?"

"You gotta be kidding. Call the cops? They don'tcome. We've called before and they don't come. And then if they do,they talk about Brad leaving his bike downstairs in the hall, andMike, that's my husband, about Mike playing his stereo too loud. Theynever talk to the man downstairs. Cops stick together, is what. Uscivilians don't count."

"Mrs. Willow, the police are there to protect 'uscivilians,'" Catherine said. "They're also supposed to respond toevery report of possible domestic violence."

"Supposed to and do are two different things," thewoman snapped. "Now, I've told you what I know."

"One more question," Clark interjected gently."Did you notice what time the noise downstairs stopped?"

"Of course I noticed. It stopped a little aftereight."

An hour. The argument that was very possibly abeating had gone on for an hour, and the police never came. Catherineresolved to talk with the officer who finally had responded as soonas she got back to the office. "Thank you, Mrs. Willow, you've beenvery helpful. I hope Brad feels better soon."

*****

Other neighbors reported hearing sounds of astruggle the night Lucille Callahan died. The second one they talkedto was the one who had called the police. "An hour and a half!" shetold Catherine, indignant. "An hour and a half! What that poor womanmust have been through."

"Yes," Catherine agreed.

"Wasn't the first time, either," the woman wenton. "I swear, that man used his wife as a punching bag every time shelooked at him sideways. She was always having bruises on her face andher arms, saying she fell or ran into something."

"Did you ever see her husband hit her?" Clarkasked.

"No, but I saw him grab her arm one time. Rough,like he was real mad. He pulled her into their apartment and I didn'tsee her again for a day or two. She never answered the door the dayafter. Never."

"Did she ever say anything to you about herhusband hitting her?" Catherine asked.

"We didn't really know each other," the womanexplained. "Just to nod hello to in the hall, is all. One time sheleft some shirts in the dryer downstairs and I brought them up toher. She said then, when she thanked me, that her husband wasparticular about his shirts. But we didn't talk. I wish now wehad."

*****

"She's a witness, isn't she?" Clark asked as theyleft the building. "To what Callahan might do?"

"I wish she'd actually seen Callahan hit his wife,even once," Catherine said. "But she's something. If we can findenough other evidence, her testimony will help."

Their next stop was the police station. Catherineintroduced Clark to a detective named Greg Hughs. "We have somequestions we'd like to ask," she said, after the men shookhands.

"Sure," Greg answered. "What's up?"

She showed him the 911 call sheet. "What's theusual response time to a domestic violence call?"

He peered at the report. "A lot less than an hourand forty-five minutes, unless it was a really busy night, but fromthis, it doesn't look like it was."

"That's what I thought. Could we talk to theofficer who finally responded?"

"Let me see if he's on duty right now."

Greg showed them into a tiny, grubby interrogationroom. Police officer Paul Stuart joined them a few minutes later."Detective Hughs says you want to talk to me?"

"Yes, thank you, Officer. Please, sitdown."

Stuart, young and visibly nervous, obeyed. As shehad done with Greg Hughs, Catherine showed her printout of the 911log and explained what she wanted.

"I went as soon as I got the call," he reportedearnestly. "I remember because the dispatcher told me a policeofficer lived there. But when I got there, no one washome."

"How do you know that?" Clark asked, then wonderedif he should have. This was, after all, an official inquiry by amember of the D.A.'s office. But Catherine didn't seem tomind.

"I knocked and no one answered."

"Did you try the door?" Catherineasked.

Stuart nodded. "I did. It was locked. I knockedseveral times, but no one was home."

"Or at least, no one was answering the door,"Catherine observed dryly.

The young officer flushed. "Right. No one wasanswering the door."

"Did you talk to the neighbors who called itin?"

He shook his head. "Dispatch told me the call wasanonymous."

Catherine glanced at the automatic log; Clarkdidn't have to look. He knew as well as she did that there were twoseparate calls, and that the caller had indeed given her name, bothtimes.

"I did talk to a couple of the neighbors," Stuartwent on, obviously anxious to redeem himself. "But none of themwanted to talk to me. They all said they hadn't heard anythingunusual."

Clark recalled the upstairs neighbor saying thesame thing, maintaining she was telling the truth because the violentsounds from the Callahan apartment that night weren't unusual at all.They were far too commonplace.

"I don't like this," Catherine announced when theyreached sunlight again. "From what Stuart told us, it was an hour anda half from the time the call came in until he was dispatched to thescene. And I think I believe him."

"There are records you can get to bear him out,aren't there?" Clark asked.

She nodded. "I'll request them as soon as we'reback in the office."

"And if he's telling the truth?"

She sighed. "Internal Affairs will have somethingto say, I'm sure."

"And Lois and I have our story."

*****

"Hey, Radcliffe!" Joe sounded more curious thanmad when he spotted Catherine and Clark walking into the D.A.'soffice a little before lunchtime. "Where've you been?"

"Following a lead," she answered. "I may havesomething on the Callahan case."

"Really? Good for you. I hear the cops arestymied."

Catherine fought to keep her tone dry. "I'm notsurprised."

Beside her, Clark was very still, probablythinking the same thing she was.

But she didn't want to give away what they knewjust yet. "I'll let you know when we have something concrete," shetold her boss.

"You do that. And you think you might getsomething done on the Marpesa case today? Seeing as how it's going totrial on Thursday?"

The Marpesa case. Of course. She was supposed tobe breaking down the testimony of four witnesses, and she hadn't evenstarted yet. "I'm on it," she said with confidence. "I'll have it toyou soon."

The look on his face was one of warning. "Good.And hey, here, Charlene asked me to put this on your desk." He handedher a pink message slip.

"Thanks, Joe." She glanced at the slip, thenpassed it on to Clark. "I think she'd rather talk to you," she saiddryly.

He grinned, and picked up the phone on her desk todial. "Lois Lane, please. Hi, honey. We just got into the office.What's up?"

He listened for a moment, then filled her in onwhat he and Catherine had learned. "Great. See you then. Love you."He put the phone down gently. "She says Callahan never did get hiscourt-ordered counseling."

"Really? Was there any officialfollow-up?"

"Doesn't look like it. She's waiting for a callback from a source."

Catherine felt her eyebrows rise. "You two haveonly been here a matter of weeks, and already she has sources? Ittook me years to build my network, and half of them came fromVincent."

He grinned. "I married a talentedwoman."

She grinned back. "Yeah. I guess youdid."

He settled onto a corner of her desk. "So now whathappens?"

She pulled the phone a little closer. "Now I thinkit's time to call Jimmy Briggs."

*****

"How are you coming on the Callahaninvestigation?" Catherine asked, when Briggs answered.

"We don't have any solid leads, but we're workingon it." The man's voice, easily audible to Clark, was just this sideof testy.

Catherine stayed cool. "Have you reconsidered thehusband as a suspect?"

Briggs' voice tightened. "Miss Chandler, I knowthe husband is an automatic suspect in a violent death, but I knowDave Callahan, and he wouldn't..."

Catherine broke in. "Are you aware Callahan has ahistory of hitting his wife?"

There was a long silence. "Where are you gettingthat?"

"It's in his personnel file. He got an officialreprimand and was ordered to go for counseling. I have a sourcetelling me he never got that counseling."

"I didn't know that."

Catherine pressed on, showing no mercy. "Are youaware that on at least three occasions in the past year, LucilleCallahan visited the ER with suspicious injuries?"

"No."

"Or that on the day she died, David Callahan lefta pickup basketball game angry because he'd been shown up on thecourt by a starter for the NYU women's team?"

"How do you know that?" Briggs was blusteringnow.

Catherine kept on. "Did you know an upstairsneighbor heard shouting and scuffling that went on for over an hourthe night Lucille Callahan died? And that she's sure it all tookplace before 8:00 pm?"

"Uniforms said they didn't find anyone who heardanything," Briggs said.

"Well, they were right about that. The neighborsays no one ever came to her door. The neighbor who called 911 thatnight never saw a police officer, either."

There was another long pause. "How do you knowthat?"

"Because I talked with the neighbors myself, justthis morning. I'll be happy to give you their names if you'd like tofollow up on it."

This silence was even longer than the precedingones. "I guess," Briggs said at last, sounding lost and defeated,"you'd better do that."

*****

Shortly before lunch, Briggs called back. "Italked with the neighbors," he said. "You're right about what theyhad to say." He sighed. "I guess Dave Callahan's a suspect after all.I can't believe it. I knew he had a temper, but..."

"Yes," Catherine told him. She forced sympathyinto her voice, but couldn't summon much genuine emotion for anyonebut Lucille Callahan.

"But Dave still says Lucille was fine when he lefther, and none of the neighbors actually saw him thatnight."

"I know," Catherine admitted, working hard to keepthe tiredness from her voice.

"So I don't know if we can place him there aftershe was hurt."

"I know," Catherine said again. "What about thefact that she never called for help?"

She could almost hear Briggs shaking his head."The autopsy say she died from massive internal bleeding, but it'sinconclusive on whether or not she was conscious when the beatingended. She might have been, but if she wasn't, she couldn't havecalled for help."

"I know," Catherine said, for the thirdtime.

"I have men asking questions," Briggs went on."Nothing else is going to slip by me, you can count onthat."

The determination in his voice was convincing.He'd been embarrassed by the holes she'd pointed out in hisinvestigation; she didn't think he'd let it happen again, and shedidn't think he was part of the apparent coverup. "Good," she toldhim. "Keep me informed."

She put the phone down and glanced at Clark to seeif he'd been listening, but he was looking past her with a glow onhis face that could only mean one thing. She turned to see Lois Lanewalking quickly in their direction.

Clark was on his feet to greet her. "Hi, honey. Ididn't expect to see you here."

"I finished up early for Alex," she answeredbreezily. "And I thought I'd come see if you two needed any help. Orat least if I could snatch my husband away for lunch."

"If Catherine will come, too," heagreed.

But Catherine was shaking her head. "I can't. Ihave so much to do..."

"Come on," Lois wheedled. "The break will do yougood, you'll come back fresh. Aren't you hungry?"

"Starved," Catherine admitted. "Maybe you couldbring something back for me?"

Clark went around and took hold of the back of herchair. "You're coming with us," he said firmly. "Now, do you comewillingly, or do I have to carry you?"

She looked up at him, her expression wary. "Youwouldn't..."

"Yes, I would," he assured her. "So are youcoming?"

"Clark, really, I have all this..."

"But I agree with Lois, the break will refreshyou. Besides, I really want to go, and I can't unless you cometoo."

"Why not?" Catherine's expression was genuinelymystified.

"Because Briggs talked to Callahan today," heanswered. "He already took a huge risk snatching you and Lois off thestreet last week; no telling what he might do now, if he thinks theevidence is piling up against him. I couldn't look Vincent in the eyeif anything happened to you."

"What's going to happen to Cathy?" Joe had emergedfrom his office and come up without anyone, even Clark, hearing himapproach.

"Nothing, Joe," Catherine answered, tooquickly.

Joe didn't fall for it. "Okay, what risky thingare you thinking about doing?"

"Risky?" Lois all but crowed. "You do risky,too?"

Catherine scrabbled for the shreds of her dignity."Sometimes," she answered. "I'm trying not to, anymore,though."

Clark was shaking his head. "I knew it," hemuttered. "I knew you two were alike."

"Who's this?" Joe asked, looking atLois.

Catherine recognized the gleam in his eye andgrinned. "A friend of mine. Lois Lane, from the West SideSentinel."

Joe held out his hand. "A reporter? I'm tempted toask what a reporter is doing in my office, talking to my topinvestigator."

"Not your top investigator any more, Joe,"Catherine reminded him.

"Right, sorry. Talking to my newest trialattorney. But I think I'll just ask if you like Italianfood?"

"I love Italian food," Lois answered, and took hishand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Joe...?"

"Maxwell," Catherine supplied helpfully. "Myboss."

Joe never took his eyes from Lois's face. "I knowa great little restaurant in Astoria..." he began.

"Really?" Lois beamed. "That soundsnice."

Clark took pity on Joe, and cleared his throat."I'm sorry to say these two risk-takers are enjoying themselves atyour expense."

Joe's expression flickered. "Huh?"

"What they're not telling you is, Lois is mywife."

Lois glanced at Catherine with a grin. "Busted,"she whispered.

Joe hurriedly extracted his hand from Lois's."Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to..."

"She was egging you on," Clark said kindly. "Theywere both egging you on. You probably deserve anapology..."

The mortified look on Joe's face took all thepleasure out of the joke. "Sorry, Joe," Catherine said.

"I'm sorry, too," Lois said. "It is nice to meetyou, though."

"Nice to meet you, too," Joe answered carefully."Sorry about that, Clark."

"Can't blame a guy for trying," Clark toldhim.

Joe shoved his hands in his pockets. "So, did youguys see the news last night?"

Catherine's nerve endings went on alert. "Some ofit," she answered. "And the paper this morning."

Joe bulled on, obviously wanting to move the topicof conversation far, far away from Lois Lane. "What do you thinkabout this guy they're talking about? You know, the one in the bluetights and the cape."

"I wish I'd been there to get the interview," Loisanswered promptly. "Scoop of the century."

"Well, yeah, if he's real. But is he real? I mean,do we really believe in a man who can fly?"

"There were a lot of witnesses," Catherine said,keeping her voice even. "Some of them sounded prettycredible."

"If he is real, someone will get a picture, orsome video, sooner or later," Lois put in. "Then we'llknow."

"Unless it's all a hoax and the picture or thevideo is part of it," Joe said glumly. "I guess you're right. If he'sreal and he hangs around, we'll eventually know for sure. But untilthen, I'm not believing in men who fly!"

*****

Lois watched Joe walk away grinning, then turnedand caught sight of the contents of the Callahan file strewn acrossCatherine's desk. She poked an idle finger against the stack ofphotos, sending them sliding. "Can we take these with us?"

Catherine sighed. "I guess I'm going with you,then."

Clark grimaced. "And I guess it's going to be aworking lunch."

Over juicy burgers at Catherine's favorite nearbydiner, Lois took a closer look at the photos. "Catherine, did you geta chance to visit the crime scene?"

"Yes, the morning the body was discovered.Why?"

Lois beckoned her closer. "These pictures... Ican't tell what this is..."

Catherine leaned over to see. "That? That's adishtowel."

"What was it doing on the floor?"

"I don't know... there were lots of things on thefloor. My guess is that's where most of the beating tookplace."

"The kitchen?"

Catherine nodded. "There was a canister of flouroverturned, some dishes broken on the counter and floor... adishtowel isn't much."

"Yeah." Lois studied the photo again. "Clark, canyou see anything else?"

"Let me look." He took the photo and slid hisglasses down so he could peer over them. After several long secondsof intense study, he pushed the glasses back up and laid the picturedown. "Not really. Except..."

"Except?" Lois prompted him.

"There's something small, colorless... glisteningjust at the towel's edge. It might be a plastic bag..."

"Plastic bag?" Catherine repeated, surprised."Wait, there was something in the police report..." She scrabbledthrough the papers she'd thrust in her briefcase at Lois's urging."Here it is..." She started to skim, then thought better of it andhanded the report to Clark. "You're faster."

He accepted the explanation with a small grin, andriffled quickly through the report. "Here it is," he announced amoment later. "The dishtowel was wet, and was wrapped around aplastic bag. The plastic bag, which wasn't sealed, but only twistedclosed at the mouth, had traces of water in it."

"Ice," Lois and Catherine saidtogether.

"She made herself an ice pack," Clarkguessed.

"She must have," Catherine agreed. "And if shecould make up an ice pack, she could reach the telephone. That meansshe was conscious after her attacker left the apartment. She couldhave called for help, but she decided not to. That's a pretty strongindication she knew her attacker and was protecting him."

"Or was afraid of him," Lois suggested. "But is itenough?"

"Not for an indictment or a conviction, but it's astart." Catherine looked more hopeful than she had in days. "Where'sthe forensics report?"

"Over here," Lois reported, producing it frombeneath her elbow. "What are you looking for?"

"If she got ice, she had to get itfrom..."

"The freezer!" Lois finished for her, triumphant."And she was bleeding..."

"So you're looking to see if they checked thefreezer." Clark completed the idea.

Catherine grinned. "Actually, I'm going to let youlook to see if they checked the freezer." She passed the report alongand once again Clark riffled through it quickly.

"Nothing in here about the freezer," he said, whenhe finished.

"Can we get in there for a look?" Lois asked,eager. "Clark could see if..."

Catherine was already shaking her head. "We'regoing to do this one by the book. I don't want to lose it on atechnicality. I'll have a forensics team sent over there rightaway."

"But what if Callahan gets therefirst..."

"Lucille Callahan died over three weeks ago,"Clark pointed out. "He's had plenty of time to remove anything hewanted to."

"But I doubt he has," Catherine said. "Theapartment is still under police seal; he's not allowed to go there. Idon't think he'd risk being tied to the murder by going back now andbeing seen by one of the neighbors. Anyway, he's so arrogant, heprobably thinks he took care of any evidence before he reportedfinding his wife's body. I'll call as soon as we getback."

*****

Catherine walked quickly, anxious to get back tothe office and make her phone call. Forensic evidence that LucilleCallahan had the opportunity to call for help and chose not to wouldgo a long way toward convicting her husband.

Behind her, Lois and Clark trailed by a goodhalf-block, holding hands and talking.

"Catherine Chandler." The voice was male, roughand tremulous.

Catherine froze; the last time she'd heard a voicecall her name on the street like that, she'd been kidnapped andbeaten. Warily she turned toward the voice.

Gary Stevens, looking worn and distraught, huddledagainst the side of the building. "I've been waiting foryou."

"I don't know where your wife and son are, Mr.Stevens," she said crisply, "and if I did, I wouldn't tellyou."

"That's not it, that's not," he protested."There's this guy, you wouldn't believe it, I wouldn't believe itexcept it happened to me... this guy's after me, I swear he is.You've never seen anything like him, he's crazy, dresses in this wildoutfit with a red cape..."

Catherine had her first glimmering of what thiswas about.

"Oh?" she said, working at keeping her voiceneutral.

"Yeah, and this is the crazy part... he flies. Ithought maybe I'd dreamed it, or made it up, like maybe I was losingmy mind, but then I saw it on the news last night. If it was on thenews, it has to be true, doesn't it?"

"I heard about the flying man," Catherineadmitted. "What does that have to do with me?"

"He's after me," Stevens said. "He warned me.Threatened me. He knows where I live, he took me home. And he saidhe'd come back if..."

"If?" Catherine prompted.

Stevens dropped his gaze, shamefaced. "If I hitGinny again."

"But you haven't, have you? You haven't seenher."

"No, but..."

"Well, then, he won't hurt you."

"But he was there, yesterday!" Stevens insisted,his voice shrill.

"You saw him yesterday?" Catherine was almost sureClark's version of the story had him in street clothes by the timeStevens showed up, not the outlandish costume she had yet tosee.

"No, but he was there, all the people said he was.He's after me and I can't sleep and I can't eat and I'm reallyscared!"

Good, thought Catherine. Now you know what itfeels like. Aloud she said only, "I still don't see what this has todo with me."

"I thought maybe if I did something good," Stevensblurted, the words coming as fast as he could produce them. "If Ihelped you..."

"Helped me in what way? You're not making sense,Mr. Stevens."

Stevens gaze shifted to something behind her.Catherine glanced back to find Clark at her elbow. "You okay?" heasked quietly.

"So far," she answered. "Mr. Stevens was about totell me what he can do for me. If anything."

But Stevens's attention was completely focused onClark now. "You," he said, his voice accusing.

"Me?" Clark's voice was carefully polite, with notrace of the apprehension that shot through Catherine.

"It was you," Stevens said. "You hitme."

"Yeah, I did," Clark admitted. "I'd do itagain."

Stevens rubbed his jaw. "You knocked me out, andthe next thing I knew, that crazy guy had me."

Catherine let her breath out. Clark hadn't beenrecognized as the "crazy guy" after all.

"I carried you up to the street," Clarkanswered.

"Out of those tunnel things where Ginny was,"Stevens said. "I didn't think she wanted me to be there."

"She didn't want you to be there because you werethreatening her," Catherine said impatiently. "If you have somebusiness with me, Mr. Stevens, please say so. Otherwise, I need toget back to work."

"It's Dave. My brother, my step-brother Dave. Hekilled his wife."

"How do you know?" All Catherine's nerve endingswent on alert.

"He told me."

She let her breath out in a gust. "He toldyou."

"Yeah. I'll tell you everything he said, I know alot of things Dave did, I'll tell you about all of it. Just keep thatcrazy guy away from me."

"I've heard," Lois said quietly, "that the crazyguy is calling himself Superman."

*****

Stevens refused to go upstairs to the D.A.'soffice. "Dave'll find out, he'll hear about it and he'll killme..."

"I need to take your statement, Mr. Stevens,"Catherine told him.

"But you don't have to do that here, you can do itsomewhere else, I know you can. A restaurant orsomething..."

Catherine sighed and glanced at Clark and Lois. "Isuppose we can do that," she conceded. "Let me just go upstairs andmake a phone call..."

"There's a pay phone, you can call from there,"Stevens said, pointing.

"But the number is upstairs, on my desk,"Catherine countered. "You wait here with Mr. Kent and Ms. Lane andI'll be back in a few minutes."

Clark caught up with her three strides later."Wait a minute. You're not going alone."

She stopped. "If you come with me, who waits withStevens? Lois?"

Clark glanced over his shoulder to where Lois andStevens stood together on the sidewalk.

"I thought not. Come on, Clark, I'm just runningup to the office for a minute. I'll be right back. We don't wantStevens to change his mind and run off, do we?"

"I don't know that he'll do that," Clark answered."He seems pretty scared to me."

"Yeah. I'm going to have to get a look at thiscrazy Superman guy."

He grinned. "I'll see if I can't arrange ameeting. Meanwhile, I'll wait with Stevens, and Lois can go with you.Okay?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "All right, if youinsist."

"I do," he answered, and glanced to his wife."Lois? Why don't you go up with Catherine. Mr. Stevens and I can waitright here."

Lois caught on quickly. "Okay."

She and Catherine hurried into the building. Clarkstuck his hands in his pockets and settled in to wait.

Stevens paced nervously, furtively, while Clarkkept his ears open for the sound of his name - either of his names.He heard nothing even vaguely alarming.

Five minutes later Lois came out alone. "IsCatherine here?" she asked, breathless.

Clark went on full alert. "No, isn't she withyou?"

"I went to the ladies' room while she made herphone call," she answered. "When I came out, she was gone. I thoughtshe might have come down without me."

He concentrated, listening for her voice.Nothing.

With a surreptitious glance at Stevens to makesure he wasn't paying attention, Clark pulled his glasses down afraction and tipped his head back, scanning the whole fourteenthfloor. "She's not there," he growled, and shoved the glasses back uphis nose.

"Who?" Stevens had finally caught on thatsomething was wrong.

"Miss Chandler," Clark said, snapping the words."She's missing."

Stevens flapped a careless hand. "She's probablypowdering her nose or something."

"No, I checked there," Lois answered.

Clark's fists clenched. "She has to be somewhere."The idea of facing Vincent and telling him Catherine was missing wasnot appealing. He reached for his tie. "I'll look forher."

Lois grabbed his arm. "Not without me."

He moved her a few steps away from Stevens. "Lois,I can't take you! You can't be seen with me, not yet."

She took a moment to process that, then let go ofhis arm. "You're right," she admitted, looking disappointed. "Not ifwe're going to stay here and keep our secret."

Clark took a last look at Stevens, who was finallyfiguring out that something was really wrong. "Go inside, okay?" heurged Lois. "Where you'll be safe."

Reluctantly, she nodded. "I will. Nowgo."

Tugging at his tie, he sprinted to the nearestalley. Once out of sight, he spun into his crimefighting togs andtook off. There hadn't been time for Catherine to get far, so hepaused above the Criminal Justice building and began to scan itpainstakingly, floor by floor. It took longer than he wanted, but atthis time of day, the place was teeming with people. If she was indanger, would she think to cry out for him? Probably not. She'd justbe afraid, and know Vincent was coming for her.

And if he knew Vincent - and by now, he thought hedid - Vincent would be on his way. Despite his still-healinginjuries, despite the distress he'd evinced just last night, rushingto Catherine's chamber, he'd be coming.

Maybe, if he could find Vincent, he could figureout where he was going and find Catherine that way. He intensifiedhis x-ray vision, going deeper, through the uppermost levels oftunnels, looking for points Vincent would have to pass to reach thevicinity of the Criminal Justice building.

He heard Vincent before he saw him, his breathharsh and labored, his footsteps irregular and heavy.

Vincent had come farther than Clark expected inthe short time since Catherine's disappearance. He staggered throughthe uppermost level of tunnels, his eyes glazed with more thandistant focus, but still stumbling forward, still straining to reachher. Clark looked ahead, following Vincent's expected path, but therewere too many choices; all he could tell for sure was that Vincentwas headed for the building below, and he already knew thatmuch.

He resumed his fierce, desperate sweep of thebuilding. And then he heard it - a shrill voice calling out."Superman! Help!"

It was Catherine. In an instant he'd followed thesound with sight and found her, in a grimy hallway in the subbasementof the justice building. Before his mind had quite registered thescene, he was streaking downward. He hit the sidewalk at full speedand kept going, boring through thirty feet of compacted dirt androck.

Clark burst through the thick concrete foundationand stopped, face to face with police lieutenant DavidCallahan.

Callahan stumbled back, dragging Catherine withhim. "You stay away!" he warned, pointing his service revolver atClark's chest.

"You can't hurt me with that," Clark told him."Put it down."

In answer, Callahan fired.

Clark reacted instinctively, throwing his hand upto catch the bullet in his palm. "See?" he said, opening his hand andletting the bullet fall to the floor.

But Callahan was quick as well as vicious. Heswung the gun around and pressed the barrel into Catherine'stemple.

Growing ever nearer was the unsteady sound ofVincent's enraged approach. Clark didn't have much time.

"Look," he said. "There's nothing you can do now.You're caught."

"I can kill her!" Callahan growled, jerkingCatherine tighter against him and shoving his pistol harder againsther head.

"Then what?" Clark worked to keep his voicereasonable. "You can't kill me with your gun. I'm stronger than you,and faster. You can't get away."

"She knows too much!" Callahan yelled, and it wasclear that anger had overcome his reason. "She told Jimmy Briggs Ikilled Lucille!"

"So Briggs knows now," Clark answered. "KillingCatherine won't change anything."

"She ruined my life!" Callahan shouted, so angrythere were tears in his eyes. "She ruined everything! She deserves todie!" His finger began to tighten on the trigger.

All Clark's choices were gone. He flung himselfforward, snatching for the gun with one hand, reaching for Catherinewith the other.

The gun went off with a sharp crack that echoedagainst the cement walls as the bullet jolted against Clark's palm.Callahan cried out and let go of the gun; Clark crumpled it into amisshapen wad of metal and dropped it to the floor.

"You okay?" he asked Catherine, who was pickingherself up from the dusty floor, where he'd pushed her.

"Yeah," she answered, staring."Thanks."

"No trouble," he assured her, while usingCallahan's own handcuffs to bind his hands behind him.

And then Vincent, wild-eyed and breathless,lurched into the room.

Clark spun Callahan around, blocking his view, andshoved him around the nearest corner. "You can stay right here," hegrowled, and jammed the chain linking the handcuffs deep into a steeldoor frame. A quick blast of heat vision welded it into place. "I'llbe back."

He zipped back to Vincent, taking his weight fromCatherine and easing him down. "You okay?" he asked.

Vincent nodded. His breath was coming easier, andcolor was coming back to his face. A quick peek with x-ray visionshowed the wounds had not only not reopened, but looked likeweeks-old scarring.

Vincent looked up. "I must thank you," he gasped."For Catherine's life..."

"More likely for your life," Clark answered dryly."You nearly killed yourself getting here."

Vincent leaned back against the wall and closedhis eyes. "Catherine needed me," he answered. "So I came."

*****

"And after the police took Callahan away, Supermanpatched the basement wall and filled in the hole he made, all inabout two seconds." Catherine finished telling the story to a chamberfull of rapt visitors and sat back.

"Fixed it good?" Mouse, a blond boy bordering onmanhood, leaned forward eagerly.

Lois had already figured out there was somethingnot quite right about Mouse; he was something of a savant, someonehad told her.

"Could use him in the tunnels," Mousecontinued.

"I'm sure he'll be glad to help if he has thechance," Clark assured him.

Mouse, who clearly had no idea who Superman reallywas, sat back, satisfied.

"All right, children!" Mary, who acted assurrogate mother to all the tunnel kids, including the ones who hadparents here, stood up. "You've heard the story, now it's time forbed!"

"Aw, Mary!" Amid grumbles and disgruntledwhispers, the children, and many of the adults, filed out.

"Quite an adventure, I must say," Fathercommented, when the room had cleared. "It's fortunate you came to noharm, Vincent, running to the surface the way you did."

"I had no choice." Vincent's voice wassteady.

"Yes, I know that, too," Father answered. "Thankgoodness Clark was there to help."

"Thank Catherine," Clark said. "She's the one whothought to yell for me. I don't know if I'd have found her in timeotherwise."

Catherine looked abashed. "I'm just glad Iremembered to call you Superman. Lucky we were talking about himright before. I didn't want Vincent to have to... youknow."

"Right," Clark answered. They all didknow.

"Amazing," Father muttered. "So tell me, is thisCallahan fellow likely to be put away?"

"It looks like it," Clark answered. "The policearrested him for kidnapping Catherine, so he'll go to jail for that,anyway."

"And then Joe and I spent the afternoon with GaryStevens, who told us everything he knows about his brother,"Catherine added. "I think we can get him for abusing his authority asa police officer, among other petty crimes."

"But most important, Forensics called thisafternoon to say there was blood smeared inside the Callahans'freezer, and even on some of the ice," Lois volunteered. She'd beenpresent when the call came through to Catherine. "It's LucilleCallahan's blood type."

"They're doing DNA tests to be sure, but no onereally doubts it's Lucille's blood," Catherine finished. "It prettymuch shuts the door on the argument that she didn't call for helpthat night because she was too badly injured. If she could make anice pack, she could use the telephone to call 911."

"But she didn't," said Father, who was obviouslyup on the basics of the case.

"She didn't," Catherine agreed. "And the onlyreason that makes sense is that she knew her assailant. Joe's filingmurder charges in the morning."

"Very good." Father gave his approval. "What abouthis brother? Ginny's husband?"

"That's an amazing story by itself," Lois offered."He wants to go to counseling. His idea. He says he wants to learnhow to be a good husband to Ginny."

"I'll believe that one when I see it," Clarkmuttered. Lois had her own doubts, but she squeezed Clark's handanyway. Maybe he had scared Stevens into genuinely trying to change.She liked to think so, anyway.

Catherine evidently thought so, too. "He doesn'tseem to be a bad guy," she said, more to Clark than to Father. "Italked to him a little bit, after he gave his deposition. He justseems to be essentially clueless about how to treat a woman, anddoesn't know how to handle his anger when he flounders. Counselingmight actually help him." She smiled. "It doesn't hurt that he seemsdownright terrified of Superman."

"Ah." Father cleared his throat. "Speaking ofSuperman..." He turned to Clark. "Mouse may be intrigued with yourearth-moving abilities, but I confess to a more scientificcuriosity." He fingered the handle of his black doctor's bag. "Wouldyou mind if I just..."

Clark gave a rueful smile. "My dad always said itwould come to this. Where do you want me?"

"Right in that chair would be fine," Fatherassured him. "If you could just remove your tunic andsweater?"

Clark began to strip off the layers of patched andmended clothing common to the tunnel folk. As he got down to hist-shirt, Catherine began to look alarmed. "Maybe Ishould..."

"No, you're fine," Clark said. He removed the lastlayer, revealing a smooth, muscular chest but no sign of the bluesuit. "This is far as I'm going." Clad only in jeans and boots, hesat back down.

Father fairly trembled with eagerness as he pulledout his stethoscope and bent to listen eagerly. "Heart rate isremarkably fast," he noted. "Is that usual for you?"

Clark nodded. "I seem to move at a faster pacethan normal people."

"Hmmm... very different from Vincent," Fathersaid. "His heart rate's about half that of what you call a normalperson - yours is well over twice the normal rate..."

Clark concentrated. "Is this better?"

Father looked startled. "Now it's dropped to aboutseventy beats per minute."

"I can drop it all the way down to where Vincent'sis, if you want," Clark offered.

"You can do that? Regulate your heart rate atwill?"

"I have to think about it, but yeah. That's oneway I've kept my secret."

"Remarkable. May I...?" With skilled physician'shands Father continued his examination, checking reflexes, palpatingabdomen and neck, peering into ears and throat. "Remarkable," hemurmured again, finally, sitting back.

"Father, I think you're embarrassing Clark,"Vincent observed.

"Am I?" Father looked startled. "My apologies.It's just the physician in me..."

"It's all right, Father," Clark interrupted. ToLois's discerning eye, he looked more amused than embarrassed. "It'sfine."

"Well." Father tucked the stethoscope away andchanged the subject. "I read the article you and Lois wrote for yournewspaper. I see you even implicated the policedispatcher."

"Yes," Clark agreed, reaching for his clothes."He's now under investigation by Internal Affairs for delaying the911 calls the night Lucille Callahan died. Catherine says it lookslike he'll be indicted for obstruction of justice."

Father nodded approval. "A good day's work, and amost informative piece."

"Not only that, but it got them noticed,"Catherine put in. "They've been offered a job inPhiladelphia."

"Oh, have they?" Father looked to Clark. "Will youtake it?"

Clark glanced at Lois, who raised her eyebrows. Hecould field this one. "We haven't decided yet," he said. "It's awonderful opportunity, for a bigger paper, and we'd be able to getback to real investigative reporting and not just human intereststories."

There was a real feeling of something unsaid, andVincent filled the gap. "But...?"

Clark shrugged. "But we don't know anybody there.We'd have to start all over, again."

"We've already done that once," Lois added. Shewasn't sure herself if that was a plus or a minus. She did know shewasn't looking forward to doing it again.

"You know you may stay here, as long as you like,"Vincent said quietly.

"We know," Clark answered, with no small measureof gratitude in his voice. "And we're factoring it into ourdeliberations."

"You know, we have some pretty big papers righthere in New York," Catherine said. "Sooner or later, one of them'sgoing to want you two. And I'm betting investigative reporting is alot like criminal investigations - it helps to have lots ofcontacts." Obviously Catherine wasn't above dangling a littletemptation if it suited her.

Lois nodded. "It does."

Father picked up the theme. "Our helpers make anice group of contacts. We know someone in nearly every area ofbusiness, in every area of the city."

Clark grinned. "That's true." He looked to Lois."Do you get the feeling they don't want us to go?"

"That would be my guess," she answered, smiling.It was nice to be wanted.

The scud of small feet made them all lookup.

"Samantha!" Father's tone was just short ofscolding. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I'm sorry, Father." The girl - age eleven ortwelve, Lois guessed - came down the steps clutching something in herhand. "I forgot to do something when I was here before listening tothe story. Mary said I could do it now if I hurried."

"Very well. What is it?"

"I have a present for Vincent." She crossed thechamber to Vincent's side. "I found it one day when we were playingnear the top," she went on. "It was all crusted and muddy, but when Ifinally cleaned it up... well... it's pretty neat. I was going tokeep it, but then when Vincent got so hurt..."

"Yes, yes, my dear." Father's voice hurried heralong.

"So anyway... here." She thrust a smallcylindrical object into Vincent's hand. "Because I'm glad you'rebetter."

"Thank you, Samantha," he said gravely. "I willtreasure it."

The girl's smile lit the chamber. She gave Vincenta quick, impulsive hug and darted away.

"The child's a whirlwind," Father commented, whenshe was gone. "What is it she's given you, Vincent?"

He turned the object in his hand. "A pen," heanswered. "A very fine one, from the look of it."

"Vincent, may I look at that?" Clark's voice hadtaken on a peculiar, strangled note.

"Of course." Vincent passed the penalong.

Lois rose from her seat to look over Clark'sshoulder. "It's the same one," she said, her voice quivering. "Isn'tit?"

"Yes," Clark answered. "It is."

"You've seen this before?" Fatherasked.

Clark looked up. "We think it might be thetransport device."

Father looked bewildered.

"The thing that brought us here, to youruniverse," Clark went on. "I was holding it in my handwhen..."

"Oh. Oh, I see. Do you think..."

"Can it take you back?" Catherine asked,bluntly.

"I don't know. We don't even know how itworks."

"We're not even sure it's the pen that brought ushere," Lois added. "We just think it might be."

Clark tipped his glasses down and peered at thepen.

"What do you see?" Vincent asked him, havingobviously recognized the gesture.

"Circuitry," Clark answered. Excitement quiveredin his voice. "This is it, Lois, it really is!"

She gripped the back of his chair, almost afraidto hope. "And it can take us back?"

"If I can figure out how it works. I was nevermuch good at electronics..."

"Mouse," Vincent said suddenly.

"What?" Clark looked up.

"Mouse can help you."

"Vincent, no offense, but Mouse couldn't even seethe circuitry in this thing, it's so miniaturized..."

"Would a microscope help?" Fatherasked.

"I don't know," Clark said doubtfully. "Itmight."

But as it turned out, Mouse and the microscopedidn't quite get along. "Can't see anything!" the boy complained,pushing the device away. "Can't see, can't help."

Lois's heart fell. What good was the device ifthey couldn't operate it?

"And I can see it fine, I just have no idea whichcircuit does what," Clark said in disgust. "There are tiny switches,but I don't know which ones, if any, have to be moved to take usback. And I don't want to just guess. Who knows where we might endup?"

Inspiration struck. "You can draw him a picture,"Lois said.

"What?" Clark looked at her, confused.

"You can draw him a picture," she repeated. "Putin all the detail and see if Mouse can tell what's what fromthat."

"It might work..." Father mused.

Vincent produced a pad of clean white paper. "I'vebeen keeping it," he said in an apologetic aside toFather.

"Don't apologize, Vincent, I know you like to drawon occasion. Here, I've been keeping these aside thinking to givethem to you next Winterfest, but Clark has more use for them." He dugout a box of fresh, sharp pencils and handed them over.

"Thank you," Clark murmured. He set his glassesaside and stared at the pen, deep in concentration. After a moment hepicked up the pencil and began to move it rapidly over the paper'ssurface. He paused, looked again at the pen, and added a few morelines. "Here," he said, and pushed the complete, intricate drawing inMouse's direction. "Does this help?"

Mouse pored over the drawing for far longer thanit had taken Clark to produce it; finally he looked up. "Figured itout," he said smugly.

*****

The next afternoon, Father's chamber was packedwith tunnel folk crowding in to say their goodbyes. "Any excuse for aparty," Catherine murmured in Lois's ear.

"Yes, they do seem to enjoy a good celebration,don't they? I don't know whether to be honored orinsulted."

"We'll miss you and Clark very much," Catherineanswered, "but we want you to be happy, and we know that means goinghome. It's too bad, though. New York could sure have used more ofSuperman's time."

"He did a little good while he was here, though."Lois glanced at her husband, who was currently surrounded bychildren.

Catherine glanced that way, as well. "Yes, he did.We're going to miss him. We're going to miss both of you."

Gradually the party died down and the crowdthinned out. When everyone else had gone, Clark and Lois turned toFather. "We can never thank you enough for taking us in," Clark toldhim.

"And I can never thank you enough for my son'slife," Father answered. "And for Catherine's life, as well." Heembraced first Clark, and then Lois. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Father."

Catherine and Vincent waited to accompany them tothe surface.

"Where will you go to trigger the device?" Vincentasked as they left Father's study.

"Back to the spot where we came in," Clarkanswered. "Mouse isn't sure exactly how the device works in terms ofactual physical placement, but we're hoping if we start there, we'llend up at the spot we left."

"But you're sure you can get home?" Catherineasked.

"Not entirely sure, no," Clark admitted. "ButMouse seems pretty confident it'll work."

Catherine stifled a laugh. "That's not exactly aguarantee. I hope he's right this time, though."

"I hope so, too," Clark answered. "If it doesn'twork, we'll come back, but if it does..." he reached into his pocketand withdrew a long, white envelope. "... could you see that thisreaches Alex Martin at the Sentinel? It's ourresignations."

"We didn't want to hand them in ahead of time, incase it doesn't work and we end up needing the job," Lois explained."But we don't want to just disappear on him."

Catherine took the envelope. "Sure. I'll take careof it."

"Thanks."

Deep in conversation, Clark and Vincent graduallydrew ahead.

"Should we try to catch up?" Lois asked, eyeingtheir retreating backs.

"I don't think Clark is going anywhere withoutyou," Catherine answered. "Let's let them say whatever they have tosay."

"Okay." She settled into a comfortable pace atCatherine's side. "It's been good for Clark to meet and talk withsomeone as different as he is."

"Yes," Catherine agreed. "It was really good forVincent, too. I can never thank Clark enough for that."

She said it with so much fervor that Lois smiled."So things are going to be okay between you two?"

Catherine flushed and looked down. "Yes, I reallythink they are. I'm not sure what Clark said to him, but Vincent isactually starting to believe it's safe for him to love me." She gavea rueful laugh. "Of course, he's still not convinced there's anythingin it for me, if he's not saving my life."

"You're kidding, right?"

Catherine shook her head, her eyes on the groundin front of them. "No."

Lois looked ahead to Vincent's broad back. "Hedoesn't know how incredibly sexy he is?"

Catherine looked up quickly. "So it's not justme?"

Lois nearly laughed out loud. "Not hardly. Hepositively exudes pheromones."

Catherine's smile went wistful. "He doesn't thinkso. Right now, he's half-convinced himself I just feel sorry for him,and I'm grateful."

"Don't be silly, Vincent knows you lovehim."

"Yes, but he has this idea that it's just afriendship kind of love, that he can't possibly be...well..."

"Sexually attractive to a woman?" Loissuggested.

Catherine sighed. "Right."

Again Lois looked at that broad, retreating back."Boy, has he got his wires crossed!"

"If you really think that, I wish you'd tell him,"Catherine said. "He's sensitive to you, so he'd know you were tellingthe truth. When I say it... when I even try to say it, he acts likehe thinks I'm biased, or deranged, or something."

"I will if you want me to..." An idea, slightlydevious but very attractive, made her smile. "But I'd rather showhim. If it's okay with you."

"Show him?" Catherine repeateduncertainly.

"Yeah. There's something I've kind of been wantingto do for a while now."

"Well," Catherine said doubtfully. "I guess it'sokay."

*****

Ahead of them, Vincent and Clark reached a narrow,brickwalled passage. A rusty iron door blocked the end of thepassage.

"There is where you go out," Vincent said, asCatherine and Lois caught up.

"Then this is where we'll say goodbye," Catherinesaid.

The couples faced each other for a long, awkwardmoment.

"Oh, this is silly," Clark muttered finally, andleaned down to wrap his arms around Catherine.

She reciprocated, and planted a warm kiss on hischeek. "Thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure," he answered. "You take care ofVincent."

"I will."

They stepped back, smiling shakily.

Lois faced Vincent. "Guess this is goodbye," sheannounced.

"Yes," he answered softly. "Not afraidanymore?"

"Not of you. In fact, I'm noticing something quitedifferent about you these days."

His look was questioning, but when she steppedforward, he bent down to receive her hug.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, but insteadof a chaste embrace, she pulled his head down and kissed him full onthe mouth.

Clark's eyebrows shot up and he glanced atCatherine. She had her hand over her mouth, but her eyes weremerry.

Vincent's eyes were open, his expression one ofstartlement, and he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands.None of this deterred Lois, which surprised Clark not at all, butfinally he cleared his throat and spoke.

"Vincent," he said firmly. "If you don't stopkissing my wife, I'm going to have to ask you to step outside withme."

Vincent finally pulled free. "I wasn't kissingher!" he gasped, his expression equal parts alarm and bewilderment."She was kissing me!"

Lois stepped back to Clark's side. "Wow," shemuttered, half to herself. "You hang on to him," she instructedCatherine, who had recovered enough composure to uncover hermouth.

"I plan to," she answered. "Thanks."

"Definitely my pleasure," Lois answered, and thetwo women embraced.

Clark grinned. "Good thing we're leaving, or I'dhave to punch you out."

"I swear I did not..." Vincent began, obviouslystill reeling from Lois's kiss.

"I know that," Clark told him, stepping forward tocatch Vincent in a brotherly hug. "I'll miss you."

"I will miss you, as well," Vincent answeredsoftly. "Thank you for all you have done, for me and forCatherine."

"You take care of her," Clark instructed. "Don'tever let her go."

"No," Vincent answered, pulling back to look atClark. "I won't."

"Well," Clark said at last. "We'd probably betterbe going. Honey?"

Lois slipped to his side and took his hand. With alast, wistful look back, they left the tunnels.

*****

Vincent pushed the rusted door closed and securedit, then waited until he could no longer hear Clark and Lois'sretreating footsteps before he turned to Catherine. She stoodpatiently. She was always so patient.

"Can you tell me," he asked, still bemused, "whyLois... did... that?"

"Why she kissed you?"

He gave a scant nod, afraid of the question andafraid of the answer.

"Well," Catherine said thoughtfully, "I guess shewanted to."

Denial rose up, quick and instinctive. "Catherine,that is not..."

"You're the one who's empathic, you tell me! Didshe want to, or didn't she?"

Vincent had been so stunned by her act, he hadn'thad much focus left, but now he reached back, trying to recreate thesensations of that moment. He bent his head to hide the flush thatrose on his cheeks, and closed his eyes. Lois's kiss had been...evocative... stimulating... exciting. Horrifying.

But only horrifying because he hadn't known whatwas happening, because he'd been so keenly aware of Clark there, andCatherine.

Although Catherine hadn't really seemed tomind.

Neither, now that he thought of it, hadClark.

And Lois hadn't been afraid. She'd been... eager.Willing. Curious. And... had there been the faint stirrings ofprurient interest? No, it wasn't possible. He'd mistaken her feelingsfor him. She loved her husband, completely and absolutely.

Just as he loved Catherine. Yet there had beenthat moment of... awareness. When his body had wanted to respond tothe woman in his arms.

Lois had found him attractive. She offered nothingmore than the kiss, but she had wanted to kiss him. Had liked kissinghim.

Lois, whose husband's appearance was completelyhuman. Who, like Catherine, was lovely enough not only in herappearance but also in her spirit, to attract any man. She had foundhim desirable, and had wanted to kiss him.

He turned to Catherine, who was still waiting.Still patient.

"Yes," he answered softly. "She did want to kissme. She was not afraid, not repelled."

Something glimmered in the depths of Catherine'sheart. "And what about you? Did you like it?"

The glimmer grew into a spark, and finally herecognized it. Catherine was jealous! She'd watched the kiss, andeven laughed, but now, thinking about it, she didn't like it. Didn'tlike another woman kissing him.

He took her hands in his. "I did... but I wouldhave liked it better if it had been you."

The flicker of jealousy went out, and she smiled."It can be me," she suggested. Was he imagining it, or was there thefaintest note of seduction in her voice?

Boldness was called for here, he decided. He letgo her hands and swept her up in his arms. "I want it to be you," heanswered. "Always you. Forever you. If you will have me?"

She tucked her face into his neck and sighed. "Oh,Vincent. I thought you'd never ask."

*****

Clark and Lois poised on the sidewalk where they'darrived scant weeks ago. "You ready?" Clark asked.

In answer, Lois took a firmer grip on his arm."Whenever you are."

He checked the settings of the microscopicswitches one last time, then triggered the device.

The world lurched and disappeared in a glare ofwhite; when it reappeared a moment later, they were outside the DailyPlanet building, right where they'd started.

"We did it!" Lois said, looking around. "We madeit."

"Yeah," Clark answered, grinning, and swung heraround for a kiss. "Hey, mister!" he called, lifting hishead.

A business-suited man paused. "Me?"

"Yes, sir. What day is it?"

"Today?" The man looked at Clark as if he might bemissing a few marbles. "It's Wednesday."

"The date, what's the date?" Loisdemanded.

"It's the thirtieth. Septemberthirtieth."

"And the year?"

The man began to edge away. "1998."

It was Lois's turn to throw her arms around Clark."We did it! We're right back where... and when... westarted!"

He responded with exuberance, picking her up andswinging her around. But her expression went abruptly serious, and heset her down. "What?"

"We forgot about Tempus. If he went to all thetrouble of sending us... you... to another universe, he must havebeen plotting something here, and needed to get you out of theway."

"Yeah, but I'm back now." He kissed her hard. "Yougo on home, honey. I'm going to see if I can find out what our friendTempus is up to."

She kept hold of his arm. "I'm not going home, I'mgoing with you!"

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Lois, youcan't, it's too dangerous, and anyway, we don't even know where he isor what he's planning. I'm going to have to search for him, and thatmeans lots of high flying..."

She sighed. "All right, all right. Go on. But I'mnot going home! I'll go to that bank and talk to the guard. Youremember, the story Perry sent us on that morning...?"

His blank expression cleared. "Oh, right. Okay,and I'll see you either back at the Planet, or at home."

"Right, our own home and our own bed..." Shepulled him in for a quick, hard kiss. "Be careful."

He grinned, tugged at his tie, and sprintedaway.

Lois reached the Bank of Metropolis by more sedatemeans and found the guard who'd foiled the robbery attempt. The bankmanager was thrilled to have a prestigious paper like the DailyPlanet interviewing one of its employees, and happily gave over theuse of a small, private room. Summoning years of experience andprofessionalism, Lois put away her worries over Clark and Tempus andconcentrated on the guard's story.

Twenty minutes later she emerged from the bank,unable to contain her smile. Now, what would be the quickest way tofind Clark? Too impatient to check home or the Planet, she opted forthe easy, if somewhat conspicuous, way. She tipped back her head andshouted at the top of her lungs. Before she'd quite gotten out thesecond "Superman!" he was there, hovering before her, lookinganxious.

"Lois! Are you okay?"

Her grin wouldn't stop. "Fine," she answeredairily. "I'm fine. You?"

His expression morphed into annoyance. "I'm busy,remember?" he hissed, floating closer and lowering his voice."Tempus?"

"You won't find him."

"I..." He finally seemed to recognize thesignificance of her smile. "Excuse me, Miss Lane," he said for thebenefit of anyone who might be watching. "I have to go."

He disappeared in a blur of red and blue; aninstant later she heard his voice from behind, calling her name."Lois, wait up!"

He hurried up beside her, still adjusting his tie."Okay, what do you know?"

She began to walk, letting him fall into stepbeside her. "The bank robbery this morning? The one the guardfoiled?"

He nodded.

"You'll find Tempus down at the city jail,awaiting arraignment."

"For the robbery?"

She nodded, smug. "He must have been so convincedhe was safe with you gone, he forgot about things like bank guards.The guard walked right up behind him and took his gun. His henchmansaw that and gave right up."

"But... but I hadn't even found the penthen!"

"I guess Tempus didn't do his homework, and didn'tknow you'd be delayed getting to the Planet. He thought you were longgone by the time he entered the bank."

"I was," he answered, grinning. "I was inGreece."

"So let's get back to the Planet, write up thisstory, and take the afternoon off! It's been a long day."

*****

"Where the blue blazes have you two been? How longdoes it take to follow up on a bank robbery?" Perry White wasshouting before they'd even stepped off the elevator.

"It's okay, Chief, we'll have our story for youin..." Clark consulted his watch, which he'd remembered to set tolocal time when they'd arrived back, "...half an hour."

Perry glowered.

"Twenty minutes?" he revised.

"On my desk," Perry warned, pointing a finger."Not a minute later."

"It'll be there," Clark promised. "Come on, honey,let's..."

But Lois wasn't standing beside him. She wasn'teven at her desk, getting started on the bank robberystory.

He finally found her across the newsroom, deep inconversation with Jimmy Olsen. She looked up as he approached. "Oh,Clark, there you are! We need to get started on that story, don'twe?"

He forbore to point out that she was the onecausing the delay, and let her take his arm and tug him over to wheretheir desks stood only feet apart. "You type," she ordered, andpushed him toward his chair.

He dropped into it obligingly and began totranscribe her dictation, inserting the occasional sentence orparagraph of his own as needed. They finished with two minutes tospare.

*****

Jimmy came to Lois's desk while Clark was inPerry's office, showing him the story. "Here's the stuff you askedfor," he said, offering her a pair of file folders. "It's not much,but it's all I could find."

"Thanks, Jimmy," Lois answered. She laid the fileson her desk and waited pointedly for him to leave.

"Well," he said awkwardly, after a moment. "Iguess I'll finish up that thing..." He gestured vaguely and backedaway.

"What's this?" Clark asked, from behind her.Funny, she hadn't heard him coming. "I thought we were goinghome?"

"We will in a minute," she answered. "I justwanted to find out..."

"What?"

The files lay closed on her desk while she staredat them.

"About them," she said finally. "Catherine andVincent."

"They're not here," Clark answered. "I alreadylooked - there are no tunnels underneath New York... or underMetropolis, either. No tunnel community. No Father, no Mary, noMouse. And definitely no Vincent."

"But just because there's no tunnel communitydoesn't mean there's no Catherine or Vincent. They could be here,just somewhere else."

Clark looked thoughtful. "I guess it's possible.Just because we didn't find versions of ourselves or our friends inNew York doesn't mean they weren't there somewhere. After all,there's no Metropolis there."

"Right! So maybe they're here somewhere, and wecould find them."

"It's worth a try," Clark admitted.

"That's what I thought. So I asked Jimmy to pullanything he could find on either Catherine Chandler or a mysteriouslion man." She tapped the files. "This is it."

"Open it." Clark nudged the top file.

"I'm kind of scared to. I mean, here we've finallyfound another couple to be friends with. You have a lot in commonwith him, and, well, I don't think I have so much in common withCatherine, but I like her a lot, and I think she likesme."

"She does," Clark said softly.

"I'd really love it if they were here. I don'tsuppose you're going to let us visit the ones we met."

Clark touched the pocket that held the device. "Iwish we could. I wish we dared. But no matter where we kept the pen,someone might find it. Besides, we don't really understand how itworks. What if we went for a visit and it quit on us? We'd be stuckthere, and we already know we'd rather be here. We shouldn't chanceit."

She sighed. "I know. Are you going to throw itinto the sun?"

"I was thinking more in terms of crushing it," heanswered. "As soon as we get home."

She grimaced, nodded... and opened the topfile.

It held a single newspaper clipping, yellowed withage. At the top, someone had written a date - January 12, 1956. Printon the clipping had faded, but the headline - "Lion cub or baby?"could clearly be discerned, and there was a photo... harsh andgrainy, it showed a blanket-wrapped bundle whose tiny face had aflattened nose and cleft lip. Lois touched it softly. "He died," shewhispered. "He was just a baby, and he died."

"We don't know for sure that this was Vincent,"Clark argued feebly.

But she shook her head. "No, it's him. Read thearticle. He... this baby was found outside St. Vincent's hospital inNew York. I heard the stories... that's where Vincent, the otherVincent, the one we know... that's where he was found. When he wasjust a tiny baby, and somebody brought him to the tunnels. He grew upsafe and loved, and this poor little..."

Her voice broke, and Clark put a comforting handon her shoulder. "What's in the other folder?"

Carefully Lois set aside the folder containing thesingle clipping. The second folder was thicker, but not by much. TheCatherine Chandler they'd known had been a public figure, oftennewsworthy - a file there would have been much fatter.

With a deep breath, Lois opened the folder. Anarticle on debutantes, in which Catherine's name was mentioned, layon top.

"Look!" she said, with a surge of excitement."She's real. She's here."

"Looks like it," Clark agreed.

"I wonder where she is, what she's doing? Maybe wecould find her."

"Let's see what else is in the file," Clarkanswered. His voice sounded strained, and she wondered if he'dcheated, peeked ahead in the folder. His hand, warm and comforting,never left her shoulder.

She set the article on debutantes aside. A NewYork newspaper article on local graduates from Ivy League schools -in this dimension, as in the other, Catherine had graduated fromRadcliffe - was next. She skimmed it and put it with the firstclipping.

And then she found herself looking at a news storyfrom an eleven-year-old issue of a New York newspaper. *Not* the WestSide Sentinel, she noted wryly, and glanced down at the headline."Oh!" She put an involuntary hand to her mouth. "Oh, no."

Clark squeezed her shoulder.

'EASTSIDE DEB KIDNAPPED' read the headline. Thestory below described how socialite attorney Catherine Chandler haddisappeared after a party one night; her father and her boyfriendwere frantic.

"That happened in the other universe, too," Clarksaid, from behind her. "That's how she met Vincent. He toldme."

"What, this happened? She waskidnapped?"

"Yes. She was mistaken for someone else,kidnapped, beaten up, her face slashed, and her unconscious bodydumped in the park. Vincent found her and carried her home so Fathercould treat her. He saved her life."

"But he wasn't here to do that, this time. Hedied..."

She moved the clipping, uncovering the one - thelast one in the file - beneath it.

She caught her breath, painfully. "And so did she.Because he wasn't there to save her..."

On the sheet in front of her, the headline flared:"BODY FOUND IN CENTRAL PARK." Below was a subhead: "Identified asMissing Deb Catherine Chandler."

"Oh, Clark, that's so sad. They died - they bothdied. They never even knew each other."

"No," Clark agreed, sadly. "But they have eachother in the other universe."

"That's true. They're not alone there."

"No," he agreed. "And we're not alone here. So Iguess we're all lucky."

"Yes," she agreed, closing the file. "I guess weare."

THE END