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.


Part 22

At the hardware store, Lois gave the list to an eager-to-help assistant and let him collect the items for her.

It wasn't that she couldn't have found everything on the list, but this way gave her time to reflect on the moment in the cell when she had come within a whispered breath of kissing Clark.

The electricity from their curtailed encounter still sizzled through her veins.

She'd held his chin in the curve of her forefinger. She'd focussed on his mouth - which had opened as if it were issuing captivating encouragement. Her heart had been pounding heat through her body - heat that had razed almost every barrier of common sense.

And she'd nearly done it.

She'd nearly kissed him.

And now, she was in utter turmoil. She knew that she *should* be submerged in self-recriminations for having come so close to something so foolhardy. She knew she should be relieved that, somehow, she had managed to extricate herself from the situation without inflicting too much damage.

But she wasn't.

She *wished* she had kissed him.

She regretted not leaning forward and imprinting her mouth on his.

What would have happened then? How would Clark have reacted?

She didn't know, but she would like to know.

Would he be embarrassed? Flabbergasted? Or had he felt the growing attraction between them? She understood why he hadn't made even the suggestion of a move on her. He would feel that he was in no position to offer her anything, and Clark would never be someone who would take without a thought of what he could give back.

The chemistry between them was so strong, it was conceivable that Clark felt it, too. And if he did, a kiss would help him glimpse that whatever they had could survive beyond his cell. It would help him realise that she wanted a future with him.

Lois paid for the goods and followed the assistant to where she had parked the Jeep. She opened the hatch, and he started loading it for her.

Was Clark, right now, thinking about that moment? He *must* have felt something. He must have realised what logically followed.

But did he?

He had been twenty-one when Trask had captured him. Some men had plenty of experience with women by that age, but Lois wasn't sure that Clark would have been one of them. He would have been restrained by his differences. He probably would have been wary of getting involved with any woman unless he felt able to tell her his secret.

From what he'd said, he hadn't told anyone about himself before his capture.

Lois shut the Jeep and tipped the assistant. "Thanks," she said.

He didn't move away.

She brushed past him towards the driver's door.

"Ah ... would you consider going on a date with me?" he asked.

Lois looked at him - seeing him for the first time. He was passably good-looking and had a nice manner about him. In other times, she might have been tempted to give him her number. Now, she smiled, hoping to soften her rejection. "No," she said. "I'm with someone. Sorry."

His face fell, but he recovered with a good-natured smile. "Pity."

"Thanks."

He walked back to the store, and Lois climbed into the Jeep.

I'm with someone.

In one sense, that wasn't quite the truth.

In one sense, it was as far removed from the truth as was a schoolgirl crush on an unavailable man who hadn't shown the slightest interest.

But in every other sense, it was exactly the truth.

She wanted to be with Clark.

She loved him.

And it couldn't be *this* powerful if he felt nothing for her.

Could it?

||_||

Clark heard a faint noise and tuned in his hearing.

It was Lois. That was her heartbeat.

He hurried to the door and dropped low to the tin box. He ran the comb through his hair, picked up the mirror, and lasered away his film of stubble.

A minute later, the door opened, and Lois walked in carrying a piece of chipboard. "Hi," she said. "Everything OK?"

"Hi, Lois. Everything's fine." He took the board from her and looked at it. "This is exactly what I need. Thanks."

"I'll get everything else."

She brought in the rest of the materials and the hammer from her office, and Clark placed them together near the back wall.

"Are you hungry yet?" Lois said as she stood next to him.

"No."

"I think I'll call Uncle Mike and ask him to hold off our meals for a couple of hours. Is that OK?"

"Sure."

"Do you want to get started?" she asked with a sweeping gesture towards the pile of lumber and pieces of chipboard.

"Do you want to do something else?"

Her smile held a tinge of self-consciousness. "Actually, my lack of sleep last night has caught up with me, and I'd like to crash for a while. Is that OK with you?"

"Of course." The impulse to drop a light touch on her shoulder was strong. He burrowed his hand in his pocket. "You get some rest."

"I'll make the call."

Clark withdrew the cell phone from his pocket and gave it to Lois. He listened while she spoke to her uncle, hardly able to believe that she could make a call without a cable connection to the telephone network.

As she hung up, she smiled at him. "All done." Then she glanced sideways. "Do you mind if I stay here with you while I sleep?"

"Won't I disturb you? With the hammering?"

"I doubt it. I feel tired enough that I could sleep in the middle of a kid's birthday party." She turned around and slipped away, returning shortly with a pillow and her dad's sleeping bag. "Would you wake me in a couple of hours, please?"

Clark nodded. "Sleep well." He crouched next to the pile and pretended to be examining a piece of chipboard as he watched Lois settle onto the mattress and pull up the sleeping bag. She seemed to *like* being with him. Even when she could be somewhere else, she chose to be with him.

When she couldn't sleep last night, she'd asked to come to him.

And now - she could have slept in the bed in the next room, or even in her office, but she'd brought her pillow and chosen to be with him.

Clark glanced up to the open door.

It wasn't because she felt the need to guard him.

He loved her.

He'd never been in love before, but that in no way diminished his conviction that that was what had happened.

He was inescapably in love with Lois Lane.

It was hardly surprising. A beautiful woman had entered the black hole that had been his life, provided him with the everyday practicalities that freed him from having to live like an animal, exhibited jaw-dropping trust by walking into his cell, and proceeded to treat him with unwavering respect.

He hadn't stood a chance. It was inevitable.

But now that he'd realised, what was he going to do about it?

They couldn't have a future together.

Even if the authorities allowed him to go ... all it would take was another Trask - or another Moyne - to decide that the alien was an unacceptable threat to the people of Earth ... and then Lois would be in danger.

Clark extricated himself from the web of his thoughts and picked up the first piece of chipboard. He'd looked forward to making the trays, but now, much of the pleasure had drained away.

He had to talk to Lois.

He had to be honest.

He had to ensure that they *both* understood that there could be no forever for them.

||_||

Lois awoke and opened her eyes. Clark was kneeling on the floor, working on one of the trays. He was wielding the hammer, but with such subdued power that she figured he had to be using some other skills to minimise the noise.

Perhaps he had already bored a hole in the wood, and the hammer was needed only to tap home the nail.

Five finished trays were lined up against the wall.

Lois smiled. Ronny was going to be pleased.

And hopefully, making the trays had proven therapeutic for Clark.

She sighed softly. He must be devastated. He must have feared that his parents were dead. In fact, he'd probably feared much worse than death from a heart attack, but that wouldn't assuage his grief now. He would be mourning the lost years that could never be restored.

When they had been in each other's arms, the flow of support and empathy between them had been tangible. She'd never liked physical contact much, but with Clark, it was different. With Clark, despite all the reasons it *should* be awkward, it wasn't. She could have stayed like that - leaning into his broad chest - for hours.

It had helped her. It had soothed the distress of having to tell Clark the news of his father's probable passing. And inexplicably, it had alleviated some of her buried heartache over Linda's death.

And it had helped Clark - she was sure of that. He had needed her.

They had needed each other.

This evening - after they had eaten - was there any way to manoeuvre them into some sort of physical contact? Her head on his shoulder perhaps? Or she could inch her foot towards him and hope he would massage it again ...

Clark stood with the completed tray in his hand. His head lifted in her direction, and his smile glimmered when he saw her open eyes. "Did you sleep well?" he asked.

Lois sat up and stretched. "Uh huh. Now, I'm hungry." She checked the time on her watch. "And our meals should have been delivered five minutes ago."

"That's good."

She went to the row of trays and picked up the nearest one, admiring the precision of his craftsmanship. "These are great," she said. "Ronny is going to be ecstatic."

Clark added the final tray to the row, but he didn't respond to her compliment. Perhaps making the trays had been ineffectual in taking his mind from his parents.

"I'll bring in some water for you, and then I'll get our meals," Lois said.

"Thanks."

"Would you like me to bring in your suitcase so you can get into some of your own clothes? Jeans, perhaps?"

"Yeah. Thanks." His attempt at a smile didn't dispel the sombreness that clung to him. "That would be nice."

It was to be expected, Lois told herself as she brought his suitcase down the stairs. His life had been static for seven years. Unchanging. Hopeless. Futile. Empty.

Now, in less than two weeks, everything had changed.

And he would be mourning his father and worried about his mother.

She handed him the suitcase. "I'll go and get our meals."

"Thanks," he said. "Will jeans be OK?"

"Jeans will be perfect," she said with a smile that she hoped would hearten him.

He smiled in reply, but it seemed little more than a façade.

As Lois stepped outside, she groaned audibly as comprehension illuminated her thoughts. Yes, Clark was upset about his parents, but she hadn't detected any detachment when she had held him. *This* was about the almost kiss. She had freaked him out. She had pushed too hard ... *again*. And this time, she wasn't sure how she was going to redeem it.

Ten minutes later, they had settled on the mattress and were eating the roast chicken and fried rice supplied by Uncle Mike.

Clark had said very little.

He did look stunning in his jeans and one of the checked shirts, but Lois had allowed herself only the briefest of admiring glances before turning her wayward concentration to the food. He had donned the glasses again - and the overall effect was of a slightly serious young man whose bearing hinted at an alluring combination of grace and power.

She wanted to delve into his thoughts - her questions strained for release, but Lois was determined to give Clark the time and the space he needed.

Before he had finished his meal, he put down the cutlery and container and leant against the wall with a long sigh. "I need to talk to you about something."

Her heart roared into frenzied overdrive. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

"This ... this is going to be ... precarious."

Yup, she had panicked him. Lois cast aside her food and hunched her knees into the circle of her arms. "We're friends," she said. "And friends can say anything to each other."

"Friends?"

She nodded. "We're friends."

His head swung away, and he seemed to be gathering the impetus to continue. "Lois," he said as he looked back at her. "There probably isn't a twenty-eight-year-old male on this planet who knows less about women than I do ... but ... did you nearly kiss me before?"

A disconcertingly large part of Lois wanted to laugh ... and then lean forward and answer his question with a kiss. "Yes," she acknowledged. "I nearly did."

Shock thrashed across his face. "Why?" he gasped.

"Because I wanted to."

"Lois ... Lois ..." He lifted his hand and then let it drop, as if the words he was grappling for were out of reach.

Lois leant towards him. "Clark," she said. "I like you. You're single. I'm single."

"You're human. I'm alien."

"So?"

"So!" he exploded. "Lois - there can't *ever* be anything like that between us."

"Do you find me unattractive?"

Disbelief filled his expression.

"Do you?" she repeated.

"No," he said tightly. "You're beautiful."

Now wasn't the time, but Lois couldn't help taking a millisecond to process his compliment. "Are you committed to someone else?"

He looked around the room that had been his prison for the past seven years. "What do you think?" he said harshly.

"Is there someone you'd like to be committed to?"

"I'm an alien, Lois."

She laid her hand on his arm. He flinched at the contact but didn't draw away. "Are there any Kryptonian women on Earth?"

"No," he said, again looking as if her question was the last thing he'd expected.

"Then you're limited to human women," Lois said pragmatically.

"Lois," he hissed. "Even before Trask captured me, I'd realised that marriage ... family ... anything like that probably wasn't going to be possible for me."

"Is that what you want? To be alone? Always?"

"What I want hasn't been important for a very long time."

"It's important to me," she said.

"Lois," he said as agony carved across his face. "We can't do this. We've started all wrong. I'm a prisoner with no realistic chance of getting out of here. You're a guard who has a life that will continue long after you've left this operation. If you feel anything at all for me, it's because we've been thrown together at a time when you're still vulnerable because of the death of your friend."

"I don't believe that," she said staunchly.

"What *do* you believe?"

She drew her fingers over the tautness of his arm muscles. "I believe that, regardless of the circumstances of how we got together, you would still be you, and I would still be me, and you would still make me feel different from the way anyone else has ever made me feel."

He threw back his head and stared at the ceiling.

She slid down his arm and hooked her hand in his. "Can you tell me honestly that you've never noticed this *feeling* that's between us?"

"I can't *stop* feeling it," he said in anguished tones.

Lois dropped her head to hide her smile. When she'd clawed back a shred of control, she said, "Look at me, Clark."

His head turned slowly, and his tortured eyes met hers.

"We can't do anything about this yet," she said. "And that's the only reason why I didn't kiss you. But every time we talk about the future, you seem to accept that soon after you're out, I'll leave you. That is not what I want. I want to be with you. I want to help you."

"Lois, I need your help. I need it now, and if I ever get out of here, I'm going to need you more than ever. But if all I am is a project to you ..."

"From the moment I met you, you've been far, far more than a project to me," she declared.

"Lois, I can't let you waste your life trying to achieve the impossible."

"Clark, you need to understand something. It might be hard for you to accept, but I want you to try."

He nodded.

"I *need* you."

He grimaced. "Perhaps it feels like that now ... you're grieving for your friend ... but one day, you'll heal, and you'll be ready to meet someone who can be everything you need."

"I've already met him," she said forlornly. "But nothing I say convinces him that my feelings are real."

He released a long breath, and at its end, it birthed a hesitant smile.

"There are no guarantees for me, either," Lois said. "In fact, the guy at the hardware store today asked me for a date. When you get out of here, you are going to meet hundreds of women. You might feel differently about me -"

"What did you tell him?"

She considered gently teasing him about being jealous, but she wasn't sure he was ready for that yet. "I told him 'no, thanks', and I said I was with someone."

Clark made a gallant effort to nod sombrely, but the corners of his mouth lifted. "Lois," he said, still fighting the grin. "Are you *seriously* telling me that you would choose to be with me instead of a regular guy?"

She nodded. "Yes, I am."

His smile unfurled like petals in the spring sunshine. His eyes were soft and clear, and for the first time, there was no cautionary veil to mask his feelings. "How are we going to do this?" he asked in a low voice that melted her insides.

"I don't know the practicalities," Lois said. "But I know how I feel, and I know it will never change."

"I have nothing to offer you," he said.

"Yes, you do," she corrected.

He looked at her hand, still clasped in his. "Lois, what you have done for me blows my mind. That you would want ... It's a lot to take in."

"I won't rush you," she said. "I know you are going to need to readjust to so many things, and you can have as much time as you need."

"I want to trust you," Clark said. "But I can't see how I can get out of here. I just can't see how I could have any sort of life on the outside."

"I found out that Shadbolt has daughters," Lois said. "On the weekend, I'll tell him that I will cover his shift so he can take them on an outing, and that will give us all day -"

"To do what? If I walk out of here, I die."

"Did Trask tell you that?"

"No, Moyne did."

"Do you believe him?"

"Yes, I do. He constantly left the door open during his shift and taunted me about going through it."

Whether it was true or not, she wasn't going to risk Clark's life on the word of scum like Moyne. "We can dress you as a painter again and have you working on the back wall," she said. "And we'll bring in labourers to strip the wall."

"It's not just around the door. The wires are all through the wall."

"Does your presence in here *stop* it from reacting? Or does it work like a tripwire?"

"A tripwire. If I go through that network of wires, the lead shell disintegrates, and I'll be poisoned."

"Whatever Trask had put *in* the wall, we can have taken out."

"And once we're out of this place?" Clark said. "We'll have to run and hide, won't we?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"That is no life for you, Lois," Clark insisted. "I can't let you live like that. And if they catch us ..." Pain flared into his eyes. "If they catch us, they'll take you away from me."

Just as they had taken away his parents.

Lois didn't have any assurances to ease his anxiety. "The alternative is that we both stay in here."

His jaw dropped a little. "You're saying that if I *can't* get out, you'll stay here with me?"

"Yes," she said. "But that is problematic because of the possibility that I will be removed from this operation. But when we're out there - no one can tell me that I have to leave you."

Clark shook his head. "This is sounding like a crazy, improbable dream."

"You have time," Lois said. "You have some time to think about it."

He grinned suddenly but said nothing.

"What?" Lois asked.

He shook his head.

"What?" she demanded.

"I have a question that I shouldn't ask."

"Ask it."

"Are you going to kiss me?"

She chuckled lightly. "No," she said. "I'm going to wait for you to kiss me."

He looked down and adjusted his glasses. When he looked up, he was grinning. "Lois, I don't think we should ... not until ... not until I'm free."

"I agree," she said quickly. "I had decided that, too ... until I nearly gave in during a weak moment."

Clark shook his head, his face draped in wonder. "You are the most extraordinary woman imaginable," he said.

"You're pretty extraordinary yourself."

He nestled her hand in both of his. "I have so very little," he said. "But everything I have is yours."

"I need your strength, and your humour, and your steadfastness. I need you."

He stared at their joined hands. "It seems superfluous to say that I need you."

"The strength of what we have is exactly that," Lois said. "We need each other. And we just seem to fit together ... and I don't think our circumstances have anything to do with it."

He looked into her face, his eyes solemn. "It's not going to be easy."

"I know," she said. "But we can work together to prepare for a life outside."

"How much time do we have?"

"I'm hoping for a couple of weeks."

"Have you heard anything about the meeting yesterday? Scardino and Menzies?"

"Nothing."

"Is that a good thing? If Menzies had ordered any changes, wouldn't you have heard by now?"

"Maybe." Lois looked at her watch. "We have some time before Longford arrives."

"What do you want to do?"

Lois smiled. "I'd like to turn around and lean back against you. Would that be all right?"

Clark cleared his throat. "Yes," he said. "That would be all right."

"Good," Lois said with a satisfied sigh.

She spun around and reclined against him. His arm came across her shoulder as if it were natural for it to be there. Lois laced her fingers through his, and silence fell.

They stayed like that until it was time to clear the cell in preparation for Longford's arrival. Then Lois put the trays in her Jeep and returned the hammer and leftover nails to her office while Clark changed into his shorts and tee shirt. After she'd brought in a bowl of hot water, they stood together, facing each other.

"I'm so sorry about your dad," Lois said. "I wish it could have been different."

"Thank you."

"Try to remember all the good times. It does help ... a little ... if you can cling to the happy memories."

"Yeah."

She reached up and put her arms around his neck. His arms widened to receive her and closed around her back.

I love you, Clark.

They had covered so much ground ... progressed so far, but she couldn't say those words. Not yet. She had promised she would allow him to set the pace. But she could hope that the essence of her feelings would soak into Clark and help him through a long night when she was sure that grief would fester and claw at his heart.

After Linda had died, the nights had been the worst.

Lois wished she could stay with him. Wished she could bring down her mattress and sleep with Clark.

But she couldn't.

She put her hands on his shoulders and drew back. "Good night, Clark," she said.

"Good night, Lois. I'll miss you."

She would miss him, too. "See you tomorrow." She pulled away before she could even think about how much she wanted to fall back into the haven of his chest.

She stepped into the staffroom and closed the door with a sigh.

Leaving him was not getting any easier.

||_||

Eric Menzies had had a tornado of a day.

He'd slept through his alarm, rushed through his shower, and cut himself while shaving. He'd sprinted down the stairs, still pulling on his jacket, grabbed his coat, and hurried towards the garage.

Then, he'd seen Phoebe.

She was on the couch, her arms flung wide, and her face deathly pallid.

He'd found a pulse and nearly collapsed with relief. He'd called the ambulance.

From there, the day had passed in a whirl of doctors, nurses, and psych consults as the health workers had tried to piece together what had led to Phoebe's attempt on her life.

Now it was late.

He'd left her in the hospital. She hadn't responded to him all day. He'd sat next to her bed hour after hour and silently begged her forgiveness for all of his mistakes, but if she'd sensed his presence, she had ignored him.

He had been such a failure as a husband that his wife had chosen death instead of life with him.

Eric put down his glass of scotch and picked up the phone. He dialled Scardino's home number.

"Daniel Scardino."

"Scardino," Eric barked. "It's Menzies."

"Good evening, Mr Menzies. Is everything all right?"

"I've read Trask's records and realised that there is absolutely nothing that can be salvaged from such a woeful and incompetent mess," he growled. "The entire operation is to be wound up and *all* records of it destroyed."

"Yes, sir."

"You have until Monday."

"Monday?"

"The alien is to be killed and his body cremated. The compound behind the warehouse is to be demolished. I want *nothing* left. Do you understand?"

He heard Scardino swallow. "Killed?"

"Yes," Eric said, his impatience rising. "Killed. It's the only way."

"How?"

Menzies snatched at his glass and took a gulp of the scotch. It burned down his throat. "Expose him to the rods until he is sufficiently weakened that a bullet will end his life."

"Are you sure about this?" Scardino asked.

His hesitation fired Eric's simmering temper. "Of course I'm sure," he exploded. "If the rods could make him weak enough that surgery could be performed, I'm sure they can make him weak enough that a bullet can penetrate him - thereby killing him."

"Are you sure this is the correct outcome for this operation?"

Eric poured himself another large scotch. "There is no other option," he said firmly. "The longer the operation continues, the more chance there is of a nosy reporter finding out about it. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. It has to be terminated, and all traces that it ever existed have to be destroyed."

"What about the agents?"

"Longford is useless. Retire him with a generous pension, and make sure he understands that he is never to even think about the last few years. Shadbolt has spent too long sitting on his butt doing nothing of note - he used to be a good operative. Find him a challenging assignment away from Metropolis, and get him back into the field."

"And Ms Lane?"

"Do what you should have done in the first place. Insist that she take three months compassionate leave, and don't let her wheedle you into anything else."

"Yes, sir."

"Monday," Eric said. "By Monday, none of this ever happened."

"But -"

Eric slammed down the phone.

Whatever Neville had done to those two agents, there would be no record of it. There would be nothing that could come back and upset Phoebe.

He had saved her from that.

She would never know that he'd done it for her.

But Eric was sure that if the trouble with Neville blew up, Phoebe would try again ... and next time, she wouldn't fail.