A/N: Wow. Thank you so much for the overwhelmingly positive feedback—I appreciate it! Here's a little action (which I've always found excruciatingly difficult to write). Hope you enjoy it.

Part 2

Leaving Lois with a last smile, Superman turned to the business at hand, tuning out the sirens below as he passed as he passed over the rushing police cars, scanning ahead for the cause of the disturbance. It was nearing evening, the light beginning to fade, but there were still an assortment of noises to sort through.

Dogs barking.

Doors being closed.

A TV on the sports channel proclaiming: "…and it's a touch down!" against the backdrop of screaming fans.

A child throwing a tantrum.

A running faucet.

"Stop whimpering like that and sit down if you wanna live!"

That caught his attention. The voice led him to a bank, and a quick scan with x-ray vision showed him all he needed to know—a scene he could have guessed at considering the building. It appeared to be a robbery turned hostage situation: three men with guns, and some dozen people cowering on the floor, flinching under their barked commands. Someone had probably activated the silent alarm, hence the police, and the alerted security guards he could see, hidden out of sight of the robbers, but with guns drawn in readiness.

He knew the trick would be disarming all three men before one of them got the bright idea to start shooting people. Luckily, they appeared to be still unaware of their approaching doom, and were only half paying attention to their hostages, two of the three robbers occupied with transferring the money into sacks. Even the more intelligent criminals seemed to instinctively focus on him, automatically shooting at him, despite years of experience, realizing too late that Superman couldn't be shot. Unless they have some kind of Kryptonite ammunition, he reminded himself. He'd have to err on the side of caution and avoid shots as much as possible from now on, since there was no knowing. And he'd have to take these men out as quickly as possible for his own sake now, as much as the hostages'.

He considered his options, and decided the window would be the best, most immediate approach. Aiming first of all for the one who had his gun lazily trained on an employee, he smashed through glass. The man only had time for a look of surprise before he was out cold. As he'd hoped, the two other men reacted by lashing out at him rather then any of the hostages. One drew his gun. Superman shot forward to grab his arm, twisting it sharply upwards, carefully controlling his strength to avoid going too far. The man released the weapon with yelp of pain, and a swift knock to the side of his head sent him to join his comrade on the floor.

Superman had kept himself alert for any strong spikes that might indicate the presence of Kryptonite on any of the men. So far, there'd been nothing but the overall insidious feeling he'd been getting for days from the vast amounts he knew were everywhere. As he turned to secure the third man, though, he felt an abrupt shift. The man was reaching for a sheath at his side just as he turned. A flash of green was followed by a sharp stab of pain in his skull, and that familiar reaction of sudden weakness.

Fighting the pain, and confused as to why he hadn't felt the Kryptonite, he kept enough presence of mind to avoid the dagger aimed at his heart. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to avoid it entirely. He bit back a gasp as it embedded itself in his shoulder, and tried to keep control of his reeling senses. Briefly, he wondered if pain was this intense for "normal" people, or if the Kryptonite also increased how much it hurt, or if pain just felt more painful to him because he rarely experienced it.

Rather ironic that "Superman" would have such a pathetically low threshold of pain… he thought, gritting his teeth as he quickly grabbed the man's wrist, preventing him from pulling the dagger back out and using it again. But his strength was waning, and the pain of the dagger, shifting in his shoulder at the movement, nearly made him release his grip.

Suddenly, inexplicably, the man released the dagger altogether, stumbling backwards. It took Superman a dazed moment to realize what had happened. The hostages—"hostages" no longer—had come to his defense and were in the process of quite enthusiastically pulling his adversary back and knocking him out. Several of them appeared particularly irate, and looked tempted go the extra mile in restraining him. Half the people in the room seemed eager to get a piece of the man, and the rest held back, watching the proceedings with approval.

In rapid succession, policemen and security guards began pouring in, producing handcuffs to finish securing the now-unconscious robbers. The subsequent ambulance team that arrived right behind them stood in the doorway scanning the room, all of them taking a visible breath of relief at not finding a massacre.

Leaning against a nearby marble pillar for support, Superman attempted to look a modicum stronger than he felt, smiling reassuringly when the medical team's attention became directed at him. Realizing he probably looked anything but reassuring with a dagger protruding from his shoulder, he reached for the handle with his right hand and prepared to pull it out. But a middle-aged woman—the first of the medical team to reach him—tapped his hand away.

"Why don't you wait and let us take care of that," she said, authoritative and gentle at once, eyeing his wound with a tight-lipped expression. "Kryptonite, I presume?" she asked.

He nodded, wincing and touching the hilt again. "I'll be alright, if you can just remove it…"

She tapped his hand away again. "Wait a moment, wait…" And more gently, "Just let us get some bandages ready."

"Thank you, but I'm fine, really," he insisted, refraining, however, from interfering as she continued to examine his shoulder.

"I think you should let me be the judge of that."

He was feeling a little sick. Nauseatingly ill, actually. But all he wanted was that shard of Kryptonite out of his shoulder—and he wanted out ofthe building. The atmosphere, and all the people hovering around him in concern, felt suffocating. And the same question kept thrumming through his mind: why hadn't he sensed the Kryptonite?

The woman seemed to sense his question by his confused expression. While she continued to prepare to remove the dagger, she nodded her head in the direction of the man the police were now in the process of hauling away, being none too scrupulously gentle. "If you're wondering why you didn't have any warning, you might be interested to know that, apparently, the guy was wearing a lead-lined sheath."

Superman nodded, too dazed to do more then acknowledge the answer to his question. Later he could panic at the implications. He clenched his teeth as the hated dagger was finally removed from his shoulder, and then sighed in relief at the lessening of the Kryptonite's immediate effects. Tiredly, he reiterated wearily, "I'm fine. Thank you, I'm fine now."

"Would you stop with that idiotic nonsense already?" The middle-aged woman was back in his face. "You're not going anywhere until I'm satisfied."

He flinched as they began cleaning the wound, checking for any residual pieces of Kryptonite that might remain.

"Here," she motioned towards the gurney. "Why don't you sit down?"

He didn't want to sit down. He wanted to leave. To go anywhere where it wasn't crowded.

"Hey, come on," she insisted. "This isn't a favor, you know, it's just repaying a small part of the debt this whole city owes you." When he still hesitated, she crossed her arms and added, "How come the only time you ever co-operate and let people help you is when you're half-dead or unconscious—or both? Why don't you just accept this once, huh?"

Superman sighed. What had he been thinking, earlier, about the women in his life being in a particularly bossy mood? Oh, right. Sometimes the path of least resistance really was the wisest course.

------------------

For the first time in almost a week, Lois had gotten a good night's sleep. It put a little more bounce back into her step, as she entered the office and strode over to her desk, depositing her jacket on the back of her chair.

It was still a constant worry to think of him out there, undergoing the risk of at any time being exposed to who-knew-how-much Kryptonite. But at least she'd seen him now. That was some consolation, to know he was still alive. Or had been last night. She hoped that parting smile of his had meant he'd take her advice and lay low for at least that evening.

She'd called up Perry as soon as possible, and the news of Superman's appearance, as well as his intent to stay, was already circulating. For better or worse, the overall population—criminals included—knew Superman was back at work, and had no intention of abandoning Metropolis soon.

She wondered if the criminals were retreating, daunted that he hadn't been frightened away, or if they were sharpening their knives in anticipation. And preparing whatever other kinds of Kryptonite weapons they've invented by now. She didn't much like following that train of thought. But she wouldn't be surprised if the evilly-inclined master-minds of Metropolis had taken Lex Luthor's idea of a weapon, as simple shard of the mineral, to whole new heights. It didn't look like they'd be lacking in supplies of Kryptonite to test ideas on. She knew her own mind flew instantly to ideas—ideas that she hoped no one else would think of and implement.

"Hey Lois," Clark greeted, stopping on his way past her desk. "You're looking a lot better today."

"Yeah, thanks. I'm feeling a lot better too. It took a weight off my mind to know Superman was alright. Would you believe I actually got some sleep last night?" Her return smile of greeting faded. He was turning away with a nod to return to his own desk, but she stopped him with, "Say, you don't look much improved today."

An ironic smile twisted his mouth. "Gee, Lois, I know everyone kinda thinks of me as a geek, but there's no reason to rub it in…"

His sense of humor caught her off-guard. For some reason, she'd never really stopped to consider that he might recognize his own dweeb-ishness, as he apparently did, at least to some extent. Then why doesn't he do something to change the fact? she wondered to herself.Belatedly, she realized she that should have said something witty right back at him—laughed at the idea, or automatically denied it, or something. "Oh, ah…Clark, I don't think of you as a…geek," she said at last.

Clark didn't answer that one. He just smiled a slightly amused but polite smile, as if to say he knew he was a geek, and that she was lying, and didn't really mind either. Which only went along with everything that was geek-ish and Clark-like.

Well, power to The Geek. He'd definitely caught her at loss—even made her a little uncomfortable—something she prided herself in rarely allowing to happen. But finally Lois rallied, remembering the purpose of her comment in the first place. "You really don't look too good, Clark—and, no, I don't mean that," she amended with a smiling shake of her head. "I mean, you don't look good health-wise. Maybe you should take today off. Don't want to work yourself into an early grave." The oft-used, and rather exaggerated, cliché seemed more applicable than usual. Clark had looked pale yesterday, as if he might be coming down with the flu. Today he looked like he had it. A bad case of it. And some exhaustion to top it off with.

Someone else might have pointed out to Lois that she might want to use the cliché for herself a little more often, but Clark just looked thoughtful for a moment, then said in his soft-spoken way, "Uh…no, I don't think so. Maybe tomorrow. Things are still kind of busy around here."

"Well, okay… Take it easy, though." She didn't argue further. In all probability, Perry would order him home before the day was out if he started looking any worse than he did already. Clark never got sick, but boy, apparently when he got sick he really got sick.

Jimmy walked past, grinning at the two of them. "Hey, good to have our superhero back in town—huh?" He landed a friendly punch to Clarks shoulder and moved on down the aisle.

Lois was certain she'd heard something—a sharp exhale of breath approaching a gasp—but when she looked to ascertain from Clark's expression if he'd made the noise of pain, he was already turned away, arms wrapped around his torso as he shuffled his way towards his own desk. She really should have a word with Perry about convincing Clark to take a break. For now, though, she had work to do. She put her fingers to the keyboard, and felt more energy to type than she had for a while.

Every once in a while, she glanced up at the TV mounted nearby. Newsflashes were constantly being reported, and lots of them involved Superman. For a while, everything had been abuzz with discussion of his absence and the reason for it. Possible answers had gone around ad nauseum. Now everyone was practically gloating with the happy turn of events. Reporters almost invariably had smiles, half-smiles, or downright grins, on their faces as they reported Superman's safety. Many more went on to soberly report that Superman would be continuing to protect the city, despite the risks.

Lois watched all of it with half her attention, focusing primarily on writing up her latest interview with Superman. A preliminary head-line article had already aired that morning, but Perry wanted a detailed one from "Superman's press-agent". She sighed as she tried to recall all the vital information. What had he said when she'd tried to tape-record their conversation—"I don't think that you will need that"? Right. She should have known better. Since when did she have short and inconsequential conversations with Superman?

Coming to a standstill in her writing, or, rather, her remembering, Lois watched gazed off into space—then decided gazing off at the TV might be more productive. A reporter was interviewing citizens at random, asking them their opinion to the question: "What do you think Superman should do: go or stay?" It was pretty easy to see which way the reporter herself leaned. It was almost as if they were doing the whole thing just to say, "You hear us, Superman? This is what everyone thinks."

A wry smile crept onto Lois' face as she watched one after another give the same opinion. The very same one she'd given so strongly to the superhero himself the other night. Why was he the only one who didn't get it? Although she had, technically, given up last night, she still held out hope that he might see the common sense that everyone else saw so easily.

"…Yes, Superman is back, and back to helping. Last night, he foiled a bank-robbery that turned into what could have been an ugly hostage situation."

Lois listened with more attention to a reporter who stood in front of a bank. So that had been what the sirens were about. Unless, of course, he had gone on to do more than one good deed the other night. Superman doesn't lie. But he certainly knows how to avoid giving you a solid answer when he wants to, she thought, recalling the smile he'd given her before leaving, and now imaging it as having more of an evasive quality to it than a confirming one.

"…unfortunately, some of the general populace's concerns have already been realized in the course of the incident," the reporter continued. "After he succeeded in restraining two of the thieves, the third pulled a Kryptonite dagger on Superman…"

Out of her peripheral vision, Lois saw that she wasn't the only one who was hearing the news for the first time. But, hearing it for the first time, she didn't have much attention to spare for observations like that.

"…He is alright, although the thief did manage to stab him in the shoulder before some of the angry former hostages," there was definitely a small quirk around the edges of the reporter's mouth there, "restrained him as well. We have some short footage from last night, with Superman looking a bit worse for wear, but the medical team on-site confirmed that he isn't in any danger from the wound…"

Lois shook herself out of the daze she'd slipped into, listening to the onslaught of information, and focused on the TV screen as an ashen-looking Superman came into view. A middle-aged woman was bandaging his arm, and although he was allowing it, as well as saying a few calm words for the camera, he looked ready to bolt.

Despite that, and his alarming pallor, Superman had that reassuring, slightly self-conscious, smile fixed to his face as perpetually as ever.

"I'm alright. I'm…fine, as you can see," he was saying in response to the reporter's inquiries.

"Are you sure?" the reporter continued—with very unhidden and un-reporter-ly concern—and then made a switch in tactics, apparently sensing the futility of the question. "How is this sudden influx of Kryptonite affecting you?"

"Well, it's not good, obviously. But I'm managing."

Yet another example of Superman's evasive abilities, Lois thought. Whatever he was doing, it hardly looked like "managing". More like…well…working himself into an early grave.

She was half hoping the efficient-looking woman bandaging Superman's shoulder might drag him off to the hospital. It was not to be. Superman rose as soon as the medical team was finished, with a quiet, "Thank you."

Gratitude's never misplaced, Superman—but I think we were all hoping for something more like, "Fine, I surrender. Take me to the hospital.", or even "You're right. I should be in a lead-lined building surrounded by police." Try a little less gratitude, and more of that

But, even with a steady stream of exasperated sarcasm running through her mind, it was as impossible as ever to be really mad at him, as it had probably been for anyone who'd been on the scene. Especially considering the way Superman paused intentionally to level a sincere gaze at everyone around him—especially focused on the former hostages and medical team—and reiterated gratefully, "Thank you, all of you, for helping me." He nodded in recognition of the various murmurs of, "No problem Superman.", "We'd all do it again.", and one particularly bold, "Yeah, we'd do it again—but that doesn't mean you have permission to go getting yourself into more trouble." Superman smiled genuinely at that, and then he was gone.

Lois sighed, and sat back in her chair. One thing was for sure: she'd be taking many more optimistic trips to the top of the Daily Planet building in the days to come.

------------------

"Clark," Martha reprimanded in her best shame-on-you tone, "sit still—stop squirming around like a five-year-old."

"I'm not…squirming," Clark protested, promptly squirming.

"Yes you are. Now stop it." Martha gripped his bicep firmly, gently removing the bandage that covered his shoulder.

"I really do appreciate the concern, and I don't think I did have trouble yesterday fitting all the bandaging under two layers of clothes. But really, mom, I don't need it to be replaced every day. I need to get to work…"

"I know you're a fast healer, Superman, but I don't want to take the risk of this getting infected. You didn't give me the chance to take a look at you yesterday, and I'm going to today."

"The medics checked to make sure there was no residual Kryptonite, and cleaned it thoroughly, believe me."

"Clark, just humor your mother."

"Normally I would, you know I would, but I'm really going to be late—it's hard work maintaining two identities."

She shot him a completely unpitying look. When Martha Kent was upset, she could be merciless.

"They did make sure it was clean…" he muttered.

She ignored him, pursing her lips as she examined his injury. She did blanch a little bit at first, and seemed hesitant to touch it now that the healing, but still slightly swollen, wound that was revealed. "Oh Clark…"

"Mom, it's not that bad," he said, feeling even more sheepish under her concern than her wrath. "I've had worse."

It was the wrong thing to say. Reminding her of the times he'd come close to possibly dying wasn't going to reassure her. "I know," she said, tersely. "I've seen worse happen to you, found out every detail—on TV." She rose abruptly, crossing her arms and striding over to the window.

Clark winced when he saw the way her eyes were glistening as she turned away from him. This was not good. Making Perry angry by being late, even by an hour or two, would be nothing in comparison to what could happen if he left here, now. Besides, guilt was gnawing at him voraciously, refusing to leave, or let him leave. What was the matter with him? Why couldn't he keep even one of the women in his life happy? He loved Lois, and his mother, so much—they meant the world to him—so why couldn't he ever do or say the right thing? Women were bewildering to him, and he didn't mind admitting it.

He got his feet, moving slowly towards his mother, listening to her tell-tale sniffling with trepidation, and tentatively put his hands on her shoulders. He was relieved when she didn't pull away. Then he just waited, wordlessly, knowing by experience that sometimes the best way to start a conversation with an angry woman was not to start it. Besides, quite frankly, he wasn't entirely certain what she was angry about, and it wouldn't do to start apologizing for "whatever it was he'd done wrong." But he was sorry—for whatever it was.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is for me?" Martha began at last. "Whether you're Clark Kent, or Kal-El, or Superman, you're my boy; but I can only openly acknowledge Clark as my son." She took a fortifying breath. "And he's never the one in the hospital fighting for his life."

Oh. So that was it. Now he was beginning to understand.

She didn't give him time to reply, though. "When you almost died this last time, I only found out after the fact, on TV, or the paper. There's nothing a mother dreads quite so much as receiving news that one of her children is hurt. I don't even receive that courtesy—I just get it blasted at me by the media without forewarning. When I heard, at last, I couldn't stand being so far away, so I came to Metropolis." She turned around to look him in the eye, a few tears trailing down her cheeks. "I'm your mother, Clark, and all I could do was stand in the crowd with everyone else and hope and pray. You don't know how badly I wanted to see you—just see you."

Clark listened patiently, keeping his hands gently gripping her shoulders. He felt her pain, but he didn't know how to change it. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She laughed at his confused expression, reaching up to wipe away her tears. "My dear boy, I know what you do is a hundred times more important than making some old woman from Smallville happy."

He shook his head. "But I want to make you happy."

"I know you do. But there are some things more important than what either one of us wants." She sighed, but smiled at the same time. "Things like saving the world countless times. I just wish…" She shook her head, cutting herself off. "You're doing exactly what you should be, and I'm just being a selfish mother." She reached up to place a gnarled hand on one of his. "I know what you're doing is the right thing, but sometimes I catch myself wishing you weren't quite as extraordinary and gifted as you are, so I could keep you to myself a little more often. Every bone in my body protests against letting you go back out there and risk your life for strangers."

"I know, mom. I want that too sometimes—to just have a normal life. But I tried getting rid of these…gifts I have once before. And it was wrong, I felt wrong. Sometimes it might feel more like a curse, but it's what I am."

She looked away, eyes closed, face pained but understanding. "I know that too, Clark. I didn't mean to get all worked up, or go on like this, I—"

"I'm glad you did. I hate it when I feel like there's something between us."

She patted his hand, shaking her head vehemently at the suggestion. "Oh…Clark. Is that what you thought, that I was mad at you? I'm not mad at you—expect for maybe being more honorable than anyone expects you to be. I'm not mad at anyone, really. I'm just mad at this whole…situation. But I tell you, if I could get my hands on whoever's behind this strange Kryptonite business…"

The vagueness of her ending sounded truly sinister, and Clark couldn't help laughing.

"What?" she questioned indignantly. "I may be old, but I assure you there's enough strength left in these arthritic hands of mine to throttle them, whoever they are. They're the ones responsible for…" Recalling suddenly what had begun the whole conversation, her eyes landed on the yet-to-be re-bandaged wound. "Oh heavens, here I stand sobbing my heart out to you like some emotional young thing, and I haven't even finished with that wound of yours—and now you're going to be late."

Clark tried not smile too obviously, but it was amusing to see the abrupt change, and her new-found concern for him being on time for work.

She rushed to re-bandage his arm with minimal gauze so as to keep it from bulging too noticeably under his suit and stood back, examining her handiwork with satisfaction. The whole situation now reminisced very much of days long gone by: a younger Martha sending a much younger Clark off to school in a flurry of preparations.

"Now, finish getting dressed." She handed him a white shirt. "Here, you had a tear in this one, but I mended it and ironed it for you."

Her rushed activities left him somewhat behind, but he gathered his thoughts enough to remember one important detail, stopping her before she'd completely left the room. "Thank you, mom, but, uh…I can't find my suit. The other suit, that is."

"That's because I have it. It does need some mending after last night's escapade, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, but, there's just one minor problem…"

"You can have it back tonight, Clark. I'll have it done by then." She closed the door, effectively deciding the argument.

He finished dressing and grabbed his house keys. Martha was waiting in the living room.

"Have a good day at work, Clark," she called after him, as he opened the door to leave—there was a touch of irony in her voice. At least for today, her boy would be going to a completely "normal" job, no risks to life or limb involved.

"Thanks, mom." He paused. "And thanks for coming here. But if you need to go soon, I'll understand. I mean, I know Ben and you…"

She waved him off. "Ben understands. He told me to take as much time as I need. And I intend to, as long as you need me."

He smiled. "Put it that way, and you'll end up staying here forever."

She smiled too. "Go on, get going or you'll get yourself fired. Can't have Superman losing his source of income."

"Bye mom."

Clark left, feeling at peace despite the throbbing behind his eyes, and the fact that disaster was pending all around him, and snares could be being laid anywhere for Superman. At least he'd sorted things out with one of the women in his life. Lois might be a little bit harder, but he wasn't going to give up trying.

To be continued…

Next part will probably be a little while in coming, since I'm leaving on vacation. But, I will try to find some time to work on writing the rest of this, so there should be more coming after I return (and there's a slim possibility of an update while I'm gone, if I get the internet connection and time).

Again, thank you for all the wonderful reviews! They've been an instant Muse jump-starter. :)