Clark and the Rosses were in Smallville when the call came. It had been several days since the interview, and Clark was busy modeling skin-tight costumes for Martha. The farmhouse phone rang, and, even though she hated to miss the chance to rib Clark about the leopard-skin print he was currently sporting, Lana ducked into the kitchen to pick it up; she’d had all of Clark’s phone calls forwarded to the Kents’ line, and she didn’t want anyone who thought they were calling Metropolis to wind up talking to the Kent Farms answering machine.
Martha was holding a blue and red outfit out to Clark when Lana reappeared.
“Well, you can stop worrying that you said too much to Lois Lane,” Lana told Clark. “She’s not going to print the article.” At Clark’s surprised look, Lana just shrugged her shoulders. “She said something about not having anything usable that Cat Grant couldn’t have printed and not being a mud-slinging rumor-monger. I guess the playboy act worked well enough after all.”
Clark wondered why he felt disappointed rather than relieved. He had really worried that he’d given himself away. Lois Lane had a talent for making him say things he never meant to. It was a *good* thing that she still thought he was as shallow as he pretended to be, right? Now he could tackle this crazy idea of his mother’s with one less worry on his mind.
Actually, that blue and red outfit didn’t look too bad. Maybe this would work after all.
*****
This was *not* how Clark had planned to debut his new identity.
His mom had convinced him that, with a flashy costume and an otherworldly aloofness, his I’m-Here-To-Help persona would allow him to respond to the calls he couldn’t ignore without endangering his so-called real life. After all, Clark was a pro at creating characters that looked and acted nothing like Clark Kent. The only difference would be that his new character would be designed to stand out, not to blend in. He thought it had a good chance of succeeding. As he’d told Lois Lane the other night, people saw what they expected to see. And the last thing anyone would expect would be for the flashy Flying Hero to be a world-famous writer in disguise. For this persona, he’d ditched his glasses altogether and slicked his hair back with gel in a way that was more severe than the softer moussed style Clark usually wore in public. Besides, as his mom had said, people weren’t likely to be focusing on his face.
Still, he had hoped for something small to start out with—a trial balloon, as it were—not a nationally televised shuttle launch. But he couldn’t let all those colonists perish when he might be able to help them, so here he was, flying in to the rescue.
Oh, no. The universe hated him. That had to be it, because of all the people who might be stowed away on the Prometheus shuttle pointing to a ticking bomb, the one he encountered was Lois Lane, the world’s best investigative reporter and the one person outside of his inner circle who had spent the most time one-on-one with Clark Kent in the last year. Talk about baptism by fire. But that bomb was ticking away, so it was too late to back out now. His ‘hide in plain sight’ theory was about to get the acid test whether he liked it or not.
Apparently, it worked. Because, as Hero Guy sheepishly excused himself from his bomb-induced burp, Lois did not say, “I know you! You’re Clark Kent, that smarmy Tom Clancy wannabe I couldn’t get a decent interview out of last week!”
Instead, she gaped at him and blurted, “What the hell are you?”
Clark just smiled.
*****
The cursor blinked. Clark stared at the screen. The cursor continued to blink.
He was supposed to be writing. It wasn’t often these days that Clark got a free afternoon. Between book tour interviews, social events, and Superman rescues, the past two weeks had been even more hectic than usual. But this Monday afternoon was miraculously free of commitments, and he had planned to write up a list of questions, or character sketches, or plot points, or *something* for his next book. With a sigh of frustration, Clark closed the laptop. He needed to stretch his legs. He wandered out of the hotel suite’s study and began idly pacing back and forth in the living room, letting his gaze travel out over the Metropolis skyline.
This was all Lois Lane’s fault. Ever since he had flown with her through the open sky, her lithe body cradled in his arms and her silky hair brushing against his chest, ever since she had stared into his eyes with that look of enraptured adoration, he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. And that was a problem with no solution, because there wasn’t much chance of him holding her in his arms again any time soon.
There was no way a superficial character like Clark Kent stood a snowball’s chance in Hell with Lois Lane. Superman, on the other hand, had obviously captured her interest, but he wasn’t likely to be seeing her again, either. After all, there were billions of people in the world, millions in Metropolis alone. How likely was it that the same person would need rescuing more than once in a blue moon?
There was the obvious option of having Superman give Lois an interview. Every reporter on the Eastern Seaboard was trying to track down Superman for the exclusive of a lifetime. But, given how disastrously his last interview with Lois Lane had gone, he didn’t relish the prospect of another one. Besides, an interview wouldn’t give him an excuse to touch her, to hold her. It might be worse than not seeing her at all. Barely.
Clark’s melancholy musing was interrupted by Lana’s concerned voice. “Still debating whether to stay in Metropolis after the tour? You’ve only got a week left. Should I be looking into long-term rentals?” Clark gave his assistant a startled blink. He must really be distracted if he hadn’t even noticed her curled up in the corner of the sofa with the latest copy of People. Lana held the magazine up for Clark to see. “Nice shot of you and the Star’s entertainment editor at the Riverdance opening. What was her name again?”
As if Lana didn’t know. She never forgot a name, nor the face that went with it. She was obviously trying to nudge Clark out of his funk. “Melissa something,” was his distracted reply.
Lana put her magazine down and gave her friend her undivided attention. He was brooding, and it was her job to talk him through it and out the other side. “Her name is Melanie Morgan, not Melissa. Seriously, Clark, are you still worried about Luthor and his tests?”
“Huh?” After a confused moment, Clark’s brain caught up with Lana’s question. He stopped pacing and, leaning against the back of an armchair, regarded her over it. “No, not really,” he replied. “I’ve dealt with his type before. If Superman gives in to that kind of blackmail it just lets the bad guys win. And Mom was right: it’s the idea of Superman that’s important, even if he can’t be everywhere at once.”
“So what’s the trouble, then? You’re obsessing over something. Are you still thinking about making Metropolis a more permanent base for Superman and Clark Kent? You hate big cities. Is it really that important to stay in one place just to prove Luthor wrong?”
“No, it’s not about Luthor. At least not only about him. I admit that part of me wants to stay here just to make Superman a fly in Luthor’s ointment, but it’s bigger than that.”
“Superman could find things to do anywhere on Earth, you know. Metropolis doesn’t hold the monopoly on crime or disaster.”
Clark waved a dismissive hand and shook his head. “I know that. And we hashed this all out last night. Superman doesn’t need to stay in one city. And it’s unlikely that anyone would connect him with Clark Kent’s travel itinerary.” His eyes went back to the city spread out below him. “No, it’s something else. Something I can’t put my finger on. I don’t know what it is. I just have the gut feeling that I need to be here, at least for a while.”
“Superman! Help!”
He knew that voice. “Lois Lane’s in trouble,” he told Lana as he strode toward the master bedroom’s balcony. In seconds Clark was in the Suit and in the air.
Why was Lois’s voice coming from the sky above him rather than the city streets below? Clark scanned the sky with his telescopic vision. He could hear her repeating his new name, “Superman, Superman, Superman,” over and over, but where was she? Finally, he saw her. She was sounding truly panicked now, and Clark quickly realized why. Lois was 15,000 feet up, and in free fall.
Quickly Clark zoomed to her side and scooped her into his arms.
“You really can read minds!” she exclaimed in breathless relief.
“No,” Clark couldn’t help smiling as he cradled her again, “but I do have pretty good hearing.”
Lois grinned back at him. “Thank goodness for that!” she said. “For a minute there I was afraid I was about to prove Trask wrong the hard way.”
“Trask?” Clark didn’t know who or what Lois was talking about.
“A rogue military nutcase who thinks you’re trying to take over the planet.”
“Your newspaper?” Why would Superman want to take over a newspaper? She wasn’t making any sense.
“No, not the Daily Planet. Planet Earth. The whole world. If you’ll take me back to my office I can explain the whole story to you.”
“Actually, we’re already there,” Clark replied, depositing Lois gently on the roof of the famous newspaper building. “The window’s locked today.” He winked at her.
What did he think he was doing? Flirting with Lois Lane?! He must be crazy! But, as Clark looked for Lois’s reaction to his teasing remark, she was gaping and pointing in terror at something behind him. Turning to look in the direction of Lois’s gaze, Clark saw a fast approaching missile. In an instant he was in the air again.
Lois saw Superman fly to the missile and wrestle it from its intended course. Before he could release it on its new trajectory toward outer space, the missile exploded with a tremendous roar and Superman was thrown backward, out of Lois’s line of sight, toward the streets below.
No! No, no, no, no, no! It couldn’t end this way. Not after he’d saved her life twice—no, that missile made it three times—and carried her through the air in his arms.
Hoping against hope, Lois ran to the edge of the Planet’s roof and peered over. There was no sign of the hero in the street below. She scanned the horizon in front of her, what little of it she could see through the skyscrapers of the business district. “Superman!” she called in desperation. “Oh God, no,” she muttered to herself.
Lois turned back around, intending to run down the stairs to the newsroom below. Surely other people had witnessed the explosion. Someone must have seen what had become of her hero. Her progress was impeded by the sudden arrival of said hero directly in her path.
Overcome with relief, Lois launched herself toward him, throwing her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her in return as she poured out her joy at seeing him safe and sound.
“Superman! You’re alright! You’re alive!” She pulled back to get a look at him. She even started to reach her hands up as if to cradle his face in her hands. She had a brief glimpse of her own delight mirrored in Superman’s face before they both froze.
In an instant, the twin grins collapsed into matching pictures of embarrassed awkwardness. Lois quickly stepped out of Superman’s embrace as the hero cleared his throat, bringing one loose fist up to cover his mouth.
“Yes, well, thank you for your concern, Ms. Lane, but, as you can see, I’m not hurt. Are you okay as well?” The tone was sincere, concerned, but definitely professional.
“Yes, I’m fine, Superman.” Lois smoothed the imaginary wrinkles from her skirt. “Thank you for rescuing me. Again.”
That earned a small smile from the hero. “You’re welcome. I believe you’re my first repeat customer. I hope this isn’t getting to be a habit, putting yourself in mortal danger.”
“Well, this time it wasn’t really my fault,” she replied, “which reminds me, I really would like to tell you the whole story behind this.”
“I thought you reporters were supposed to tell the rest of us to read all about it in our morning paper.” That time Superman earned the smile from Lois.
“Normally, yes. But I think there are some parts of this story that might not make it into my article—parts that concern you and that you should know about. Also, I think I have something that belongs to you.” Superman raised his eyebrows in mute surprise at that last remark. “Could we talk privately?” Lois continued, “Maybe at my apartment this evening?”
Superman seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he gave a brief nod. “I think that can be arranged. I’ll need your address. And, if you don’t mind, it might be better if I came through a window rather than your front door. I’m assuming that there are other tenants in your building, and I wouldn’t want my visit there to become grist for the rumor mill.”
“It’s a date, then,” Lois stated, pulling a business card out of her jacket pocket. Reaching into an inside pocket for a pen, she scrawled her home address and phone number on the back. “Is 8:00 too late for you?” she asked as she handed Superman the card.
“No. 8:00 is fine.” He seemed a little nonplussed, as if he still couldn’t quite believe that he had agreed to this.
Lois decided to make her exit before he had a chance to change his mind. “Great,” she said, and reached to shake his hand. “I’ll see you then. I’ll leave the living room window open. Just come straight in when you get there and no one should see you.” She backed her way to the stairwell door as she spoke. “I’m really glad you’re okay. And thanks again for the rescue. See you tonight.”
Before he could reply, she was through the door and on her way back to the newsroom. This story was getting bigger by the second. Wait till Perry saw that warehouse!
