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.
Part 5
Clark waited, breath clogged, heart thumping, mind mashed.
Lois stared at him for a long moment, trapping him with beautiful eyes he had thought were closed forever.
A hesitant smile touched her mouth.
Every instinct was urging him to cross the room at super speed, sweep her into his arms, and hold her so securely that she could never slip away from him again. Fear of scaring her gave him caution, so he placed the cup of coffee on the table and walked sedately towards the bed, swallowing feverishly and trying to drag articulate thoughts from a mind swamped with disbelief. He stopped a couple of feet from her. "Lois?" he croaked.
Her smile stretched a little further, but it didn't disperse the confusion clouding her expression. She lifted her arm towards him, her palm outstretched. "Are you all right?" she asked.
She was asking about *his* welfare? Clark stepped closer and tentatively put his hand in hers. "I ..."
She pulled him to the edge of the bed. "Where are we?" she asked as she surveyed the room.
There was no simple answer to that question.
"At first, I thought I was in the room where I stayed with Lucy and Sarah in Wichita," Lois said. "But this is different. It's much smaller. And older. And more modest."
Clark's mind was clutching one thing she'd said. "You remember Sarah Crawford?" he asked. "You remember being in Wichita?"
His question intensified her bewilderment. She increased the pressure on his hand and drew him to a sitting position on the bed. He perched on the edge, still wary of crowding her. Her hand capped his, exuding familiarity and warmth and connection. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You look as lost as I feel. What happened?"
"Lois." He snatched at a tatty breath. "I ..."
"Are you all right, Clark? You're worrying me."
Clark.
She'd said his name. Lois had said his name. With love. And concern. And acknowledgement of their shared history. Tears pressed against his eyelids.
Her hand squeezed his. "What's wrong?" she said. "What happened?"
"You remember me," he whispered with awe.
A little smile wriggled through the concern. "Of course I remember you, Clark. We're ..." She glanced down to her left hand. "... married."
"You had to check," Clark said.
Her brow wrinkled in thought. "I remember being with Sarah and Lucy in the hotel room in Wichita. I remember hoping that our silly argument in the barn wouldn't keep you from coming to our wedding." Her smile glimmered. "I remember wondering if it would be possible to literally drag you to the church and then deciding that the long white dress and high-heeled shoes could be a problem."
The image in his mind stirred up a puff of amusement, but Clark didn't smile. Not yet. He and Lois hadn't unravelled the labyrinth of tangled memories yet. "Is that the last thing you remember?"
Lois slowly shook her head as if she were assembling far-flung echoes from the past. "I remember you waiting outside the church, dressed for the wedding. I remember going to you, and us finally being able to talk. I remember the wedding service and how you had counted the number of days we'd known each other." Sudden radiance energised her smile. "I remember being in your bedroom at Smallville. And I will *never* forget what we did there."
Relief gushed through Clark like a mighty river in flood.
Lois hadn't forgotten that she loved him.
But then her smile dwindled. "When I woke up in a hotel room, I thought I must have dreamed our wedding." She searched his face. "But if you're here, and they're not ... Maybe it wasn't a dream?"
"It wasn't a dream," Clark said in a quivery voice. Although some of the events that had happened in the few days following their wedding had been a nightmare.
"You seem surprised that I remember," Lois said gently. "How could I have forgotten my husband? How could I not know the man I love?" Her hand lifted from the blanket. "How could I not remember the man who gave me this bracelet to celebrate my life ... our love?"
"Do you remember everything about me?"
Lois grinned with sudden playfulness. "Do I remember how you take me into your strong, gentle arms and kiss me until my muscles melt with need?"
Clark felt himself smile. "You remember that?"
"Oh, yes," she breathed.
It was so wonderful to have her back, but Clark couldn't rest until all possibility of misunderstanding had been dissolved. "Do you remember other things about me?"
"Like your ability to brighten the darkest of days with one smile?"
He had missed her so much. "Anything else?"
Her expression smoothed to careful blankness. "You write stories for The Daily Planet?" she asked. "We work together?"
Clark didn't know if her innocence was real or if she had discerned what he wanted and was deliberately being evasive. "And other things," he prompted.
"Like ... you drink very sweet coffee?"
"What else?"
"You like to use food names as passwords."
"Lo-is."
Her grin twitched, and her grasp slid up to his forearm. "Now, I understand," she said as if revelation had sprung upon her. "You're fishing for compliments on your wedding night performance."
Clark laughed – partly to cover the redness he knew was gathering on the surface of his cheeks and partly to release some of his jubilation that Lois still shared those beautiful memories.
But he had to know for sure that he wasn't going to have to put them both through another disclosure of his differences.
"Do you remember other things I do?" he persisted. "Like *super* things."
"You're certainly *super* at some things," she drawled as her hand lifted from his arm and paused with tantalisingly buoyancy at the base of his throat.
He captured her hand. "Do you remember that I can fly?"
"Fly?" she said with mock amazement. "You can *fly*?"
Clark stared at his wife, grappling with the impossible truth that all of Lois had come back to him. He had come horribly close to losing her.
He *had* lost her.
The loneliness wrought by her death flowed back, overwhelming him. Clark clasped her against his chest and held her, unable to stop himself from trembling in surrender to the dual waves of hopelessness and horror, relief and gratitude.
When she eased away from him and looked into his face, all her light-heartedness was gone. "Clark?" she said. "What's wrong?"
He brushed away the tear that had welled in the corner of his eye. "I ... I thought I'd lost you."
The softness of her hands covered his face like a mist of sweet love. "Clark, we talked about that," she said. "In front of the church, remember?"
Yes, he remembered. But that was only one entry in a bank of memories - and some of the others were still strung through his heart like razor wire. "What's the last thing you remember?" he said, needing to establish firm ground for both of them.
"I offered your parents the room we'd booked in Tulsa because we had to travel by car, and I thought we'd waited long enough to be together."
"We had," Clark agreed, recalling the wonder of going into his bedroom with Lois, shutting the door, and knowing that their time had truly come.
"I remember the day after our wedding," Lois said. "But I don't remember why we decided to come to Tulsa. I ... I have a vague impression of flying with you. That's right ..." Her smile budded with joyful recollection. "You got your powers back after we made love."
"Yeah," Clark said, experiencing an erratic mix of joy and still-potent despair. He'd been so sure that their love - so perfect and beautiful - had been going to cost Lois her life.
Her hand coasted upwards, and her fingers nestled in his hair as her thumb skimmed over his cheekbone. "Do you still have your powers?"
"Yes."
"So we flew here?" she said. "By Superman Express?"
Indecision stunted his reply. How should he tell her? What should he tell her first? That she had died? That someone was planning to kill her? Or that they were in 1985, and he was being investigated by Lois Lane?
Her eyes had filled with questions. "This is big, isn't it?" she breathed. "Something happened? Something strange?"
He nodded.
Her hands grasped his arms, just down from his shoulders. "But we're all right? You and me? We're together? Nothing has changed that?"
"Nothing is ever going to change that," Clark vowed.
Her sombreness lingered for a moment, but was then dissolved in a little laugh of relief. "You need to tell me what's going on," she said. "But first, could you order me some coffee? And a *huge* breakfast? I'm starving."
Clark wasn't ready to separate from her yet. Explanations could come later, but there was something that couldn't wait. "Lois," he said. "I love you."
She gave him a sweet smile. "I love you, too, Clark."
His forehead sank onto hers. "Lois," he breathed, tightening his arms around her.
She let him cling to her for long moments. Then her fingers slid down his cheek, and she lifted his chin. "Clark," she said. "Are you all right?"
"I was just ... so .... so scared ... I saw what my life would be without you."
"I'm not going anywhere," she said, her touch and her words coming in generous response to his need for reassurance even though she couldn't have understood the reasons behind it. "Not without you."
Tempus wanted them apart. But Lois had come back to him, and together they would -
"Why aren't you wearing your glasses?" Lois asked.
"I ... I left them behind."
"Oh," she said. "I guess you'll have to fly back and get them."
Before Clark could form a response, Lois had claimed him, her hands touching his face and her mouth caressing him, kissing him fully and deeply in heady affirmation of their love. He spread his hand around her head, needing to draw her even closer.
Earlier today, he'd thought ... he'd *known* she would never kiss him again.
Yet here she was – holding him, loving him, restoring him.
When she withdrew, she was grinning a thousand suggestive ideas. "Breakfast first? To build up our energy?"
"It's evening," he informed her, rather inanely, but that was about the extent of his brain's ability to function.
Her surprise was quickly swept aside with a smile. "And why is that a problem?" she asked. "It's always breakfast time somewhere in the world."
The memories flooded back. Their first flight. The wonder of watching the sun rise on the newness of their love. "What would you like to eat?" Clark asked.
She didn't reply verbally, but the little glint in her eyes was sufficiently eloquent.
"You want coffee and chocolate croissants?" he guessed as another memory emerged from the darkness.
"Would you mind?"
"I ... I'll see what I can do," Clark promised, although the francs he carried specifically to buy Parisian croissants were in 1993. He stood up, and Lois threw back the covers and swung her legs over the bed. She sat there, wriggling her toes.
Clark crouched next to her. "Are you OK?"
"Yeah," Lois said, reaching down to rub her legs. "I just feel a bit strange. Dizzy and stiff – as if I haven't moved in days."
Clark fell forward to his knees and put her feet on his thighs. With long strokes, he gently massaged the length of her calves. "How does that feel?"
"Good," she said, although it sounded as if her train of thought had moved on. "Clark? How long was I asleep? What have I missed? And why can't I remember coming here?"
If he started to tell her, she wasn't going to be eating for a long time. "Let's not worry about that now," Clark said with a smile that he hoped was reassuring. "You're hungry. We can talk about everything while you eat."
"OK," she said, still sounding a little dubious.
"All you have to do is concentrate on getting better," he said.
Lois fingered the hem of the hospital gown she was wearing. "I was sick?" she asked. "Exactly *how* sick?"
"How does this feel?" he said, applying just a little more pressure to his strokes.
She'd noticed his gauche attempt to evade her question, but when her eyes slid shut and she leant back on her elbows, Clark knew she wasn't going to pursue it. Not now, anyway. "Amazing," she said. "Your touch is exactly what I need."
It was what he needed, too. He needed to feel her warmth under his hands. To feel life in her body.
After five minutes, her eyes opened, and she smiled at him. "Thank you. That feels much better."
Clark sprang to his feet and helped her to stand. She wobbled a bit, and he steadied her. "You all right?"
Her smile looked a little forced. "Yes. I'm fine," she said, although her lingering confusion leached some of the certainty from her reply.
He pointed to the table. "Your bag is there ... and I bought you some clothes." He held the store bag towards her. "I wasn't sure about ..."
Lois scanned the room and saw the battered suitcase, and another question flickered across her face. She took the bag and looked inside it. "I ... What *happened* to us, Clark?"
"I'll tell you everything," he promised. Leaving her was going to be one of the most difficult things he'd ever done, but if he stayed, he was going to be dodging an increasingly intense avalanche of questions.
Perhaps Lois sensed his reluctance because she said, "We could order in."
But that would bring about another encounter with young Lois, which would inflame his wife's barely contained curiosity. He put his hand on her shoulder. "No," he said. "They don't have chocolate croissants here, and the coffee is terrible. I'll go and get you something to eat."
"But?"
She could read him so well.
"But while I'm gone, it's really important that you don't open the door. Not for anyone."
Her eyebrows dipped with bafflement. "Now I *really* want to know what is going on," she said.
"Food first," he said with fake brightness. "Then we'll talk." It would sound ridiculous to ask her to promise she would still be alive, but ... "Please be here when I get back."
"Of course I'll be here," she said, garnishing her promise with a smile and a touch to his arm. "I'll go into the bathroom and tidy up a bit, but I won't leave the hotel room." Her mouth rose to meet him. Clark closed his eyes and surrendered to the comfort of her presence.
He loved the feel of her arms curved around his shoulders. He loved the brush of her hands on his neck. He loved the pressure of her mouth on his. He loved the privilege of being this close to her.
He loved kissing Lois. He would never grow tired of kissing Lois.
She drew away and patted his shoulder. "We have all the time in the world," she said.
Clark nodded. He walked to the balcony. He stopped. He turned back and feasted his eyes on Lois.
Alive. Awake. Smiling. Knowing him. Loving him.
His beautiful wife.
He didn't want to leave her.
Ever.
With a farewell smile, she turned and went into the bathroom and closed the door.
Clark shot out of the window and into the darkened sky in search of coffee and chocolate croissants.
+-+-+-+
Lois Lane quietly replaced the handset. She'd taken advantage of Tony being occupied with an irate guest and had slipped into the lobby to use the hotel phone. She'd called the four closest hospitals, pretending to be a concerned family member inquiring about Mary James. All had said they had no patients with that name. When she'd asked if they would check for patients who had been released during the past few days, the result had been the same.
Mary James had not been a patient in any hospital within thirty miles.
Robert James had been carrying her when he'd arrived. And he had no car.
He had lied about his wife having been in a hospital.
Or he had lied about her name. Perhaps she wasn't his wife.
What should Lois do now? Charge up the stairs, bang on his door, and confront him with her evidence? What would he say? How would he try to duck her allegations?
Except ... galling though it was, Lois needed this job. And her reasons had just become more than financial - working at the North-Western put her in the same building as the man who was going to become her Breakthrough Story.
Who was the woman in room 518? Had she been asleep? Or unconscious? Why had Robert James brought her here?
Had he done something to her?
Was she going to die?
Was there anything Lois could do tonight?
Would tomorrow be too late?
Lois's hand hovered over the phone. Should she call the police?
Tony would explode into a thousand angry little pieces. Police visiting a hotel meant trouble.
Was there any way to try to explain it to him as an attempt to protect the reputation of his hotel? She could remind him that a murder in one of the rooms would inevitably lead to plummeting guest numbers.
How would the police react? Her only concrete evidence was that a guest had lied about transport. And had possibly falsely claimed that a woman was his wife.
Guests in a hotel did that regularly.
He hadn't appreciated her attempts to pry into his personal business - which, unfortunately, wasn't a crime.
No police officer in the world was going to launch an investigation on the strength of such flimsy evidence - particularly when it had been brought by a freshman reporter.
If they found anything further - and Lois was sure there was a lot more about Robert James just waiting to be uncovered - they would probably call in professional reporters who worked for papers like The Daily Planet and she would be swept aside.
So ... no police. Not yet.
Was there anything she could do?
Anyone who could ...
Her hand grasped the phone.
Should she?
She didn't want to. It felt too much like admitting she wasn't up to getting the story.
But ...
But Paul had said that success in the newspaper business belongs to those who willingly seize every opportunity.
This was her opportunity. And she had to do everything to get the story - including using her contacts to get a foothold in a story that was proving difficult to crack.
And if the person Robert James had locked in his room was really in danger ...
Lois snatched up the phone and quickly dialled a familiar number.
"Dr Samuel Lane."
"Ah ... Dad. It's Lois."
"Lois." She could hear the surprise in his voice. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. But one of my friends is sick. She needs to see a doctor."
"Take her to a clinic."
He was still annoyed with her. "She can't go to a clinic."
"Then call a doctor and ask for a home visit."
That was what she was doing now. "Could you come?" She quickly added, "Tonight? Please?"
"No, Lois. I'm busy."
"Dad! This is important. She's really sick, and I -"
"Take her to a hospital."
"But she -"
"Goodnight, Lois."
"Wait! Dad, I -"
He waited. She could hear him breathing. She could imagine the unyielding expression on his face.
Lois knew she owed him an apology - probably a whole bouquet of apologies - but her pride rose up and choked it down. "I'm worried about her," she said lamely.
"Then get her to a hospital."
"There are ... obstacles. Would you be able to see her tomorrow?"
Her dad sighed. "What time?"
"As early as possible," Lois said. Then she amended it to, "Whenever it's convenient for you."
"Ten o'clock tomorrow morning?"
She'd been hoping for earlier than that, but ... "OK. Thanks. Thanks, Dad. I ... I appreciate you doing this for me."
"Where is she?"
"At the North-Western Hotel."
"The North-Western Hotel?" His tone dripped contempt. "Near Suicide Slum? Who do you know who would stay *there*?"
"I ..." Should she admit that she worked here? "She's someone I met," Lois said. "I don't know her that well, but I think she needs to see a doctor."
Her father sighed again. "All right," he said. "I'll meet you in the lobby at ten."
"OK," Lois said. "And Dad ... Thanks."
+-+-+-+
Clark landed on the balcony and rushed into the hotel room.
It was empty.
"Lois?" he said, panic searing his voice.
The bathroom door opened, and Lois stepped out, dressed in the clothes he had bought from the department store.
He placed the cups and paper bags on the table and dashed over to her. He stood there, his eyes flitting over her.
She was still here. Still alive. Still smiling at him.
He calmed his frazzled nerves as he took her hand and led her to the table. He sat her down and put her coffee in front of her. "How are you feeling now?" he asked, trying to make it sound like a casual inquiry.
"Much better," she said. She inhaled the steam that had risen from the cup. "Uhmmm. I feel as if I haven't had coffee in weeks."
Clark didn't comment. "But other than craving coffee," he said with a hopeful smile, "you feel OK?"
"Yeah," Lois said. She sipped from the cup and swallowed with obvious delight. "Except my head feels as if someone stuffed it with cotton candy."
"You should eat," Clark said. "I bought you some bagels as well as the croissants. You said you were hungry."
She ripped open a paper bag, revealing two bagels. "Have one," she offered, pushing the bag towards him.
"No, thanks," he said. "I ate earlier."
Lois peeled back the lid of the cream cheese and began smearing some on her bagel. "Do you remember eating breakfast in your bedroom in Smallville?"
They'd done it twice during their honeymoon, but Clark knew she was referring to another time. The first time. "I brought you chocolate croissants," he said. "And you made a comment about how surprised you were that Smallville could produce such delectable treats."
Lois grinned. "And you conveniently neglected to mention that the croissants had come from France."
Clark rallied to his own defence. "But I was in love with a smart citygirl," he said. "And I figured being from Smallville was handicap enough."
Her chuckle felt like a soothing massage through the tense ridges of his neck and shoulders. "Don't dis Smallville," she said. "Any place that can produce a farmboy like you ..."
Farmboy. That word nearly dislodged the torrent of his jangled emotions, and Clark swallowed again.
Lois stopped chewing and stared at him. "What happened, Clark?" she asked softly. "The last thing I really remember was us blissfully enjoying our honeymoon. But something has happened. You smile, but it doesn't dislodge the anguish in your eyes. And before ... It was almost as if you were scared to leave me. What did I miss? *How* did I miss it?"
Should he just blurt it out? "It might shock you."
"I can see how much it has affected you."
"You ..." He didn't want to say it.
"I what?"
"You got sick. On Monday. Two days after our wedding. I flew you to the hospital in Metropolis."
"That's why I was wearing that hideous hospital gown?" Lois said.
Clark nodded. "You lost consciousness on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, you ..."
She stopped eating and waited, her eyes trained on him.
"... died," Clark said as another torrent of tears strangled his throat. "You died."
"I ..." Disbelief spread across her face. "I d..."
He stretched out his arms towards her, and Lois slid onto his lap, enveloping him in her embrace. She clung to him, her hands spread through his hair.
He listened to her heartbeat and tracked the rise and fall of her breaths - just because he could.
"Oh, Clark," she murmured. When she backed away, her hands cupped his cheeks, and her eyes burrowed into his. "Now I understand," she said. "I understand why you look so tormented."
She leant forward and kissed him. Gently. Tenderly. Her touch sought out every pocket of pain and dismantled it with her love.
From the door came the sound of impatient tapping, and Clark groaned as he reluctantly disconnected from Lois. He looked through the door. "Lois," he whispered urgently. "I need you to go into the bathroom and stay there. Whatever you hear, please don't come out. Please don't say anything."
She slipped from his lap, her face wrought with questions.
"I'll explain everything," Clark said. "But please, honey, it's really, *really* important that you do as I ask."
She slowly walked to the bathroom - with a couple of backward glances - went in, and closed the door behind her.
With a breath that he hoped would fortify him for the next round of the skirmish with Mad Puppy Lane, Clark strode to the door and opened it.
Young Lois was already scanning in the direction of the bed. She gasped. "What have you done with the woman?"
Figuring it didn't matter if she saw the empty bed, Clark turned side-on. "She's in the bathroom," he said.
Lois didn't believe him. "Excuse me?" she called loudly. "Mrs James? Are you there? Are you all right?"
Clark held his breath, hoping Lois wouldn't respond. If young Lois recognised her own voice coming from the bathroom, it would throw her into a spin the likes of which he didn't even want to think about.
They waited as unseen tension simmered between them.
There was only silence from behind the bathroom door.
"You've hurt her, haven't you?" Lois accused grimly. "That's why she isn't answering."
"No," Clark said. "I haven't hurt her. She has been unwell."
"So unwell she can't answer a simple question?" Condescension puckered the young woman's expression. "Or perhaps you'd like me to believe she is still asleep."
"She's in the bathroom," he said, trying to sound as if that obviously explained everything.
"Is she your wife? Or is she some poor woman you've kidnapped? Does her family know where she is?"
Clark pointed to the bathroom door. "The person behind that door is my wife," he said firmly. It was easier to be decisive now he was safe in the knowledge that Lois remembered she was married to him. "She chose to be with me. She is perfectly fine."
"What are you going to do with the body?"
Clark spluttered. The Lois Lane Leap was alive and well in 1985. "There isn't going to be a body," he said. "My wife is recovering nicely. Thank you for your concern."
That comment earned him a hard cold look. "Prove it."
He raised his eyebrow, hoping it would convey disbelief - when, in fact, he found it ridiculously easy to believe that Lois Lane would be this tenacious in the pursuit of answers.
"Ask her a question," she said. "I want to hear her voice."
He couldn't allow that to happen. "Is it a part of your job to check on guests when they're in the bathroom?" he asked, allowing disapproval to spice his tone.
"How hard is it to prove that she's alive?" Lois said with rising exasperation.
From behind the bathroom door came the unmistakable sound of the shower.
"Not that hard at all," Clark said mildly.
Her gaze flitted briefly to the bathroom door, but then zeroed in on him again. "Why did you lie about her having been in the hospital? What is her real name? Why are you -"
"This is not your big story," he said quietly. "Let it go."
She eyed him with dagger-like questions. "How do you know -"
"I've read some of your work," Clark said. Actually, he'd read a *lot* of her work - probably more than she had.
"This isn't about a story," Lois snapped. "I'm trying to stop an innocent woman from becoming a homicide statistic."
So was he. "You don't need a big sensational story," Clark said. "You're a fine reporter. You - "
"Don't think that you can sidetrack me with smooth compliments," she hissed. "I know you're hiding something, and I *will* uncover it." She shot him a glare that would have melted most metals.
"Goodnight." Clark closed the door and then checked to see if she had moved away.
She hadn't.
As he watched, her hand lifted and banged on the door.
With a sigh, Clark opened it again.
She didn't even look abashed by her harassment. Hadn't it occurred to her that he could report her to the management? Didn't she care about this job?
He knew the answer, of course. When Lois Lane thought there was a story in the offing, she cared little about personal inconvenience.
"Paul Bender can see you at ten o'clock tomorrow morning in his office," she said with frosty formality. "You seemed eager for the meeting, so he moved it forward."
The earlier time suited him. Now that Lois was awake, they needed to track down Tempus. "Thank you," Clark said.
"You'll be there? Paul's a busy man. He doesn't have the time for no-shows."
"I'll be there."
With a final frown, Lois turned and flounced away.
Clark closed the door.
His wife emerged from the bathroom.
"Whoa," she said. "Who was *that*?"
