A/N: I'm back! 
Happy New Year, FoLCs! Sorry this has taken so long...again. 2016 had such joys as computer crashes, insane work-loads, and good old-fashioned writer's block; but now that things are settling down, again, it's back to the (metaphorical) ink-well! Anyways, I hope you enjoy. 
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Part 14-B Part 15-A“Michel?”
Michel groaned as bright light assaulted his eyes. His head felt like it had been opened with a rusty can-opener, stuffed with rocks, and then nailed shut. A pair of hands came forward, helping him to sit up on what he gradually realized was his sofa. Once the slight dizziness from the motion subsided, a glass of water appeared in front of him, and Clark coalesced into his vision shortly after.
Michel looked at the glass. He looked at Clark.
“I know,” Clark said, rolling his eyes. “You were trying to warn me about the puddle of water reacting with the potassium on the floor. But, you still need to flush out whatever drugs are in your system.”
Michel slowly nodded, seeing the sense in his friend's words and realizing that, come to think of it, he was starting to feel thirsty. After Clark helped him take a few sips of the cool liquid, Michel realized what else he had said. “You...heard...me?” he asked hoarsely, frowning as he dimly recalled lying on the floor of his office, trying and failing to get his mouth to work as he fought a losing battle against sleep.
Clark moved aside some of the books and journals littering Michel's coffee table and set the glass down. “In my head,” he replied. “It was as if I heard you scream.” He gave Michel a pointed look.
Telepathy! Michel stared at Clark in awe. 'Can you hear what I am thinking, now?' he thought at Clark.
“Superman went back and put out the fire while you were resting,” Clark continued, sitting down beside him on the sofa.
Michel concentrated a little harder. 'Can you hear me now, Clark?'
“I'm afraid just about everything in your office was destroyed, though,” Clark added with a grimace.
The thought of all of his work being reduced to ash made Michel wince. After allowing himself a moment of silence, he turned to make eye-contact with Clark. 'How about now, Clark? Can you hear me?'
“I realize it's still difficult for you to talk,” Clark said, sympathetically, “but I need you to tell me everything you can about what happened and who did this to you. Do you maybe want to try out that mental connection we seem to have?”
Michel sighed. 'Clark, you thick-skulled oaf!' he mentally grumbled.
“Or, if you prefer,” Clark went on, “we can just wait until you're feeling better.”
Perhaps it was just as well, Michel reflected in dismay. Even though the effects of the drugs were wearing off, he still felt a little woozy. Another hour or so of rest might not be a bad idea, especially since tonight was—
—A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Instinctively, Michel tried to stand in order to go answer it, but his shaking limbs refused to co-ordinate and soon had him toppling back onto the sofa.
“I'll get it,” Clark offered, placing a hand on Michel's shoulder to prevent him from making a second attempt. He reached the door just as another, louder knock sounded.
A muffled but familiar voice called from the other side. “Michel? It's me. I—I need to talk to you... Please.”
Oh, good Lord, it was Susanne!
Clark paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned to him, suddenly beaming. “Hey!” he exclaimed, loud enough that pretending not to be home was no longer an option, “I heard that!”
