Lois made it back to the storage room without encountering her boss and began unloading the second refrigerator, grateful now for the monotony of her task. Her mind was buzzing with Robert James.

His wife was sharing his room. Why had he ordered only one meal? Was that all he could afford? Was it because she was too sick to eat? Or something more sinister?

His wife had been in the hospital. How did that involve Paul? If Robert James wanted publicity for a complaint about the hospital or the insurance company, he would have gone to the Metropolis Star, not a college newspaper.

Would he be at the proposed meeting at four o'clock tomorrow? He had seemed eager to meet with Paul. Lois was sure he would be there.

But she wouldn't be.

She didn't need to track Robert James.

She needed information about his wife.

Paul had said that success belongs to those who are willing to seize every opportunity.

This was her opportunity - Lois could feel it - and she wasn't going to miss it.

Robert James had secrets. She would find them, write them, print them.

And then Paul Bender would realise he had taken the wrong person to Jersey.


Part 4

Lois had improved. Her breathing and heart rate had returned to normal levels. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

But she was still sleeping. Still unresponsive.

Clark had eaten the meal slowly, clinging to the hope that the smell of the food would lure Lois to wakefulness. But now, his plate was empty, and his wife appeared no closer to regaining consciousness.

He was sure young Lois had recognised him when she'd delivered the food.

He couldn't deny that he'd wanted to see her again. He'd wanted to hear her voice. And not just to check on her health. He'd known bringing her so close to his wife was risky.

But she was Lois.

And there was a chasm through his heart. A chasm of yearning.

He'd been surprised by her breathlessness and general lacklustre appearance, but he hadn't been at all prepared for the strength of his reaction to it. He'd ached to hold her. Protect her. Offer her his strength.

Connect with her.

Four flights of stairs shouldn't fatigue a healthy teenager.

Had Tempus already begun to harm her?

Was he using poison? Or drugs? Something from the future? Something from the past?

How was he intending to bring about her death?

Although she looked pale, she was well enough to work and attend college. Her death would be sudden - a shock to her family and friends. It would cause a furore in the media. And be the subject of a police investigation.

But Clark figured that wasn't a big concern for a man with a time machine.

He had to identify Tempus. He had to stop him. He had to get him away from Lois. Permanently.

He needed to devise a plan for how he was going to do it.

And that was proving difficult.

Perhaps he'd think more effectively with a cup of coffee. His last one had been in Smallville in 1993. Coffee was one of Lois's favourite aromas. The room didn't have coffee-making facilities or he would have made a pot already. If he ordered from room service, would young Lois bring it to him?

Wells had stressed the importance of easing seamlessly into her life and then fading away. He'd been adamant about the need to keep the two incarnations of Lois Lane apart.

But Clark could feel the pressure of time increasing, and so far, his achievements amounted to arranging a meeting with Paul Bender.

A knock sounded on his door. She had come back.

Why? Was it routine to check on guests? Or had something else brought her to his door?

Did she sense something about him? Could she feel their bond?

Clark opened the door, strung between the little buzz of traitorous excitement because she was Lois and the gnawing awareness that his mission was to remain blandly unmemorable.

The young woman was staring at him with unmasked interest. "I'm here to collect your empty tray," she said, crashing through a silence that had started to become uncomfortable.

The expected response would be to get her the tray without objection. But if he did that, he would grant her an unobstructed view of the bed. "I ... I haven't finished with it yet," Clark said, knowing Lois Lane would eagerly swoop on his pitiable attempt to lie. "And I was about to call for a cup of coffee."

To his surprise, she didn't slice through his excuse. She was too busy trying - with no attempt at subtlety - to look past him. "A cup of coffee?" she mumbled.

Clark stepped sideways into the path of her roving eyes. "Yes, please. Milk. Two sugars."

"Only one cup?" She gave up trying to see past him and eyed him with cool appraisal.

Clark's heart flailed with recognition. He knew that look. It meant Lois thought she was on the trail of a story. And nothing would be allowed to impede her. "Yes, please," he said, straining all expression from his words.

Her mouth opened - probably loaded with another question. Clark quickly swung the door shut. When he looked through it, Lois was just a foot away, her mouth still gaping with the aborted question, her hand raised as if in protest at the closed door.

She was frowning - but beyond her facial expression, he saw that her mind was already frenetic with speculation.

She turned and marched towards the flight of stairs.

Clark collapsed into the chair.

He was in a world with two Loises. One had shown very few signs of rousing, and there was every chance that her reaction to him upon waking might make him wish she'd stayed asleep. The other had developed a strong distrust of him and had already seen straight through his feeble regular-guy act.

And somehow, he had to save both of them from a time-travelling murderer.

+-+-+-+

Lois hurried down the final flight of stairs.

This was *it*.

She could feel the excitement rustle through the hairs on the back of her neck.

This was her big story.

Her break.

Robert James had secrets. Not bland, every-day, vanilla secrets, but major, front-page-headline, prize-winning-story secrets.

For the first time, her envy lost some of its sting. When Paul and Linda returned, Lois was confident she would have the story that would erase all memories of the weekend with Linda from Paul Bender's mind.

Robert James was the most suspicious man she had ever met. He had deliberately tried to block her view into his room. She'd managed a glimpse. Of the bed. And the shape of a small body under the blankets. And the back of a dark head.

But the glimpse hadn't been enough to ascertain if the person was male or female. Child or adult.

Dead or alive.

He'd tipped her. From the coins in his pocket. But she hadn't seen either a wallet - which would normally contain some form of identification - or any car keys.

Lois scuttled past the kitchen and into the reception area where Carol was tidying the counter in preparation to leave.

"Carol?"

The receptionist's head snapped up at the sharpness of Lois's tone. "Yes?"

"Robert James? From room 518? Does he have a car?"

"He didn't ask about a parking bay."

"But he comes from Oklahoma. How did he get here without a car?"

Carol shrugged. It was Friday evening and the end of her shift - it was obvious she didn't care a hoot about Robert James' mode of transport. "Perhaps his wife came by ambulance."

"Did he say he was going home?"

"Yes. After his wife has rested."

"Did he say how he was going to get home?"

"He mentioned a road trip."

"How can he have a road trip without a car?" Lois demanded.

"Perhaps he's going to use a cab."

"All the way to Oklahoma?" Lois's question was almost a shriek, propelled by her rising excitement.

"No," Carol said. "All the way to the airport."

"That is *not* a road trip," Lois declared triumphantly. "It's a flight."

"I'm going home," Carol said as the last dregs of her patience melted away. She picked up her bag. "Before Tony hits me with yet another stint of unpaid overtime."

Lois darted to the door and arrived there first. "Just one more thing," she begged. "Where did he get the money to pay for his room?"

Carol looked at her askance. "You think he robbed a bank or something?"

"No," Lois said, shaking her head. "Did he get the money from his wallet? From a bag? From his pants pocket?"

Carol thought for a moment. "From his shirt pocket," she said.

"His shirt pocket?" Lois exclaimed

"It was awkward for him; he was carrying his wife."

"So you didn't see any ID?"

Carol sent Lois a look with a patently clear message, Please get out of my way; I'm going home.

Lois opened the door and let Carol through. Ignoring the receptionist's disapproving look, Lois ran thirty yards along the road, checking the licence plates of the parked cars.

There was none from Oklahoma!

Robert James had lied.

And if he'd lied about coming from Oklahoma, he'd probably lied about other things.

Like his wife.

And her illness.

And what he was really doing in Metropolis.

Why had his wife appeared to be asleep when he'd booked into the hotel? Had he hurt her? What was he trying to hide? And why had he come to the college asking to see Paul?

Lois was going to confront Robert James. Tonight. When she took his coffee to his room. Tomorrow could be too late.

This had become more than a story.

This was about a poor woman who was trapped with her lying, devious, cold-hearted, close-fisted husband.

Lois opened the hotel door and slipped inside.

"Where have you been?"

Her heart sank as she turned to face Tony. "I just needed to check something," she said.

"I don't pay you to check things *outside*," Tony snapped. "There are more than enough things you should be checking inside."

"Yes, Mr Green," Lois said, hoping this wasn't going to degenerate into one of his tirades.

"I am beginning to regret hiring someone so young," he said. "You told me you needed this job and you were willing to work hard."

"I do," Lois said. "And I am."

Her affirmation had no effect on the severity of Tony's expression. "The guests in Room 815 are complaining that the bed linen is frayed," he said. "Get up there and replace it."

"Yes, Mr Green." Managing to contain her groan under her breath, Lois headed for the linen closet, mentally girding herself for the long haul up seven flights of stairs.

+-+-+-+

Clark sat beside Lois's bed, waiting for the younger version to return with his coffee.

His endeavours to remain insipidly ordinary had failed. She suspected there were holes in his story, and that could only lead to problems.

Because, as Clark knew, Lois Lane never gave up on a story.

He had to protect her. He had to find out more about her life. And he had to do both without further inciting her volatile curiosity.

He ran his fingers along the silky skin of his wife's forearm. She had some of the information he needed - information about young Lois's life. But he'd waited all afternoon for the miracle of Lois being alive to progress to the wonder of her being awake, and nothing had happened.

Clark took the photo Wells had given him and stared at it. The face looked too old to be able to impersonate a student, but Wells had said something about appearance-modification techniques in the future.

Presumably, Tempus still had to be male, so Clark should start with the men in young Lois's life.

Paul Bender was the obvious one, but he shouldn't discount her fellow workers at the hotel. Professors at the college. Friends. Other students.

He would follow young Lois home tonight, Clark decided. To ensure she arrived safely. To see if anyone acted suspiciously around her. To check her apartment for potential hazards.

He pushed the photo into his shirt pocket and slid his hand into hers. Her fingers closed around his.

It was her most definite response in days.

Perhaps she was beginning to rise from the depths.

Young Lois had looked less tired after her second trip up the stairs than she had after her first.

Could they be linked?

Could Tempus have done something to young Lois earlier today? Something that had made her unwell? And also caused a worsening of Lois's condition?

If that supposition was accurate, Tempus had to have had contact with Lois today. When Clark had seen her, she had been waiting outside Paul Bender's office.

Lois moved.

Her eyelids flickered.

She swallowed.

Would she wake up soon?

Would she remember him?

With a jolt, Clark realised that the burning ache in his chest was fear coiled around his heart.

More than anything, he wanted Lois to wake up. But when he imagined it, his overriding emotion was neither hope nor joy, but fear. Fear that she wouldn't remember him.

He had lost her twice before. The first time had been after he'd told her his secret and tried to explain why he'd abandoned her during her parents' funeral. He'd retreated to Smallville, his broken heart shrouded in hopelessness.

But she had come to him, and her love had healed his pain.

Then, he'd watched her die in the hospital. He'd wept over her lifeless body.

There had been another time, too. When he'd been imprisoned in the warehouse. As the long torturous hours had stretched into days, he'd become sure that he was going to lose everything.

But Lois had never given up.

And she had found him. Freed him. Loved him through the weeks of uncertainty as he'd come to terms with the shocking revelation that he wasn't invulnerable.

Now, Lois was trapped - bound by unconsciousness. And instead of being there for her, patiently waiting, encouraging her to emerge, he had succumbed to his fear of losing her.

With a sudden decisive movement, Clark stood. He went to her bag, unsure what he was searching for, but needing something of Lois's. Something tangible. Something to restore his hope.

In her bag, he found his journal.

He hadn't known she had taken it to Smallville, but he could understand why she had. And he was glad to have it now. It was the perfect way to reclaim their closeness.

Clark returned to the bed with the journal. He gently lifted Lois, placing the top half of her body on his chest and nestling her head against his chin.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said as his fingers weaved meandering paths through her hair. "I lost faith in the strength of our love. Whenever you're ready to come back to me, I'll be here for you. I love you. We've been through so much together. We'll get through this. We'll stop Tempus. We'll make sure Lois is all right. We'll get back to our time. And we'll do it together, because nothing is more important to me than being with you."

She seemed relaxed against him. If he closed his eyes, it was possible to imagine they were continuing their honeymoon in his bedroom in Smallville - two people supremely content in their togetherness.

"Do you remember the moment we met?" he said as he thumbed through the pages of the journal for the August 6th entry. "This is what I wrote: Today I met Lois Lane, famed reporter and the Daily Planet's brightest star ... in my bed. I came out of the bathroom - with only a towel between me and a level of embarrassment I'm fairly confident would have been fatal - and stormed right into my room, never suspecting a beautiful woman would be in my bed. But there she was ... and oh, my ... let there be no mistake ... she is beautiful. I can't get her out of my mind."

Clark's soft chuckle lifted Lois on his chest. "You can't imagine how I was feeling when I wrote those words," he said as he continued stroking her hair. "I was so excited. So impatient. So fearful that you would slip into my life and slip out again, leaving me with the torment of knowing that I'd found you but could never have you.

"I'm surprised you didn't dismiss me as a rustic hick right then. Perhaps you did." He smiled and could easily picture Lois smiling, too. "But somehow, I managed to convince you to take another look. And somehow, you were able to see beyond my country-boy simplicity. And once you knew the truth about me, you always saw Clark the person, never Clark and his differences. With you, those differences just didn't matter. You loved me anyway - and that's the greatest gift anyone has ever given me."

Clark turned sideways to drop a kiss into Lois's hair.

She mumbled a word.

Soft. Indistinct.

But he heard it.

And it brought a rush of tears to his eyes.

It was a word he thought he'd never hear again.

Not from the lips of the woman he loved.

Farmboy.

She'd said, "Farmboy."

"Aw, Lois," Clark said, picking out the tiny statue of the boy from among the charms on her wrist. "Your farmboy is here. He misses you so much. Remember the charm bracelet? Remember how the farmboy had his honey? That's us. You and me. Together. Come back to me, honey. Please come back to me. I need you so much."

She said nothing more, and Clark let the tranquillity of silence settle on them, disrupted only by the slight rustle of his fingertips as he lightly skimmed across her scalp.

There was a way out of this, and they would find it.

The fear had loosened its grip.

They were going to be all right.

A loud and impatient rapping on the door ruptured the peaceful atmosphere.

Clark eased out from under Lois and hid the journal under the mattress. The insistent banging on the door continued as he deftly arranged the blankets over his wife. When he opened the door, he immediately stepped between young Lois and the bed.

She thrust a cup of coffee towards him. "Where is your vehicle?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said you came from Oklahoma. How did you get here?"

If he told her, she wouldn't believe him. "I was unaware that hotels required details of transportation," he said mildly.

"You told Carol you were going to take your wife home after she'd rested. A road trip, you said. How are you going to do that without a car?"

That was the least of his problems.

"Why do you want to see Paul Bender?" she continued. "And don't tell me you thought he was a car salesman."

"Lois -"

Before the word was out, Clark knew he had made a mistake. "How do you know my name?" she fired at him.

In his efforts to avoid her eyes, his gaze fell, and like a drowning man clutching debris, he locked onto the nametag pinned to her chest. He leant forward and squinted. "Lois Lane," he read. He rose to meet her eyes. "Isn't that your name?"

"What have you done to your wife?"

Yep, this had all the earmarks of a full-scale Lois Lane investigation. "I haven't done anything to my wife," Clark said, trying to sound firm but not defensive.

Lois closed in, stepping into the doorway. "Prove it."

Clark shuffled back a few inches. "Prove what?"

"Prove that you haven't hurt your wife. Let me see her."

"My wife is entitled to her privacy as she recuperates."

"She isn't going to recuperate if you won't let her eat."

"I haven't stopped -"

"You only ordered one meal."

"How do you know that wasn't for her?"

Lois shot him a poisoned look, making it clear that in her estimation, he wasn't a man to sacrifice his own wants for someone else.

"My wife is getting all the care she needs to make a full recovery," Clark said, hoping that was the truth.

Lois stood on her toes and craned her neck. "Mrs James?" she called. "Mary? Are you all right? Would you like me to call the police?"

"The police?" Clark spluttered.

"Let me guess," Lois said, sarcasm oozing from her tone. "You would prefer they stayed out of this."

"You have no business coming here and -"

"I have enough evidence to make the police very interested in you and what you're doing here."

What evidence? What did she *know*? And what had she guessed? With Lois, the two were often indistinguishable.

HG Wells had made this sound simple. Obviously, he didn't know Lois Lane.

Arguing with her was going to be like pouring accelerant on a fire. "Thank you for bringing my coffee," Clark said calmly. "Please don't interrupt us again this evening. My wife needs to rest."

"Your wife needs medical attention," Lois said.

Clark sighed softly. "Please move away and allow me to close the door."

"Or you'll do what?" she challenged.

There was little he could do. Any movement from him was going to give her a direct view of the bed. And he couldn't physically push her back - he just couldn't. "I haven't hurt my wife," Clark said earnestly. "I would never hurt her. I love her."

"How are you going to get her home without a car?"

I'm hoping to use a time machine. The reply formed in his mind, followed by an image of Lois's reaction, and teased a smile to his lips. He smothered it quickly.

But he wasn't fast enough to evade Lois Lane.

"You think this is funny?" she railed. "Your wife is sick. You won't let anyone see her. She's not getting any food. At best, you're being neglectful. At worst, you've brought her here as a part of a nefarious plan to -"

"I would never hurt my wife."

"Is she deaf?"

"Deaf?" he asked in surprise. "No."

"So she can hear this conversation? She hasn't made a sound. She hasn't tried to convince me she is all right. Therefore, she's either dead or unconscious. Or she's petrified by what you'll to do to her if she tells anyone the truth about you."

"I would never tell my wife she can't speak," Clark said, easily able to imagine how *that* would be received.

"Have you gagged her? Literally?"

"Of course not. She's *asleep*."

"If she's asleep, there's no reason not to let me see her."

"There's every reason not to let you see her," Clark said. "She is entitled to -"

"I just want to know she's OK."

Clark eyed the young woman for a moment, trying to remind both of them that he was the guest and she was the employee; he was the married man and she was the just-out-of-high-school teenager. "Does the phrase 'it's none of your business' mean anything to you?" he asked wearily.

"You lied about coming from Oklahoma," she retorted. "You lied about having a car. You lied about wanting to take your wife home."

"Believe me," Clark said with solemn longing. "There is nothing I want more than to take my wife home."

Her volley of questions stalled.

They stood there, assessing each other. Her eyes were cold. Her eyebrows were drawn together. Distrust clothed her expression.

But she was still beautiful.

Then Clark heard a sound from behind him.

Lois had heard it, too. She stretched onto her toes, trying desperately to see past him.

Clark shuffled sideways to block her view. "Please leave us alone," he said. Before she could respond, he closed the door, sure he'd come within inches of contacting her nose as she'd strained forward.

"Sarah?"

Clark spun around at the sound of his wife's voice.

She was sitting up in the bed, looking dazedly around the room.

Her eyes fell on him, and her confusion deepened. "What are you doing here?" she asked.