From Part 5 ...
Clark stared at the floor, hands deep in his pockets. “I’m S-“
“I *know* you’re sorry, Clark,” she cried. “You could say it a thousand times and it won’t change anything. It won’t change that on the worst day of my life, the man I thought loved me walked out exactly when I needed him. It won’t change that you promised we would do this together, only for me to discover that your together wasn’t quite as together as I had imagined.” Her breathing was rough and laboured.
Clark slowly raised his eyes from the floor. He looked like a man facing his execution. “Lois,“ he grated. “I’m S-“
“Clark!” she screamed. “You just don’t get it, do you? *Sorry* means absolutely nothing except you’d like me to get over being hurt. What happens next time, what happens when I need you next time? Can you promise me you won’t walk out again?”
He stared at her, dumbly.
“Can you?” she demanded, her voice grim and unrelenting.
“No,” he said, defeated.
Her eyes flooded. “I need more than that.” She moved forward and opened her door. “Get out, Clark.”
For a moment, he seemed too dumbfounded to move. Then, with despair beyond description, he trudged out of her apartment.
She slammed her door and collapsed against it, weeping uncontrollably.
ADRIFT
Part 6
Two days later, one of the Honduran orphans, a baby boy, died after his burns had become infected.
Lois heard the news as she prepared to leave the Planet after another long, unproductive day. She walked past Clark’s empty desk, not allowing herself even a glance in that direction.
He’d been at the Planet sporadically the past two days. He’d seemed as intent on avoiding her as she was on avoiding him and not so much as their eyes had met.
She knew the disintegration of their budding partnership would be the talk of the newsroom. No one had asked her about it – not even Perry, who had realised without being told that it was impossible for her to work with Clark Kent again.
Lois sighed as she unlocked her apartment door. She hadn’t been able to face stopping on the way home, so, if she wished to eat, it was going to have to be the leftover Chinese carryout from two nights ago.
She’d found it unappetising when it was fresh.
As she peered despondently into the fridge, a knock sounded on her door. Lois groaned. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?
She opened the door. It was Sarah Crawford, pizza in one hand, a bottle of red wine in the other. “Hungry?” she said.
Lois sighed, but felt a smile creep through it. “Actually, I’m starved,” she admitted.
“Good. My mother has the kids, so I wondered who I could pester and you seemed the best candidate.”
Lois got two glasses and two plates and put them on her coffee table. Sarah rummaged through her purse and produced a corkscrew with a grin of triumph. She opened the wine and poured two generous glasses. “I’m taking a cab home,” she said, taking a substantial gulp of the wine.
Lois wanted to giggle – which was unexpected and ridiculous in equal proportions. She sipped the wine, and as she swallowed, the giggle escaped past her throat.
Sarah contemplated her with a roguish grin. “That was quick, Lane. One sip and you’re tipsy already.”
Lois pulled her hysteria back from the edges of control. “You’re a bad influence, Crawf.”
“Don’t you call me that in public,” Sarah warned with feigned severity. She opened the pizza. “Eat,” she ordered.
Lois obeyed, surprised, at the first bite, by how good it tasted. She ate three pieces and then sat back, her overfull stomach protesting. “I can’t believe I ate so much,” she said.
Sarah shrugged. “I bet you haven’t been eating properly.”
Lois sipped her wine and admitted nothing.
Sarah closed the box and also sat back, turning slightly so she was facing Lois along the sofa. “How’s Clark?” she asked.
Lois’s heart accelerated. “OK,” she said noncommittally.
Sarah raised her glass to her lips and held it there, contemplating Lois over the top of it. “Really?” she said finally, not trying to hide her scepticism.
Lois shrugged, wanting to convey that this topic was of little relevance and less interest. “We’re not seeing much of each other.”
Sarah lowered her glass. “I was at the funeral, Lois.”
Lois’s eyes shot to Sarah’s face. “I ... I didn’t see you.”
“I was at the back.” Sarah ran her fingertip around the top of her glass. “I saw what happened.”
Lois shrugged again and focussed deep into red richness of her wine. “It’s over, now.”
“Your relationship with Clark?”
“We didn’t have a *relationship*,” Lois stated firmly. “We had *one* date.”
“Are Clark’s parents alive?” Sarah asked conversationally.
Lois frowned at the irrelevance of the question. “Yes.”
“How do you think *he’s* feeling?”
Lois’s sigh was so substantial, her wine oscillated up the sides of her glass. “I have no idea,” she said, hearing the irritation creep into her words.
“This has been incredibly difficult for him,” Sarah said in a non-confrontational tone, as if musing to herself. “He knew you were hurting so bad, he knew he couldn’t really imagine what it was like for you, but what he did imagine was awful enough. He didn’t know what to do, but was desperate not to do anything that would add to your pain.”
“He failed there.”
“He didn’t know whether to mention their names. If he did, it might upset you, it he didn’t, he was afraid it would seem like he didn’t care - like they never really existed for him and he was just trying to forget it.”
Lois could feel her tears pressing for release. “But Clark didn’t know my parents, how could he grieve for them?”
“He has parents, Lois. The inescapable truth is that one day this will be him. Of course, he’s always known that, but this makes it all so real. He was dealing with that ... and trying to help you at the same time ... and he had no idea how to do either.”
“I always thought he would be there for me, Sarah,” Lois said, as first one, then a second tear snuck down her cheek. “That was one of the things I loved about Clark. I know that sounds very selfish, but part of my attraction for him was his strength, his availability, his commitment to me. I thought he would be there when I needed him.”
“He still can be,” Sarah assured her.
“He walked out of my parents’ funeral,” Lois said with a bitterness she could taste.
“Have you talked with him about it?”
Lois grimaced. “He said very little, I screamed a lot.”
“Did he give you any reason?"
“Just that he *had* to go.”
“So because he’s male and strong and tried to hide how much this shook him up, you don’t think he has a breaking point?”
“But why did he have to break at precisely *that* moment?” Lois cried.
“I’m not sure anyone chooses the moment they can’t take any more.” Sarah drained her glass. “Clark didn’t, Lois,” she stated unequivocally. “I watched him as he walked out. I’ve never seen anyone more torn.”
“I not sure I can trust him again.”
Sarah contemplated her empty glass for a long time. “Lois,” she said slowly. “I know what Clark did hurt you terribly and believe me, I’m not minimising that, but this I know with absolute certainty – whatever David had done, if I *could* go to him, I would. In less than a heartbeat.”
“But you and David had history,” Lois protested. “You were married, you had two children.”
“Are you saying what you and Clark had isn’t worth saving?”
“I’m saying I don’t know if Clark and I ever *had* anything.”
“Then despite being a hotshot reporter, you’re as blind as baked beans,” Sarah told her frankly.
Lois turned on her, an angry retort on her lips. When she saw Sarah’s wistful longing, her anger died.
“Do you still love him?” Sarah asked quietly.
“I don’t know if I can *trust* him.”
“But you still *love* him.” It wasn’t a question.
Lois couldn’t force herself to deny it.
Sarah shuffled along the sofa and put her hand on Lois’s arm. “You have a great guy who loves you. He made a mistake – certainly – but no more of a mistake than you’ll make if you decide your hurt and anger are more important to you than Clark."
“I’ll think about it,” Lois conceded.
“You do that, Lane.” Sarah grinned impishly, blonde eyebrows jigging. “’Cause if you don’t want him ...”
Lois couldn’t help but smile, sure she could trust Sarah implicitly and savouring that certainty. “Keep yer mitts off him, Crawf,” she warned, failing completely to inject any venom into her tone.
Sarah raised her hands in retreat and, with a breezy grin, poured the last of the wine into their glasses.
+-+-+-+
Lois closed her door and could hear Sarah chuckling as she made her way, a little unsteadily it had to be said, along the corridor. Lois leant weakly against her door, still grinning. They had drunk too much wine. They had laughed at the silliest things – things not remotely amusing. They had fed off each other’s hysteria and shed endless tears when neither had known if they were laughing or crying.
Her stomach hurt. Her face muscles ached. Yet the feeling of release was dynamic.
As Lois headed to her bedroom, she caught sight of the Daily Planet from two days ago. Again, she studied the front page photograph of Superman with the little girl. Rosa. It was a photo that compelled you to linger.
She sobered. A third child had died today. She knew Superman would have taken the news hard. Very hard.
Lois wandered to her window and looked out into the darkness. Where was he? Was he rescuing someone? Where did he go when he wasn’t being Superman? Where did he go when he needed -
Her thoughts clanged to a halt. Did aliens need comfort? She had no idea. But *he* did. Alien or not, he had been devastated by the deaths of those children. Much as he’d tried to hide it.
He’d be hurting more now.
Before she could think about the wisdom of what she was about to do, Lois opened her window, leant out and screamed, “Superman!”
She stood back ...
... and Superman flew in with a gust of wind which rippled her curtain.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, face anxious.
Lois gaped at him. “Were you rescuing someone?” she asked.
“You?” he said, uncertainly.
She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. I just meant that I didn’t want to interrupt whatever you were doing, particularly if it was something important like saving someone’s life, but if you weren’t, I wanted to talk to you.”
His eyes narrowed and his arms folded across his chest. She wondered if he could smell the wine on her breath. Too late, she realised she should have brushed her teeth before calling him. Actually, she probably shouldn’t have called him at all.
He gazed at her quizzically. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I heard about the baby boy who died,” she said softly. “From the orphanage fire.”
His jaw flexed in response.
Lois steadied herself with a deep breath. “I just wanted to say ...” She paused, unable to find the words. “Actually, I didn’t want to say anything, I wanted to do this.” She stepped forward quickly, before she lost her nerve, and put her arms around his neck.
His folded arms remained between them like a barricade. Lois leant the top of her head against his chin. The obstruction didn’t budge. She registered his lack of response and began to back away, flustered.
With a blur of movement, his arms encircled her, pressing her into his chest. He held her there for one breath, then released her and backed away, out of her reach. “Thank you,” he said formally. He turned and was gone.
She watched the curtain flutter back into place and tried to sort her kaleidoscope of emotions.
Embarrassment. Not even an excessive amount of wine was sufficient excuse for her forwardness.
Grief. Upon grief. Another death. Another life snatched away.
Empathy. For all his strength and strangeness, death affected Superman profoundly. She’d known. She’d understood. Without the need for words.
And joy, a subdued joy, at giving – how ever awkward and probably misplaced her gift was, she’d been the one *offering* support – not the one receiving it.
And it felt so good. So therapeutic.
With a tired sigh, Lois turned off the lights and went to bed.
+-+-+-+
Clark hovered above the clouds, his heart hammering, his mind spinning.
Lois had hugged him!
He’d already been rattled. Being in her apartment again, being so close to her. His panic when he’d thought she was hurt ... and then ... that. The last thing he expected.
In some ways, the last thing he wanted.
But now she’d done it ... he wouldn’t give it back for the world.
But ultimately, it did nothing but compound his confusion.
The newspapers were overflowing with Superman – stories, theories, pictures, speculation ... admiration ... respect ... appreciation.
Whenever he was seen in the Suit, people stopped him, congratulated him ... applauded him. Initially, there had been some suspicion. Since the fire in Honduras, the mood had changed. It seemed people had taken him into their hearts.
Finally he’d earned acceptance. Even with his differences in full view. Except ...
When he’d dreamed up the whole secret identity idea, all he’d seen was the chance to use his powers to help others.
He’d not given one single thought to when he *didn’t* save someone.
Lois’s parents. Two little Honduran children already dead. Now, a third one.
He couldn’t do this.
The only time it had felt anywhere near right was when Lois had put her arms around his neck and held him.
But he couldn’t keep going back to her. Not as Superman.
It was bad enough that she thought he was two people. He couldn’t use that deception to garner comfort, when, if she knew who he really was, her response would be so different.
He couldn’t do this.
He couldn’t be Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter. He couldn’t see Lois every day and know he’d had a taste of everything he yearned for, but had let it slip away.
He couldn’t be Superman. Regardless of how many people he helped, it didn’t counter the pain of the ones he couldn’t save.
He couldn’t do it alone.
He couldn’t do it.
The only decision remaining was whether to tell Lois he was leaving, or to just go.
What would *she* want?
Clark sighed.
He didn’t know. He really didn’t know.
+-+-+-+
The next evening, Clark stood outside Lois’s apartment. He’d been there for many minutes, unsure, hesitant. He could hear her moving around. He lifted his hand to knock on her door, then lowered it again.
He was torn between going away and going in. He couldn’t leave – couldn’t just leave and let her believe forever that he had walked out of the funeral for no good reason. Right now, she probably hoped she’d never see him again. But he couldn’t just leave.
With a sudden movement, he knocked on her door. It sounded more abrupt and aggressive than he had intended. Her movements stilled.
He heard her walk towards the door, heard the hesitation while she checked the peephole, heard the first of the locks click.
Her door opened and his breath caught in his throat. She was so beautiful. Her skin had a delicacy that hadn’t been there before her parents’ deaths. Her eyes seemed deeper, as if the onslaught of pain had ripened them. She had an untouchable aura, reminding him how completely she had moved beyond his reach.
“Clark,” she said quietly.
His eyes sought her face, expecting hostility, but finding none. “May I come in?” he asked.
She stood back in silent invitation. “What do you want?” she said evenly.
He walked in. “I want to talk.”
She shut the door. “OK,” she said agreeably. “Talk.”
“Lois, I am so sorry. I know I hurt you when you were already hurting so much.”
Her eyes were fixed on him, her tears flowing without restraint. He glanced to the closed door, seeking escape. He couldn’t watch her cry and control his longing to hold her. It just wasn’t possible.
Then she was in his arms, clinging to him, as her sobs racked her body and her tears dampened his shirt.
His hand cupped her head to snuggle her closer. He kissed her hair and breathed in her presence. He soothed her outer turmoil, even as within him, churned turmoil just as great.
She leant back and contemplated him with a teary smile. She was *so* beautiful.
He *knew* he shouldn’t. *Knew* that on every level, this was stolen pleasure, but he leant forward and kissed her mouth.
She responded instantly, her hands plying his neck, her lips soft and sweet on his.
He tried to imprint the very feel of her in his memory. Imprint it so permanently, so comprehensively, he would be able to recall it at will.
He *knew* he should pull away. But he couldn’t. Not yet.
So he kissed her. Kissed her so extravagantly, he was able to dismiss from his mind that which was to come.
When she finally backed away, he mourned.
She smiled at him, a little shyly. “I *know* you’re sorry you left,” she said softly.
“But you don’t know *why* I left,” he said, his voice rough.
“Does it matter now?”
He wanted to shake his head and return her into his arms and rejoice in his utopia. But the time for pretending was over. “Yes,” he said doggedly. “It matters.”
She eyed him steadily. “OK,” she said and waited.
He couldn’t find the words. How did he say it? So, he stared at her like his brain had been severed from his flailing mouth.
“You don’t *want* to tell me, do you?” she said with sudden insight.
“No,” he breathed. “I don’t *want* to tell you. But I *have* to.” He saw her snippets of anxiety as the possibilities flitted through her mind. He needed to get this done. Fast.
"Why don’t you want to tell me?” she said, confused.
“Because I know what I say will make you more upset, more angry, more hurt than you are already.”
She sighed. “That’s not possible, Clark.”
“Yes it is, Lois,” he said with uneasy conviction.
The snippets evolved into fear. “What more could I possibly lose?” she whimpered.
“Your ...”
“My what?”
He shrugged. “I was going to say your respect for me, but that’s already gone.”
“Clark,” she pleaded, scared now. “Tell me. Please.”
He raised his hands in desperate indecision. “I don’t *know* how to tell you.”
Her fear evolved into anger. “How hard can it be, Clark?” she railed. “There has to be a reason why you walked out. Just tell me.”
“I’m Superman, Lois. I left you because there was a fire in an orphanage in Honduras and I was the only one who could save those children.”
+-+-+-+
Lois stared at Clark.
She couldn’t speak. She was struggling to think.
*Clark* was Superman? Countless questions inundated her brain, squabbling like overwrought children competing for her attention. *Clark*? Superman? *One* person? Not two? *Clark* was an alien? Is that what he was telling her? He could *fly*? He wore *that* suit? How? When? Why?
She stared at him for a long time.
His shoulders were slumped, yet his tension was obvious. His jaw was clenched, his face pale. Apprehension clogged his eyes. She recognised his expression. This was how he’d looked in his parents’ kitchen when Jonathan had told her about the troubled friend who had brought them her little son.
Jonathan’s story! It was a lie!
“There was no Chrissie?” she said, her disbelief camouflaging the storm of her gathering anger.
He gulped. “There was a Chrissie, but she wasn’t my mother.”
“Your father lied,” she accused icily.
Clark closed his eyes momentarily. “Yes,” he breathed.
“I guess it runs in the family,” she noted, in a voice so callous, it stunned her.
That had hurt him. She saw the wound inflicted, as clearly as if she’d driven a knife up through those rock-hard abs and into the core of his heart.
“Lois, you must have suspected something,” he said, flatly. “The Sewells said they had a spaceship which had a baby in it. It landed in Smallville the year I was born. I didn’t have any identity papers, no birth certificate, and the story we’d told everyone for nearly thirty years was a fabrication.”
“No,” she said with a scything calmness. “I didn’t suspect anything.” She laughed, hard and bitter. “And I was worried about *your* gullibility.”
“You’re not gullible.”
“No?” she said, her voice rising. “I *knew* no one could be trusted. I’d learned that before I learned to ride a bike. But I trusted you, Mr Honourable-Goody-Goody-Paragon-of-Truth-and-Virtue. I trusted your picture-perfect, homespun family. I trusted your salt-of-the-earth, chock-full-of-integrity father.”
Her angry breaths thundered loud in the vacuum of silence that followed her outburst. She’d hurt him again. Bringing his family into this was like giving the knife a savage twist.
“Dad was trying to protect me.”
Lois snorted with disgust. “I thought he was different to my father. More than different, I thought they were total opposites. But they’re exactly the same. Yours is worse though, because my father never bothered with the idyllic-dad hypocrisy.”
She’d twisted the knife again, but was powerless to stop. Clark looked at her, helpless, speechless.
“I guess I just didn’t understand family dynamics,” Lois continued. “I didn’t realise trust and integrity extend to family only. Those outside can rot.”
“That’s not true,” he said, with a spark of spirit.
“Of course it’s true, Clark.” Her unrestrained outrage steamrolled his fleeting resistance. “Have you forgotten the three of you sitting there, spinning me a tale? Have you forgotten the trio-act? Ensuring I could see in, but knowing I would never be accepted in?”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said. His spark had died, like he had accepted his fate.
“Really?” she spat. “Did you laugh about it later? How the country bumpkins fooled the big city reporter? How you fed me a line, fed me an entire lifestyle, and how I swallowed it whole?”
“Of course we didn’t.”
“But that’s what you thought, wasn’t it?” she fumed. “Lois doesn’t have a family. Poor Lois, she’s so dumbstruck by the fact we don’t cheat and drink and scream abuse at each other, she’ll believe anything we say. Poor Lois, delusional enough to think she’s one of us.”
“You’re always wel- “
“Always welcome?” she shrieked, tossing away the last shreds of her control. “But I don’t *belong*, do I? I don’t *belong* anywhere. That’s the difference between you and me. When this is over, you can slink home. You know they love you, you know they accept you. You know whatever happens, you have somewhere to go. You belong with them. Always.”
“I can’t feel guilty because I have parents,” he said, so quietly she barely heard him over her laboured breathing.
Her aloneness swamped her, and to her mortification, hot tears burned her eyes.
She saw Clark lurch and knew his impulse had been to comfort her. Her fury seethed – with him, certainly – but also with herself for her own neediness. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled, so viciously, he rocked back as if she’d struck him.
“I’ve told you now,” he said.
“So that magically fixes everything?” she mocked.
“No,” he said in a tone of absolute hopelessness.
“You were right,” she said with biting scorn.
That surprised him. “About what?” he said, nonplussed.
“I *could* be hurt more.”
She’d twisted the knife again, deep and deliberate. And this time, she’d found her mark - someplace deep inside him, protected by layers of tolerance and patience and compassion, someplace where his inherent ‘Clarkness’ could be damaged.
And damage it, she had.
She saw the transformation in his face and realised, too late, that superpowers and anger were not a good combination. But Clark wouldn’t hurt her? Surely?
“You know what, Lois?” he said, voice deathly calm.
His restraint was more chilling than overt rage.
“I have superpowers,” he continued in the same, low, controlled voice. "But they don’t extend to my heart. In my heart, I’m just like you. And you know what else, Lois? I can’t take any more. I know I broke your heart, but I can’t take your uncaring destruction of mine. You have every reason to be hurt, every reason to be angry, every reason to despise me, every reason to hate some of the decisions I made. Maybe, every reason to hate me.” He took a deep, ragged breath, as the muscles of his cheeks rippled in anguish. “But I can’t take your hatred a moment longer.”
He was trying to make this *her* fault. “You need to go,” she said stonily.
“I know. I’ve given Perry my resignation.”
Clark was leaving. Not just her apartment, as she had meant, but the Daily Planet. Metropolis. Her. The shock reverberated through her overstrained emotions. “What about Superman?”
He scowled. “He’s finished,” he said, low and embittered. “I wish I’d never created him.”
“You can’t just ... walk away,” she said, reeling.
“Watch me.”
With that, Clark Kent resolutely marched out of her life.
Gone – just like her parents.
Lois thought she’d plumbed the depths of aloneness many times since their deaths. But it was nothing like this. Nothing like what assailed her as Clark decisively shut her door. This aloneness scolded like hot, condemning acid. And its track left wounds she knew would not heal.
She crumbled to the floor and wailed.
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Somehow, though she was never sure how, Lois got through the next two weeks.
She rose when her alarm clock commanded her to. She prepared for work in exactly the routine she had kept for years. She wrote – with neither heart nor inspiration – what Perry told her to write.
She lived like a robot – a robot programmed not to remember. Not to grieve. Not to regret. Not to want. Not to hope.
And most of all – not to feel.
She dealt with the continuing details of her parents’ deaths with an aloofness and separation so proficient, even she wondered how it was possible.
She hadn’t seen Clark again. She hadn’t attempted to contact him. He hadn’t contacted her. She heard a whisper around the Planet that his sudden disappearance was related to a family issue.
Thoughts occurred to her at odd moments.
Leo Nunk had stumbled on the truth with his fake photo.
*Clark* had flown her to his parents’ farm.
The Sewells’ spaceship – the one they claimed they had when unsuccessfully attempting to blackmail the government – had brought Clark to earth.
It was Clark who had rescued her from Luthor’s tunnel.
And Clark she’d hugged after the baby boy died.
She pushed them into the recesses of her mind – to be resolved later. Maybe. If the pain ever lessened.
Questions rose too.
Why didn’t Superman smell like coconut? She would have noticed that.
*Who* made that outfit?
Where had the spaceship come from? Who had put the baby in it?
And revelations.
It was Superman’s body concealed under Clark’s loose-fitting business suits.
That one left her mouth dry. Very dry.
Then, one morning, Perry called her into his office.
She faced him across his desk, knowing there were several possible reasons why she was here – none of them pleasant.
Her work had been shoddy. Her attitude uncaring. Her disposition bordering on rude. OK, more than bordering.
“How are you, Lois? Perry asked, more gently than she had expected.
She wanted to tell him to get to the point, but Perry deserved better than that. He also deserved better than a lie, so she just shrugged.
“I have a story for you,” he said.
She felt some relief that she wasn’t going to be berated – not this time, anyway – but her usual enthusiasm was non-existent. “Oh?”
“It’s an interview.”
“With?”
“Franklin Hodge.”
Once, she would have killed – figuratively - for this opportunity. “Franklin? Why?”
“He’s left the ... whatever department he was with.”
She waited for the swell of enthusiasm, the slamming into gear of her reporter’s instinct. “And?”
“And he’s offering us – you – an interview.”
She felt mild – very mild - interest. Just a stirring. But it was a start and she tried to fan it into something respectable. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Not today then? Good. She really couldn’t force herself to do it today. Lois sighed. “Perry,” she said. “I appreciate the offer, but an interview with Franklin Hodge ... maybe you should give it to someone else.” Someone who could rally some fire, some passion.
“I want you to do it,” Perry said, full of quiet certainty.
“OK.” She had tonight to plan her questions, to engineer some feeling for the story. “Thanks, Perry.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, a little gruffly.
Uh-oh. “What is it?” she said suspiciously.
“There are strict guidelines.”
“What happened to the freedom of the press?”
“It doesn’t apply – not here.”
“What’s off-limits?” The reporter inside her was finally stirring.
“His past and his future.”
Lois felt her indignation quickly rise. “What’s left?”
“Basically, the transition ... from servant of national security to normal person.”
“That’s *it*?” Lois said in disgust.
“That’s it,” Perry confirmed. “You can’t ask anything specific about any of his past assignments, even if you already have information. For his protection, you can’t ask anything specific about his future plans.”
“Is there any point to this?” Lois demanded.
“He’s keen to do it.”
“Why?”
“I got the impression he wants to debunk some of the misconceptions of his job.”
Maybe this was what she needed. Maybe this was Step One in the long journey back to fervour and commitment and normality. “OK, I’ll do it.”
Perry favoured her with an encouraging smile. “Good.” His phone rang and he picked it up. Lois figured he was finished with her and stood up. “Ah, Lois?”
She turned, seeing he had covered the phone with his hand. “Yes?”
“There are two other conditions. The interview must be taped – one copy goes to them, one to us – and someone sits in on the interview and OKs everything said.”
“So if I ask a question he doesn’t like ...”
“The interview ends.”
Lois raised her hands in frustration and stormed out of Perry’s office.
