Once again I'm apologizing for posting this part a little late. I'd hoped to post this morning, but life got a little hectic, again.

I hope you enjoy ...

Previously in My Wife The Boss:

“That's just it, Clark. I'm not sure you can. Any more stunts like today, and you're putting your secret identity at risk ... and that of your family. As it is, you're going to have to disguise these wounds. People can't see that you're healing this fast.”

There was a small thump as Clark sat down again, appreciating, for the first time, what Bernie was trying to warn him about. “I should be in the hospital, shouldn't I?”

“Probably. I take it the others you saved were hurt?” When Clark nodded, Bernie went on in a lighter vein. “Don't worry, I'm sure everyone just thinks you got lucky this time. After all, truth is stranger than fiction, only you can't push your luck too far. I'm not so worried about your being hurt ... but about how little you would be hurt.”

Clark looked up to the darkened ceiling, seeking for divine help which, of course, didn't come. Oh, boy! Just wait until Lois hears this.

*****

continued ...


Darkness had fallen when Clark finally mounted the steps to his home and ponderously unlocked the door. Truth be told, he wasn't exactly looking forward to his impending discussion with Lois, but he knew it was inevitable. Besides, the kids would probably have heard about his injuries by now and he didn't want them to worry needlessly. He didn't want Lois to worry either, but he was afraid that the information Bernard had given him wouldn't improve the situation with his wife.

Lois knew him better than anyone; surely she wouldn't expect him not to help when he could. He'd been helping out in Jilin without the powers and everything had gone well, though he hadn't had to worry about enhanced healing. But then, he'd been completely normal, and now, he was somewhere in between -- stuck in no-man's land.

Taking a deep breath, Clark quietly pushed the door open, wondering, with a fanciful smile, if this was the moment to shout 'Honey, I'm home!'

Yet it appeared he didn't need to announce his presence as Sara and Vicky were sitting on the sofa, watching a news report on the bombing. The second the girls heard the door click, they stood up and, immediately, Vicky came running to throw her arms around his waist.

“Daddy, you got hurt!” she cried, burying her face against him. Clark held her tightly, his little girl knowing his secret was taking some getting used to.

Sara approached more slowly, studying his face, which still sported a white dressing on one cheek. “How are you?” she asked, tentatively reaching out to link her arm through his. “Mom said you weren't hurt too badly, but that explosion looked huge. Maybe you should come sit down.” She started pulling him toward the couch.

Clark allowed himself to be led. “Huge is a bit of an exaggeration, and, as you can see, I'm not hurt much. I've been to see Uncle Bernie and he says I'm going to be fine.” He sat between his daughters on the couch, content to let them fuss over him.

“You should be more careful,” Sara said seriously, but her smile was gentle.

Careful! There was that word again ... even from his kids. Everyone might have the best of motives, but didn't they realize they were asking him to live life almost as if he were an invalid ... and he wasn't. He might not be totally super, but he had more than human abilities. Surely he should be able to use them. Though Bernie had given him food for thought, he wasn't certain he could continue on forever trying to hold himself in check.

“Daddy, are you sure everything is OK?” Vicky whispered, obviously scared by his silence.

Truth to tell, it wasn't, but he had to come to terms with how he was now. His uncertain frame of mind was hurting the people he loved. To watch his daughters blossom under their father's attention had been his great pleasure. And Lois. Lois, simply, was the other half of his soul. Today, his heroics could have robbed them of his presence once more, and to act churlishly in the face of their concerns was unforgivable.

Suddenly, he noticed the fear in Vicky's eyes - - fear for which he was responsible. And for a moment he was lost, alone, back in his prison cell, in the nightmare that had robbed him of his memory of her. She was so precious, her well-being more important to him than his own. Her safety and her happiness ... the happiness of all his children.

“Yes, Princesss ... Tory. Everything is absolutely fine. My cuts and bruises will heal in no time. Now, what have you two been up to?” Intent on lightening the mood, Clark stretched out to an open book lying on the coffee table. Flicking it shut, but keeping the place with his finger, he saw a boy wizard, complete with glasses on the cover.

“It's homework. That's our school reading project,” Vicky announced quickly. Since this was study time in the Kent household, and both she and Sara had been caught watching TV, she wanted her father to know she hadn't been slacking. After all, Dad couldn't be mad at them for checking the news when they knew he'd been hurt.

Oblivious to Vicky's thoughts, Clark gazed at the book sleeve. “It looks familiar.”

“It should be,” Lois' voice sounded from the open door to the dining room. “Those books were really popular around 2000.” She gestured toward them with a spoon, one of several pieces of cutlery she had in her hand. “We used to read them to Matt ... and to Sara.”

“Don't see how they were so popular.” Vicky pouted somewhat scornfully as she gave her considered opinion. “What's so special about magic anyway?”

“I suppose having a superhero as a father and a brother does tend to make you a little blasé,” Lois answered with a chuckle, though she returned to setting the table.

“What's blasé?” Vicky asked, ever curious.

“Not easily impressed, Vicky. But your mother knows I'm not exactly a superhero these days.” Clark felt his bristles rise, almost spontaneously, and his glance darkened as he looked through the wide doorway at his wife.

“Yes, you are, Dad,” Sara said, leaning forward eagerly. “Look at what you did today. You saved those people ... without powers. That was brave.”

“Reckless!” Lois added, under her breath -- but not quietly enough that her family didn't hear.

“Mom, that's not fair.” Shocked, Sara sprang up, her lips trembling at her mother's seeming derision.

“And I seem to remember it's a word I often leveled at you, once upon a time,” Clark said with a definite edge to his voice. “You didn't pay attention either.”

Lois toyed with the silverware momentarily, then she left them behind on the crisp linen cloth and walked back into the living room, her arms crossed. “Touche!” she said to her husband, adding, somewhat defensively, “but I have learned to be more careful.”

“Mom, you couldn't expect Dad to do nothing.” Sara tried again to support her father.

There was silence in the room as her husband and daughters awaited her answer.

“OK, OK.” She spread her hands wide in surrender -- for now. “I'm sure, knowing what your dad did about the bombs, even I would have tried to do something. I'm sorry, Clark. I'm just being cranky.”

Clark was immediately contrite. He'd resolved not to hurt Lois and yet he'd done so without thinking. He stood up and crossed to her side, pulling her close to his chest. “Don't be sorry. You've probably noticed I've been a little cranky myself.” Resting his chin against Lois' sleek hair, he smiled at his anxious daughters to prove everything was fine between their parents. “I thought I'd come to terms with this ... this lack of powers. I have no idea why I'm suddenly acting like a jerk about it.”

Lois leaned back to look up at him, her fingers smoothing the material of his shirt, feeling the quickened beat of his heart. “It's understandable you'd be upset by their loss ... and I wouldn't say a jerk ... exactly,” she added, though she was smiling now.

Inwardly, Clark sighed with relief. For the moment, it appeared their disagreement was over. “What's for dinner, honey?” His nose twitched at the pleasant smells wafting from the kitchen.

“Chicken Tikka Biryani.”

Clark's eyebrows arched and his eyes widened. Lois was no longer a bad cook -- and her repertoire included Indian food?

“And don't give me that look.” Lois swatted his arm. “It's one I made with your mother last week and froze. All I'm doing is heating it up. Besides, my cooking is much improved.”

An unmistakable note of chagrin had sneaked into Lois' voice, causing Clark to hug her again. “That's true.” He kissed her forehead. “I'm not complaining. And Indian cuisine, that's hard. I'm impressed, sweetheart.”

Lois blushed. Being complimented on her cooking skills wasn't something she would have appreciated some years ago, but now she got a kick ... well, a tiny kick out of having climbed that particular mountain. Not that she'd ever reach Martha's standards.

“No big deal, Clark, but the kids inherited your taste for exotic food. As I've said before, when needs must ...” Staring into Clark's suddenly earnest eyes, Lois was aware of something she'd lost sight of: something a general in far off North Korea had learned to his cost ... Clark was born to do good, with or without his superpowers or memory. He could no more change his nature than turn the moon into green cheese. The pity of it was that the general had felt the need to find out at all, but life wasn't always fair and now they had to live with the consequences. “Kinda like throwing yourself at a bomb in the hope you can help.”

Lois tightened her grip on Clark as she felt him withdrawing.

“Please, Clark, don't. I've done arguing. I do know where you're coming from, really.” She took a deep breath. “I've been letting my fears try to control you, and it's not fair.”

“But completely understandable,” Clark agreed softly, while his hand brushed a stray lock back from Lois' cheek. “I have been reacting badly, and for that I'm sorry too.

They exchanged smiles and might have kissed, only two kids clearing their throats loudly in the background brought them back to reality.

“If you two have made up,” Vicky said, grinning impishly, “do you think you could feed your starving kids?”

Clark turned toward his girls, a twinkle in his eye as he pointed an accusing finger at them. “Hey, respect your elders, and you can start by setting the table while your mother and I finish preparing dinner.”

“Uh oh.” Sara slipped her arm around her sister's shoulders and walked them past their parents. “Looks like we're going to starve, Vicky. If these two are left unchaperoned in the kitchen ...” Grinning, she lifted the cutlery from the table and began her appointed chore.

Clark rolled his eyes. “Lois, how did you happen to raise two such audacious children?”

“It was easy, but I think a lot of it is in the genes ... and they're your kids too.” She winked at him over her shoulder and marched into the kitchen, her hips swaying, happy in the knowledge they'd cleared the air between them. No doubt they would hit the odd hitch in the future, but now she was sure they'd get through it together. “And while we're cooking, you can tell me what Bernie had to say.”

“Oh, nothing much.” Thank goodness Lois was in front of him and didn't see him blanch. He still had to tell her about the next problem, but not yet ... not when they'd just reached an accord. “I'll tell you about it later. Oh, and I just got a message from Matt.” He touched his ear, indicating that he'd received it telepathically. He wasn't just changing the subject. “He's been clearing up an accident on the freeway, but he's about done and he'll be home for dinner.”

“Good. Chicken Biryani is his favorite,” Lois announced, unaware that Clark was keeping information from her and feeling that everything in her garden was rosy. “You know,” she added, turning back to the counter to cut up a loaf of French bread, “he doesn't mind my cooking.”

Despite his guilty feelings, Clark grinned teasingly. “He's a superhero. He can probably digest bombs!”

“Bite your tongue. Being super never stopped you from appreciating good food!” She threw him a towel which had been lying at her side on the work surface. “Go empty the dishwasher and give the plates to the girls. And please, don't go giving Matt ideas about swallowing bombs. He hasn't tried that one yet and I'd rather keep it that way.”

“Especially since there's someone out there sending letter bombs.” Clark bent down in front of the machine and began unloading it, happy to lose himself in domesticity.

“Exactly, Clark! Do you have any leads?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, his brow furrowed in a frown as he stacked the dishes on the counter. “The targets don't seem to be connected, but they must be. I've just got to put it together, and I'm not about to give up.”

Lois stopped slicing. “I never expected you would,” she said, giving him another one of her lovely smiles, drawing him to her side once more.

“Thank you for having faith in me.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “I don't always show my gratitude, but I'd never have gotten this far without your encouragement. If I'm ever able to get my writing back on track, it will be because of you.”

“Oh, Clark, not just me,” she said, softly, tears beginning to fill her eyes. “That eyewitness account you did on the bank robbery was first class. I should have told you that right off, instead of jumping down your throat.”

Placing a finger on Lois' lips, he whispered, “No more apologies. We don't need them. We're fine, aren't we?”

She moved closer. “I think so. Do you?”

Clark's lips caressed Lois' mouth when a woosh was heard outside and the back door opened with a blast of cold air. “Boy! Do you two ever stop?” Matt asked as he stood in the doorway, his arms folded. “Maybe I should leave and come back in ... oh, an hour or two.”

Laughing, his parents broke apart. “Don't you dare, Matt. Close that door before we all freeze to death and get changed, and remember to wash your hands before dinner,” Lois ordered her super son. “We'll be serving up in about five minutes.”

Matt strolled into the kitchen, his blue cape swinging easily behind him as he inhaled the spicy smells wafting from the oven. “Indian! Mom, you're the best.” An appreciative grin curled his lips, but, seconds later, his mood became serious. “Hey, Dad, I guess you must be feeling better. I would have come, but the bomb went off when I was in the middle of a class, and Mom has this rule.”

“I know about the rule, son, and I know it has you chomping at the bit, but your mom's right. Your schooling comes first.” Clark went back to picking the dishes from out of the washer. “Anyway, the emergency services had things pretty well covered. There was only one badly injured casualty, who was hurt before you could've arrived, and I wasn't seriously hurt. Now, can we please forget about what happened earlier and just have a normal family dinner, 'cause I'm hungry?”

The storm was over for now, but Clark knew that another one was brewing just over the horizon. Perhaps it would be better to keep quiet about Bernie's warning, but that wasn't an option. He remembered from his past life that hiding things from Lois was unproductive and futile. She had ways of finding things out. Beside, he needed her advice.

After all, asking Lois' opinion didn't necessarily mean he couldn't stand on his own two feet, even if it felt that way sometimes. He should keep that in mind for future reference, and life between them might not be so rocky. Tonight, when they went to bed, would be a good time to talk.

*****

Lois sat up against the pillows of their bed, her back ramrod straight, teeth biting on her lower lip, while the skin above the bridge of her nose puckered in a frown. Clearly, she was not amused.

Clark sighed, leaning forward in his chair by the side of the bed, his hands resting, not exactly loosely, on his thighs. The lateness of the hour meant the sounds of the city outside the window were sporadic, but if he concentrated really hard, he could hear Lois' quickened heartbeat. He'd known she wouldn't react well to his news. He hadn't taken Bernie's information very calmly either.

Eventually, after having mulled over all he'd told her for a much longer period than he'd hoped, Lois spoke up. “OK, what you're telling me is you can be hurt, but your 'superishness' has kicked in enough that you're healing faster than a normal person?” She looked over at him, the delicate arch of her brow even more pronounced.

“That seems to be right. Of course, the dressings will hide most of the evidence and Bernie suggested you could try out your skills as a makeup artist on the bruises.” He laughed, trying to raise a smile on his wife's face, yet his laughter sounded forced, even to his own ears.

Lois grimaced. “That should be a challenge. Maybe we should have had Vicky try out her new camera, while the marks are still evident.” She sat up straighter, if that were possible. “Clark, what if they've all gone tomorrow? Would we even know where to do the touch ups?”

“Calm down, honey. People don't really pay that close attention. As long as I have some scrapes, it'll be fine.” Clark rose and crossed to his wife's side, laying a gentle hand on her wrist, his fingers drawing lazy, soothing circles on the spot above her pulse. “Besides, that sort of healing takes my powers to be totally up to speed, and I doubt they are.”

“No, they're not!” she added vehemently. “You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn't.”

“Clark, Bernie said you were healing faster, but I'll bet he didn't say enhanced healing could bring you back from the dead.”

His face flushed, abashed, and his voice was quiet. “Well, no. He didn't say that exactly.”

“Exactly!” Lois said, sounding only a little triumphant. This was one argument she probably wasn't overjoyed to win. “And I'd rather not put the theory to the test, but if you keep throwing yourself in the path of danger perhaps one of these times you'll be ... seriously hurt.” She ended her statement with a gulp and tears clouded her eyes, though they didn't fall. She wouldn't let them.

“Honey, you're missing the point. Bernie's most worried that people will put two and two together because I'm not getting hurt when I should.”

With a show of exasperation, Lois pulled her arm from under Clark's hand. “No, Clark. You're missing the point. You're not totally invulnerable, which in my book means you could be killed. If that shard of glass had pierced your chest instead of your cheek ... I lose you again, and I don't know if I could survive that.”

“Oh, Lois,” he whispered, gathering her into his arms. For a moment she resisted, and he felt a lump form in his throat, then she collapsed against him. “I'm sorry I made you worry, and I do realize I have responsibilities, to you and to the kids. Believe me, I have no intention of going anywhere.”

“But?” she groaned into his chest, her quickened breath wafting against his skin, threatening to distract him.

“But what?” he asked, closing his eyes, pretending not to know where she was heading.

“But you can't control yourself, Clark. You have to help whenever and wherever you can. Having powers has nothing to do with it. They never did.” She pulled back and looked up into his face, her gaze wistfully sad and yet filled with understanding; the understanding he'd shared with no other person but Lois.

“You know me much too well, Lois Lane.” His smile was still one-sided, while, tenderly, he smoothed away the glistening path of tears which had spilled onto her cheeks. “But I meant what I said about my responsibilities. Believe me, I value my family's happiness more than my own gratification. I can't go placing myself in jeopardy whenever I feel like playing the hero. I can't promise not to help at all, Lois, but I do promise to be careful.”

“That was all I was prepared to give you years ago when Superman saved me on a weekly basis.” Lois found the courage to return his smile. “It would be hypocritical of me to expect more of you.”

“A weekly basis? Make that daily!”

“Clark Kent, don't you exaggerate!” He received a slap on his chest for his tease and the fact that he jerked instinctively was further proof he was not yet invulnerable. There was silence as both acknowledged their latest dilemma.

“Bernie has a point, though.”

“Unfortunately, I agree with you. This in between stage could be pretty difficult to manage. I am not looking forward to wearing stage makeup, but I don't see any other choice. At least I don't have to pretend I'm feeling stiff and sore. That whack you gave me hurt.” His bottom lip pouted and he gave her one of his best soulful glances.

“Don't you play games with me, Clark,” she said sternly, though her eyes gleamed, and this time not with tears.

“You could offer to kiss it better,” he answered archly. “And I have pains in quite a few places, so I'll probably need a lot of kisses before I'm better.”

Lois' hair twisted and tangled about her face as she shook her head. “But you're injured. I'm afraid I'd only hurt you.”

Her sultry gaze, from beneath the strands of her hair, set his blood rushing through his veins to congregate in one very central core. “But I know you can be very gentle, and I'm in need of tender loving care.”

He leaned up and pressed a kiss where her pulse now beat languidly in the graceful column of her neck. Lois tilted a little away from him to grant him better access, smiling into the darkness. Clark could feel her body melt under his touch.

“I think I might be able to accommodate you.” Her words came softly from above his head, where his hair stirred in the warm channel of her breath. “And I'd love a little of that myself.”

Clark rose on his elbow to stare intently into her face. He never tired of watching her ... she was so beautiful, so full of vitality and courage. And she was his to cherish.

“Anything you ask, Lois.”

His lips descended on hers and for a time there was no need for words.

*****

TBC ...