Lois slid her arms further around his neck and drew him into her embrace, as if she had tracked the passage of his thoughts and known instinctively how to be what he needed. Her forehead nestled into the side of his neck, and her head lay on his shoulder.

Clark wrapped his arms around her back and clung to her.

He let her presence surround him.

Let her pervade him.

Let everything that was Lois answer the cry of his heart.

And, for the first time in his life, Clark didn't feel alone.


Part 21

Many minutes passed, but for Clark, they blended into a timeless realm that felt like the mellow oasis of the eye of a storm.

His mind whirled with the first news of his parents in seven years.

His heart squeezed with grief - for a father who had probably died and for a mother who had lost both of the people she loved most.

Lois lay on his chest.

With her arms around his neck.

And the sweet scent of her hair in his nostrils.

Her body relaxed in the circle of his arms.

Her steady, calming breaths infused him with tranquillity.

Every thought, every feeling, every emotion started with Lois. Finished with Lois. Centred on Lois.

And because of her, the pain of his fear and loneliness and isolation melted away.

Neither of them had spoken since she had answered his question about his mom. Lois hadn't moved, and Clark began to wonder if she had fallen asleep. And if she had, whether it would be acceptable to sit down ... and perhaps settle her onto his lap.

"Lois?" he whispered.

She lifted her head and looked at him with eyes that shimmered with sympathy.

What should he do now? He should try to ease out from her embrace. But how? He slackened the pressure of his arms a few degrees.

Lois didn't back away. "How are you?" she said.

The sincere compassion that enveloped her simple inquiry weaved through his heart, causing further impairment to his ability to think clearly. He didn't know what he was feeling - other than the certain comprehension that Lois had become as vital to his existence as the air that he breathed.

"Would you prefer to be alone?" she asked.

That was something Clark *did* know. "No," he said. "Unless you would prefer to go."

Lois shook her head. "No," she said. "I would like to stay with you."

That was what he wanted. It was what he would always want. "Thanks."

"Would you like to stay here?" she asked. "Like this? Would you like to sit down? Would you like me to get us a cup of tea?"

"Do you have lunch?"

"Shadbolt got something for you."

"Yeah, he pushed it through the door. I haven't even looked at it."

Lois lifted from his chest, and his heart whimpered with the loss of her. His hands dropped from her body, and his arms hung at his sides like clumsy appendages. She turned towards the door. "I'll make us some tea."

She moved, and suddenly, they were apart, and coolness flooded where her warmth had been. Clark followed her to the door and waited there, watching her while she filled the kettle and put it on the stove.

She looked up and caught him staring at her. She smiled.

"Did you get some lunch for yourself?" Clark asked, clinging thankfully to a practicality.

"Nope. I didn't have time."

"You can have mine."

"We can share it," she said.

That was even better. He would have willingly given her his entire lunch, but sharing it emphasised their ... affinity? Was that overstating it? Rapport? Was that what they had?

"I have some chocolate in my desk drawer," Lois said. "We can have that, too." She went out of the room, and her footsteps reverberated on the stairs. When she returned, she was carrying two candy bars. She put them on the table and stepped up to the doorway. "Clark?"

Her stride had been purposeful, but doubts clouded her eyes. "Yes?"

"I'm floundering here," she said with a little smile that sought his understanding. "I can't imagine how you're feeling. I don't know what you need. I'm not sure how to help you."

Whatever he was feeling was such a turbulent clutter that the words to explain it were going to be unattainable. But Lois had sensed what he'd needed without words and simply held him. With his thumb, he gestured over his shoulder. "That ..." He cleared his throat. "That was exactly ..."

She gave him a shy smile. "We have some time before Longford comes," she said. "If you want to be quiet, that's what we'll do. If you want to talk, we can talk about anything. Or we can do something. I have a pack of cards if you'd like to play a game."

"Thanks. We'll have lunch first and then see how we feel."

Lois moved to the counter and poured the boiling water into the cups. "There is something I should tell you, but I don't know if you'll want to even think about it now."

"What?"

"I took the tray to my dad, and it was such a great success that they've asked if you can make six more."

Six more? Clark didn't know what to say.

"Would you mind making more?" Lois asked as she reached into the fridge for milk. "Not today, but sometime."

"I'd really like to make more," Clark said, realising it was true. To make something. To achieve. To gain satisfaction from a job well done.

Lois gave him one mug and picked up the candy bars. "Tomorrow? Or today?"

"It couldn't be today," Clark said. "I can't imagine that you would have enough lumber in your office for another six trays."

Lois threw him a smile over her shoulder as she walked towards the mattress at the back wall. "I don't," she said. "But there's a hardware store about fifteen minutes from here. If you make a list of what I need to get, I can go after we've eaten."

Clark took her hand to steady her as she lowered to the mattress. "Would that be OK?" he asked.

"Perfectly OK. It won't take long."

Clark sat next to her and opened the bag that Shadbolt had pushed into the cell. It contained two roast beef and tomato sandwiches. He offered the bag to Lois.

She accepted it with a smile and took one of the sandwiches. "Thanks."

"How is your father?" Clark said, hoping it would be a safe subject.

"He was better this morning than at any time since the stroke," Lois said. "He still can't speak, but we're slowly learning how to communicate."

"It must be very difficult for you."

Lois stared at her sandwich for a moment. "It was," she said. "The stroke happened when I couldn't be contacted, so the first I heard about it was a couple of weeks later. When I got home, I felt as if I'd been thrown into a dark and menacing world, and I had no notion of what to do or how to help him."

"Did he like the paper airplane?"

"Yeah. Thanks." She smiled as if remembering something, but said no more.

"And he was able to do the jigsaw puzzle?"

"Yeah. When I spoke to Ronny later, she said that he'd nearly finished it."

"Ronny?"

"One of Dad's nurses. She bubbles with energy and optimism." Lois grinned at Clark. "It was *her* idea that I wash Dad's hair."

Clark felt himself begin to smile. "And because of that, you coerced me into allowing you to wash my hair?"

She responded to the lightness in his tone with a radiant smile. "Coerced, Mr Kent?" she said. "I *coerced* you?"

"You did," he said firmly. "And I loved every minute of it."

Her eyes dropped and then lifted. "So did I," she murmured.

If he wasn't an alien and a prisoner ... he could almost believe that she felt more for him than pity. Almost. Clark took a bite of his sandwich, using it as a way of concealing the absurdity of his thoughts.

They finished their meal in silence, and then Lois stood and gathered the trash and empty mugs. "I'm going to wash my hands," she said. "And I'll bring you back some water."

"Thanks." Clark closed his eyes, and immediately his mind filled with the memory of Lois leaning against him. The last time anyone had held him so closely was probably his mom when he'd arrived home from college.

If he'd had time to prepare - if he'd known it was going to happen - he would have imagined he would feel incredibly awkward. But he hadn't. Lois had made it seem natural. On one level, it was. On another level, it was unbelievable that any woman would want to be so close to him - knowing everything about him.

As she had held him, it seemed that the furthest thought from her mind had been that he was an alien. And because of her attitude, it hadn't mattered to him either.

In her arms, it had been almost possible to forget.

He heard her footsteps and broke from his memories. She put the bowl on the ground, and Clark knelt to wash his hands.

"Would you like me to go and get the materials for the trays now?" she asked.

From the haze of his indecision, something definite emerged. "No," Clark said. "I'd like you to stay with me." In fact, what he'd really like would be to go back to how they were before lunch - when her physical closeness and unqualified acceptance had chased away his seclusion and lit his way back from exile.

But he knew that even if he could find the right words to ask if he could hold her again, he would never be able to build up the courage to voice those words. He tried to wrench his mind from the memory of her touch. He dried his hands, and followed Lois back to the mattress.

"Do you think Reuben O'Brien was telling the truth about my dad?" Clark asked when they were seated.

Lois breathed out. Then she slowly nodded. "There is no way to be sure," she said. "And I'm so sorry that all of my digging didn't get you any certainty, but ... yes, my gut feeling is that he was convinced about your dad."

Clark had accepted that already, but somewhere in a heart that had become used to harbouring the most forlorn of prospects, hope had still flickered. But now it was gone. And it felt like his heart was being impaled.

With a swift movement, Lois was kneeling next to him, facing him, her thighs alongside his. "I'm so sorry," she said.

He nodded, trying to force down the tears that were pushing into his eyes. "What exactly did he say about my mom?"

He saw the flash of regret caused by his question, and apprehension reared inside him.

"His story kept changing," Lois said. She reached for Clark's hand and took it in hers. "Once, he said that perhaps she'd died, but he denied it really quickly, and every other time I asked, he said that something had happened to her, but he couldn't remember what it was."

"So she could be dead, too?"

Lois's hand tightened around his. "He wasn't sure, Clark," she said. "Later, I asked if he knew where your dad was buried, and he said he didn't. Then I asked if he knew where your mom was buried, and he looked shocked and asked me if she'd died."

Clark stared at where Lois's hand covered his as all the grief and uncertainty and fear rose again. If his dad were dead, who was looking after his mom? He realised now that there had been some small comfort in hoping that they were together.

"There's something else," Lois said.

He looked up into her eyes, preparing for another onslaught of bad news.

"O'Brien said that all records about them were destroyed. It could be that Scardino did actually look for them, and that's why he came up empty."

Clark nodded.

Lois leant forward, her face kindled with hope. "But that's good news in a way, Clark," she said. "Because if your mother can't be located, it means that nothing we do is going to adversely affect her."

But it also meant that he might never find her.

"You will find her," Lois said. "Once you're out of here, I'm sure you will be able to use your speed, and your vision, and your hearing to track her down. I'm sure you'll find a way to do something that means so much to you."

Perhaps she was right. If he were able to search for his mom, Clark knew he wouldn't rest until he'd found her. But staying with Lois meant everything to him as well, and he was confident that all the strange abilities in the world were not going to make that happen. "About them being put somewhere for their protection - do you think that was true?"

"I think that is what O'Brien *thought* happened," Lois said.

"But?"

Her hand slid up his arm and around his neck, and her fingers slipped into his hair.

"But there's Trask," Clark answered his own question.

"I wish I had something more definite for you."

He looked into her eyes and saw the ravages of her battle of indecision. "Thank you for telling me," Clark said. "Thank you for not shutting me out."

"I wanted to," she admitted, and her eyes fell to her lap. "I wanted to do anything to avoid hurting you."

"It did hurt," Clark said. "But ..." ... somehow you made it bearable.

He couldn't speak those words. He couldn't let her know how close he felt to her ... how much he yearned to be even closer to her.

He was already at the point where he wasn't sure he was going to survive when the time came for her to leave him. If he got any closer to her, it was going to be worse than all the years of Trask's torture.

Her gaze rose and spilled into his eyes. "Would you mind if I did something?" she asked.

"No."

"It's something I have wanted to do for a while."

Clark gulped. She *wasn't* going to kiss him. She *wasn't*. He nodded as tension cinched through every muscle in his body.

"I noticed that you shaved since this morning," she said.

Clark nodded, his throat relentlessly dry.

"Your face looks so different without the beard. I still do a double take every time I see you. Would you mind if I just ..." Her hand lifted from his shoulder and hovered in front of his face.

"I ... don't ... mind," he said through a strangled throat.

Her hand approached him and landed on the curve of his cheek. Her touch was exquisite - soft and warm and yet electrifying all at the same time. "You do this with a mirror?"

"Uh huh."

Her fingers slid down his cheek and past the line of his jaw. Then they curled, and the upper side of her forefinger swept forward to the point of his chin and rested there.

It felt *exactly* like the precursor to a kiss.

Clark awaited his fate, unable to think, unable to breathe, unable to move.

Her eyes were on his mouth, or perhaps it was his chin. His gaze fell to her mouth. It was slightly open. Open enough that he could *almost* imagine what it would feel like if the impossible happened.

Then, her hand slipped away and dropped into her lap.

Clark felt a wave of light-headedness assail him.

"I'll ... go and get the stuff you need for the trays," Lois said.

Her voice was neither steady nor strong, and Clark didn't know if that made him feel better or worse.

"OK," he said. "I'll write you a list."

"I'll have to lock the door while I'm away."

"That's OK." He rose to his feet, and before he could talk himself out of it, he offered Lois his hand.

She took it without any noticeable hesitation, and he helped her to her feet as he had done so many times before. Perhaps the only significance to her touch on his chin had been in his own hopelessly compromised mind.

"Do you have a pen and paper?" Lois asked.

"Yup."

"I'll be back in a minute."

"OK."

Clark picked up the pen and notepad and began to write out the list of what he would need to make six jigsaw puzzle trays. It should have been a simple task.

It would have been a simple task.

If he'd been able to wrest his mind away from the enthralling memory of Lois's hand on his chin. Lois's mouth just a few inches from his. Lois's breath mingling with his.

Clark closed his eyes and refocussed his thoughts.

He was being completely illogical. Lois was his guard. Lois knew he was an alien. Lois knew that, even if he did escape from this prison, he had no realistic chance of long-term freedom.

Lois *wouldn't* kiss him.

Ever.

He was sure that no thought of anything like that had ever entered her mind.

And yet ...

If he wanted to remain sane, he needed to stop thinking about that moment ... that indelibly etched moment when a kiss had seemed such a viable possibility that he had almost felt her mouth on his.

And he also needed to stop thinking about what it had felt like to have her in his arms.

Clark opened his eyes and forced his attention to the list.

Lois going to get the materials meant that he would have something to concentrate on this evening. That was good.

Lois going to get the materials meant that he would be alone with his memories for a time. That wasn't so good.

She returned, carrying a rectangular device that he didn't recognise. She held it out to him. "It's a cell phone," she said. "If anything happens, if anyone comes, you can call me."

Clark took the cell phone and examined it. "This is a *phone*?" he said.

"Yup." She took it from him and unfolded a flap. "Press that button, and it will speed-dial my other cell," she explained.

"You have two of these?"

"Yeah. This one belongs to Lois Lane. The other is for work purposes."

"Does everyone have these now?"

"Not everyone, but they are becoming more popular all the time."

"And I can call you without it being connected via a cable?"

She nodded. "No one should come - and I won't be very long. But if you hear anything, just press that button, wait for me to answer, and speak into it like a normal phone."

"OK."

"Keep it in your pocket," Lois said.

Clark slipped it into the pocket of his shorts, wondering what other changes he would have to deal with if he ever left this prison. He had never felt like he fitted into this world. Now he would be even more estranged from it.

"You'll adjust quickly," Lois said with an encouraging smile. "I'll help you."

She always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "Here's the list," Clark said.

Lois took the paper and skimmed over it. She looked up at him with a smile. "You have nice handwriting."

"Thanks."

"I'll be back soon."

"See you."

She walked out of the door, and it closed. Clark heard it lock.

And he was alone.

Alone with a jumbled labyrinth of thoughts that elicited the whole spectrum of emotions ... grief, despair, guilt, hope, bewilderment, awe.

And ...

The word became jammed in the wringer of his mind.

And ...

Love.

He loved Lois.