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The pain Lois and the Kents are experiencing hurts my heart.

New writing challenge!

Here we are with Kerth Challenge #2: You've Got Mail Challenge!

Something happens to the Daily Planet computers when the powers that be attempt to add an instant messaging system to the Daily Planet computers. It works, but with one hiccup -- you can send a message to anyone in the office, but they can't see where it came from.

When Lois starts receiving messages from someone in the office, she is intrigued.

When Clark initially sends his first message, he doesn't intend to remain anonymous, but there is something freeing in being able to express himself to Lois this way.

Take it from there....

Have fun!

Beautiful.

As promised here's the first part of the next story, I'll try to post the second part the day after tomorrow. FDK is always appreciated.

Chapter 1



“Goodbye, Mad Dog Lane…”

I have to leave her behind, too.

The words linger, haunting me as I return to the silence of my apartment. Not only the Kents but the whole town of Smallville had welcomed me with open arms, warmth spreading from every corner, every gaze, every word.

In contrast, Metropolis seems cold and foreign, almost hostile.

From the entrance of my apartment I let my gaze drift through the dimly lit living room. The familiar furniture, decoration and photos take on an otherworldly quality, alien, as if they belong to someone else, a whole woman, not the fractured wreck I am now.

Is it really me in the pictures?

On the coffee table a notebook catches my gaze, its worn cover bearing your name. My heart clenches as I recognize it.

You left it here, mere days before the Planet's destruction, then it stayed here, forgotten. I had intended to return it, but the countless arguments that distracted us made it difficult. Following our last fight I hurled it across the room in a fit of frustration.

Only now I understand that I wasn’t really angry at you, I was disappointed in myself, for letting my life, my routines be destroyed. For feeling helpless in the face of losing the Daily Planet. For not being able to be the friend you needed.

As I stand amidst the wreckage of my existence, memories flood back - the notebook, a silent witness of our shared story. I wish, within those pages would lie the answers I’ve been yearning for.

How do I survive saying goodbye, when the mere thought of leaving you behind only twists the dagger deeper into my soul?

I wrench my gaze away from this tangible relic of your existence here, the door slamming shut behind me as I abandon my luggage, heavy with Martha's comfort food and mementos of a life past.

Exhausted, I collapse onto the loveseat, scooping up your notebook as I pass and clutching it tightly to my chest, as if it might reveal your final thoughts. But the world swims, obscured by the tears brimming in my eyes.

The warmth of Smallville‘s embrace feels a world away, and the love your parents showed me is unable to fill the void that’s engulfing me.

After weeks in your childhood home‘s warm atmosphere, nothing in my apartment seems to offer any similar sense of comfort or welcome, despite Perry‘s and Jimmy‘s meticulous care during my absence.

I can’t stop the deep sigh from emerging at the thought of Perry, Jimmy… they’re good friends, great friends even.

But they're not you.

Perry picked me up from the airport.

His voice still echoes in my memory as he shared important news, every word carefully chosen, as if he feared I’d break under their weight.

~~~

“Honey,” he began, in a subdued tone, “I know you are probably not ready to hear this… but I have received a message from Franklin Stern.” Despite everything, he couldn’t contain his excitement. “He reconsidered buying the Planet. Yesterday he signed the paperwork and it looks like we could be back in business in a few weeks.”

Silence filled the car as I stared out the window. Then I replied, my voice barely a whisper. “The Planet… coming back?” The words both a comfort and a pain.

Perry nodded, his face lighting up with a rare smile. “Yes, Lois. And there's more. He wants you back on the team.”

My eyes filled with tears, my voice trembling. “Me? But Perry, I don’t know if I can do this… without him.”

Perry reached out, his hand gentle on my shoulder. “I know it’s hard, Lois. But think about it. The Planet needs you… We need you.”

I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “I can’t walk into that newsroom and not see Clark’s desk. It’s too much, Perry. It’d be like losing him all over again.”

Perry’s expression softened, his own eyes misting. “I understand, Lois. But remember, Clark would want you to keep fighting, to keep that fire in you burning. He always loved your passion for journalism.”

With an aching heart I replied, “I’ll think about it, Perry. I promise.”

And then I couldn’t contain the sobs anymore.

~~~

I can step back into the role of Lois Lane, but the sight of your vacant desk - or worse, your desk filled by another reporter - could shatter what little of me remains and extinguish the last flickers of Mad Dog Lane.

During the past few years, she had become an integral part of me, fighting fiercely and passionately for justice, defending the innocent with adamant resolve. But life has a way of unraveling even the strongest bonds.

It would be another Goodbye. Lane and Kent are forever lost.

Weighed down by my memories, I slowly get up and replace the notebook, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. I need to store all the perishable goods Martha has given to me.

But before I can proceed there’s something I need to do first. As promised, I dial your parents’ number to tell them I arrived back home safely.

Returning from their haven, I hoped the weeks spent amidst our shared memories of you would help me repair myself, to get rid of the feeling of being torn from the inside. They embraced me, allowed me into their memories and welcomed mine.

The world insists on spinning and I, a reluctant participant, find myself grappling with the ghost of your absence, which lingers, an indelible stain on my soul.

While I’m waiting for them to pick up, I begin to open the first zipper.

Atop lies the football, a gift from your parents. I pick it up, feeling the rough surface, and let myself be distracted. Its leather, softened by years of play, carries the faint scent of sweat and grass, as if it holds the echo of games long past. Childhood memories are etched into the seams, stitched by hands that will never grip it again. There’s a musky, familiar smell, leather mixed with dirt and time, that pulls at something deep inside, a longing for the days when this ball was still in motion, when the one who held it was still here.

The phone still rings and I clutch the receiver, my heart pounding when I hear someone pick up.

Your mother's voice, fragile and frail yet familiar, fills the void. "Hello?" she says and I can almost see her standing in the cozy farmhouse kitchen, sunlight streaming through the window, her hands trembling.

"Martha," I whisper, my voice catching. "It's me, Lois." The words tumble out, a flood of emotions I can't contain. I’ve only been gone a few hours, but already I want to tell her so much but I can barely even force the words out.

"I'm home," I continue, my voice breathless. "Perry dropped me off." The football slips from my fingers as I again sink onto the loveseat, burdened by countless remembrances overwhelming me from the memory-laden bags. Martha's silence stretches across the line, heavy with unspoken words. I imagine her clutching the phone, tears in her eyes, missing her son as much as I do. My gaze falls on the Smallville high sweater lying atop my clothes and I pull it from its place, clutching it tightly, stroking over the soft, worn fabric.

“Lois,” she finally says, her voice breaking. “We’ll always be only a phone call away, should you need us.” Her words pierce my heart and I close my eyes. “And you’re always welcome in Smallville,“ she added.

“Thank you,” I blurt out. After a short pause I add, “Perry said the Planet will be back open soon. He wants me back on the team. But it feels wrong without Clark… There are so many memories of him there. How will I survive, watching someone else at his desk?” Tears burn in my eyes, staining the sweater as they fall.

The silence on the other end of the line is profound. I can almost hear Jonathan in the background, his steady presence offering comfort. "Perry will understand, honey," Martha whispers. "I’m sure he’ll give you all the time you need and if you can’t return he’ll understand that too." And suddenly, the weight of it all, our loss, their love, the secrets, crashes over me. I bury my face in the sweater, inhaling the scent of memories and letting the tears flow.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice raw. “For everything.“

Martha's fragile voice responds, “Oh, honey…” and I know we're connected by more than grief.

As our voices crackle through the phone line, the image of an invisible thread connecting us, covering the distance, conjures in my mind. We exchange whispered reassurances, promising to call if the buden of our grief ever becomes too heavy. With that unspoken pact hanging in the air, we reluctantly hang up, severing the thread.

I carefully unpack the bags, each item from Smallville a relic of your past. The room fills with memories, the scent of your cologne, the worn edges of old books, the photograph of us laughing together. These fragments surround me, a bittersweet embrace, as if you’re still here, whispering secrets to me. And yet, I wonder about the weight we carry - the invisible baggage that shapes our choices, our hearts heavy with love, loss and longing. How will the weight of your death shape my decisions in the future?

Half an hour later all bags are emptied and stored away with a few chosen items scattered around, still in need of a place where I can put them.

While scanning the room for a fitting place I spot my Kerths, hidden behind glass. I can’t help but remember the days when my work persona, ‘Mad Dog Lane,’ was forged. She emerged during my early days at the Planet, shaped by Claude and refined by colleagues who prioritized sensationalism over truth.

The pseudonym, whispered by colleagues in both mockery and awe, served as an armor and a curse. Mad Dog Lane battled injustice with a ferocity that allowed no vulnerability. Yet behind the headlines and bylines, I was Lois Lane, a woman who wielded her pen like a blade, slicing through half-truths and deceit to hide her own fragile, scarred heart.

I open the cabinet and take one Kerth out, it has a fine layer of dust on it. Before everything… I used to clean them weekly.

And then there was Claude, the ill-fated affair that left emotional wreckage in its wake. Mad Dog Lane became my guardian, snapping at judgmental co-workers. They labeled me the “ice-queen” and “frigid,” ignorant to the pain hidden behind my aggressive facade. All the lies had tainted their perception, leaving little room for my side of the story.

The memory of him resurfaces, vivid and raw. I'm back in the bustling newsroom, the scent of his perfume, Armani’s eau pour homme, thick in the air, clinging like an invisible fog. The sharp bite of citrus mingled with the heavy, floral notes of spice, unsettling in its familiarity. It had been intoxicating then, much like his charm, luring me closer, wrapping around me until I couldn’t see the truth behind his lies.

Claude, with his French accent and sly smile, had woven a tangled web - a master manipulator. His charm was magnetic, drawing people to him like insects to a venus flytrap, helplessly trapped in the sweetness before they realized it was poison.

~~~

"Claude," I'd confronted him one evening, my voice edged with frustration. "Why do you twist the truth? Why play these games?" The thought of our shared night and his betrayal leaving a bitter taste in my mouth

He'd leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting. "Because truth is malleable, my dear," he'd replied. "It bends to our desires, our fears. And people? They crave stories, not facts. As reporters, we control the narrative."

The thought made my stomach twist. I'd wanted to argue, to shake sense into him. But Claude was a maestro, conducting symphonies of deception. He'd whispered half-truths, spinning melodic illusions, and my colleagues had danced to his tune. The interns, wide-eyed and eager, had become unwitting pawns. The young women - bright, capable - had been silenced, their voices drowned in the discord of office politics.

"Fact-checking?" Claude had scoffed. "That's for amateurs. We're artists, ma cherie. We paint reality with broad strokes, leaving room for interpretation."

And so, they reveled in gossip, embellished, embroidered, stitched together narratives that fit their biases. Each added a note, composing a melody of intrigue. The unrequited love affair, the envy of a young, green reporter, passion and longing hidden beneath polished exteriors, it all became part of the newsroom lore.

"Remember," Claude had whispered smugly, "we're not just reporters. We're storytellers. And stories? They endure."

I'd nodded, torn between admiration and disdain, the bitter taste in my mouth kept me from answering. But I began to wonder every time I watched my colleagues scribble headlines: How many truths had we sacrificed at the altar of storytelling? How many lives had been reshaped by our pens?

~~~

Claude's legacy lives on, his long shadow still looming over me even today. Even now, thinking about him makes my skin crawl. I’m unable to shake it off. In the end, that experience shaped me into a seasoned reporter, a three-time Kerth Award winner by the age of thirty, who wore death threats like battle scars. It made me sharper, tougher, more relentless. But it also left me hollow. In this world of half-truths and sensationalism, his betrayal remains a bitter reminder: verify, question and stand up for what's right... but trust no one.

I've always been chasing the truth - but at what cost?

In a sudden wave of fury, I throw the award to the floor, sweep the others from their place to follow the first. They clatter, one after the other, shattering into pieces. Trophies meant to represent my success now lie broken, useless like me. Symbols of a career built on strength, but also on the ashes of my trust.

Mad Dog Lane. She’s the one who helped me survive. The part of me that chose defiance over surrender, that fought tooth and nail, ready to bite someone’s head off before they could wound me again. But even Mad Dog couldn't silence the whispers, couldn't stitch up the damage left in the wake of his deception. My reputation lay in fragments, as shattered as the awards now scattered at my feet.

So, I built walls - impenetrable fortresses of ice and fire. Outwardly fierce, inwardly fragile. My heart hid behind those defenses, with Mad Dog standing guard, swearing to never let anyone breach the walls again. I believed if I could keep my emotions locked away, I wouldn’t have to fear being hurt.

I thought I was protecting myself. Instead, I became the ice queen in their stories - cold, untouchable, invulnerable. But where did that get me?

Now, my only confidants are a shoal of fish, endlessly circling in their glass sanctuary. They swim in silence, listening as I whisper my frustrations and dreams into the void. They don't judge, don't betray, don’t lie but they also don’t answer, don’t tease, don’t encourage. They are the only witnesses to the woman beneath the armor - cracked, weary, still longing for something more.

I was sure it was right that way - safe behind my walls - until you came along, Clark. With your earnest smile and unwavering belief in truth, you reminded me what it felt like to have a friend. To be a friend. You made me realize that there was still warmth in the world, despite the ice I had built around myself.

It can’t have been easy for you.

Mad Dog Lane barked, flashed her teeth, threatened to tear you apart, but you didn’t flinch. She growled and snapped at you, warning you to stay away. Yet you stayed, quiet, steadfast, never wavering. You saw through my defenses. You didn’t push. You didn’t demand. You just... stayed.

You, Clark, always by my side, a silent force of nature. Unassuming, yet powerful in your presence, you unraveled every mechanism I had carefully constructed. Mad Dog Lane recoiled, sensing the danger you posed to her fragile existence. But I, Lois, the woman behind the armor, felt something stir inside me. A warmth, a vulnerability that defied everything I’d promised myself I’d never feel again.

And then, when tragedy struck, it was all my doing. My own bad decisions, my own insecurities, manipulated by Lex, came crashing down around me. My heart had been a battlefield long before you entered the ring. Paul, Claude, Lex just took advantage of the wounds that were already there. Lex meticulously orchestrated the collapse, and I walked right into the trap.

I had built my life on Mad Dog’s defiance, but it wasn’t enough to save me from my own worst impulses. I let fear guide my hand. I dismissed your affections, so blinded by my need to protect myself that I couldn't see what was right in front of me. Foolishly, I proclaimed my love for the hero you became, but not the man who stood by my side.

When the hero turned away, I ran into the arms of the villain. I let myself fall, accepting his proposal as if it could somehow patch up the gaping hole inside me. But even as I prepared to walk down that aisle, there was a part of me that knew it was wrong. And then, the cruel twist of fate struck, ripping away any hope of reconciliation before I had the chance to make things right.

The fire that fueled Mad Dog Lane flickered and died, extinguished by the weight of grief. The passion, the drive, the fury that had once burned so fiercely inside me, gone. In its place, a hollow, icy void. Grief settled in like a relentless frost, consuming every last vestige of warmth I had left. Anger, once my constant and trusty companion, now gnawed at me from the inside, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake.

Now, those gossip mongers have even more fuel for their fire. They were right to call me names because after your death, whatever spark had defined me, whatever made me ‘Mad Dog Lane’, was gone. All that’s left is a cold, paralyzing despair. The ice in my heart has taken over, and it feels like nothing can melt it. Not anymore.

T. B. C.

Oh boy, I'm sorry I left you waiting.... I got distracted by a few things (RL, a new story...)

I promise the next parts will come quicker. This will be the last part of this story - the beginning of the next story will be posted immediately after this, to make up for the long wait. Also thanks for the feedback on this story, and I'm sorry that I didn't answer to that. As I said... the distractions are everywhere.

Chapter 4

Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.

The knock I’d been dreading reverberates through the room, and a moment later, Perry materializes in the doorframe. His eyes meet mine, and I see my grief mirrored in his eyes. Beyond a curt greeting, there are no words; nothing is needed to convey our feelings. His mouth moves, but silence prevails.

There’s nothing left to say.

Grateful for the quiet, he encircles my shoulders with a gentle arm, allowing me to weep in the privacy of our shared space before facing the others.

Down the creaking stairs we go, out of the house, and toward the waiting black rental where the Kents and Jimmy sit.

It is time.

My gaze lingers on the farmhouse, too early to say goodbye. I yearn to retreat, lock myself in your room, and pretend you are still around the corner, in the barn, anywhere but gone.

Instead, I settle into the backseat beside the Kents, silently thankful not to drive. These past days, we’d talked endlessly, but today demands solitude. You, the passionate, gentle, loving man who has found the way to my heart. Had I stayed in Metropolis, I wonder how I’d survive.

Martha’s hand clasps mine, Jonathan’s secure grip completing our lifeline. We are the sole witnesses to your true self, even if I’ve pieced it together too late. Together, we hold each other up, even when despair seems to overwhelm us.

As the car pulls away, I stare out the window at the pond where you'd faced Trask. In my dreams for months afterward, he’d return, aiming the gun at you. At that moment, time froze – nothing moves until Trask crumples, gasping his last breath. I'd rushed to hug you, needing to feel your safety in a tangible way.

My gaze is glued to my hands, staring but not seeing while I try to ignore the warm and beautiful summer day.

Now, during those long talks with your parents I finally understood the relevance of that weekend. Your papercut reaction, the odd allergy, the difference in your behavior - Kryptonite.

It is all so obvious now.

As we say our goodbyes today, I know you’d want me to carry on. To be happy, to chase my Pulitzer dream. But without you, am I still that woman? The award's allure faded when you were no longer by my side.

Because of you, I transformed into a new version of myself, a woman who no longer needed to bite off heads to prove her worth. For the first time, acceptance and respect enveloped me in a way I’d never known. With you I didn’t feel the urge to be ‘Mad Dog Lane’ to earn respect.

Reflecting on our time together, I realize you appreciated my strengths and respected my vulnerabilities, perhaps even treasured me more because of them. Prior to you, love and worth were currencies I had to earn. Daddy's hug required good grades and Mother's approval demanded perfection. Even at work, Perry's respect often came with the caveat that we were only as good as our next story.

But you changed that. You taught me to accept help and to embrace vulnerability without fear of judgment. Your unwavering presence during moments of danger strengthened me; when I harbored a fugitive you urged to call the police but backed me up in front of Perry, when I faced threats you offered to protect me without forcing me to follow your advice. Every incident underscored your trust in me.

Yet, when you needed protection, I was about to get in bed with the devil.

I let you down.

Inviting you into my life felt dangerous, and I resisted fiercely. But my efforts proved futile, and now I grapple with a whirlwind of emotions.

I thought I'd learned not to depend on men. The lessons from Daddy who left our family during my teenage years and the betrayal by friends like Paul and Linda taught me a harsh lesson. The Daily Planet became my surrogate family, until Claude shattered that bond.

And then there was Lex, the man who manipulated my world, presenting himself as my savior and anchor. He taught me not to trust my own instincts.

I accepted his proposal, blinded by the remnants of my shattered reality. As he slid the ring onto my finger, I forced excitement to mask the unease within. But deep down, agony whispered beneath the endearments.

Why didn't I heed my heart's warnings? Why didn't I listen to you? Perhaps it would have spared you pain, kept you alive.

Now, as we approach the chapel near the graveyard, I wonder why you revealed your feelings when I wasn't ready. Why the secrecy about your identity? How could I be so blind?

If only I'd seen the truth - the two men I loved were one and the same.

Martha's encouragement to tell me about your feelings and even Superman's true identity must have influenced you to tell me in the park.The feelings of guilt gnawing at my heart, I grapple with conflicting emotions, torn between anger and longing. To hate you for your numerous deceits would simplify everything, but my heart refuses to make it easy for me.

Why did you lie? Did you doubt my strength, my ability to bear your secret? Or was it trust that faltered? I replay our moments - the partnership, the camaraderie - trying to reconcile Superman with Clark, my friend.

Tears blur my vision, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I fight the memories, the guilt, the questions. Forward, I tell myself. To overcome hurt, I must look ahead. But can I? Letting you go feels like severing a vital part of my existence.

The funeral, a futile hope for closure. Perry, Jimmy, and many of our colleagues gather to pay respects. The chapel blooms with white lilies, roses, and chrysanthemums, their scent mingling with grief. The empty casket lies before us, a vessel for an unsung hero. Where have they taken your body? The question echoes, unanswered.

Metropolis will celebrate Superman, but the details are kept a secret to protect his remains.

My allegiance remains here, with your parents. Martha and Jonathan, once unbreakable, are now fragile. Their love pierces my heart. As a reporter, I've encountered grieving parents, but this, knowing your story, understanding their love, is different. They couldn't conceive naturally. They embraced you as their own, from the moment they laid eyes on the precious gift from the stars, the spaceship that carried you. Had you sprouted tentacles instead of superpowers, their love would have remained unwavering. But now, their hearts ache doubly.

They sit beside me in the small chapel, their grief palpable. Perry, stalwart and silent, occupies the seat on my other side. His hand rests on my shoulder, a steady presence during my moments of overwhelming sorrow. Martha, too, clings to me, drawing strength as she gives it.

Perry, aged by loss, glances at me. His stern newsroom demeanor hides vulnerability known only to those who truly understand him. Jimmy, once full of sparkle, wears silence now. Your absence transformed him, emboldening him beyond delivery boy duties, into a peer.

Jack, too, transformed. You became his older brother, offering a chance when others dismissed him, a trust forged through friendship. You even found a foster family for his brother. Remarkably, you forgave him for stealing your most prized possession.

In this church, we gather, bound by the loss of an extraordinary man.

Regardless of guise, you made our world better. Your legacy endures. We mourn, remember, and love you. Your parents asked if I'd write this eulogy, but words failed me. How can I capture the essence of a soul so vast, a heart so giving? You transformed our lives, transcending your earthly guise.

Perry steps up to the podium, taking a deep breath before he begins. “Dear friends, colleagues, and beloved family - Martha, Jonathan, and Lois,”

“About a year ago, Clark walked into my office, presenting me with an article on the ‘Mating Rituals of the Knob-Tailed Gecko.’ As you can probably imagine, this wasn’t an article you’d typically find in the Planet. Despite Professor Carlton’s endorsement, I had nothing to offer him, so I sent him away, but I hoped our paths would cross again. I could see Clark’s passion flowing through his words. Even when I couldn’t hire him, he remained undeterred. He brought another story, about a soon-to-be-demolished theater. It touched hearts without sentimentality. He convinced me with his work.” Perry pauses.

My throat tightens; that was the story I declined. Secretly, I had admired his writing style.

“In the ensuing months, Clark surprised us all. At the Daily Planet, we felt privileged to know him. One particular instance stands out in my mind. There was a time when a colleague was going through a personal crisis. Without hesitation, Clark stepped in, offering not just a listening ear but also practical support. He stayed late to help with their workload, ensuring they didn’t fall behind. His actions were a testament to his compassion and thoughtfulness. Clark’s boundless love was evident in the way he treated everyone with kindness and respect, regardless of their position or status. He had an uncanny ability to make each person feel valued and understood.”

Perry captures Clark’s essence perfectly: compassion, thoughtfulness, boundless love.

And yet, there was more to Clark Kent than met the eye. He was our unsung hero, quietly making a difference. His articles weren’t just ink on paper; they were lifelines for the people of Metropolis. When disaster struck, Clark was there, not as Superman, but as the man who cared deeply about this city and its people.

But it wasn’t just about the stories; it was about justice. Clark believed in truth, even when it was inconvenient.

And then there were the small moments - the way he’d bring me coffee, the encouraging notes he left on our desks, the way he’d listen when we needed someone to talk to. Clark was more than a colleague; he was family.

“His humility was astounding. He never sought recognition, preferring to let others take the credit. But we knew. We knew that behind those glasses was a man with a heart as big as the city he loved. So, as we say goodbye to Clark Kent, let us remember not just the reporter, but the friend who made our lives better. Clark, wherever you are, thank you for being our light in the darkest of times.”

Following the ceremony we walk to the cemetery in silence.

Next to the open grave, Martha stops, knees buckling. Jonathan and Perry steady her. My own legs waver, weakened by grief. What am I doing here? How do I say goodbye? I yearn for your sweater, a tangible piece of you. Maybe, just for a while, I'll cling to hope, hope that you'll reappear, fill this void.

As the coffin rests in the grave, reality eludes me. For one more glimpse of Clark's smile, I'd give everything.

Clark, I love you... forever.

Goodbye.

FDK can go below

I'm glad to be back in this series too!

Though sometimes I think it'd be fun if they just gave up on the timeline. I'd love to hear about the secret underground lair that stores all of their combined memories, triggers waiting for their pull.

• They could get therapy for Resplendent Man before he tries to commit suicide (still resulting in a story).
• The faulty power connection that foils the Whine Whine Whine caper (still resulting in a story).
• The foiled Planet bombing (still resulting in a story).
• Senator What's-his-name indicted before the Tsunami vote (still resulting in a story).
• Lucy fixed up with a nice guy before she met Johnny Corbin (still resulting in Ellen pitching a hissy fit).
• Them finding themselves on Intergang's priority hit list because of their overall interference...

This is an old story. I didn't find FDK thread, so I created one: Anybody's Baby by Annie M.

Full story: Anybody's Baby

QUOTES:

*A new year

*A newborn baby

*A new house

*A new job

*A new lifestyle
Doers that count?

*A resolution (kept or not)
And this one?

*A new (anything not listed above)
A new Mayor?

Sorry for the question. I guess I didn't pay enough attention.

Andreia

1.
2. unsure!

3.
4. nope...don't know.

5. eek no.

6.
7. This one is familiar.... but not sure....


Ahh I am so bad at this. 😬