Mayson stared at him for a long moment, wanting him to stew under her gaze. "Are you in a hurry to get home?" she mused.

"I'm hoping to get the story in this edition," he said calmly. "From what I heard, it's not a huge story, and if we don't get it into the morning edition, it probably won't be newsworthy by the afternoon."

She nodded thoughtfully. "And it's always nice to finish up here and get on with our personal lives." She stared at him.

He waited for her to move away, and when she didn't, he said, "The story, Mayson? Please?"

As she turned towards her own computer, doubts swamped the conclusions that only moments ago had seemed so definite. Clark hadn't shown any signs of alarm at her questions. He probably thought she was hinting about them - her and Clark - having a personal life together.

No, Clark, she thought. We've moved on. It's no longer about having you for myself, but ensuring there is no happy ending for you and the Australian tart.

Wherever she is.


Part 57

Half an hour later, Mayson submitted her story about the failed bank robbery, and Clark opened the file with some misgivings. However, Mayson had kept to the facts and included neither glowing praise nor subtle criticism of Superman.

He'd expected her to leave once she finished her story. She didn't, and Clark refused to admit - even to himself - that he wasn't all that comfortable being alone with her in the quiet newsroom. He finished a final check of the morning edition and closed down his workstation.

"Good night, Mayson," he said, hoping her reply would be minimal.

She stood as he passed her, and Clark had to suppress his groan of dismay. "Care to walk me home?" she asked as she fell into step beside him.

"No," he said. "But I'll hail a cab for you."

Mayson looked at him with an inscrutable smile that made him want to turn and run. "What do you have to do at this time of the night that is so pressing you can't see a colleague safely home?" she asked.

"A cab will see you safely home."

"So you *are* in hurry?" she persisted. "To get somewhere? Or to see someone?"

Clark sensed that her comments had underlying meaning, but whatever it was, he couldn't deduce it. "It's late," he said. "And I have a flight to Melbourne early Saturday morning."

"Ah, yes," she said with a knowing nod of her head. "The flight to Melbourne."

She was acting strangely, but Mayson's behaviour followed no rational pattern, and Clark had given up trying to make any sense of it. "Would you like me to get you a cab?" he said in an even tone that he hoped would convey that he was not going to be drawn into a prolonged conversation.

Mayson smiled. "You *are* in a hurry," she noted. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you had someone waiting for you."

The elevator doors opened, and Clark stepped in. "Are you coming?" he asked.

She hesitated, and the doors had begun sliding inwards when she finally moved forward. Clark lurched to hold the door open for her, and she smiled up at him. "Thank you."

To Clark's relief, Mayson said nothing as the elevator jolted downwards. When they reached the ground floor, he gestured for her to go first, and glancing through the entrance doors, he saw a waiting cab. "There's a cab for you," he said, rushing forward with his hand raised.

"How will you get home?" Mayson asked from behind him.

Clark opened the cab door. "I like to walk."

"And you don't want company."

"We live in different directions."

She sent him a look that said she knew that wasn't precisely the truth, but she didn't comment as she climbed into the cab.

Certain she would watch him until she'd rounded the corner, Clark slid his hands into his pockets and began to walk nonchalantly in the direction of his apartment. Once he was safe from Mayson's prying eyes, he slipped into an alley, shot high above the city, and flew west.

He landed in Lois's unit, and as she turned to him, his air current fluttered though her hair. Her smile welcomed him, and her arms surrounded him.

He held her closely against his body and let her presence saturate him.

It felt like coming home, and it was so sweet.

"You OK?" Lois asked.

Clark nodded but didn't loosen his arms. "I just need you."

"Trouble? What delayed you?"

"Bank robbery. Thanks for coming home early. Sorry I'm later than I thought I would be."

Lois eased back and looked into his face with concern. "What happened?" she asked. "Did something go wrong? Did someone get hurt?"

"No. I heard the alarm, and after that, it all went smoothly."

"Did you get the bad guys?"

"Yeah." Clark kissed his wife, and her essence spread through him like warmed honey. He moved deeper, his tongue searching for its mate, but she backed away, ending what had felt to him like a beginning. He tried to read the expression on her face. "Are you OK, honey?"

Lois smiled - perhaps in apology, perhaps in reassurance. "Can we talk?" she asked.

"OK," he agreed. He sat on the couch, concerned despite Lois's smile. She sat next to him - her body turned towards him - and she took his hand in hers. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"About the hostage situation. The one at the hospital."

"It ended well," Clark said lightly. "The gunman was arrested, and no one got hurt."

"I read Mayson's report."

"Oh."

Lois shuffled closer and put her other hand on his arm. "She made it sound like you had hampered the rescue, and I'm sure that wasn't the case, so I wondered what happened."

"I wanted to go in as soon as I got there," Clark said. "I was sure I could disable the bomb and disarm the man without anyone getting hurt. But the police were already gathered outside the hospital when I arrived, and they weren't sure because the gunman said he had a bomb so sensitive my arrival would detonate it, and because of the lead pipes in the walls, I couldn't get an adequate look at it. So we waited for reinforcements ... and then we strategized ... and then, basically, I went in and disabled the bomb and disarmed the man."

"Mayson skimmed over the actual details of your part and concentrated on the delay."

"Yeah."

"She's trying to provoke you. She thinks that because she has the green rock, she can write whatever she wants."

Clark nodded. Lois's hand was gliding along his forearm, and he wanted to close his eyes and relish her touch.

"But that doesn't explain why you didn't tell me."

He had to re-summon his brain cells. He hadn't realised how tired he was until he'd sat on the couch. It was only late afternoon in Melbourne, but his body no longer marched to the step of any time zone. Lois was watching him, and lingering concern had deepened the brown of her eyes. "I got back to my apartment, and you weren't there," he said, endeavouring to keep all reproach from his tone. "When you came, you were really tired, so I brought you back to Melbourne."

"You were here last night," Lois said. "Why didn't you tell me then?"

She didn't seem annoyed, although Clark couldn't be completely sure. He offered her a smile. "I was having too much fun making up," he said. "And then we worked on your Brownlow story."

"I know you would've felt terrible about the police not fully trusting you," Lois said. "And Mayson emphasising the indecision rather than the outcome would've only made it worse." She brushed back the lock of hair on his forehead. "I wish you'd shared it with me."

"I was OK," Clark said. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"You needed me," she said. "But I didn't realise."

Clark felt the cover of her love settle over him as he realised that any acrimony Lois was feeling was directed at herself and not him. "Honey," he said as he stroked her neck. "You can't blame yourself for this. We both live busy lives - in two cities on different sides of the world. We'll always try to be there for each other, but -"

"But I feel like I failed you."

"You didn't." He smiled into her troubled eyes. "We've been married for almost six days. Most couples are still on their honeymoon with nothing to worry except having a good time and getting to know each other. We've had murder investigations, and Brownlow leaks, and green rock, and hidden cameras."

"Not to mention Mayson Drake," Lois said resentfully.

"Mayson can't hurt us," he said with quiet confidence. "She thinks she can, but she doesn't have the green rock."

"I got so mad when I read her story," Lois admitted. "I wanted to go to Metropolis and order her to leave Superman alone."

Clark chuckled and placed a pair of kisses on her hand. "Lois Lane can't do that," he reminded her.

"Ultra Woman can."

Clark moved from her hand and touched kisses along her forearm. "I have a better idea."

He heard her chuckle, and he smiled around his continuing kisses. "Does it involve going to bed?" Lois asked.

"Sounds great ...'cept for Esmeralda. She gets antsy if she hears banging."

"She apologised."

"She what?" Clark broke from his trail of kisses and looked up. "She apologised?"

"She said she was sorry she'd told you I had other men in here."

"What happened?"

"I don't -" Sudden comprehension lifted Lois's eyebrows. "I bet Seb told her that I've been keeping secrets because of the big story I've been working on. That's what he told Chris."

"The Brownlow story?"

"I guess so."

Clark grinned. "Then we're fine ... you'll just have to keep coming up with humungous stories so Ezzie doesn't ask too many questions."

"And if I can't keep coming up with *humungous* stories?"

"The excuse has a limited life-span ... so we should definitely make the most of it."

Lois smiled. "Have you heard back from England yet?"

"No," Clark said. He checked his watch. "I should hear in a couple of hours. I suggest we use that time wisely and go to bed. Then ... if there *is* a story, you can help me write it."

Lois didn't answer verbally. She leant forward and kissed him an unequivocal invitation. Clark lifted from the couch and drifted them slowly to her bed.

||_||

Darkness had fallen outside when Clark switched on Lois's computer and opened his email account. "They've replied," he called to her.

She came running from the bedroom. "Really? What do they say?"

Clark speed-read the email and then turned to Lois with a wide grin. "You did it," he said. "You found out why Nigel St John left England and in the process, you uncovered a huge clue to his murder."

"St John *is* Glisten?" Lois squeaked.

Clark nodded and pulled Lois onto his lap. "You are amazing," he said.

"I knew there had to be more to the story."

Clark brushed a light finger down the curve of her cheek. "Lois ..."

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever considered that you could write stories other than footy?"

She dropped her eyes to where her hand was resting on his hastily donned and untucked shirt. "Yes," she whispered. Her head lifted. "Yes," she repeated with more surety. "I've thought about it."

"Have you thought about working with me? Long term? Writing general news? Investigating cases?"

"In Metropolis?"

Her face held so many more questions than the one she had voiced. "Not necessarily."

"In Melbourne?"

"I'm not suggesting anything specific, honey," Clark said. "I just wanted to know if you'd considered it."

"I enjoyed it," she admitted. "I enjoyed researching St John and trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. I felt great when the bugs were found in the umpires' rooms. And I enjoyed the challenge of writing something so different to what I usually do."

"You are a gifted footy journo," Clark said. "I told you that at Kardinia Park on the day you took me to Geelong."

Lois smiled at him. "The day you warmed my socks?"

He nodded. "And the day you held my hand for the first time."

"You weren't worried that I'd fall into Corio Bay, were you?" Lois asked. "You just wanted to hold my hand."

"Guilty." Clark held out his hand, and she put hers in it. "About you being a wonderful football writer," he said. "I meant it then, and I mean it now. And I hope you know that I won't *ever* force you into doing anything you don't want to do."

"I want to be with you," she said in a small voice.

"And you will be with me."

"I'm going to vote against the merger and hope like crazy that the Hawthorn members give our club a chance to rebuild," Lois said. "But that is going to make it difficult for us to be together openly."

"We will work out something," Clark said.

Lois smiled tremulously. "I can't dump an old love just because a new, exciting love has come into my life."

Clark lifted her chin and kissed her gently. "I love your loyalty," he said. "I love that Hawthorn will always have a place in your heart. I love that when Hawthorn was threatened, you worked harder, made sacrifices, and never, ever gave up."

"If I *had* given up, we could be thinking about getting married as Lois and Clark - we wouldn't have to hide away all the time."

"I wouldn't have you any other way," he said. "The Lois Lane I know and love never turns away from something she cares about."

"I care about you," she said as her hand skimmed across his face. She kissed him.

Clark felt his heart respond to her touch. "We should write the story," he murmured.

She broke away from their kiss and regarded him with an amused expression. "That's not what you're really thinking," she said.

"No," he agreed. "I'm thinking that I should go to Metropolis a lot earlier than usual so I can talk to Perry and get the St John story in the afternoon edition. And I'm thinking that if we get it written now, there might be some spare time before I leave."

"Some spare time?" she said as her fingers undid the top button of his shirt.

"We should write the story first," Clark said, although he made no attempt to stop her from undoing his second button.

"We should," Lois said. "But I work better with inspiration." She undid the rest of his buttons and spread open his shirt. She sighed with satisfaction as she devoured his chest with her eyes. "OK," she said. "Now I can write."

||_||

"Some of the questions have answers, but we still don't know who killed St John," Lois said after they had finished writing their story.

"And we don't know why," Clark added.

"We do know there is a reasonable chance that it was drug-related." She wrinkled her brow. "Is the Boss involved in drugs?"

"We know so little about him," Clark said. "But drugs seem to be a part of most big crime organisations."

"I still think that St John and the Boss are linked," Lois said. "The Boss would have the resources to fund an undocumented life such as St John had, and we now know St John was involved in crime."

Clark kissed her. "Keep thinking about it, Ms Lane. I'm always willing to listen to your ideas."

She grinned. "How long until Perry will be at the Daily Planet?"

"About three hours."

"Do you want food, sleep, or sex?"

Clark grinned. "You do have a way of setting out the alternatives in a wonderfully forthright manner," he said. "And I'd like all three."

Lois chuckled. "Then I guess all we have to decide is the order."

||_||

Early Friday morning, Mayson walked across the newsroom to her desk. In her pocket, she had a printout of the photo of Lois Lane. She was meeting Albert in the library at ten o'clock. Yet another of his quirks was that he wouldn't meet her anywhere except the library - and it didn't open until ten.

Soon, she would know with certainty whether the woman at the microfiche had been Lois Lane.

Mayson reached her desk and turned on her computer. While it was starting up, she walked to the coffee machine.

She heard a movement in Perry's office and looked up. The door opened, and to her surprise, it was Kent who walked out. He hadn't been in the office this early since he'd changed his work schedule.

"Great story, Clark," she heard Perry call.

Mayson watched as Kent returned to his desk. She took a second cup and poured another coffee. Olsen stopped at Kent's desk, and they laughed over a shared comment. Mayson waited until Jimmy had moved on and then she picked up both cups and took them to Clark. She placed one in front of him and waited for his response.

He looked up at her. "Thanks."

She hitched her leg onto his desk, lamenting that she had chosen to wear a pantsuit today instead of a short skirt. "You're here early."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I'm following up a story."

"A story you can't do this afternoon?"

"I got an email from England; they aren't in our time zone."

She inched further onto his desk. "What's the story about?"

"Nigel St John - the guy who was murdered a few weeks ago."

Mayson nearly spat her coffee across his desk. "Nigel St John?" she exclaimed. "As in NSJ?"

There was no immediate response to her question. "I suppose so," Clark said as if that association had never occurred to him.

Mayson skimmed her finger around the rim of her cup and then deliberately fixed her gaze on Clark. "Did you look in old newspaper reports?"

This time, there was a reaction to her question, but Kent smothered it quickly. "I still have leads to chase up," he said. "If you're interested, my story will be in the afternoon edition."

Mayson wasn't going to be pushed away. Not this time.

"I want to talk with you," she said in a low, cold voice.

"I have a st -"

"Your choice, Kent," she said. "Either we speak here - and the entire newsroom listens - or we speak in the conference room."

Kent seemed to take a moment to decide. Then, with a sigh, he rose from his seat and strode to the conference room. He opened the door and walked straight in. The fact that he didn't open the door and wait for her to enter gave ample evidence of his agitated state of mind.

Mayson closed the door and stepped forward. "I'll get straight to the point," she said.

"I'd appreciate that. I have work to do."

"I know you're not going to Australia tomorrow."

Kent's mouth dropped with what looked like genuine surprise. "Really?" he said. "Have you checked with the airlines?"

"No."

"Then I suggest you do. Assuming you can cajole them into revealing private passenger information, you'll find that I have booked a ticket to Melbourne on a flight leaving Metropolis on Saturday morning."

"Did you book one seat? Or two?"

His eyebrows rose in question. "One," he said as if it were obvious.

"How is Lois getting home?" Mayson asked. "And why would you be going to Australia when she's here in Metropolis?"

He shook his head in bewilderment. "Lois isn't here," he said. "She's in Melbourne."

"She isn't at her paper," Mayson fired at him. "She's on leave."

"You called the Herald Sun?" Kent gasped. His shock was gratifying.

"Yes," Mayson said lightly. "I know she's here, and to confirm it, I called her paper, and her editor said she was on extended leave."

Kent pulled his right hand out of his pocket and lifted it in the gesture he used when he wanted to claw back control. "Mayson," he said. "You're not going to understand this, but Lois is on leave because her football club is under threat of being merged with another one, so she's been campaigning to keep that from happening."

Mayson laughed at his feeble explanation. "She's left her job to save a football club?" she sneered.

"Yes," Kent said earnestly. "Unless you've been there, you could never understand how important football is in Melbourne."

"Important enough to put a career on hold?" Mayson said with contemptuous disbelief.

"Yes," he insisted. "She's been volunteering with a group called Operation Payback to try to stop the merger."

"And you seriously expect me to believe that you've fallen in love with a woman who would do *that*?" Mayson demanded.

"I don't really care what you believe," he said wearily.

"You should," Mayson said. "You should care a lot because I can prove that Lois Lane was in the library in Metropolis on Wednesday afternoon. I can prove that is how she knew to look for the bugs for her story about the medal. And I know that it was her story that led to the arrest of the Australian that Henderson was talking about. The Australian who just happened to be in the library at the same time as Lois Lane."

With each of her assertions, another layer of impassive mask had settled on Kent's face. "Lois is in Melbourne," he said stonily. "I am going there on Saturday because the vote that will decide the future of her club happens on Monday night."

"You're flying all the way to Melbourne because of a football club?" Mayson said incredulously.

"Yes, I am," he stated firmly. "It's important to Lois, and I want to be there for her."

Mayson shook her head. "Australia turned you into an even bigger joke than Kansas did," she said.

"Is that it?" he asked, and there was harshness in his voice now.

"No," Mayson snapped. "I want to know about the note on the floor of your apartment - the one suggesting that the key to St John's murder was to be found in old newspaper reports."

"That's how I got the story," Clark said. "Nigel St John was involved in a drug operation in Cornwall before he moved to the States. He left just prior to it being busted. The bust was reported in the papers."

"So why was the note in your apartment?"

His eyebrows narrowed. "Mayson," he said. "A more pertinent question is why you were in my apartment."

"I'm an investigative reporter," she threw back at him. "I investigate."

"That doesn't give you the right to break and enter."

She smirked. "But you're not going to make a complaint, because as I've already told you, I can prove that Lois Lane was in Metropolis on Wednesday."

He swung around and headed for the door.

"Kent!"

He stopped but didn't turn to face her.

"The note wasn't in your handwriting."

"I have sources, too, Mayson," he said.

"Is one of your *sources* a brunette with brown eyes and -"

"Mayson," he said, low and intense. He wheeled around, and the depths of anger radiating from him felt like a slap to her face. "Everything you've told me sounds like you've been stalking me. It sounds like the ravings of a woman who can't accept reality and can't control her obsession with a man who will *never* love her." He turned and stormed from the conference room.

||_||

At his desk, Clark pretended to read the document on his computer screen.

Inside his chest, his heart was thumping. Inside his head, his mind was whirling.

Mayson knew Lois had been in the library in Metropolis!

She knew about Lois's Brownlow story. She knew it had led to Kendray's arrest.

Was that *all* she knew?

She hadn't mentioned Superman or Ultra Woman.

With an effort far greater than he needed to circumnavigate the globe in less than the blink of an eye, Clark turned his attention to the story.

He needed to contact Henderson and tell him about this development in the St John case.

Clark was glad now that his cautious nature had prevented him from mentioning Lois's involvement to Perry, but she was weaved through his entire story. This was really *her* story - she had done the research; she had chased up the lead; she had co-written the story - and it was impossible to think about the story without also thinking about Lois.

Which led back to Mayson.

How much did she know?

Upon leaving the conference room, she'd come over to retrieve her cup of coffee and take it back to her desk. Clark had ignored her.

He didn't want to be in the same room as her.

He didn't want to look at her blonde head and wonder what she was planning to do next.

Clark stood abruptly, deciding he would go to the police station instead of calling Henderson.

On the way, he detoured to his apartment. Once inside, he inhaled deeply and detected the very faint trace of the rather sickly perfume Mayson used.

She *had* been here.

He saw the note on the floor and picked it up.

It was Lois's handwriting.

And Mayson had seen it.

He scrunched it in his fist. He hated the thought of Mayson having even the slightest contact with Lois.

Clark deposited the note in his pocket and surveyed his apartment, looking for anything else Mayson might have noticed.

Other than when he'd been here with Lois on Wednesday, he'd spent very little time here since their wedding. Even before that, he'd fallen into the habit of dropping in for only seconds to change his clothes, or have a quick shower.

He x-rayed through the ceiling into the roof space. His spare Superman suits were there - untouched.

His apartment was a little dusty, but there was nothing visible that spoke of his double - triple if you included being Superman, a Metropolis reporter, and a Melbourne husband - life. He crossed to the other side of the room and blew the dust out the balcony door.

There was every chance Mayson would come back. Clark went to the drawer next to his bed, and he took out his passport and airplane ticket and secured them in his jacket pocket. He wouldn't put it beyond Mayson to steal them.

Then he locked the door and headed for the police station.

||_||

Luthor poured himself a glass of red wine.

Superman had dealt with the attempt to rob the bank with such ease that it hardly constituted a story.

Lex needed something more dramatic ... something more in keeping with Mayson's skills.

He sipped from the wine, his mind working.

A gas leak.

Multiple gas leaks. Simultaneously.

He would see how the caped alien coped with that.

And how the blonde hackette would write it.

There was a soft knock on his door. "Come in, Mrs Cox," he called.

His personal assistant entered. "You called for me, Mr Luthor?"

"Yes. I wish you to call Ms Drake and arrange a date for tonight."

"Ms Drake?" she repeated, doing a poor job of hiding her distaste.

Luthor covered his smile. He was well aware of Mrs Cox's opinion of Mayson Drake. "Yes, please." He thought for a moment. "Something extravagant. Perhaps a trip in my private jet. Ask Ms Drake if she would like to suggest a destination."

Her mouth pursed with disapproval, Mrs Cox crossed to his desk in the far corner of the room and picked up his phone. Luthor continued reflectively sipping his wine as he allowed the melody of her voice to wash over him.

The conversation ended more quickly than Luthor had expected. He smiled at Mrs Cox, assuming the date had been arranged.

"Ms Drake declined your offer," Mrs Cox told him.

Luthor straightened in his leather seat. "She declined?"

"Yes."

"You made it clear it was a date with Lex Luthor? And that we would use my private jet to go anywhere she desired?"

"Yes," Mrs Cox said. "I made that abundantly clear."

"You couldn't have misinterpreted her answer?"

"No."

"Thank you, Mrs Cox."

Like the well-trained servant she was, Mrs Cox understood that to be a dismissal and left the room.

Luthor lit a cigar. Mayson Drake had *something*. Something that she thought was worth more than a connection with the third-richest man in the world.

She had to have something on Superman.

And Luthor would discover it ...

Because the alien showed every indication of becoming a real problem.

||_||

Clark flew from light to darkness over the Pacific. It would be almost midnight when he arrived in Melbourne. He hoped Lois would still be awake. He was - as always - looking forward to being with her. Every moment away from her felt as if something vital was missing from his life.

But his heart went cold at the thought of telling her about Mayson.

He landed in her unit, and Lois looked up from the book she was reading. She sprang from the couch, her face alight with excitement. "Clark!" she said. She put her hands on his arms and grinned jubilantly. "Guess what? I've worked out who the Boss is."