Author's Note: For the car scene, I listened to Code Name Vivaldi by Piano Guys. I heard that song in the car, and the scene wrote itself before I even reached my destination! :) The moment the wind hits is when the melody calms...you'll know when if you listen to the song. If this was made into a movie, that's the song I'd want for the scene. Love it when there's a perfect song that writes a scene.

I'm excited to get this chapter up because Superman is getting closer. I'll go through and edit grammar tomorrow. :)

He had left for an assignment by the time her brain had told her feet to go after Clark yesterday.

"Perry, I'm bringing Clark along on my interview for the police force corruption," she said, ducking her head in Perry's office but not waiting for a response.

Clark sat at his laptop, looking immersed in his story with Paul as she approached.

"Country boy, grab your stuff. We have an interview." She tossed a file with notes on his desk.

Clark looked up in surprise. "We?"

"Yeah," she said over her shoulder, "you want the police bust as my partner or not?"

With a grin, he grabbed his things.

He held the front door and fell into step with her on the sidewalk to the police station just a couple blocks away.

"You know what most men do? Ask a woman if she likes him back before deciding for her." She glanced from the corner of her eye.

A deep sigh. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything. Lois, let's be real. It's not like anything could even happen because you're a woman and I'm...like E.T."

She stopped walking and spun on him. "You were raised by man and taught to think and act like a..." she looked around and lowered her voice, "human. So why is a relationship impossible?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Because I'm suddenly getting all of these abilities. I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up with two heads tomorrow! How on earth—and that's not a pun—is a woman supposed to want to be with that?"

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "You're so melodramatic."

"Gee, I wonder why anyone would be freaked out finding out they're an alien," he muttered under his breath.

"Are you going to mope, or are you going to finish asking me out?"

That seemed to give him pause. "I had no intention of doing that."

She sidestepped a bicyclist on the sidewalk. "Huh. Sure seemed like it"

"Nope." He set a hand on her back and nudged along to continue walking.

"Don't you want to know my response?"

"Nope, because it should be to run as far away as possible." He fell into line behind when the crowds grew thick.

Trying to look over her shoulder to talk only resulted in tripping over people until he took the lead instead. The man seemed determined to not continue the discussion.

Once it cleared enough to walk beside him, she set a hand on his arm. "Clark?" Nibbling the bottom lip helped think through how to phrase this. "You can tell me to shut up. It didn't hit me until the other day that I go to you a lot for...lots of things."

He frowned. "I want you to come to me for things. Am I impatient?"

"No, but I'm not doing well balancing it as a two-way street." She glanced at him.

A confused, blank look crossed his face for a moment. "Oh. You mean I don't come to you much, and you think it makes you come across as clingy."

"Well...yes."

A thoughtful sigh broke the pregnant pause. "I'm not used to needing anyone, but I don't mean for it to seem like you're a nuisance. I just have a lot of things going on right now medical-wise that are probably best for you to not know." He went up the police station steps and held open the door.

Stopping at the door, she met his eyes. It hurt to see him so alone. "I hope you find someone with whom you can share things like that, Clark, because I see how hard it is on you to shoulder." She set a hand on his arm and gave a squeeze before slipping through the door.

A deep voice spoke in a low, intimate tone near her ear from behind, "Talk with me afterwards?"

With a nod, she glanced back to find his gaze filled with quiet strength.

"And you feel no guilt, no hint of doubt that just maybe he wasn't going to shoot?" Clark asked the undercover policeman, his words clipped and losing more patience each minute.

"He had a gun," the older man replied.

"To which you neglected to identify yourself and tell him to drop his weapon before you shot! He was your partner! You knew he was going through the back to search! You killed a twenty-year-old!" Clark slammed down his notepad on the desk and shot to his feet.

Trying to tug him down didn't work, so she stood and patted his chest, with a smile to the leiutenant. "I think what my partner is trying to ask is how can you be sure it was self-defense?" Clark needed to settle down. It was clear this officer had set up and murdered his partner, but the man wouldn't let anything slip if he was on defense. "Clark, would you go get us some water?"

He gave the cop a warning look. Then he stepped out. And was back with water before she even got a full sentence out.

Giving him a look to go only resulted in him grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the room.

"Clark, what are you doing?" she hissed and jerked her arm free.

He turned and leaned down to whisper, "He's a killer and watching you like a hawk. I'm not leaving you alone."

A sigh of disgust. "Clark, thanks to you, he's figuring out that we know something."

The man hovered the rest of the interview and ruined the story.

"Well, excuse me if I don't leave you alone with a murderer who looks ready to strangle you," he snapped on the way back to The Daily Planet.

"You can't let your emotions get in the way of a story!"

"I sure as hell can when it's a murderer on the loose setting his eyes on you next!"

She threw up her hands. "You were the one grilling him and getting all huffy!"

"And yet did you notice it didn't bother him?! Because he was focused on you! I'm sleeping at your place until we get him arrested." He announced it like a law.

"Uh, no you aren't."

"Uh, yes, I am. He knows who you are and can easily figure out where you live. Lois, if my gut has ever been right, it's about this. He has his eye on you now because he knows you're about to bust him."

"You're as much of a target." She stopped and set her hands on her hips.

He pulled her aside on the sidewalk, worry filling every line of his face. "You're easier to take out as a warning to me. Just let me sleep on your couch."

It'd been two nights of Clark sleeping in the living room and no sign of anything about to happen, yet the evidence against the lieutenant built stronger every hour.

There it was again. An odd sound from the living room. One o'clock. Slipping out of bed, her heart pounded. It was nothing. Clark had every nerve paranoid. But, suddenly it seemed like a bad idea to have argued with Clark to not stay tonight.

Reaching the kitchen, the noise came again. The front door. Two male voices whispered. Terror froze every muscle. Oh god, someone tried to get in. Maybe Clark had been right.

The front door opened. Hallway light flooding into the living room. A gun poked around the door.

She darted into the bedroom. The door without making a sound, despite her shaking hands. Scrambled across the bed to her cell phone, she hit the contact number for Clark. A weapon. She needed a weapon until Clark came.

Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hi, it's Clark. I can't come to the phone, so please leave a message," the voicemail said.

"No," the whimper of panic only made more panic set in.

Footsteps creaked in the kitchen. They were coming.

The shaking intensified. The phone nearly fell. Dial again, maybe he was sleeping.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hi, it's Clark. I can't come..."

Oh god.

Shoving blankets under the covers made it look like a body. Crouching on the far side of the bed in the corner by the nightstand would buy a few minutes of hiding. Picking up the lamp and clinging so tight made knuckles feel ready to creak.

Hanging up on Clark's voicemail, her finger jammed down on the SOS button that automatically dialed 9-1-1.

Before the operator could answer, the bedroom door opened.

Her breath hitched. They'd surely see her.

Gunfire, muffled by a silencer, went off.

"I shot her."

"Go make sure she's dead." The lieutenant's voice.

The blankets pulled away on the bed. "She's not here."

"No, she's here. But she knows we are too," the cop said. The lights in the room switched on, the lieutenant standing right over her with the gun aimed. "Goodbye, Lois Lane."

"Claaaaaaark!" He wouldn't make it in time, but instincts didn't always listen to reason.

"No!" Clark's voice.

The cop jerked her up and held tight, pressing the gun to her head.

Clark stood in the bedroom doorway, his hair disheveled and he wore nothing but pajamas. "You don't have to shoot her." The thick glasses frames helped hide that his eyes were dilated. "Let her go, and you can walk out of here." Panic tinted his voice. He was faster than a speeding bullet, but was he fast enough for one pressed against her head?

A dark laugh filled her right ear. "You made my night easier. We were coming after you next. You can watch her die."

Dropping her weight made him drop her, just as the gun fired. A gust of wind and the room was empty.

Every muscle shook too hard to do anything but huddle on the floor. It was one thing to be drowned or blown up, but there was something much more frightening about a bullet nearly going through the brain.

Another gust of wind and he was on the floor, pulling her into his lap.

He was impossibly hard and it hurt to curl up to him, but it was worth the pain to feel safe. Tears burst free. "I called and called."

"I know, I know. The first call woke me up, and I saw it was you. I left by the time I heard the phone start to ring again." His body began to soften, and he gently rocked in a soothing rhythm. "It's all over. You're safe."

"Where are they?"

"I tied them up in the curtains." His hands stroked her back. "Shhhh, it's alright."

"I've almost been shot before..."

"In your bed in the middle of the night is a lot different than out somewhere doing a story. Come. It's empowering for you to see them get arrested so you won't be as frightened." He stood and set her on the bed. Then he took her robe from the end of the bed and helped put it on. He took her hand and led the way out.

Footsteps slowed in the kitchen, and her hand clutched his as the fear grew stronger.

His arm wrapped around, tucking her tight against his side. "I won't let them hurt you."

He was right. It did help chase some of the fear away to see the police haul them off in handcuffs.

After everyone was gone, she looked at him. It wasn't proper to ask him to stay, and it would only make everything seem worse to utter the words of needing to not be alone.

He closed the front door. "Do you want to sleep in your bed?"

The bullet hold would be a reminder. Shaking her head, she met his eyes.

Without another word, he took her hand and led the way to the sofa. In the blink of an eye, he was back with blankets from the bedroom. Once he had it all made up, he threw a larger blanket on the floor and sat.

She blinked. "You're sleeping on the floor?"

He shrugged. "I've slept on worse when doing stories in Africa. Come." He patted the sofa and then tucked her in.

During the night, nightmares real and imagined caused a violent awakening to tears already soaking the pillow. Clark's slow breathing filled the room in the dark, giving a calm rhythm for her heartbeat to follow.

Maybe Lex had been behind the crooked cop, perhaps even behind the attack tonight. Sometimes the law bent under the weight of money. There was one monster forever on the loose.

She glanced down at Clark's silhouette.

And only one man in Metropolis who didn't fear the monster.

Brushing the tears of terror from her eyes, she slipped down onto the floor between him and the couch. The tight fit and his uncomfortably hard body slated against her back didn't matter. It was safe here.

A long, sleepy sigh-hum filled the air, and his body began to soften. He roiled over and draped a heavy arm over her that grew lighter as the seconds passed. Despite no blanket, his body heat offered enough warmth as he spooned, keeping the chill of the Spring night at bay.

Movement against her back made the dreams fade into reality. She blinked at the early morning light filtering through under the sofa and frowned in confusion when a low, male groan broke the silence. Then it all came rushing back as the heat pulled away. She rolled onto her back.

Clark sat up, holding his back and grimacing. His eyes met hers. "Hi." He stood up and arched his back.

"Hi. Are you alright?" She rolled onto her back.

"Yeah. I think everything got soft being next to you. I get what people mean now about the floor being uncomfortable. Are you sore?"

She shook her head and sat up, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "I think I leaned against you during the night, so I'm okay. Sorry, I didn't think about it that you might get sore."

He shrugged and smiled. "It feels better already."

Her eyebrows rose. "How can it?" Standing up, she set a hand on his chest. Rock hard again. "Huh."

"Why did you come on the floor?" He picked up his fake glasses from the coffee table and slipped them on.

"I got myself scared." She reached up and slowly removed the glasses. "You should keep them off when it's just us."

"Why?" He frowned.

"Because you have nice eyes, and I can see them better without the frame shadow going across them."

The man blushed slightly and looked away. "Well, I bet Ms. Workaholic wants to go to work early since we're up?"

"What time is it?" She looked around for a phone or watch.

He looked to the kitchen microwave too far to see. "Quarter to six." Then he waited expectantly.

She blinked. "Just how far can you see?"

A sheepish look came over him. "If I zoom in, I can see a mile away."

Her jaw dropped. "So you saw me in the field that day?"

With a nervous scratch at the back of his neck, he mumbled, "I smelled you first."

Setting her hands she on her hips, she cocked an eyebrow. "And what other things can you do, Mr. Faker?"

"I don't fake things...usually," he added when she held up his glasses.

"Uh huh. Come on, let's go get breakfast."

It was his turn to blink. "You don't want to go to work early?"

"No, I want to have breakfast with you. Hurry up, go home and change." She headed for the bathroom and wasn't surprised when a gust of wind burst through the apartment. The window clicked, and she spun around. The curtains fluttered. He must've left through the window, the strange man. Next he'd be announcing he couldn't just jump far but fly.

He ordered a giant pile of waffles at the diner down the street.

Her eyebrows rose and a laugh escaped. "Do you have to eat a lot to keep up energy for...?" A pointed look filled in the blank as the waitress walked away. She picked up a fork and started eating her own cinnamon role.

"No, I don't have to eat." He cut a piece and took a bite.

The fork stopped half way to her mouth. He seemed oblivious. "Wait, what?"

He seemed happy as a clam with another tall forkful of waffles at the ready. "If it's raining for more than four days, I start feeling weak. I think I get energy from the sun. I've gone weeks without eating and didn't feel hungry." He took another big bite.

It took a moment for that to sink in. "So, you just eat for the heck of it?"

"To seem normal. And who doesn't like food?" He grinned.

"Oh."

His forkful stopped half way to his mouth and lowered. The smile faded. "I freaked you out, didn't I?"

"What? No, it just never occurred to me."

"It digests, like everyone else." He set down his fork, like now he was uncomfortable.

Time to lighten the mood. "I suppose you don't have to worry about fat and cavities and all that," she said dryly.

He didn't answer.

"Jerk. I look at a donut and put on weight." She sighed dramatically, "I guess I have to live vicariously through you." She stole a piece of his waffle. "I wanted both but couldn't eat it all; you can help finish my roll." She smiled.

The stress melted from his face, and he ate the waffle on his fork and then reached to her plate. The man cut off a chunk of roll. "I love cinnamon rolls, but I didn't want to look creepy ordering the same thing." He smiled and took a bite.

Her laugh made him break into a grin.

It seemed so natural walking down the street with him to work and chatting away. He glanced down and seemed distracted in the middle of conversation.

She stopped talking and followed his gaze. Her arm linked through his. "Oh, sorry, I was busy talking and didn't realize I did that." She pulled free.

"I don't mind, it just surprised me."

"Won't it make you react?"

He shrugged. "Maybe a little, but I think our jackets may help be a barrier. I think I'm figuring out how to control it."

"Oh." That fact caused a pang of sadness for some reason.

"What?"

"I just...oh, it's kind of stupid." It was too embarrassing to admit.

"Tell me. Nothing you say could be stupid." A warm smile lit up his eyes behind the glasses. He pulled her arm through his again.

Swallowing down the burning embarrassment, she focused on the sidewalk. "I know it makes you vulnerable, but I'd protect you. It doesn't bother me when you do react."

His large, warm hand laid over her hand on his arm, and he bent his head down, making her gaze shift to him for private conversation. "I know you would, and I'm glad it doesn't frighten you. I want to be able to touch you in public without worrying if there's a thick enough barrier or who is watching. I know you try to always be mindful too, and I don't want there to always be that guard up." His eyes began to dilate and skin soften. He let go of her hand.

"Oh. I think I'd like it if there didn't have to always be high alert. I don't mind, though, if you don't want to fight it when it's just us."

He nodded. "Thank you, Lois. You're gracious in not making me feel like a freak."

"Because you're not a freak." She scowled.

"You know," he chuckled, "I think it's good you're a mere human, because I'd fear your temper more than I already do if you had capabilities."

Rolling her eyes, she pulled him through the front doors at work.

The drive on highway roads in the country helped to clear her head. Three hours to go visit Mom for the weekend would be good for getting away from work...and a certain man who crept into thoughts more than he should.

But the escape hadn't come easily—an anonymous ransom note had arrived at The Daily Planet threatening her, and it'd set Clark on pins and needles. The man was cranky and hypervigilant, even trying to insist on sleeping in her living room. He'd finally conceded to her getting out of town for a while, if she left early when it wouldn't be expected.

So now she cruised down the highway at six o'clock Saturday morning with the radio blasting. The stress melted away.

A curve approached. Tapping the breaks didn't slow the car. Panic surged. The brake pumped without resistance. 69, 70, 71 miles per hour barreling down the tree-lined road.

Tires squealed as the car barely made the curve.

"No, no, no!" Oh god, every muscle clenched.

The gear shifter wouldn't budge.

The speedometer kept climbing. 75, 76, 77 miles an hour.

The key wouldn't pull out of the ignition to stop the car.

More turns would be coming up the road soon...and catapult the car straight into the trees. One turn of the wheel would be a fatal rollover crash. 80, 81, 82 miles per hour.

Someone had rigged the car. 83, 84, 85 miles an hour.

The woods grew thicker, closing in on the edges of the road.

Oh god, this was it. The road curved just over the hill. The trees would tear apart the car like shrapnel.

"Claaaaaaaark!" Every muscle braced for impact. Even if he heard from thirty miles away, he couldn't make it in time.

90, 91, 92 miles per hour. The hill was less than a half mile away. Oh god, oh god.

The car jerked, but didn't stop. Every rib protested being thrown against the seatbelt.

Clark bent over the front of the car, gripping the bumper.

His eyes were black. Every muscle bulged. His veins threatened to burst. A roar ripped from him.

The speedometer held steady at 79 miles per hour. A strange grinding came from the front of the car.

"Unbuckle!" he roared, fighting the car as it didn't even lose speeding shooting up the hill.

She hit the button.

He disappeared.

The door ripped off.

He hung onto the frame and pulled her out to press between him and the car. "Hold on tight!" he yelled over the wind whipping.

Trees ended the road straight ahead at the curve.

Her arms wrapped around his rock hard body and clung. The end of the road was coming too fast. Her face buried against him.

He trembled and then stilled. His arms wrapped around.

Wind shifted. It felt like inertia went from forward to upward. She raised her head.

The tops of trees soared past toward the ground.

A loud explosion from below.

Looking down, it didn't even quite register. Tops of trees passed just feet below at perhaps fifty miles an hour. Clark had jumped?

Then the wind shifted and he changed his grip to carry her across his arms as his body became parallel with the trees.

Breathing ceased. It couldn't be. He hadn't jumped—he flew.