"You want to get into the suits?" Clark asked. "That'll make 'em happy. Superman has been asked about a million times about how he's finding married life and when Ultra Woman will be seen again."

Lois looked at her watch. It was just after seven. "OK, it's currently five in the morning in Metropolis. We could go to your apartment, find something to do to while away a couple of hours, and then maybe go out for breakfast - try a new cafe."

"Breakfast?" Clark said with a smile. "By then, it'll be nearly bedtime for you."

She poked his chest. "Honestly, Kent," she said. "You have developed a seriously one-track mind since becoming a married man."

He didn't deny her allegation ... merely kissed her, although his vigour had subsided a little. "Let's go, honey," he said. "Metropolis awaits us."


Part 52

Superman - with Ultra Woman in his arms - dropped into one of the quieter Metropolis streets. Lois slid to her feet and felt Clark's hand enclose hers. She smiled and waved in response to the squeals of excitement that rose from the nearby people as they rushed towards the caped couple.

||_||

Mayson picked up her cell and saw that the incoming call was from Albert - her best source. She sighed, hoping he wasn't going to cancel their meeting that afternoon. "Mayson Drake," she said.

"Superman and Ultra Woman are having breakfast at the Blueberry Cafe."

"Both of them?"

"Yes."

"Thanks, Albert." Mayson hung up and hesitated. She wanted to talk to Superman alone - to inform him she had the green rock. That conversation couldn't happen in a cafe, but even so, there might be something to be gained from an encounter with the honeymooners. She picked up her bag and hurried from the Planet.

||_||

It had taken Superman and Ultra Woman nearly ten minutes to get to their table - everyone in the cafe wanted to offer congratulations and ask veiled questions about 'married life'. Lois considered standing on a table and making a general announcement that when it came to his performance in the sack, Superman was indeed *super*. Her mind conjured an image of Clark's expression should she actually do that ... and she smothered her giggle.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked from the other side of the table.

"If you must know," she replied. "I was thinking about your outstanding capabilities in certain aspects of married life."

Superman's face stayed appropriately deadpan, but his eyes crinkled with silent laughter.

"It's what they all want to know," Lois said with an inconspicuous nod towards the rest of the world. "But they're too polite to ask." Suddenly, a wild idea swamped her mind. "Lean over, and kiss me," she whispered to her husband.

"What? Here? Now?"

Lois nodded. "Then they'll all know that things are peachy in the Super marital bed."

"Ultra Woman," he said, as if trying to curb her waywardness.

She grinned at his tone. "Do it," she challenged. "Kiss your wife."

Clark considered her for a long moment as his smile peeked from behind the superhero mask. Then he reached across the table, captured her face in his gentle hands, and kissed her - and it wasn't quick and chaste as she had expected, but the lingering kiss of a man in love. Before ending their kiss, his tongue snuck briefly into her mouth.

"Very daring, Superman," she teased.

"Everyone is watching us," Clark said. "And those with cameras are taking photos."

"If we keep kissing in public, the photos will quickly lose their significance," Lois said easily. "Soon no one will even notice when Superman kisses his wife."

The waitress arrived to take their order. Lois ordered the waffles. Clark ordered the eggs Benedict. They smiled secretly at each other - it seemed strange to be ordering breakfast when, despite the early morning sunshine, it felt like evening.

"This is nice," Lois said. "I know you had some reservations about Ultra Woman, but without my suit, we wouldn't be able to do this." The door opened and a woman entered the cafe. Lois groaned softly under her breath. "Here's trouble," she said.

It was Mayson Drake.

Mayson Drake - the woman who had dared to invade Clark's bed ... the woman who had used the green rock to try to humiliate Superman at his wedding. Lois felt her latent anger stir to life.

Mayson came directly to their table and looked down at Clark. "Superman," she said, her eyelids beating double time. "You're back from your honeymoon."

"We might be back," Lois interjected. "But the honeymoon is far from over."

Mayson smiled tightly. "Such a delightful wedding," she said, her tone dripping with insincerity.

"Yes, it was," Lois replied evenly. "It was everything we had hoped for. Ms King did a wonderful job."

Mayson's smile clenched tighter, and Lois scored one to herself. "I'm sure she has a talent for such occasions," Mayson said, managing to coat the final word with a layer of disapproval.

"What a pity you had to leave early."

Mayson's facade of pleasantry dropped away. "I'm a reporter," she said tartly. "A good reporter never misses the opportunity for a story."

"I would have thought that a good reporter would need the ability to accurately predict the outcome of her actions," Lois noted.

"Those photos were worth more to me than attending a wedding of very little consequence."

"If they are worth so much to you, why didn't you publish them?" Lois asked. Under the table, she felt Clark's boot gently touch hers in silent warning, but now that she was face to face with this woman, Lois wasn't feeling the slightest inclination to back down. "Perhaps your editor has enough class to thwart your efforts to drag the paper through the gutter?"

"We decided to bide our time and determine the most effective way to use the photos."

Lois decided to go for the jugular. "That's going to be quite an achievement," she said. "Considering the guards confiscated your camera."

Mayson's mouth gaped. "How do you know they took my camera?" she asked.

Lois allowed only a modicum of her inner triumph to show. "Well, there's this thing called x-ray vision," she informed Mayson. "And Superman has it."

"But Superman was -" Mayson stopped.

"Superman was what?" Lois asked sweetly.

"Superman was on the floor ... incapacitated."

Lois reached over to her husband and ran the tip of her finger along his forearm. "Incapacitated?" she drawled. "That's not the word that springs to my mind when I think about our wedding day."

Mayson leant towards Lois and spoke in a low, cold tone. "You are so smug with your alien husband and your ridiculous costumes, but when it all comes crashing down - and it will - you won't need to read the byline to know who has won this war." She turned and flounced away.

"How did you know?" Clark asked, as the cafe door slammed.

"About Mayson's camera?"

He nodded.

"It made sense," Lois replied. "The Star would have done everything to ensure that no photos left the building other than those taken by their official photographer."

"So you didn't *know*? You guessed?"

Lois nodded. "Looks like I was right, though."

"That's a relief," Clark said. "If those photos were printed, people would begin speculating about the ... ah ... stuff again."

Lois smiled at him. "There is *no* stuff, Superman," she said. "Not anymore."

"We hope."

"When Trask had it - you overcame it without my help. At the wedding, we worked together, and although I hate what happened in those few minutes, the effects overall were minimal."

"What if she hadn't left? What if -"

"I would have attacked her and snatched it away."

Clark's eyes widened, and Lois could see he wasn't sure whether he believed her or not.

"Remember the morning after we met?" Lois said. "Cold weather? Damp ground? Red leather? Remember how I beat you because I'd trained for years? She wouldn't stand a chance against a decent tackle. I'm sure I could dispossess her."

Clark's mouth gaped, and then an inhibited version of his smile wriggled free. "Sweetheart, you shouldn't even think about doing that."

"Why not?" she demanded. "You're thinking about it."

He didn't deny it. "You know," he said. "I get the feeling that you and I could find a way to overcome just about anything if we're together."

Lois grinned. "I'm glad you've finally realised that," she said. "Sometimes, for all your speed, you're a little slow on the uptake."

He didn't reply verbally, though his eyes gave away how much he was enjoying their conversation.

Lois leant forward. "Please," she begged. "Please make me pay for that comment later."

"What do you suggest?"

"You could kiss me until I beg for mercy."

His mouth twitched, and she knew that Superman was perilously close to cracking his superhero mask.

Luckily for him, the waitress chose that moment to arrive with their meals.

||_||

After they had eaten their breakfast, Superman and Ultra Woman talked with the crowd that had gathered outside the cafe and then slowly lifted into the air and flew away.

Clark took them high enough to be out of sight before zooming onto the balcony of his apartment. They went in, and two spins later, they were both dressed in jeans and t-shirts.

"Have you got any more information about the Boss?" Lois asked as she sank onto his couch.

"The Boss?" Clark sat next to her and she curled into the crook of his arm. "Where did that come from?"

"I've been thinking about it a lot," Lois said. "And being in Metropolis ... There have to be answers. It's just a matter of finding them."

"I haven't heard anything since the prisoner's message on his death bed," Clark said.

"What about the English guy who was killed a couple of weeks ago? The guy with six missing years?"

"Still nothing," Clark said. "I chased up every angle I could think of, and I kept hitting dead ends."

"Was he rich?" Lois persisted. "Back in England, did he live in an exclusive area? Did he have old money?"

"No. Even in England there was little about him that was noteworthy. He seemed to live a quiet, solitary life that enabled him to blend into his surroundings."

"What if they're linked?"

"Nigel St John and the Boss?" Clark said. "How could they be linked?"

"You said it's believed that the Boss is behind eighty percent of the crime in Metropolis. If that's true, the odds are that the Boss had something to do with Nigel St John's death."

Clark mulled over that. "If that were the case, the Boss must have known St John."

"Or known of him," Lois said. "You said the prisoner who murdered the other inmate insisted it was merely a fight that got out of hand."

"Yeah - he said it was over a stolen packet of cigarettes."

"So, if the murdered guy was going to spill what he knew about the Boss, and the Boss organised his murder to keep him quiet, there have to be reasons why the murderer was willing to take the rap ... The Boss must be more scary than a murder conviction ... or so powerful that the murderer thinks the Boss can save him ... therefore, the Boss is rich, and he has clout."

Clark felt his head begin to reel. "Would you like to go over that again?" he asked. "Slowly, this time?'

Her grin flashed and then she continued. "The bottom line is that the Boss has a lot of money ... which means he could provide Nigel St John with an entire lifestyle without the need for a paper trail."

"You think Nigel St John worked for the Boss ... and then the Boss had him killed?"

"I think it's enough that we could begin there and see where it leads."

"We?" Clark questioned with a wide grin.

Lois nodded. "We're a team, Kent. You're stuck with me."

"If you're hankering for some team-building activities, there are other ways besides investigating dead Englishmen," Clark noted.

Before Lois could respond, a knock sounded at the door, and Clark groaned. His irritation turned to alarm when he looked through the door and saw Mayson Drake.

"Hold on, honey," he said as he swept Lois into his arms and shot them into his bedroom. He opened the secret compartment in his closet and bodily lifted her into it. "Sorry. Mayson's here," he muttered as he closed the door. He removed his wedding ring and stuffed it into his jeans pocket. A second later, he opened the door.

"Mayson," he said.

"Clark," she greeted with a smile that turned his stomach. "I thought it was about time we caught up."

"I'm not due in the office for a few hours yet."

"But we've hardly seen each other since you got back from Australia," she grumbled. "You were only home for a few days, and you went back again; then you went to Smallville to see your folks ... and now I hear you're going to Australia *again* on Saturday. And with this silly idea of you working in the evenings, we don't even see each other much in the office."

"Perry doesn't seem to have any complaints about how I'm doing my job," Clark said.

A flicker of hurt crossed her face at his harsh tone, but he felt no remorse. "Clark," Mayson said, "I'm sorry for what happened between us before you went to Australia. I know I made some mistakes, but I'd really like it if we could put all that behind us and start again."

"There's nothing to start," he said shortly.

"You can't mean that, Clark," Mayson said. "I know you feel something for me." She smiled cloyingly. "A woman can tell these things."

"Mayson," Clark said, allowing an impatient edge to sharpen his tone. "There is nothing between us. There will *never* be anything between us. I don't feel anything for you. You need to accept that and move on."

"I tried," she said, her eyes becoming moist. "I thought that if things worked out with Lex, I would be able to forget the pain of your rejection, but instead I learnt that there is only one man who can make me truly happy."

Clark sighed. "I'm sorry you feel like that, Mayson," he said. "But I will never feel that way about you. I don't love you. I won't ever love you."

"Why, Clark?" she demanded. "Why are you so afraid of your true feelings?"

"I'm not afraid of my true feelings. I am in love with someone in Australia, and it's my hope and intention that I will be with her for the rest of my life."

Mayson regarded him with a patronising gaze. "Clark," she said as if she were explaining something patently simple. "You're an intelligent man. How could you fall for someone so dull and uninspiring that she writes about football? Any shrink would tell you that this is a desperate plea from your heart to connect with your real love."

"I have connected with my real love," Clark said. "And it's not you, Mayson."

"Will you take me out for lunch?" she said. "I have -"

"No."

"I have to meet a source later - Albert, the bald-headed bookworm who somehow always knows what is going on - but I have a few hours free first. Come with me, and later, I'll introduce you to Albert."

She usually guarded her sources with rampant jealousy. "Mayson -"

"I'm not expecting to need Albert as much now. I, ah, ... it's not something I want to talk about, but I have another source that I expect to work out superbly. If you come with me -"

"Mayson, I'm not coming to lunch with you, and I'm not -"

Mayson's cell sounded, and she snatched it from her bag. After listening for a few seconds, she hung up and looked at Clark. "Hostage situation at the hospital," she said. "Shots fired. Come on, Clark. Let's cover it together."

"You go."

"Clark, this is going to be a big story. Front page. We'll share the byline. Come on."

"No, Mayson. You go. I'm staying here."

With a final scornful glare, she scurried away.

Clark shut his door and turned to find Lois already emerging from his bedroom. "Go," she said. "They need Superman."

"I'll take you home first."

"There's no time. I can sleep here just as well as I can sleep in Melbourne."

"But -"

"Go, Clark. While we argue, people's lives could be in danger."

Clark spun into the suit. "Stay here," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

||_||

Finding herself suddenly alone, Lois surveyed Clark's apartment. It was a little understated, but it reminded her of Clark - unpretentious, dependable, discreet.

She wandered back into his bedroom and looked at the bed they had straightened together after dishevelling it rather extensively following their arrival from Melbourne. Her happy recollections turned sour as she remembered that Mayson had also been in this bed.

Hopefully, Clark had disinfected the sheets after he'd returned home. Lois managed a self-deprecating smile at the way her annoyance rose every single time she thought about the audacity of Mayson Drake inviting herself into Clark's bed.

Lois had heard enough of the conversation between Clark and Mayson - more than enough. Didn't that woman *ever* get the message?

Lois sat on Clark's bed and hugged his pillow. She detected a slight trace of his cologne and sighed, wishing he were here with her.

It was almost midnight in Melbourne. She should be tired, but being in Metropolis had stirred up the questions and theories that had been lurking in the background of her thoughts.

The Boss.

Nigel St John.

They were connected - Lois was sure of it. She was also sure that if they found out more about St John's life it would lead to information about the mysterious Boss.

Lois returned Clark's pillow, rose from his bed, and settled at his computer. With a smile, she typed in his password - 'Hawkette' - and waited for the Internet browser to fire up.

She scribbled notes as she worked through Clark's stories about the death of the Englishman. When she'd finished, she perused her jottings. His last known address in England was in Cornwall - and he had left in 1990.

Why?

What was the reason he had left the country of his birth?

Lois began to search for unsolved crimes committed in Cornwall in 1989 and 1990. She found nothing that leapt out as possibly involving Nigel St John. The detail was often frustratingly sketchy - there was every chance that an important fact had been missed.

She widened her search to include crimes where there had been a conviction and still came up empty. Not knowing what to do next, Lois continued moving forward chronologically. Half an hour later, she discovered that three weeks after St John's departure, there had been a major ecstasy bust in a derelict barn less than five miles from where he lived.

The police believed they had caught all those involved in smuggling the drug into England from The Netherlands ... but what excited Lois was the statement that the operation had been running for well over a year.

Was it possible that St John had been involved ... and had realised that he needed to get out? Is *that* why he had come to Metropolis and disappeared?

She found some patchy notes about the history of ecstasy use. In the early nineties, it had been a new and much sought-after drug that was being spread amongst teenagers through the means of rave parties.

Seb would know more about it - but it was the middle of the night in eastern Australia. She couldn't risk calling him - even if he were awake, the delay on the phone line would alert him that she wasn't in Australia.

Frustrated at the hit-and-miss nature of the information on the 'net, Lois decided that she needed to read all the newspaper reports from the early nineties - and to do that, she needed to access the microfiche in the library.

She found the address of Clark's local library and brought up a map. It was a five-minute walk from his apartment.

Should she go?

Clark had told her to stay here, but Lois knew she wouldn't be able to rest until she'd found some answers.

How long would it be until Clark returned?

It could be hours. Not even Superman could end a hostage situation until he was sure his actions wouldn't cause the loss of life.

Lois went into Clark's bedroom and took a casual shirt from his closet. She put it over her t-shirt and tied the front panels at her waist. She slipped on her sunglasses and swept up her hair under one of Clark's baseball caps.

She should tell Clark where she was going. There was no point messaging him - he didn't carry his mobile when he was Superman. She should leave him a note - but it had to be cryptic enough that if the blonde bitch decided to break into Clark's apartment again, she wouldn't be able to discern anything from the note.

'NSJ - old newspaper reports.'

Lois stared at the words she had written.

Would that be enough?

Lois didn't want to give any hint that could lead to the theft of Clark's story. But she did need to let him know she was OK and where to find her.

The note would be enough. She placed it on his bench and put her mobile into her bag. If he wanted to confirm her whereabouts, all he had to do was call her.

Lois hooked her bag on her shoulder and quietly slipped out of Clark's apartment.

||_||

The cab hadn't fully stopped when Mayson thrust a five-dollar bill at the driver and scrambled onto the sidewalk. She ran to the wide glass doors of the library and waited with foot-tapping impatience for them to deign to slide open.

Once inside, she scanned the assortment of library patrons but couldn't locate the shiny bald head that would signify Albert's presence.

If Albert weren't such an excellent source, she would have dumped him a long time ago. But his information was good enough that she'd been willing to overlook his obsession with punctuality. He never waited for anyone. If she arrived half a minute late, he'd be gone. He just wouldn't comprehend that time wasn't always a reporter's first priority.

The hostage situation had taken much longer to resolve than anyone had anticipated. Superman had been there when she'd arrived, and the general belief prevailed that it was a simple matter of sending in Mr Spandex to disarm the gunman, thus ending the crisis before it ever really began.

That was until the gunman had informed them he had a bomb so sensitive it would be activated by the air movement resulting from a speedy attempt by Superman to rescue the hostages.

And if he came in slowly, the gunman would begin massacring the patients.

For reasons that remained vague, Superman hadn't been able to see sufficiently well through the walls of the hospital to ascertain whether the gunman was telling the truth. And since he had so thoughtfully ensconced himself in the children's ward, the police were particularly indisposed to taking any chances. So, they had negotiated and waited until finally, Henderson and his cowboys had come up with a strategy, and the emergency had fizzled to nothing in a matter of minutes.

But the delay had made her late for her meeting with Albert. And now, he was nowhere to be seen.

She was only three minutes past their agreed meeting time of two o'clock. She would wait. Perhaps today was the one day when Mr Punctuality himself was actually running late.