Clark had a little time before class so he decided to call the Swann Foundation, dialling the New York number on his cellphone. The switchboard operator, or whoever he was, was clearly the first hurdle Clark would have to convince to get to talk to Patricia Swann.

"What is this about?" he asked. "Miss Swann doesn't agree to see strangers without a good reason. Are you with the media?"

"No," Clark said, figuring a little white lie wouldn't hurt. "I just need to see her about a project her father was working on."

"Dr Swann has been dead for five years."

"I know that," Clark replied, trying to be patient with the man, but his probing was starting to get annoying. "This is a personal matter."

Clearly the man didn't think this was good enough as he refused to put the call through. Clark knew he didn't have much choice.

"Look, it's to do with an email she sent a friend of mine. Chloe Sullivan. And Lionel Luthor."

"Hold please," the man said coolly.

There was a loud click then some music began playing. Clark guessed it was from an old CD as it didn't sound like the tinny muzak that was often played in elevators.

"Mr Kent?" a feminine voice broke in suddenly.

"Miss Swann?"

"Yes. Jake said you were calling about an email to Chloe Sullivan?"

"Yes ma'am. Chloe's a good friend of mine."

There was a slight pause. "Well, this isn't really a matter I'd like to discuss over the phone. Perhaps you would like to come to my office?" she suggested.

"I … I'm in New York now," he told her, figuring he could skip class, since this was more important. "If you have time …"

There was another short pause. "I can't right now. I have a meeting shortly, which will take about an hour or two. I could meet with you then. Do you know where the old Manhattan observatory is?"

"Yes," he said, recalling from what Chloe had told him that the Swann Foundation was based out of Dr Swann's old observatory in Manhattan. It was not far from Central Park.

"If you can be here around noon, I could spare you about twenty minutes. I have a luncheon to go to at twelve-thirty."

"Thank you. I'll see you then."

"Just give the security guard your name. I'll call down and let him know to expect you."

Clark hung up and went to class. He spent the next hour absorbed in learning about ethics from the professor who liked to illustrate his lectures with real-life stories from his work as an investigative journalist with the New Yorker.

He called Lois after class to check up on her, but she seemed a little distracted. Despite being told not to go into work Clark guessed Lois was already digging in to what had happened the night before. He smiled fondly at that. Lois Lane was known as Mad Dog at the Planet and he understood why now. She wasn't about to let a few bruised ribs slow her down.

He decided to run to New York rather than fly. He probably could have flown there much faster, but he was still a little unsure about his flying ability and figured running would be safer. He couldn't help but think of a tv series his dad had enjoyed watching, although they had been re-runs. The main character had been given super powers through a suit, but somehow just couldn't seem to get the hang of flying and ended up crashing most of the time. He wondered what his parents would have thought of him flying now.

The security guard gave him a temporary pass and he entered the elevator, keying in the code he'd been given to send the car up. He queried to himself why the necessity of security but then remembered Chloe had told him Patricia suspected her father's death was nothing to do with the injuries he'd suffered.

A woman greeted him as the elevator doors opened. She was aged in her late thirties. Clark guessed she was an assistant as his research had told him Patricia was around the same age as Lex.

"Follow me, Mr Kent," she said.

He complied, keeping his strides shorter so as not to overtake the woman. It was a short walk along a wide corridor to double doors. The woman opened the doors and stood back, allowing Clark to enter. She closed the doors behind him, leaving Clark alone.

Patricia's office was on the top floor of the observatory. Most of the building had been closed for years from the looks of things, but it seemed the late scientist's daughter had at least restored some of the artifacts contained in the now defunct facility. Clark wandered through the huge chamber, curious as to why Patricia had chosen to use this area as her office.

A woman stood looking out the glass window at the streets below. She had her body half-turned toward him. She was pretty, with dark blonde hair and a willowy figure. She was around the same height as Lois, although Lois' build made her seem taller.

The woman turned to look at him, her blue eyes immediately drawing his gaze.

"Hello Clark," she said.

"Miss Swann."

"Please, call me Patricia."

He smiled tentatively at her. "Uh, you have an interesting, um, office."

"It was my father's," she replied, walking over to join him. She was wearing three-inch heels which brought her to a height just below his jaw. "He was forever trying to see if there really was life beyond our own solar system. I'm afraid he died never really knowing if he'd achieved it or not."

"I thought he had," Clark responded. "At least, that's what Chloe implied. She mentioned something about a group of people."

"Veritas," Patricia told him. She moved to a bookshelf and picked up what looked like a journal, slipping something from the pages and handing it over.

Clark looked at it. Dr Swann was in the middle of a small group. Clark recognised Lionel from the few photographs he'd seen of Lex's father. He didn't recognise the man standing to the left of Dr Swann, but he did recall seeing the man on the scientist's right in a photo in Oliver's clock tower.

"Is that Oliver Queen's father?" he asked.

"You know Oliver?"

Clark nodded. "He's a friend."

"Has Oliver told you how his parents died?"

Oliver had related the story of how his parents had left Star City on their jet for a business trip to South Korea, only for their plane to go missing. A few years later, when Oliver had been marooned on an island, he had come across the wreckage of the plane and found his parents' bodies. Or what was left of them at least.

"My father believed Lionel Luthor had their plane sabotaged."

"Are you saying Lionel caused their deaths?"

"You don't seem surprised."

"I never met the man," he told her, "but I know his son. If Lionel was half as ruthless as Lex …"

Patricia nodded. "Chloe must have also told you what I believed about my own father's death."

"She said you believe he was poisoned. What could someone like Lionel or Lex have to gain from your father's death?"

"I believe it had everything to do with Veritas and its purpose."

"Which was?"

She studied him for a long moment, gazing at him with a pensive expression.

"We'll get to that. First, why do you need to know?"

He bit his lip. He couldn't exactly tell her who he really was. He'd debated whether to lie and say he was working on a story, but then she might not be too happy at the supposed deception.

"Are you a reporter?" she asked.

He found himself blushing.

"Uh, well, sort of."

"Sort of?" she said, her blue eyes glinting in amusement.

"Um, I'm an intern, although I don't know how much longer that will be."

"For?"

"The Daily Planet."

"So this is for a story?"

"Well, uh, it's some background research for something I'm working on," he told her. "Your dad's name came up to do with something I'm working on from my hometown."

"Your hometown?"

"Smallville."

She frowned. "I see." She turned away. "Well, I really don't know how I can help you."

"How do you know your dad was poisoned? From what I read, the injuries he got in his accident could have eventually caused his death."

Patricia sighed. "That's the problem. I believe it was meant to look that way."

"But why? Your father was already … I mean, he …"

"He was already dying," she finished for him. "But I believe whoever killed him did so because they feared he would reveal the truth about Veritas."

Clark bit his lip. Veritas was Latin for truth. What could they possibly have been studying that could be so dangerous?

"What is Veritas? I mean, I know what it means, but …"

She shot him a look as if to say: are we really going to do this dance again? She turned away, sighing, and was silent for a few moments. Then she turned and gazed at him with a worried expression.

"You said you're an intern at the Daily Planet?"

He nodded.

"Doesn't Lex own the Planet?"

"Yeah."

"Get another job. Stay away from the likes of Lex Luthor. You cannot trust him."

"I know. Believe me, I know."

"Then why stay?"

How did he answer that? It wasn't just about the job. Sure, being a reporter would help him in the long run, since he would be able to hear what was going on in the city better than just placing himself in a sort of crows' nest above the streets. Part of it was also making sure Lois didn't get hurt. If what Chloe believed had been behind last night's 'accident' was true, then Lois was more in danger than ever. Since she'd started writing stories about him, or rather, the Guardian, that made her a target.

There were times when he wondered whether he should tell her the truth about him. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. It was more that he thought she would be safer. Maybe she wouldn't take so many risks.

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course she would. She'd been taking risks long before he'd come on the scene, if her previous forays into Intergang territory were any indication.

Patricia was gazing at him with a curious expression. He looked back at her, not sure what she wanted from him. He couldn't exactly tell her he was the Guardian of Metropolis.

She spoke after what seemed like an interminable silence.

"You know, my father once told me something. Despite the power of the sun, it's always night on half the planet."

Clark frowned at her. "What does that mean?"

"It means that where there is light, there is also darkness. Where there are good people there are also bad. People who will use others' abilities for their own darker purposes."

His frown deepened. Did she know the truth about him? He'd tried not to give himself away, but maybe he had given off some signal. Did he do that with everyone? With Lois? He hadn't always been careful around her, mostly because when he was with her, he felt more free to be himself, which was kind of odd, given he kept most of himself hidden.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to leave now for this luncheon," Patricia said regretfully, as the assistant came in and stood watching them.

"Wait. What does what you just said have to do with Veritas? And your father?"

"I really am sorry," she said with a soft smile. "I really would like to talk some more but I'm afraid my schedule is full for the next week." She rolled her eyes and grinned at him. Clark snickered. For a woman as wealthy as she was, she didn't seem to have any airs.

He could understand her need to know more about him. Whatever Veritas was, it seemed Lionel or Lex had actually killed for it.

XXXXX

Lois entered the deli and looked around, frowning as she did so. She couldn't see the person she had come to meet. There was a throng at the counter. Lois considered herself reasonably tall, but even she couldn't see over the crowd as they bullied the girl who appeared flustered, trying to figure out who was next.

"Take a number," she muttered. She'd worked in a service job and had hated every minute of it. Customers could be so rude, she thought.

"Lane!"

She looked up, seeing a man beckoning her from behind the counter. He wasn't tall, for a guy. He had short, dark hair that was curly enough to be wiry and big - what Lois liked to call googly - eyes that seemed to bulge from below his brow.

"Shorty!"

He snorted. "Lemme take care of these asshats and I'll be right with you."

A few of the customers heard the insult and began to complain, but 'Shorty' just gestured with his hand.

"Don't like it, there's the door sunshine," he told one customer. "Don't let it hit your ass on the way out." He added a glare for effect. "And be nice to Emily. She's my sister. Actually," he said in an aside to Lois, "she ain't, but they don't need to know that."

Emily grinned at him as he barked out orders for the customers to line up in an orderly fashion. Before long the line was cleared and he came out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a damp towel.

"I tell ya, this job would be great if it weren't for the customers," he said, gesturing toward a table in the corner of the delicatessen. Lois followed him, sitting down opposite him. He eyed her keenly. "You know, for someone who almost ended up on a slab last night, you sure look good."

"Tell that to my ribs," she returned, looking her friend over.

She'd met Shorty while still a student at Kansas State. Back then, he had just been an average joe trying to eke out a living after having spent years in and out of prison. She had met him through the uncle of a fellow student, who had been an ex-con. Lois had learnt that Shorty had made a deal with the prosecution on a case, becoming an informant for the police for a reduced sentence.

When Lois had needed some colour for a story, she had asked Shorty, promising to keep his name out of it. He'd been providing her with information ever since and had helped him get the job managing the delicatessen.

"How did you know about it?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "You kidding? Everyone who's anyone knows."

"Rumour has it that it wasn't Intergang."

Shorty shook his head. "No way. Ugly ain't got the cojones."

She frowned at him. Chloe had already filled her in but she wasn't sure she was ready to believe that Lex had been the one behind the 'accident', instead of 'Ugly' Bruno Mannheim. Even if it had been a set-up for the Guardian.

"Good thing the Guardian was there," Shorty told her.

"Somebody told me it was a set-up for him."

The man nodded. "Yeah, I'd buy that. Word is somebody's out for the Guardian's blood."

"Why?"

Her friend shrugged. "Who the hell knows?"

"What do you know about the Guardian?"

Shorty shook his head. "About as much as anybody else, which isn't a lot. You probably know more, since you've written a few stories."

"So, no one knows who he is?" she asked, relieved that Clark's secret identity seemed to be intact.

"I guess people got their suspicions. I mean, he ain't no ordinary guy, that's for sure. Where he got those powers of his from, no one knows."

She bit her lip. "What do you know about meteor rock?"

"As in?"

"There's this stuff that people think changes anyone who's exposed."

"So you thinking the Guardian is one of them?"

"It would make sense, wouldn't it?" she asked, still not quite sure she believed it.

Everything she had heard about the people given strange abilities by the meteors, all of them appeared to have only one unique ability. Which made her wonder if Clark's abilities were meteor-related. She was sure she didn't really know the scope of his powers. All she had surmised so far was that he could move fast and was incredibly strong. He also seemed to have the ability to hear about things from miles away. Which made her wonder where his powers really came from.

"I dunno, Lane. Then again, I don't know much about these meteor things. Know who you should talk to though."

"Who?"

"Guy named Sinclair. He used to work for Luthor back in the day, but quit when he couldn't deal with Luthor's obsession with the rocks. He used to study them."

"Where can I find him?"

Shorty gave her an address. She knew it well. It was an old building in Suicide Slums. It was a place where the residents had chosen to 'disappear'. Most of them were ex-cons trying to avoid trouble with the law, while others had their own reasons for disappearing. If Sinclair had taken this path, then clearly something he'd seen or done had scared him badly enough to do so.

Lois caught a cab and ordered him to drive her deep into Suicide Slums. She realised as she began to recognise the neighbourhood that the building wasn't far from Clark's. She wondered if it was one of the buildings earmarked for the redevelopment project currently being touted as the 'best thing since sliced bread' by the mayor.

Remembering that reminded her of Clark's upcoming eviction. She wanted to dig a little deeper into that and try to find out why the building had been bought so quickly, although if she had to guess, she figured a certain bald-headed billionaire was behind it. Lex might think he was good at hiding his emotions, but she had seen the look he'd given Clark that morning. Lex was clearly jealous of her new relationship, even though there had never been anything between them to cause that jealousy.

At least, as far as she was concerned. Lois wondered if perhaps she had been giving out signals which Lex had interpreted to his own liking. She had only gone along with his requests to escort him as she had wanted to keep him happy. He'd never actually come out and said that her job was at stake if she refused him, but it still worried her.

"You sure you want to stop here, lady?" the cab driver said uneasily.

"Yes," she replied, handing him enough for her fare and a tip.

"Your funeral," he responded, barely waiting long enough for her to alight from the cab before taking off with a squeal of tyres.

She stood on the sidewalk, watching the cab skid on the slick road. It had started raining again earlier but the driver seemed to be in too much of a hurry to get away.

Sighing, she made her way to the ten-storey building. Like Clark's, it was old and dilapidated. The paint on the window frames had peeled back so much she could see the wood underneath. The whole building looked to be on a lean. How anyone could live in such conditions she didn't know.

She climbed the rickety staircase to the tenth floor, avoiding the trash that littered each step, not sure what she would find beneath. There was no lift; not that she had been keen to test that out anyway.

As much as she hated the idea of people being kicked out of their homes, she knew the whole area needed redeveloping. Every building was a prime example of this one. Well past their use-by dates.

It took a few minutes for her to reach the top floor. As she reached the top landing, she sensed eyes on her and turned her head to look down the corridor. A man stood watching her, his expression curious, but not threatening. Like his surroundings, he was filthy.

"Got a smoke, lady?" he asked.

"No."

He uttered something which she took to be a curse as she passed him. Lois ignored him to knock on the door of the former Luthorcorp researcher's apartment. After about a minute, she knocked again. There was the sound of movement from inside, then the door opened a crack. A man with thinning hair peered out, looking uneasily.

"Yes?" he said.

"Dr Sinclair?"

He shook his head. "Don't know anyone by that name."

"You're not the Dr Sinclair who used to work for Lex Luthor?" she asked.

His expression changed and his eyes widened, but he still tried to close the door on her. Lois thrust her hand in the small gap, knowing she was risking him breaking her wrist.

"My name is Lois Lane. I need to talk to you about meteor rocks."

"Lois Lane? Aren't you that reporter?"

She pressed her shoulder against the door before he could try closing it again and pushed her way inside. The man stared at her as she faced him, allowing the door to click gently shut behind her.

She looked him over. He was probably in his early forties when he'd worked for Lex and from what her friend had told her, it was about five years since then. Yet his face had the greyness and the lines of a man much older. His face had aged at least twenty years in those five. Either that or he was ill.

"You shouldn't be here, Miss Lane."

"I needed to talk to you," she said. "I need to know about the meteor rock."

He started to talk, then choked and began coughing, pulling a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and coughing into it. Lois couldn't help but notice spots of blood.

"Dr Sinclair?"

"I don't go by that name anymore," he said, resuming coughing once more.

Lois took the time to look around her. The man was living in total squalor. She could see cockroaches crawling over the walls in the kitchen and swallowed. The whole apartment was neglected and filthy, but she could understand why. The man was sick. Sick enough that he should be in a hospital, although she doubted he had insurance.

"You're sick," she said.

"Cancer," he replied, his voice hoarse from the coughing fit. "The meteor rock."

She frowned at him. "The meteor rock caused this?"

He nodded. "I worked with it for about two years. Studied it extensively. Knew of another researcher who developed some neurological illness. Doctors said it was mineral poisoning. Meteor rock gives off a low-level radiation. Not enough to make you sick if you're around it only briefly, but get it in your blood …"

"How did it get in your blood?" she asked.

He explained, in between bouts of coughing, about the research. Lex Luthor had wanted to see the effects of the meteor rock and had brought in 'volunteers' to be used as guinea pigs. One of the meteor-infected had gone on a rampage, taking hostages. Sinclair had been injected with a serum of the refined meteor rock. Unlike the others, he hadn't become psychotic and didn't seem to show any unique abilities.

Sickened by the experiments, Dr Sinclair had left Luthorcorp, but not without being pursued by Lex, who wanted to know why the researcher hadn't developed abilities and hadn't become psychotic.

Which was why he had chosen to go into hiding and live in such conditions. Less than a year after he'd done so, he'd learnt he had cancer.

Lois returned to her apartment feeling sorry for the man and wondered what she should do. The only thing she could think of doing was calling Oliver and asking him to help the man out. Get him treatment. Do something.

Clark had left a message on her voicemail telling her he would try to come by later, promising to bring something to eat. Lois sat down in front of the television to watch the news, only to stare in horror and sympathy as an image of the building she had left not an hour ago flashed on the screen.

She watched in growing alarm as she heard the reporter tell the audience a man had been found dead in his apartment. Authorities, he said, were calling it a suicide. The victim was Dr Sinclair.

She had no time to reflect on the poor man's fate as the news anchor appeared on the screen.

"In other news, New York authorities have identified the woman whose body was found in the Hudson river late this afternoon."

Clark came in, carrying bags of what looked like takeout. He paused to look at the screen.

"The victim has been identified as Miss Patricia Swann, daughter of the late scientist and philanthropist Virgil Swann. Miss Swann ran the Swann Foundation, a charitable organisation …"

Lois heard Clark gasp and drop the bags of takeout. She turned to look at him. His face was ghostly pale.

"Clark?"