Note: Okie dokie…here's the next part. Hope you like it! Though I think it's a slightly different tone than the rest of this story, everyone has to have their turning point. Let me know what you think. Thanks again for the fabulous feedback!!

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Chapter 4

Apparently, Clark Kent didn't trust Tess Mercer to keep her word.

Which was why, Clark managed to claim each and every story that came close to his desk with the name 'Lois Lane' written all over it. Any exciting, off-beat, sure-to-make-headlines lead, Clark Kent nabbed it with a ferocity that would have made Lois beam.

He'd work it. Research it. Write it. Then share the byline with none other than Lois Lane herself, usually explaining to their not-so-convinced boss that Lois had 'significant input into the overall messaging and tone' of the story or had provided 'last minute details that flushed out the truth'.

Of course, she supposedly did this all from her perch by the hospital bed of her ailing relative.

As a result, Clark's writing became eerily similar to Lois'. Tess Mercer consistently got front page, above the fold sensational stories. And Clark Kent further secured Lois' reputation with the public, and in turn, her job at the Daily Planet.

Everyone was relatively happy.

Everyone, except one Lana Lang.

Who hadn't seen much of her boyfriend in the past few weeks. Needless to say, this reunion of theirs was not going exactly as she had hoped.

Oh, Clark was still the same sweet, attentive man he'd always been. He could still make her smile with his modest and quiet humor. Or make her heart stop with those blue eyes of his. And the frequent gentle, sincere apologies were always delivered with irresistibly thoughtful gifts.

But something was missing.

Or rather something was present that Lana hasn't expected.

Especially since that something was supposed to be miles away in Star City.

He rarely spoke her name, except in passing. But she was there. In almost everything he did. In how he approached a story. In the distracted, lonely way he went throughout his days. In the long hours he put in covering both their jobs. Even in his physical attentions toward Lana, something was holding him back.

For a couple that had once lived together, the lack of physical intimacy was glaring.

He had explained that he thought they should take things slow. Disappointedly, she had agreed. But there was a huge difference between slow and nearly non-existent.

Finally, Lana decided enough was enough. Clark Kent needed a wake up call. And she was going to be the one to give it to him.

At 2:00 in the morning.

She silently crept into the Kent home and made her way through the dark kitchen toward the stairs that would lead her to Clark's room and hopefully a resolution to what she considered their most obvious problem.

She stopped short when she saw the object of her mission in the darkened living room. The moonlight streaming through an exposed window provided the only light. He looked beautiful in its glow.

Hair tousled from lack of sleep. T-shirt tight across a well-defined chest. Exposed arms rippling with raw strength. Boxers showcasing legs that were two columns of taut muscles.

Clark was pacing like a caged animal. He would pause then turn toward an object with intense determination only to sigh and begin pacing again. His hands would clench and unclench by his side. Or run through his thick hair in frustration.

The object of his consternation?

The telephone.

After watching this go on for about five minutes, Lana was just about to interrupt the monotonous exercise when Clark spun around, plopped onto the couch and grabbed the offending object.

She didn't mean to eavesdrop. Honest. But the temptation was too great and the kitchen phone was so close. She carefully lifted the receiver and put the phone to her ear, watching to see if Clark had noticed anything.

He was too engrossed in the task at hand.

He punched in a familiar number and waited, his knee beginning a bounce of impatience.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

From the next room she heard Clark's whispered, "Come on, Lois. Pick up." There was a sigh full of guarded hope. "Just this once. Come on."

There was another sigh. This time it was a mixture of disappointment and frustration. Just as he was about to give up, there was a click.

"Hello."

And a man's voice.

Deep. Smooth. Sexy.

She heard rather than saw the bob of Clark's adam's apple.

"Hello? Who's there?"

The question prompted another. This time, from the caller himself. "Who is this?"

"I asked first."

That confident, authoritative response seemed to knock Clark back. "Uh...Clark. Clark Kent." He cleared his throat. "I'm looking for Lois Lane. I must have dialed the wrong number."

"No, this is her number." The answer stopped Clark's haste to hang up the phone. "So. Clark Kent." The droll voice responded with a new edge layered onto the old. Clark's own name sounded like an accusation. "Certainly wasn't expecting your call."

The man on the other end had all the power. And he knew it. Even the usually clueless Clark Kent knew it. To his credit, he refused to take the obvious bait. "I want to talk to Lois."

"Lo isn't available right now." There was a pause. "She's in the shower." A smirk. A suggestive tone. "We've had a long night."

Even the shadows couldn't hide the blood red flush of Clark's cheeks at the obvious insinuation. His eyes narrowed. His voice hardened. "Who is this again?"

"Just the guy that has permission to answer her phone." Came the cryptic response. "So did you want to leave a message…Clark?" His name became a taunt.

Clark paused, considering his answer. There was another hard swallow. His jaw muscles worked fiercely. His lips were set in a tight line. His eyes flashed with determination. Then Clark Kent's voice turned steely. "No. No, what I have to say, I'll say to Lois when she comes home."

He clicked off the phone and slammed it down on the table. The phone shattered. The table split. And Clark jumped up from the couch with a roar. His breathing was labored as his pacing resumed.

He looked positively ill.

Piercing blue eyes were layered with an intense emotions, the only other color in a deathly pale face was angrily splashed across his cheeks and trembling lips. He kept swallowing as if that action alone would push back the bile that had risen in his throat.

Suddenly and without warning, Clark spun in the direction of the kitchen. For a moment, Lana thought she'd been caught. In the next, her hair flew back from her face as Clark super sped past her and up the stairs, oblivious to her presence. Before she could take a breath, it happened again. Only this time, the slamming of the front door indicated the direction he had gone.

Phone hugged to her chest, a shaking Lana Lang sank to the floor suddenly very aware the wake up call that had been needed…was her own.

Tbc…