PART TWO
The elevator doors slid open and there was the usual polite shuffle of people exiting and entering. Murmurs of ‘excuse me’ and ‘my floor’. The odd greeting between fellow workers. A waft of hot bacon from someone’s Macdonald’s breakfast.
With a great deal of apprehension, Clark joined the exiting crowd and stepped out onto the newsroom floor of the Daily Planet. The place was already buzzing with activity, phones ringing shrilly above the early-morning chatter. Which was probably a good thing – no-one would notice a curiously uncertain Clark Kent lingering near the elevator doors.
Glancing quickly around, he saw that the layout was largely similar to his own universe’s newsroom and, with an air of confidence which was nine-tenths false bravado and one-tenth blind optimism, he made his way over to what he hoped was his desk.
Sinking down behind the relative sanctuary of the computer and its screen, he pretended to shuffle papers on the desk while trying to gather up his scattered wits. The subway ride had given him a chance to reflect on his situation with more clarity than he’d had a chance to with Lana buzzing around him, and he’d rapidly come to a frightening realisation: this body he was currently inhabiting was not his own.
The wedding band had been his first clue. If he’d merely swapped universes, he should have still been wearing the ring Lois gave him, not the one Lana had given this universe’s Clark. After that realisation had come the thought that the underwear he’d woken up in had not been the underwear he’d gone to bed in. He’d long ago exchanged baggy white Y-fronts for closer-fitting marl-grey briefs – around the time he and Lois had begun dating seriously, in fact. And come to think of it, he should have woken up butt naked: he distinctly remembered Lois undressing him during their lovemaking the previous night.
The clincher, though, had been the scar on his chin. He’d spotted it in his reflection on the window opposite him. At first, he’d thought it was a mark on the window, but when he’d moved and the mark had moved with him, he’d known for certain: he was inside someone else’s body.
Coupled with a faint echo of the wooziness he’d felt earlier, this new revelation was making him feel distinctly queasy. This body didn’t fit right. When he moved its arms and legs, they felt awkward and wrong. Clumsy.
He leant his face in his hands and told himself sternly to get a grip. People would start to notice-
“Here.” A polystyrene cup came into his field of vision. “You look like you need this.”
The oh-so-familiar voice. But his heart clenched: it wasn’t her. Not his Lois.
Slowly, bracing himself for the impact on his jangling nerves, he wrapped a hand around the cup and looked up. “Thanks.”
Oh, God. Just like her. So, so, like her. With longer hair, just like she used to wear it.
She leant closer. “You look terrible,” she murmured, her warm hand sliding over his where it rested on the desk. “What happened?” Her thumb slowly stroked the back of his hand, the nearness of her filling his senses with gentle citrus perfume mixed with her own sweet essence. Her low-cut top revealed a hint of cleavage, and he had to consciously will himself to keep his eyes on her face.
Not his Lois.
But she reminded him of his wife, and she gazed down at him with his wife’s sympathetic eyes.
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Just didn’t sleep too well last night.”
Her hand withdrew and her lips pursed. “I see. Kept you up late, did she?”
Something was out of kilter here: she wasn’t addressing him as a fellow work colleague, but as...what? A close friend? And who was ‘she’? Lana, presumably.
“No, I just-“
“It’s okay,” she said. “I know you have to keep up appearances.” She bit her lip. “I just wish you weren’t so...so dedicated to your role.” She laughed shakily. “Sorry. I know we agreed I wouldn’t do this. Look, drink your coffee, it’s getting cold.”
Thankful for the excuse not to respond, he lifted the cup to his lips and drank. Strong, black coffee slid down his throat, so bitter it made him grimace.
Not a close friend, he decided. A lover? Surely not.
Maybe he was misinterpreting her body language. Reading more into her behaviour than was actually there, because he expected her to act like his wife. Wishful thinking, that was all.
“I have to go out in a few minutes, but I’ll see you tonight, okay?” she said, straightening up and raising her voice to the level of the others around them. “For that stakeout we planned?”
“Uh, I can’t,” he said, remembering Lana’s determination to collect him at five and take him straight home. “Lana...”
She pursed her lips again. “But you promised,” she said. “This is important, you know that.”
No, actually, he hadn’t a clue. “I know, but-“
“We’ve been planning it for days, Clark.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her voice bristling with barely-concealed anger. “I can’t believe you’re backing out now.”
“I’m sorry, but Lana wants us to go for take-out.” God, that even sounded lame to his ears, but what could he say? He had no way of knowing what this stakeout was for and no way of backing out of Lana’s arrangements. Although perhaps he might be able to phone her, if he could figure out where she worked...
Lois’s eyes flashed angrily. “Fine. I’ll go alone.”
She whirled away and strode stiffly over to her own desk, sat down and buried herself behind her computer.
A wave of deja vu swept over him. How many times had he sat guiltily at his desk while a bruised Lois had sat opposite him, simmering with anger and hurt because he’d broken off a date? Sorry, I just remembered I have to return a video. Oops, I think I left the gas on at home. Lame excuses had been his speciality.
And just as he hadn’t been able to offer any comfort or explanation back then, he was equally unable to give this Lois anything other than a weak apology. Sighing, he began opening mail and discarding most of it – the junk mail - in the trash. It didn’t get any easier, watching her move jerkily around her desk, slamming drawers and tossing pens around, flinging files across her desk and treating her keyboard as if it was a creature from hell. His own Lois had been just the same.
He thumbed on his own computer and began to find his way into the system. Password. Oh, heck, how was he supposed to guess that? He tried a few, praying the system wouldn’t lock him out after too many failed attempts. On the other hand, he could then just phone tech support and ask them to reset his password. If he could find the number for tech support...okay, that was handy. It was stuck on the monitor.
One phone call later, he was logged in and beginning to search for clues on how to get back to his own universe.
And two minutes after that, Lois was back, standing rigidly in front of his desk. “I need to talk to you,” she said in a clipped voice. “Privately.”
If only he knew how this Clark would have responded. What leeway might he have to refuse, or at least stall until he’d figured out his role in all of this mess? Not much, he concluded, looking up into her thunderous face. She was ready to drag him out from behind his desk if needed. Warily, he nodded. “Okay.”
He’d barely closed the door on the conference room when she began speaking. “We had a date, Clark,” she fumed, her hands clenched tight by her sides. “Our first real date for weeks, and you break it off to fetch take-out with Lana?” Her voice rose. “Take-out? What kind of an excuse is that? No excuse, that’s what. God, when are you ever going to see how she’s manipulating you?”
Lovers. Definitely lovers. Good God, his counterpart was an adulterer!
Squashing down his surprise and instant disapproval, he replied, “I’m sorry. She caught me off guard,” he added truthfully. “You...you know what she’s like.”
Probably a whole lot better than he did, in fact.
“No!” she said. “I don’t know what she’s like, actually. Who can possibly understand a woman who calls her husband a freak? A woman who lies for years to her husband about her real feelings for him. Who brainwashes him into believing he’s some kind of monster just because he’s not like the rest of us. Tell me, Clark, just what goes on inside the head of a person who marries someone just so she can spy on him?”
He flinched. Was that really what Lana thought of this Clark? His head began spinning again and he grabbed at the back of a chair. What kind of a mess had he landed in the centre of? He sank down onto the chair in despair.
“Well?” prompted Lois shrilly. “Are you going to answer me or are you just going to sit there pretending you’ve got the most perfect marriage of all time?”
“Just give me a minute...”
“No, I won’t!” she snapped. “I’ve given you minutes...hours...days, even. Weeks.”
She let out a gusty breath and sat wearily down on a chair beside him, her anger seemingly spent for the time being. “Look what she’s doing to you, Clark,” she said heavily. “You’re a wreck.”
“I’m okay.”
She shook her head. “She’s making you ill.”
“I’m fine.” What else could he say?
“You always say that, but I know you’re not.” And then she was wrapping herself around him, her soft, feminine curves so familiar yet so wrong. “I hate seeing you like this,” she murmured. “I think about what she wrote in that notebook and I want to scratch her eyes out.” She kissed the side of his neck. “I want to show you again and again how wrong she is.” Her lips pressed against the curve of his jaw-line. “Show you how human you are.” She closed her mouth around his earlobe and sucked gently on it. “How sexy you are.”
Wrong. This was all wrong. Only Lois – his Lois – kissed him like that. Resisting the urge to snatch away from her, he instead prised her gently off him and leaned away from her. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said. “I-“
“Don’t say that,” she protested, reaching back for him. “Don’t listen to her-“
“No, you don’t understand.” He got up and paced down the room. “Something happened. Last night.”
Was this the right thing to do? He had no idea. But sharing the truth seemed a lot more honest than letting her continue to believe she was talking to her Clark. Besides, this was Lois. She’d be a strong ally in his efforts to return to his own universe, if he could win her trust.
“What do you mean?” she asked in a low voice. “Not while you were...with...her? I don’t want to know, Clark. Not that level of detail, please.”
“No,” he replied quickly. “Nothing like that.” God, where did he start? She’d never believe him. He drew in a slow breath. “When I went to bed last night, I was with my wife. My wife, whose name is...Lois Lane.”
Her face darkened. “That’s not even funny, Clark. Don’t try to make a joke of this.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he pointed out. “I’m telling you the truth, Lois. When I woke up this morning, I was with a stranger - or nearly a stranger. In my world, you see, Lana and I were school friends. No more than that. So I think...and I know this is going to sound crazy...I think there’s been some kind of body swap between universes.”
***************
Usually, only a handful of press turned up for Star Labs’ announcements and demonstrations, obscure scientific advances not being very high on the agenda of most newspapers or media organisations. Today, however, was different. The small pressroom was packed with reporters, all eager to see the magical transplanting of matter from one location to another. Extra seating had been brought in to accommodate the swelling numbers, and now even the aisles were filled.
Lois, however, with a judicious use of elbows and a good dose of sheer cussedness, had managed to fight her way to the front row and was waiting impatiently for the demonstration to begin. Beside her sat a brooding, silent Clark.
He’d hardly said a word since he’d accepted the undeniable fact that he was in a new universe, inhabiting her husband’s body. She couldn’t entirely blame him: she’d been pretty shocked herself when she’d realised he hadn’t just swapped universes, but also bodies. In fact, she would have skipped the press conference if it hadn’t been for the fact that they were probably going to witness one of the most important scientific breakthroughs of the century.
Memories of Woody Sam’s swap with Clark’s body had come flooding back. That dreadful moment when she’d looked into Clark’s eyes and seen the fierce red of an impending laser blow. The one time in her life when she’d been terrified of her own husband.
But this Clark, although bitter and upset, didn’t seem dangerous. Just confused and troubled.
And what the heck was going on in his private life? He was married to Lana Lang, yet that kiss he’d given her in the bedroom had been highly passionate – a lover’s kiss. He’d told her he hated ‘all this sneaking around.’ He’d been appalled to find her undressed in what he’d thought was the bedroom he shared with his wife. There was only one explanation: he was having an affair with the Lois of his universe.
How weird that, in just about any universe, Loises and Clarks just didn’t seem able to remain apart for long. But an affair?
She snatched a sideways glance at him. He didn’t look like an adulterer. Other than the bleak expression and the tense jaw line, he looked just like her Clark. What could have happened to make him unfaithful to his wife? Her Clark would never break his marriage vows - a promise was a promise, as far as he was concerned.
Although, what if her Clark was, right this minute, with the wrong Lois? Oh, God, if she treated him as if he was her lover and he didn’t realise she wasn’t his wife...
No. Clark would know. She was confident of that.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for turning up despite the dreadful weather to attend our demonstration.”
Lois turned her attention away from Clark to the smart PR woman now standing behind the small plinth in the centre of the stage. This was the boring bit, where the glossy PR men and women expounded the importance and relevance of this latest scientific advance, usually making it sound at least three times more significant that it really was. But Lois knew that useful clues as to the real story could be winkled out at this stage – if she could keep her eyes from glazing over when the heavy science began.
As a slide show presentation started, Lois scanned the room for Dr Bernard Klein. She already knew that this wasn’t his project, but she had a hunch he wouldn’t be far away: this was Star Labs’ big day, after all. And sure enough, after a few moments, she spotted him in a huddle with a few more white-coated men and women. Surprisingly, he didn’t look as happy and proud as she’d expect him to be on such a momentous occasion. In fact, he looked downright worried.
Her gaze shot back to the stage, where the PR woman was introducing the scientist in charge of Project Scott – thus named because of the engineer in the TV series Star Trek who’d made such extensive use of similar technology. This scientist – Dr Henry Schulz - was all confident smiles as he explained the equipment arranged before him on the stage and took them through the brief demonstration they’d be witnessing.
As the demonstration commenced, Lois kept checking on Dr Klein. Interesting. The closer they got to the actual point when the equipment would be operated, the more uncomfortable he appeared to be. He was actually biting his nails when Dr Schulz announced he was about to teleport the small block of wood sitting inside a Perspex box on top of the biggest pile of jerry-built scientific gizmos Lois had ever seen.
She nudged Clark’s ribs to draw his attention to Dr Klein’s expression, forgetting in her excitement that he wasn’t her husband. All she got for her efforts was an irritated frown.
“Forget it,” she mouthed to him, turning her attention back to the smiling Dr Schulz.
“Please watch the box on your right very carefully,” instructed Dr Schulz, with all the showmanship flair of a magician about to pull a rabbit out of a hat.
“Watch the other box,” hissed Lois to Clark, just before an almighty electrical humming noise filled the room followed by a loud pop from the right-hand box. There was a collective gasp from the audience and then suddenly the box was filled with white smoke.
Dr Schulz donned a large protective glove, opened the lid of the box, and out of the billowing smoke, produced the block of wood and held it triumphantly up for all to see. “As you can see, the block has been successfully teleported from the box on your left to this box here,” he announced.
Immediately, the room erupted with questioning reporters. Lois shot up from her chair, and, using the strident, piercing voice she’d developed over years of practice, drawled, “Nice party trick, but how do we know it’s for real?”
The PR woman stepped forward. “Hi, Lois. Good to know the Daily Planet maintains its healthy scepticism of all things scientific,” she replied smoothly, then gestured around the room. “As you can see, we haven’t been shy about inviting the televised media to this event. You can also see that we’ve ensured that they’re positioned all around the room, recording the demonstration from every angle. I’m sure experts from all over the country will analyse and dissect the resulting footage, and naturally, we have independent scientific observers in the room who can verify the genuineness of the demonstration you just witnessed.”
Oh, really? Lois had her doubts. “But given that this is a Star Labs breakthrough,” she replied, “and no other scientist in the world is familiar with your technology, how can these independent observers do their job effectively?”
“Because we’ve already published our research widely within the scientific community,” said Dr Schulz. “Today is just the physical realisation of our theories.”
“So other labs will shortly be teleporting wooden blocks too?” Lois asked. “Gee, life has never been so exciting for the humble wood block, I guess.”
The room tittered. “This is just the beginning, Ms Lane,” said Dr Schulz. “Imagine a world where no-one need travel on gas-guzzling machines ever again. Where people can travel from Metropolis to Milan in seconds.”
A ripple of muted excitement passed through the room, suddenly pierced by a familiar voice. “Clark Kent, Daily Planet.”
Lois jumped. She hadn’t expected him to actually take part in the proceedings! What was he up to?
“Is the technology safe?” he asked.
Dr Schulz held up his woodblock and smiled indulgently at Clark: the brilliant scientist enlightening the ignorant hack. “Well, this little critter looks pretty happy.”
The room laughed again. “But is the equipment safe to operate?” Clark pressed. “You talk of a utopia without cars, but is this technology any cleaner? How is it powered? Do you fully understand the possible knock-on effects of moving matter around like this?”
The PR woman stepped forward. “Which question would you like us to answer first, Clark?” she simpered. “I think you asked about four or five.”
Lois rolled her eyes, although the woman had a point: it really wasn’t good journalistic technique to ask more than one question at a time.
“The most important one,” replied Clark firmly. “Is it safe?”
The woman shrugged. “For woodblocks, sure. Anything else, watch this space - it’s still early days, guys. However, you can be assured that Star Labs observes the highest standards of safety in all its experimental work. We wouldn’t have invited all you people here today if we weren’t confident that it was safe.”
Lois glanced over to Dr Klein’s spot to find out what he thought of that, but he’d gone. Back to his lab, or to sit quietly somewhere and bite his fingernails some more? Thoughtfully, she sank down onto her chair. A visit was in order, she decided. Dr Klein knew something, and she was going to find out what!
***************
Clark checked the clock on his computer screen: ten to five. Thank goodness. The day had dragged along, every hour bringing with it a new challenge in play-acting the part of his counterpart in this universe. Phone calls from contacts who expected him to recognise their voice and know what they were talking about. Fellow members of staff referring to events he had no knowledge of. Jimmy asking for further guidance on some research work the other Clark had handed over. Perry chasing for stories he didn’t even know were due.
And all the time his mind had kept wandering over to the fact that his counterpart was an adulterer. No matter how much of a witch Lana might be, he just couldn’t bring himself to approve of the affair. If the other Clark was unhappy in his marriage and loved another woman, then he should simply tell his wife so and move on. It was neither honest nor manly to do anything else. In fact, he’d found it hard to believe anyone who shared even the most tenuous similarity with himself could be an adulterer, and had spent a lot of time trying to figure out why the other Clark was behaving so differently to himself. Time he could ill afford when he was trying to cope with all the pitfalls even the most mundane of conversations presented.
Anyway, he’d bluffed his way through it all, and now he was exhausted. At least he didn’t have to face Lana for a while: after a lot of deliberation, he’d decided the better course of action was to go with Lois this evening. She was more likely to be able to help him return to his own universe than Lana, and while he hadn’t entirely managed to persuade her that he’d been telling the truth this morning, she was still a more sympathetic ear than Lana would ever be.
Besides, being with Lois would be...easier. Less challenging than Lana.
After searching around for a bit, he’d found the phone number for Lana’s work and had called her to announce that he was feeling so much better that he was going to work late after all.
“Oh,” she’d replied coldly.
“I’m sorry, honey, but we’re really close to cracking this story,” he’d said, speaking for the first time that day with a grain of truth. When he’d been poking around the computer, he’d discovered some highly disturbing notes on an investigation which this Clark and Lois were carrying out into a covert military group called Skywatch. Some of what he’d read had been horribly familiar.
“But you were so sick this morning,” she’d said without an ounce of sympathy in her voice.
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t want a relapse.”
“I feel absolutely fine, Lana,” he’d insisted.
Silence. Except for her frustration, which had come through loud and clear from her short, agitated breathing.
“I’ll see you later,” he’d said, when it had seemed she wasn’t going to say anything more.
“Clark, please.” Suddenly there had been real pleading in her voice. “Please stay home tonight. I...I was looking forward to our take-out dinner. I thought we could pretend it was like old times – you know, like when we first moved in and didn’t even have a bed, let alone a stove? I thought we could have some fun...like we used to...”
She’d sounded so plaintive, he’d felt like a complete heel. If this was what having an affair was like, how did other men cope? How could they do this to their own wives? “I...I’m sorry, Lana. Maybe tomorrow night we can do that. It sounds like fun.”
“You mean you won’t be working late tomorrow night as well?” she’d asked bitterly.
“No, in fact, I’ll come home early.” What was he saying? How could he promise to leave work early when he had no idea whether that was even a possibility. The desperation of the adulterer, he’d supposed.
She’d sighed. “In that case, you can do the shopping tomorrow. We’re nearly out of milk and bread. And we need light bulbs again. Another one blew this morning.”
“Okay.”
So he’d rung off with instructions not to wake her up when he finally joined her in bed. He wished now that he’d suggested he sleep downstairs. Perhaps he’d do that anyway.
In the meantime, he had an evening with Lois in which to find out all he could about how he might have got here and how to get back. Assuming she ever returned from wherever-
“Still here?”
He looked up to find Lois shrugging off her coat while simultaneously sitting down at her desk and switching on her computer. Taking a deep breath, he stood and crossed over. “Yeah, I phoned Lana and told her I’m working late,” he said quietly.
Even as the words left his mouth, shame and guilt washed over him: he hated the lies he was being forced to tell on behalf of this Clark. The guilt wasn’t eased, either, by the delighted smile which spread over Lois’s face.
“Great!” she exclaimed, keeping her voice down low. “I was wondering what I was going to do with all that food I bought for our...” Her eyes dipped coyly. “Stakeout. Just let me write up this interview and I’ll be right with you.”
She turned to her computer and suddenly froze, her hands poised over her keyboard. “Oh, I forgot,” she said dully. “You’re not Clark. You’re just some crazy person who looks and talks like Clark.”
He hitched a hip onto the edge of her desk and leant down towards her. “Lois, I know you don’t believe much of what I told you this morning, but please let me have this evening to explain it better to you. I need help to get out of this mess, and you’re the only one I can turn to.”
Her mouth twisted. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to refuse that, didn’t you? A plea for help from the man I love?”
“No, it’s not like-“
“Lois, you got that interview written up yet?”
Clark scrambled off the desk and turned to face an oncoming Perry wearing his sternest editor-on-the-warpath expression. “She’s working on it, Chief,” he said.
“And I suppose you were helping her,” deadpanned Perry. “Don’t you have a wife somewhere to go home to?”
Did Perry know about the affair? “I...she...”
“I asked Clark to help me,” said Lois. “That’s what partners do for each other.”
“Hmph!” snorted Perry. “I hear they also cover for each other, but maybe I’m just a cynical old newshound. Thirty minutes, Lois, you hear? No longer. With or without Clark’s help.” He made ‘help’ sound like a dirty word.
“On it, Chief,” called Lois to his retreating back.
Clark eyed her as she began rattling out the story on her keyboard. “So we’re still on for tonight?” he murmured.
“Yes,” she snapped. “Go away so I can get this thing done in peace.”
