Lois sat with him for a few hours. The nurse came by several times, checking on Clark, and chatting with Lois for a few minutes. Clark floated in his euphoria. It wasn’t just the medication – Lois’s presence made Clark so happy.

They stopped speaking, and Lois just held his hand. She got up every now and then to stretch her legs. Early on, she opened the window blind and looked out at the spring sunshine. As the sun moved through its path, a sunbeam bathed Clark as he lay in his bed. The beam grew stronger as time passed.

Clark murmured happily. The sunlight was great. He began to feel stronger. The fuzzy cotton-wool feeling in his mind slowly dissipated. The pain in his abdomen diminished, although he still had suspicious internal rumblings. Lois drowsed in the chair next to his bed.

“Hello,” someone said loudly at the door. Without bothering to wait, Inspector Henderson walked in.

Lois jerked awake. “What do you want?”

“Nice to see you too, Lane,” Henderson said with his customary dry wit. Then he said in a more serious tone, “I’m glad you’re OK.”

“Well, Clark isn’t,” she grumped.

“I know. That’s why I’m here. I need to get a witness statement from him. I already spoke to his parents – I’m surprised they’re not here.”

“They’re getting a rest right now. They were here all night. I’m staying with Clark.”

“I can see that, Lane,” Henderson said. The policeman advanced to the bed.

Clark groaned. He thought he’d been feeling better. But now his belly hurt again. And his guts were rumbling. Henderson blocked his sunbeam.

“Just a minute, Kent,” Henderson said. He grimaced. “It’s kind of warm in here. Can I hang up my coat over there?”

“Be my guest,” Clark said.

Henderson moved out of the sunbeam and Clark felt good again. He saw the homicide inspector hang up his topcoat near the room entrance.

The cop jerked a thumb at Lois. “Lois, you’ve got to leave the room.”

She made no effort to get up. “Why?”

“Because when this goes to the D.A., I can truthfully say that there was nobody in the room but Clark and me when I took his witness statement.”

Lois considered that for a moment. Then she got up from the chair, walked to the door, and moved one step over the threshold. She didn’t close the door, and it was obvious to all three that she would be able to hear the men’s conversation easily.

To Clark’s surprise, Henderson ignored Lois’s presence. Instead, he sat down in the chair that Lois had vacated, leaving Clark’s sunbeam unimpeded, and pulled out a small voice recorder. He spoke clearly into it, titling this recording with date, place, time, persons present, and reason for interview.

“Please tell me what happened that led up to you getting shot,” Henderson requested.

Clark stared warily at the voice recorder. He still felt a little muzzy. He decided to be cautious. “Well, my parents were visiting. I got up early to get some breakfast food. When I came back from the store, two men were holding guns on my parents.” It still frightened him to think of that moment.

“Go on,” Henderson said laconically.

“Lois was there too, and I… I recognized Nigel St. John. You know Nigel St. John?”

Henderson nodded, then remembering he had the recorder, said “Yes.”

Now it was going to get tricky. Clark picked his words carefully. “I thought Nigel was going to shoot Lois, so I… I rushed him.”

Henderson didn’t raise an eyebrow. Nor did he chide Clark for the seemingly foolhardy action. “Go on.”

“He shot me. He was going to shoot Lois but she threw a water bottle at him. Lois had her neighbor’s dog with her – “ Clark realized he’d gone on a tangent. “Did Lois tell you about Moose?”

“Yes, all about him,” Henderson confirmed. Was there a hint of a smile on that taciturn cop face?

“Moose knocked over Nigel when he chased the water bottle. Then I blacked out and I don’t know what happened next.” Clark congratulated himself for not telling any overt lies.

“What about the other man? You said there were two men.”

“Oh. Nigel shot his own partner after he shot me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kent,” Henderson said formally as he thumbed off the voice recorder.

Clark was surprised. The interview seemed uncharacteristically quick for the thorough detective. Henderson had hardly asked Clark any questions. Lois moved back into the room, taking the chair on the other side of Clark’s bed. She looked a little surprised too.

“Thanks, Clark.” Henderson tucked away the recorder into his jacket pocket. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with the D.A. Everyone’s witness statements agree, and they make it clear that Nigel and his partner got what was coming to them. This isn’t going to come to court. It’s a clear case of self-defense.”

Clark nodded slowly.

Henderson leaned back and spoke conversationally. “You know, I was shot once.”

“I didn’t know that,” Clark said. What had prompted the normally taciturn detective to open up a fraction? Oh, yeah. Clark had just been shot too.

“It was years ago. I was on the MPD SWAT team,” Henderson said. Clark knew that the Special Weapons and Tactics team of the Metropolis Police Department was an elite unit. They took only the top half of one percent of those who applied. The fact that Henderson had made it onto the squad only increased Clark’s respect for the taciturn homicide detective.

“It was a hostage situation gone bad,” Henderson continued. He stared into space, reminiscing, with a grim look to his features. “The whole thing fell apart. The hostage was killed. I got shot in the leg. Two other officers were wounded.” He shrugged. “After I healed, I found that I couldn’t perform up to SWAT team standards.” At Lois’s slight gesture, Henderson said, “I get along fine in everyday life. It’s running and long-term stress on the hip that gets me. So I transferred over to Homicide, and I’ve been there ever since.”

“Homicide is the better for it,” Clark murmured diplomatically.

“Yeah. I still miss the old days once in a while, but I’d be out of it by now anyway – SWAT is a young man’s game,” Henderson said. “I’ve done OK in Homicide.” He caught Clark’s gaze. “So I know what it’s like, getting shot. It’s no fun.”

Clark nodded ruefully. “Right.”

“Did you know that Superman saved six members of the SWAT team from getting shot just this year?”

“Uh, I’d heard that.” Clark remembered – it was two different hostage situations and one attempted suicide-by-cop that went bad.

“And he saved my life this year too, you know, when those idiots at the Twelfth Precinct didn’t search that guy before they booked him?”

Clark remembered that too. The man had been on drugs, had a gun, and had tried to shoot up the Twelfth Precinct. By some miraculous twist of fate, Clark had been there in his Superman identity, dropping off a mugger, and he’d stepped in, caught the bullets, and restrained the perp. It could have been a bloodbath.

Why was Henderson bringing up Superman rescues right now? “Where are you going with this, Bill?” Clark asked. Nervousness chased away the last bits of narcotic-induced fuzziness.

“Glad you asked, Clark,” Henderson said casually, spearing Clark with a gimlet eye. Clark had heard Henderson put on that casual tone in the past, and it was usually right before he pointed out the inconsistencies in a suspect’s alibi. His gut churned as Henderson said, “We’re off the record. I want to hear the real story.”

“The real story?” Clark squeaked.

“Yeah. Kent, how did you get shot, anyway?” Henderson had moved from “Clark” to “Kent”, Clark noticed.

“There was a man with a gun, Henderson,” Lois said sarcastically.

“No, I mean, how did you get shot, Kent? The bullets are supposed to bounce right off you.”

There was a shocked silence.

Lois, flailing to recover, said, “Is this some sort of joke, Henderson?”

Clark met the inspector’s eyes. It was useless trying to lie to Henderson. He sighed. “Don’t bother, Lois. He knows.”

Henderson nodded slightly.

“How long have you known?” Clark asked. He had to know. He’d kept his identities separate for almost two years, and suddenly, within the space of forty-eight hours, three separate people had penetrated his secret. He was pretty sure Henderson was trustworthy, but it was still a shock.

“It was the first time you got ‘shot’ by those gangsters”, Henderson said, making air quotes with his fingers when he said ‘shot’. “That story you gave sounded good, but when you told it to me, I knew you were lying. I asked myself, ‘Why would Clark Kent lie about something like that?’ and then I started thinking. Then I started watching, and it was pretty obvious.”

“Detective Wolfe believed it,” Clark said defensively.

Henderson’s lips twitched in what might have been a microscopic smile. “Let’s just say that Wolfe isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you know what I mean. When you spun that story about how Superman repaired the cellular damage using Dr. Hamilton’s techniques, well, it was plausible. You didn’t have to be galactically stupid to believe it.”

Clark caught a glimpse of Lois out of the corner of his eye. Her fists were clenched.

Henderson went on. “But I smelled a rat. And to be fair to Wolfe, he’s overworked like all of us in Homicide. So when you turned up alive, Kent, you saved Wolfe a ton of paperwork. He just went on to the next case.”

“Henderson, who were those guys that tried to kidnap Clark’s parents?” Lois said, apparently wanting to turn the conversation away from how the detective figured out Clark’s other identity. “I know one of them was Nigel St. John, but who was the other one? Why did they want Martha and Jonathan?”

“Good question, Lois,” Henderson said. “The other guy was Jason Mazik.”

Clark and Lois exchanged blank looks.

“He’s the son of Robert Mazik, the owner of Mazik’s Jewelers, you know, the fine diamonds store?”

“I think I’ve seen their ads on TV,” Lois volunteered.

“Yeah. Well, Robert Mazik recently passed away. It seems that Jason was cut out of his will, totally, in favor of Robert’s other son Jerry. Jerry got the shop, the money, the house, everything.”

“What does that have to do with Clark?”

Henderson raised an eyebrow. “Jason Mazik apparently decided that he would kidnap Superman’s parents so that Superman would steal for him.”

“Superman never would!” Lois said indignantly.

Clark stayed silent. If someone held his parents hostage… if someone had Lois hostage… well, he didn’t know what he might do. His ethics might disappear. He loved Lois for her faith in him. Sometimes she had more faith in him than he did himself.

“We never know what we’ll do when someone we love is at risk,” Henderson said bleakly. He shook himself. “Fortunately, the kidnapping didn’t go through.”

Clark thought for a minute. “You know, Henderson,” he said slowly, “how did this Jason Mazik know who I was, um, my other identity?” Even now, Clark couldn’t bring himself to say ‘I am Superman’. “I mean, my parents know, Lois knows, you know… but how did this guy know? It’s not like I go around advertising it. And neither Lois nor I have ever heard of Jason Mazik.” He stared suspiciously at Henderson. “Unless you’ve been going around telling people.”

“Wait a minute, Kent!” Henderson said, lifting up his hands. “I owe you. Trust me, I haven’t breathed a word to anyone about your, ah, moonlighting. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

“Then why did this guy target Clark’s parents? And how did Nigel get involved?” Lois demanded.

“Ah,” Henderson smiled, “that is a very interesting question. Clark, did you know that when Mazik entered your apartment, he stole your unpublished fantasy novel?”

“I don’t have – “

“I’m certain it’s yours,” Henderson overrode him, “because if it were, perhaps, to be considered Jason Mazik’s property, then it would have to be entered in evidence. And given that you talk about your alternate identity in this fantasy novel, Kent – very careless of you, I might add – it’s probably best that you just reclaim your property quietly so that nothing need be said.” He pulled a leatherbound journal out of his jacket pocket and handed it over to Clark.

“What did I write in my, um, unpublished fantasy novel?” Clark said, riffling through the yellowed pages and seeing crabbed handwriting. He’d need some uninterrupted time and a better light to decipher that scrawl.

“I’m assuming that the recent trauma you suffered has given you a temporary case of amnesia,” Henderson said. Lois giggled at his unctuous tone. “But I’m sure it’ll come back to you if I remind you.”

“I’m sure,” Clark agreed.

“Well, you’ll recall that you’re writing in the first person, and your point of view character is a fellow called Tempus. This Tempus is actually from the future, which he describes as some sort of Utopia.”

Clark raised his eyebrows. “Utopia?”

“Apparently so,” Henderson confirmed. “Tempus seems to be rather a malcontent – he doesn’t seem to care for the Utopian lifestyle. ‘Nine thousand channels and nothing on’ is how he describes it.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, Tempus manages to travel back in time.”

“How does he do that?” Lois asked, interested.

“This is where your novel becomes pretty fantastic, Kent,” the detective said. “H.G. Wells rides a time machine to the future and picks Tempus up.”

“H.G. Wells?” Clark asked, and Lois echoed his surprise. “The author?”

“H.G. Wells, the author,” Henderson confirmed. “It seems as if The Time Machine was more than just a pioneering science fiction novel. Tempus manages to hitch a ride with Wells back to the past. It seems Tempus has a plan. He wants to prevent Utopia from ever coming into existence.”

“How is he going to do that?” Lois asked. Clark would have asked it if she hadn’t gotten in first.

“Tempus planned to go back in time and kill Superman as a baby, right after his spaceship landed on Earth,” Henderson said. He stared at Clark with avid curiosity. Clark supposed that actually reading about his arrival from Krypton would arouse anyone’s interest. He squirmed. Henderson went on, and Clark froze as he heard the detective’s next sentence. “Apparently, Utopia was based on the principles of Superman… and Superman’s descendants.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So then what happened?” Lois asked. Clark silently blessed her for it.

“Tempus’s plans were thwarted. He was taken back in time to the year 1866 and put in an insane asylum in Kansas. There, he wrote his diary,” Henderson said, making a slight gesture at the battered journal Clark held. “Somehow, Jason Mazik got hold of the diary and, uh, found out Superman’s civilian identity.”

Lois pondered for a minute. “That still doesn’t explain Nigel.”

“Ah, Nigel,” Henderson said. “You did us a service by knocking him out, Lois.” He smiled. “The Brits have been looking for him for a long time. And after the whole Luthor thing, we’ve been very interested in him, too.”

“The connection?” Lois prodded.

“OK. It seems that Tempus had devoted his life to studying Superman. Lex Luthor was Superman’s enemy,” Henderson said, looking intently at both Lois and Clark, “and Tempus seemed particularly interested in Luthor.”

Clark’s stomach churned. Thinking about Luthor tended to make that happen. He’d actively hated the billionaire who had lured Lois to a marriage that Clark, Perry, and Jimmy had managed to stop only at the last possible moment. Luthor had blown up the Daily Planet and had committed other crimes too numerous to mention. But what Clark hated most about Luthor was the way the villain had damaged Lois.

“In his diary, Tempus wrote about how research in later years found most of Luthor’s secret hideouts. He wrote down a list.” Henderson grinned savagely. “I managed to get search warrants. Anything regarding the late Lex Luthor is flagged for attention. We found some very interesting things.”

“Like what?” Lois demanded. Clark couldn’t speak. His stomach was churning again.

“Like Lex Luthor’s body, frozen in cryogenic suspension,” Henderson said baldly.

“What?!”

“No kidding. You’ll recall that Luthor’s body was stolen from the morgue. Now we know where it went.” Henderson looked grim. “We arrested a woman, a Dr. Gretchen Kelly. She was there too. She told us how she was going to revive Lex Luthor. He would come back and rebuild his empire.”

Lois and Clark both looked on, speechless in horror.

“That won’t be happening now,” Henderson said briskly. “We’ve got a guard on Luthor’s body and it’s scheduled for cremation tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Lois whispered. Her hand reached out for Clark’s. He took it and felt her squeeze his hand desperately. They’d never talked all that much about the difficult time of Lois’s engagement and near-wedding. Lois had done a lot of late-night driving, and Clark had done a lot of late-night flying. They’d been awkward and stilted with each other for weeks. But they’d gradually recovered their friendship.

“Um, how does this relate to Nigel and Mazik?” Clark asked, wanting to turn the subject away from Lex Luthor.

“Oh. Mazik did make some notes in the diary, but we don’t have anything from Nigel’s side. Here’s what I think happened,” Henderson said. “Mazik gets the diary, learns your identity. He wants to force Superman to use his powers for Mazik’s personal gain.” Henderson’s tone made it obvious what he thought of such a foolhardy action. “How to do that? Kidnap Superman’s parents. But Mazik isn’t an action guy. He doesn’t know much about kidnapping. So he learns from the diary that Nigel St. John escaped Luthor’s downfall and is probably laying low in one of Luthor’s hideouts. Mazik has a list of the hideouts, so if Nigel isn’t in one, he’s probably in another.”

“OK,” Clark allowed. It all sounded fantastic and improbable, but ever since he’d rocketed to Earth from a doomed planet, his life had been full of the fantastic and improbable.

“Nigel has a personal grudge against Clark Kent,” Henderson said. “Kent, your investigation brought down Lex Luthor.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Clark protested. “Perry helped, and Jack, and Jimmy. You too.”

“You were the mainspring,” the detective said. “But St. John hated Superman more. He knew what a thorn in the side Superman was to Luthor.” He eyed Clark curiously. “Someday you’ll have to tell me all the things that you didn’t report in the Daily Planet.”

“Uh, yeah,” Clark said uneasily. Even though he was bathed in a direct sunbeam, this conversation was upsetting his stomach. He’d never been queasy before and he definitely didn’t like the feeling. The sunshine should be helping him heal, but something was definitely still wrong in his abdomen.

“So Mazik finds Nigel. From his diary, he didn’t tell Nigel about Su-, about um, your other identity until they were ready to go,” Henderson went on relentlessly. “Nigel leaps at the chance to even an old score, and goes along with Mazik to kidnap your parents.” He fixed Clark with a gimlet eye. “But what I want to know is, why did St. John feel that he and Mazik could actually get away with what they planned? You’re – who you are,” Henderson said. “Believe me, I’ve seen you in action enough times to realize how crazy their thinking was.”

“Your point, Henderson?” Lois asked.

“Why did Mazik and St. John think they could be successful? And Kent, how did you get shot?” I’ve seen bullets bounce off you. Heck, I’ve seen you catch bullets. And then I get a call that you’re in emergency surgery with a GSW to the abdomen. How did that happen?”

Clark sighed. He couldn’t really keep Henderson in the dark, despite his natural tendency to hide his vulnerability. Besides, the police detective already knew the biggest secret – Clark’s other identity. Finding out about Clark’s Achilles heel was just the icing on the cake. Clark looked at Lois. She agreed without words.

“Kryptonite.” Clark admitted

“Kryptonite?” Henderson echoed. “What’s that?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “It’s, uh, a mineral. I think it’s pieces of my birth world, Krypton. And I think it came to Earth along with my spaceship.”

Henderson’s eyes flashed with curiosity again at the mention of the spaceship.

Clark reached for Lois’s hand again. “I ran into it in Smallville. If I’m exposed to it, it takes away my, uh, abilities. It’s radioactive.”

Henderson flinched just a little bit. “Radioactive?” He did not look happy.

“I don’t think it’s harmful to humans,” Clark said. “My dad was around it, and my mother and Lois, too. They seemed okay.” He took comfort in Lois’s hand, warm in his, and in the sunlight. Although his guts seemed to be moving more than they should and he still had some pain, he could feel himself growing stronger by the moment.

“What does this kryptonite look like?” Henderson asked.

“It’s green. A green mineral,” Clark answered.

Henderson got up from his chair and headed to the coat hook near the room’s entrance. He pulled a plastic baggie out of his pocket. He brought it over to the hospital bed.

Clark felt the evil presence as Henderson neared him. Sweat broke out on his face.

“Is this it?” Henderson shoved the baggie under his face. The pain hammered through Clark. Two bloodstained bullets could be seen through the clear plastic. One was normal lead. The other glowed green.

Clark groaned. Pain seized his body. His guts, lately quieted, cramped furiously. A fierce headache roared into existence. His nose began to bleed.

“Henderson! Get it away!” Lois hissed. She got up and came around the bed, and grabbed at the baggie. “It’s poison to him!”

Henderson pulled the baggie out of Lois’s reach. He looked shaken at Clark’s reaction. The kryptonite exposure had undone much of Clark’s healing. Lois danced around the detective, almost herding him away from the hospital bed.

Lois ran back to the bed and handed some tissues to Clark. He slowly wiped his face. Clark panted for a moment, still aching. The sunbeam bathed him and he felt a little better. After a minute, Clark’s headache and nosebleed stopped. He still had abdominal cramps.

Henderson stood worriedly at the door. Clark spoke to the policeman, his voice hoarse. “That’s what kryptonite does to me.”

“Oh.” Henderson shuffled a bit. “I’m sorry, Kent.”

“That’s OK,” Clark said faintly. “You didn’t know. But please don’t bring it near me again.” He was inclined to cut the inspector a little slack. As he said, Henderson didn’t know. Too bad now that Clark’s stomach felt like it was on fire again. Clark put a hand to his stomach and pressed inward, trying to stop the pain.

“What’s the matter?” Lois asked. She came over.

“It hurts.” Clark felt the beads of sweat popping out.

Lois turned to Henderson, a frightened look in her eyes. “Now look what you’ve done! He was healing and you… you shoved that right in his face!”

Henderson actually took a step back in the face of Lois’s anger.

“Henderson, I want that bullet. We can’t have kryptonite out there,” Lois demanded. “We have to destroy it.”

The inspector actually looked sympathetic for a minute. Then his face firmed. “No way, Lois. That’s official evidence. I went to the surgeon and collected what he took out of Clark. I signed for that bullet.”

“But look what it’s done to Clark!” she shrilled.

Clark now had both hands pressed into his abdomen. He clenched his lips against a moan. Even the sunlight didn’t help. The kryptonite exposure and subsequent cramping had definitely stirred something up. Perhaps his internal bleeding had started again?

Henderson’s face softened. “I see it,” he admitted.

“You said that you owed him one,” Lois persisted.

“Yeah, I do,” Henderson replied. His eyes flicked over to Clark. “But it’s evidence, Lois. And I’m an honest cop. I’m willing to bend the rules a little bit” – his eyes flicked to Tempus’s journal – “but I’m not going to suppress hard evidence that I signed for.” His voice was unyielding.

Clark groaned loudly.

Lois abandoned her argument with Henderson and ran over. “Clark!” She pulled back the top sheet, exposing his torso, and pushed aside his gown. Clark had his hands pressed to his stomach. He felt his flesh moving beneath him. It hurt. He groaned again.

“Lois…”

“Clark, do you want me to call the nurse? Can we get you more pain meds?” Lois dithered. It was very unlike her, Clark thought fuzzily through his pain. She was usually so decisive. He pushed his hands in harder as his flesh writhed. Something was moving…

His abdomen stopped churning. With a final burst of pain, the skin over Clark’s stomach burst open. His fists automatically opened to catch the hard lump that came out. He held his hands to his belly, relieved beyond measure that the pain had stopped. Blood speckled his hand.

“Clark, are you OK?” Lois said, alarmed. Henderson came over too. He must have put the kryptonite back into his coat pocket by the door because Clark couldn’t feel it. Then again, it was a fairly small piece of the deadly mineral.

“I…I’m better now,” Clark managed to croak out. His hands fell to his sides.

“What’s that?” Lois asked, noticing he held something.

“I don’t know, but it just came out of me,” Clark said. He opened his hand carefully. He should have known, he thought. What else could it have been but Nigel’s bullet?

All three of them stared at the tiny projectile in amazement. The police detective’s eyes widened in wonder. Clark caught a glimpse of Lois; she sat there with jaw dropped in incredulity. Henderson was the first to speak.

“Did you just… expel that?” He stared at Clark’s bloodstained abdomen, at the row of surgical staples, at the tiny hole where the bullet had worked its way out.

Clark said quietly, “I…I guess so.” After all, the nurse had said that the surgeon had to leave one bullet in his liver. Apparently his alien body didn’t like that idea. It had worked and worked to push out the bullet.

Lois had a sudden inward hiss of breath. She had that “Lois has an idea” look on her face. “Henderson!”

“What?”

“Problem solved.”

“What?”

“They took two bullets out of Clark, right?”

“Right.”

“You’re putting two bullets into evidence, right?”

“Right.” Henderson got that tiny hint of a smile. He saw where Lois was going with this.

“I’ll trade you,” Lois said imperiously, pointing toward the bullet that Clark still held. “One bullet, uh, removed from Clark Kent. You give me the kryptonite bullet. You still have two bullets for your evidence. The kryptonite isn’t out there, and you’ve paid off your favor to Superman.”

“Lois, you’re leading me astray,” the taciturn detective said. “It’s a deal.”

At Clark’s surprised look, Henderson added, “I do owe you, Kent. And that bullet did come from you, so I wouldn’t be lying.”

Clark nodded dully, resting after the pain. He wanted to tell Henderson that the policeman didn’t owe him anything. He would save lives no matter what. He didn’t help the police because he wanted to be paid, or because he wanted favors. He did it because he wanted to help. Saving lives wasn’t something to be totted up in a balance book. Superman’s help was freely given. That was the only way Clark could live with his fearsome and terrible powers. He had to use them to help.

But now, it was Superman who needed help. And Henderson gave it freely. Clark knew that no bribes, no threats could ever have made Henderson bend his strict police procedures. Henderson had chosen to aid Clark out of his own generosity and sense of obligation.

Clark watched, slowly growing stronger, as Henderson directed Lois. His partner donned a pair of latex gloves from the box in Clark’s room, and gently plucked the blood-smeared bullet from his hands. Then Henderson held open the baggie while Lois took out the small kryptonite bullet and replaced it with the lead projectile that had been in Clark’s liver. Henderson re-sealed the baggie and tucked it away in his coat pocket. Lois quickly wrapped the kryptonite bullet in a paper towel and shoved it deep inside her purse.

Lois breathed a sigh of relief when she completed the exchange. “Thanks, Bill.”

“For what, Lane?” the detective said with his cynical smile. “Nothing happened.”

“Right.” Lois shot the inspector an admiring look.

“There is a price, though,” Henderson said, as he and Lois sat down by Clark’s bed. “I want to know what really happened there with Mazik and St. John.”

Clark shrugged. His stomach had settled down, and he could actually feel himself charging up in the sunlight. “OK. I really did go out for some food – my parents got in late last night and I didn’t have anything for breakfast for them.”

Henderson had that curious look on his face again. “Breakfast for them. Do you eat?”

Lois snickered, and Clark could tell she was thinking of a moment in their past. He answered Henderson just like he’d answered Lois months ago. “I don’t need to, but I like to.”

It felt curiously liberating to say Superman stuff while in his Clark identity. He would have never told Henderson his secret voluntarily, but now that the cop knew, Clark wanted to be honest with him.

“What do you live on, then?”

“Sunlight.” Clark gestured, moving his arm through the sunbeam.

“I guess it saves money on grocery bills.” Henderson raised his eyebrows. “Then what happened?”

“I heard Lois call me – “

“How far away can you hear her?”

“Far,” Clark said curtly. He wasn’t going to get into that special connection he had with Lois.

“Go on.”

“Nigel had just fired at her. I got there in time to deflect the bullet. It ricocheted off my chest. I was going to catch it, but the kryptonite’s effects hit me then and I couldn’t.” Clark lowered his voice as he confessed. “I think the ricochet hit Mazik.” It had given him nightmares.

“Ah,” Henderson said. He nodded.

“The rest of it happened just like we said. Nigel shot me.”

“With the kryptonite bullet,” Henderson said. His tone made it less of a question and more of a statement.

Clark nodded.

“I wondered why he brought two guns,” the inspector mused. “He must have had only enough kryptonite for one bullet. He didn’t want to waste it on your parents or anybody else. That particular bullet was for Superman.”

“Yes.” Clark shivered.

“What I want to know is how Nigel got the kryptonite in the first place.” Lois asked sharply.

Henderson’s eyes went out of focus. “I remember something… when Luthor committed suicide, we investigated his living quarters. We found something very interesting in the wine cellars.”

Clark suspected where Henderson was going with this.

“We found a cage. A human-sized cage. The bars glowed the same green as that bullet.”

The inspector watched Clark carefully, and Clark knew he couldn’t deceive Henderson. “Lex Luthor had kryptonite. He trapped me in that cage. I… managed to escape.” Clark said nothing about the hours of agony he’d suffered, the burns on his hands where he’d grasped the kryptonite bars to pull himself forward, the loss of his powers for days afterwards. He said nothing about the anguish he’d felt, knowing Lois was to marry Luthor, knowing that she would fall into Luthor’s power, knowing that Luthor would crush her spirit.

“When was this?”

Clark met his eyes. He refused to look at Lois. “Right before Luthor died.” He heard Lois’s tiny intake of breath as she put the pieces together. Clark had wondered if he would ever tell Lois about the time Luthor had held him prisoner – and if he would ever tell her how Luthor had lured him in. Clark had hoped never to have to relive those hours.

“Luthor had kryptonite. He must have had some left over after he made the cage,” Clark said roughly. “Nigel was Lex’s right hand man. You do the math.”

“What happened to the cage?” Lois interrupted.

“I don’t know,” Henderson said. “It’s unusual, but it’s not illegal to have a cage in your wine cellar.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to have to worry about Nigel anymore, either.”

“Why not?” Lois asked.

“Because he’s in a coma. When that dog of yours knocked him down, Lois, he hit his head and got a brain bleed. He’s not expected to recover,” Henderson said. “They’re looking for some next-of-kin so they can get permission to pull the plug.”

“Oh.” Lois looked shaken.

“Lois,” Henderson said intently, “as far as I’m concerned, it’s entirely Nigel’s own doing. He tried to kidnap Clark’s parents and kill you, and he got what he deserved.”

Clark was a little taken aback by Henderson’s ferocity.

The inspector must have seen it, because he addressed his next comments to Clark. “I’m an honest cop, Clark. But I’ve seen enough bad things to be happy when the good guys make it.” He smiled. “And you’re definitely one of the good guys.”

“I try to be,” Clark mumbled.

“Am I one of the good guys, Henderson?” Lois asked.

“Yes – but you’re one of the annoying good guys.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Just telling it like it is.”

Lois shifted. “Much as I enjoy your conversation, Henderson, would you excuse me for a minute?”

The cop eyed Lois’s empty twenty-ounce coffee cup. “Sure.”

“I’ll be right back, Clark,” Lois assured him. She took her purse with her as she sought a ladies’ room.

Henderson watched her leave. He turned to Clark. “She doesn’t give up, does she?” he mused. His tone changed. “Kent,” he said, “let me give you some advice.”

“What?” Clark asked curiously. Henderson never offered advice. In fact, he’d spoken with Lois and Clark more this afternoon than he had cumulatively in the entire last year.

“That book,” Henderson said, indicating the leatherbound journal that Clark still held. “Don’t read it. And don’t let Lane or anyone else read it.”

“Why not?” Clark challenged. “According to you, I wrote it…” He trailed off as the implications of Henderson’s advice struck him. “No. You don’t want me to read it because you think it’s true. You think this Tempus guy is real.” Henderson didn’t move. “You think it does tell about the future – about my future.” Clark swallowed. “Does it tell when I die?”

Henderson said nothing.

Clark had a worse thought. “Does it tell when Lois dies?

Henderson’s face was a stone mask.

“Oh, God,” Clark said. He thrust the book at the detective. “Please take it.” Suddenly the small book felt like an unexploded bomb. No, worse than that. “Please, Henderson, get rid of it. I don’t want it.”

Henderson accepted the book and tucked it away in an inside pocket. There was a long silence. Clark scanned the inspector’s eyes and saw a disturbing knowledge in them.

“So did I tell you I got shot?” Clark asked, desperately turning his mind from horrible speculations.

“Yeah, I heard it,” Henderson said, accepting the change of subject. “How long will you be laid up?” Curiosity flared once again in his eyes. “Actually, how fast do you heal?”

“Too fast,” Clark said.

Lois came walking back at that moment. Clark lifted his head and drank in her presence. Her heartbeat, her scent, her vitality – when Lois entered his room the world brightened for Clark.

She set her purse near the door. “What are you two talking about?”

Clark was momentarily speechless. If he said anything about the time-traveler’s journal, she would demand to see it. After Henderson’s advice, Clark knew that was a very bad idea.

“I was just asking Clark how long it takes him to heal from something like this,” Henderson said smoothly.

“How long did it take you last time?” Lois asked.

“Last time?” Henderson pounced on that bit of information like a cat on a string.

“Arianna Carlin shot Superman in the shoulder with a kryptonite bullet,” Lois informed Henderson sweetly.

“I didn’t hear about that. A gunshot wound should have been reported.”

“I asked Lois to keep it quiet,” Clark said. “Not too many people know about kryptonite, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I can understand that. But from now on, you tell me these things, OK?” Henderson put the cop stare on Clark again.

Such was his force of personality that Clark found himself agreeing. “OK.”

“Right,” Henderson said. “Don’t forget that.” There was a moment of silence. “So how long did it take you to heal last time?”

“Yes, how long?” Lois echoed.

“Two days,” Clark reluctantly admitted. His shoulder had healed quickly but he hadn’t regained his powers for two days.

“It took me twelve weeks when I was shot,” Henderson said with a tinge of envy.

“I need your help again, Bill,” Clark said.

Henderson looked at him, surprised at the familiarity.

“I’m healing too fast. How can I keep the doctors and nurses from getting suspicious?”

“Why are you asking me?” Henderson said incredulously. “Lane is right there. She’s the queen of plausible stories.”

“Because you’ve been shot. You know what it’s like.” Clark didn’t mention that, as long as he had breath in his body he would ensure that Lois never joined that particular club.

Henderson twisted his lips. “Let me see that wound.”

Clark silently pulled aside his hospital gown. He was glad that the sheet covered his pelvis and legs. Lois and Henderson both stared at his bare torso.

“Okay,” the detective said. Clark readjusted his gown. “It’s hopeless.”

“What?” Clark and Lois spoke as one.

“You’re healing too fast,” Henderson said authoritatively. “It’s not too bad right now, but your nurses are going to be suspicious. There’s no way they won’t be.”

“Then what do I do?” Clark worried. His father had been right to warn him to stay away from doctors. Once they examined him, his secret would be out.

Henderson smiled. “I’m surprised Lane hasn’t told you. Sign yourself out.”

“I can do that?”

“Kent, the hospital hasn’t arrested you. You’re here of your own free will and you can leave anytime.” Henderson shot a glance at Lois and added, “Of course, they’re going to make you sign an AMA form – Against Medical Advice. Lois should know all about those.”

Lois snorted.

Henderson actually chuckled. “They’ll tell you you’re crazy and they won’t want to let you out. But if you keep on insisting – Lois can give you some pointers on how to do that – they’ll have to let you go home.”

“I’ll call your parents and tell them not to bother coming over,” Lois added.