Number 821

by AmeliaFaulks

'And the order of destiny, so troubling to our thoughts, is not always found written in things past.'

3. Chapter 3

-Chapter Three-

The upper floor of the east wing was used as guest rooms for family friends and visitors, so it was not used much. Clark didn't think that he had ever walked down here before. The silence, and the pooled arcs of low light, and a rich undisturbed smell of table polish gave the hallway the same sense of antiquity and of obsolescence that was present in so much of the house, and that, by turns, was so helpful to its owner.

A deep claret-red runner stretched away the length of the hall, its thickness muting Clark's footsteps, making them dull. But the sound and the rhythm was echoed and expanded and then amplified in the heartbeat thudding in the middle of his chest so that, stride for stride, the sensation became oppressive and required a conscious effort to breathe normally. His skin, his nerve endings, the air itself, seemed charged with energy and anticipation. Once, he would have taken it for granted; now it was hard to remember the last time he had felt like this.

He came to a door and stopped. The door was paneled in dark, heavy wood and in it his reflection was refracted and obscured. He straightened, fixed his tie, ran a hand through his hair, swallowed a couple of times, gathered himself. Around him everything was quiet. His eyes closed, his right hand balled into a fist, and, for a second, he held it, raised and suspended at the door. With as much composure as he could muster he gave three quick announcing knocks, and then he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Inside, the room was characteristic of the rest of the mansion. Long and wide with an unfeasibly high ceiling, and furnished with expensive fabrics and oddly-shaped art pieces that decorated the bookshelves. At this end of the room a dining table had been laid, its surface crowded, banquet-style, with all kinds of provisions. The shining domed covers of cloche trays, and tureens, and a full silver service setting were surrounded and hemmed in by loaves of french bread, bowls filled with every type of fruit, a platter of cold meats, cheeses, pastries, smaller dishes of nuts, chips, sticks of carrot and celery. There were wine bottles, and water bottles, cut-crystal decanters, and cans of soda.

By comparison the rest of the room was spare- the only other furniture was cramped together at the far end where it was dominated by a giant fireplace on the opposite wall. A wide oval-shaped Persian rug took up the floor space in front of the hearth and on it two low leather couches flanked a clawfoot coffee table. With a heavy, marble mantel and a thick flue that rose the full height of the room, the fireplace was huge. And, standing before it, there she was.

She was facing away from him, hands deep in pockets, looking into the flames, the shape of her silhouetted by their light. A vial containing her DNA had been checked and rechecked, so, in one respect at least, there was no question of authenticity. Still, it was a shock to recognize her, to recognize so clearly the set and carry of her, the specific lines and attitudes of her body; the sweep of her neck, the tilt of her head, the way it was inclined ever so slightly this way and her shoulders that way and her hips the other way again. The way she was leaning her weight to one side, one leg straight, and one leg bent, like when she was trying to be patient, or when she was undecided, or when she was both. Long hair was tied back in a ponytail that didn't fall straight because it was kinked with waves. She was still wearing the army boots and black tank top and fatigues in which they said she had arrived.

She turned to the door then and Clark felt the breath leave him, felt the wrench, and he realized how wholly unprepared he was for the moment. It had been so long, such a long time had passed, and it had passed slowly, and dutifully, and without consideration. Days into weeks and weeks into months and months into years. Enough time for memory to fade and to fray around the edges and play tricks. But their eyes locked and he was looking at her, and she was looking at him, and he could see she had the exact same nose, the exact same ears, the same chin- the same face. The same papercut-sized interruption of skin just below the line of her left eyebrow that she sustained when she was eight years old and failed to complete a somersault off the turret of an M1 battle tank. She had the same dimple underneath her mouth, the one that he was sure was a perfect fit for his thumb. The one that had always made him long to place his thumb there and then drag the pad of it, slowly, along the swell of her bottom lip. She had the same eyelashes, thick and delicate, the fire now casting their shadow onto the brow of her cheeks. Most of all, worst of all, underneath a long side-sweep of fringe, she had the same eyes, the darkest color of chocolate, liquid, quick, and shining. The sight of her, no more than thirty feet away, simply confirmed what he had always suspected; the hard, unyielding, inescapable truth that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met.

He wanted to tell her this, all this that he had carried and guarded and kept for himself. He felt that it was only right and only fair that he should. Instead, as if to make space for the pressing on his heart, he leaned the door closed and said, "Hi."

"Hey." She breathed the word back, softly and with care.

The sound of her voice was another mini-ordeal to be endured and ridden out and it was a second before he could trust himself to move again. He crossed the room without taking his gaze off her and now he could begin to notice the differences. Her eyes were not quite the same afterall. They were older and wiser, and sad in a way that was not familiar. When Clark reached where floorboard became rug he came to a halt. He heard himself say, "It's you."

Light spread from her eyes to her face. "Yes."

"Are you real?"

He saw her expression change, saw it cloud, as if he was the one who had taken her by surprise and she was having to re-evaluate her own inner process of appraisal. "Yes."

Clark's throat bobbed. He held a finger towards his temple in apology for the nature of the question. "Sometimes. My imagination can-"

The smile was back in her eyes. "I'm real."

His eyes glinted. With a crooked smile playing at his lips, he looked away at the ceiling. He confessed, "This basically tops my list of impossible things I never expected to see, but dreamed about anyway."

There was an asymmetric twitch of her eyebrows and a pause. Dry, full of mischief, she said, "I beat out flying unicorns, huh?"

Clark's heart sang with relief that wherever she had come from, and whatever other place she belonged to, there was some thing of this her that it knew. He couldn't help the grin, "And the Loch Ness monster."

This time he made her smile; an unabashed, full-blown smile that wiggled her ears and rounded her cheeks. Witnessing it was extremely beguiling and Clark had to mentally kickstart an order of calm. "Are they taking care of you?"

They both regarded the room, decked out with the finest things. Lois gestured at the tableful of food and drink she couldn't possibly consume and then to one end of a couch where a robe and a pile of clean clothes hadn't been touched. "You know Bruce."

Clark's gaze came back to her. There was a polite but troubled smile of agreement and a knitting of eyebrows. "How do you?"

Lois gently knocked her fist against the side of her thigh as if deciding where exactly to start. "How much have they told you?"

"Just what you told them." His arms lifted from his sides a fraction, "I guess we got as far as the fact that I'm dead, something about the second meteor site, Luthor's in the White House," he waited a beat, "and you were having tea down the hall?"

His rundown was made with a kind of twinkly-eyed acknowledgment that each statement was potentially more ludicrous than the last and he could hardly believe he was saying them. Lois took up and echoed his self-possession, "They covered the highlights, then." She blew out a breath and hitched and squared her shoulders. "Okay. Well. You've probably got a lot of questions, but I've been around the block with this, so, bear with me, okay?"

He nodded and she opened a hand to her right. "It's better if we sit down."

They moved to the couches, two antique Chesterfields upholstered in dark green leather that squeaked as they took their seats. Opposite each other, much nearer now with only the coffee table between them, it all felt very proper and formal, like they were about to discuss stock options. The awkwardness was heightened because Clark was fighting an urge to get closer, to reach out and touch her. He had no idea if this was purely psychological- an intellectual need to check and to satisfy himself that she wouldn't suddenly melt away under contact, or some kind of deeper, more primal reaction to the enforced deprivation. The feeling was enhanced because she seemed to possess a confidence around him that he had never known and was a mystery. Everything about her was mesmerizing and he found that he was drinking her in. He forced himself to focus on focusing.

There was a brief squeeze of one eye as she confided, "This is the first divergence where I'm dead." She blinked, correcting, "I mean, really dead." A shake of her head loosened the tendrils of hair framing her face. Quietly, almost to herself, she said, "It's a little weird."

Clark frowned. "How many times have you done this?"

"How many worlds? This is number eight hundred and twenty-one."

Her answer, and the throwaway ease with which she said it, surprised him. "How many worlds are there?"

Lois shrugged, "Piece of string," then shook her hand and apologized for the bad quantum joke. The same hand made a pathway through the air, "Divergences are diverging all the time, branching out, splitting, splitting again- according to the best multi-world models- with infinite possibilities. That's assuming it started at a single point, which," her hands opened helplessly, "nobody knows. Not even Emil."

"So. You're working through these divergences," Clark reached for a suitable term, "systematically?"

She smiled, "We wish we could. Unfortunately, it's much more chaotic and arbitrary. For our sake, we use our world as reference point zero."

Clark was attempting to understand the fundamental process behind it all; "But you're working your way through them, counting them off-"

"One at a time. Right."

"And there's no order?"

Lois squinted. She decided, "There's no road map, put it that way. I close my eyes and I jump and I end up in a new world. We can't calibrate our technology to pick out a particular destination or version." She held up her hands like an overlapping bridge, one set of fingers on top of the other, "We assume that each new world is the Next One, another layer in a deck of cards." She allowed, "In that sense, I guess what we're doing has a linear, aggregate form of direction."

Something came into his eyes. He said, quite reasonably, "And it's a leap of faith?"

With the matter-of-fact manner of someone who had never spent much time mulling over the existential niceties, her response was simply, "Yes."

"How often can you ...make a jump?"

"We average about a jump a day. Sometimes more, sometimes less. It depends on how this part goes."

Clark began to calculate the math, "So you've been doing this-"

"Every day," she tweaked her head, "since we got up and running. Four and a half years R and D; building the program, perfecting it, trial and error. We've been fully operational going on two years, now."

"Who's we?"

"Since you-" She hedged and tried again, "My you-" Her hand swatted the air as if she was annoyed by her stumbling and she went for something easier- "Since it all happened. We've worked as a resistance cell; the JLA, myself, doctor Emil Hamilton. My father and Bruce Wayne act as our respectable front and have major roles within the administration."

"Luthor's administration?"

"As far as we can tell, he suspects but has no proof of their true allegiance. We think he prefers them where he can see them."

Clark, taking it all in, conjured a small, crooked smile, "Sounds pretty dystopian."

Lois gazed, not at anything in particular, but inwardly, at something unseen. "It was, at first. There were uprisings. Casualties- civilians. Close calls for us, too. Carter and Shiera sacrificed themselves a couple times. Metropolis was a battleground for a while. Then-" She looked him in the eyes again, sober, clasped her hands together, "water kept on running out of the faucet, there was still gas in the gas station. Luthor introduced better social security, lower taxes, free cable. You get used to it." Her eyes hooded. "Turns out you can get used to anything."

"So, your resistance cell," Clark asked, "are you all jumping, all of the time?"

"No, it's just me," she was nodding, "it's all we can manage. The others are kept pretty busy." On her arm, in place of a watch there was a thick metallic wristband. She offered her arm to show him. The wristband was not chunky, it was about the same dimensions and shape of one of Diana's bracelets but it was set with a rectangular dialface configured with all kinds of buttons and pin-sized diodes and readings that oscillated as they talked. "Jumping requires a certain amount of energy. Our current technology provides a payload that's sufficient for two people at a time before it tops out."

"No back up?" Clark had wanted to sound more impressed, or at least more neutral, but he couldn't prevent an undertone of worry.

If Lois was sensitive to it, felt even slightly patronized, she continued like she wasn't or didn't. She pressed at something on the wristband. "I can activate this to send an emergency signal if I run into trouble. If I don't have time to activate an emergency signal or I miss checking in, Emil can access my vital signs, override from his end, and bring me home. He stays and mans the lab until I get back."

"And do you?" Clark enquired, his eyes shining. "Run into trouble?"

She reflected his expression back at him. She said, "Sometimes."

"Two people." Clark considered it. "Seems like a lot of work."

Bobbing her head, Lois explained, "Pretty early on we faked a couple of deaths; a lab explosion, a car accident. Held the funerals, filed the certificates. Guessed it would be easier if they weren't looking for us anymore."

"What about Clark Kent?"

"Officially? He disappeared in one of the first rebellions. He's missing, presumed dead."

"Who knows the truth?"

"Us. Your mom, of course. When she was alive. No one else."

"What about the others?" Clark said. "The rest of the league? What are they doing?"

"Heroing off the grid, as criminals, outlaws. Luthor controls the skies- he designed a forcefield that negates the power of flight. Superheroes, metahumans, their associates- they're illegal, and there are rewards." At his face, she reassured, "No one's ever turned anybody in, but it tends to focus minds and we have to be more careful. Leaguers work in smaller teams, on an ad hoc basis, and we meet when we can." Lois counted off her fingers, listing, "There's Bruce and Diana's crowd, the Robins, the twins, Ollie and Dinah. Arthur and Mera stay out on the run," she threw up a hand to correct, "Swim. They prefer it that way."

Clark could only nod along and try to digest and even imagine an existence like that. Finally, he gave her a crinkley-eyed sidelong look and said, "Luthor killed me?" He was not upset. More annoyed at his carelessness.

But he saw in her eyes that she was still affected by it. "A Kryptonite trap." And her gaze distanced and was elsewhere again. "I basically let Clark run into it. I didn't realize. Half a second earlier?" She re-focused on him. "Doing this," she said, "I suppose a certain amount of second-guessing is inevitable." A smile flickered, "I sometimes think if only I knew then what I know now."

In sympathy, with experience, his eyes burned at her, "You can't blame yourself."

She smiled, held her shoulders to her neck, "I don't. Not really." She hesitated then and, for the first time since they'd met, her expression seemed to falter. She looked a little timid. "The Clark in my world. He never told me..."

When she didn't finish, Clark followed her gaze. His eyes dropped to where she was staring- at his chest. His eyebrows raised at her, "You're saying it was my fault?"

She smiled back, and it was wistful. "I guess we ran out of time." She shook it off, "I just wish I could've gotten there earlier. It was seven years ago, now. Yesterday was the anniversary." Softly, she repeated, "I guess we ran out of time."

Clark let out a slow breath through his nose. "I don't know if that would've been better. You arriving earlier." His hands were folded, resting between his knees. His thumbs lifted, "Did Bruce talk to you about-."

"Me? Only that it was Luthor."

"Luthor, the Kryptonite. The trap. It happened here." One corner of his mouth lifted, one shoulder shrugged, "It sounds the same." His eyes became haunted, "Except, in this world, you were there. And you did save my life. And you lost yours."

"Yin and yang," she said. "I see a lot of that." Her head nudged to the side as she reflected on each point, "My mom's still alive in one world, but not my dad. Your dad's still alive in another world, but not your mom." She looked thoughtful. "The universe seems to seek balance."

Something crossed her face and her expression changed, as if she'd been struck by a thought. Her eyes went to his chest again, seemed to scrutinize it, and she drew an S shape in the air. "Did she know?"

"No. No, I never told her." Clark looked at his hands. He pushed his palms down his thighs to his knees, refolded them there. "I tried. A couple of times." His voice became thicker, "Almost got it out, too. It was getting to that point, you know?" He glanced up to find her eyes, "Like you said. I guess we ran out of time."

"Your Bruce told me," she pointed to her own face, at the obvious lack of glasses, there, at the place she thought some glasses should be- "now everyone knows?" The middle of her eyebrows creased in an expression that was not exactly rude, but clearly said, what's that about?

Clark stared back. "Things changed when I lost you. I changed. I figured a world that doesn't have a Superman doesn't need a Clark Kent."

She listened and then she smiled, and even though she was still frowning, the smile was kind. "That doesn't seem right."

"No, it doesn't."

For a moment they were quiet, as if they were both trying to slide something into place without having all the pieces. Then Clark said, "So." One eyebrow arched, "you've met eight hundred and twenty-one versions of me?"

She was nodding. "Eight hundred twenty-two," her head dipped to him, "if you include the original."

"Wow. What are they like?"

She grinned. "All pretty similar. You know-" her eyelids flickered as she looked up at the ceiling, "hot." There was a shy half-laugh. She nudged a shoulder. "Shield. Cape. Glasses."

"They all keep up the double-identity?"

Lois bowed her head, yes. "The normal life, the superhero. You're not, like, ever hiding out in the suburbs and selling insurance or anything."

"All alive?"

She nodded.

"What about you?"

She tilted her head, thinking. After a pause, she said, "I guess we're unique in our versions' extinctness."

"And the eight hundred twenty-two versions of you." He blinked, "What are they like?"

"I'm a reporter, always," she told him, then amended, "so far." Her smile widened to a grin; "Brave, bold. Brassy. All of that. A special talent for risking life and limb- although that's never the way I tell it."

"I remember that."

They found that they were beaming at each other and it seemed to prompt her toward something because, again, her expression flickered and turned bashful. "In all of the worlds, so far. All of the versions. You and I. That is, we..." her hand was waving in the air between them. "We're..."

Clark peered, curious. She was clearly laboring. And blushing.

"Well, we're," The hand cycled through the air once more and came to a rest. With determination she eked out, "Involved."

Something hidden away and tender was stabbed at. Clark said, "Partners. At the Planet?"

One eyelid closed faster than the other and her expression became tricky. It was apparent the intention was to infer they were something more than partners.

Clark's throat closed a little and the words caught, "A couple?"

Underneath her bang of hair and a crumpled frown, her eyes shone black, "I guess, the other versions, they all made it a little further down the line then we did."

It was more than Clark had ever allowed himself to imagine. He braved the pleasure and the pain and asked, "Married?"

"Mostly," she nodded. "Sometimes, engaged. Sometimes, just together."

"We have a life?"

"Oh yeah." Her hands separated and clasped again, "Kids, pets, car payments- the whole thing."

It was a shattering, discombobulating moment. "Kids?"

"In about fifty per cent of cases, I would say."

Clark felt himself struggling with this information, but, winningly, she seemed oblivious. She barraled along, "Jonathans, Jasons, Ellas, Marthas, Sams. Christophers, Karas, Laras. A couple of Peregrines." She stopped; "even a baby Jorel." Her eyes were alight- "We- they- tell everyone it's an old family name. Irish."

He rasped, "What are they like?"

"The kids? Dark hair, rosy cheeks," a grin cracked her face, "dirty faces. My God. Beautiful children."

"Do they have powers?"

Lois nodded. "They seem to pick them up as they get older, and at different strengths. One kid will develop more sensitive superhearing, another'll be able to run faster, another'll be better at flying. A real mixed bag. They're all doing well in school. Lots of friends. All fantastically polite. They all go to bed when they're told. Which, you know." She smiled and breathed, "They don't get that off me."

"This is incredible to hear."

The look in her eyes shadowed and became torn. "That's the fun stuff." She took a deep breath. "There's also the not-so-fun stuff."

He observed her, perfectly calm, "This is the part where you ask me to go back with you. Step in, stop Luthor."

"Listen." She was reaching for a small cache that she was wearing on her belt, "We have a plan in place-"

They were interrupted by the tinny opening bars of an electronic ringtone. "Sorry!"

But the tension of the moment had been punctured. Lois looked amused. She watched him, "Would you like a minute?"

Patting to find it, Clark removed a cell phone from an inside pocket and silenced it. "It's not a big deal." He glanced up, embarrassed, "I forgot to turn this thing off."

She watched him read it. "What is it?"

"Nothing. It's an automated alarm." He showed it her, "My office programs my cell with reminders. I keep a pretty busy schedule."

Lois's chin lifted. "Your office." Her eyes were dancing. "What was the reminder?"

"That I should be getting ready to attend the investiture of an Arabian Princess."

Of all possible responses, Lois was not expecting that. "Oh."

Clark opened a hand to her, "Sounds like something out of Scheherazade, right? When actually it's more of a socio-political, post-feminism, ... thing." When Lois raised an enquiring eyebrow, he continued, "Her father is something of a reformer. It's a small tribe, but it'll be the first time the line of succession has passed to a woman."

Lois was impressed. "Wow. Perry's sending you?"

Clark told her, "No. No. It's a personal invitation. I don't work at the Planet anymore."

She was surprised. Another revelation. Another piece that complicated the picture. He could see in her face that without Superman, without the Planet, he was making it difficult for her to triangulate an accurate fix.

He stood up off the couch. "Just give me a second. I'll go cancel."

Lois rose with him. "No, don't be ridiculous." One hand lifted, "When do you have to leave?"

"For the coronation?" Clark checked his wristwatch, "They're expecting me in about an hour."

"Go," she shooed him. "This happens all the time. There's always some kind of disruption. You are," she stopped, checked herself, because he wasn't, not here, so she settled for, "you." She shrugged, no problem, "I'll wait."

Clark wasn't sure.

She read it and hunched her shoulders, "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"I'll be back by tomorrow, I guess."

"I can wait," she insisted. "There's no time limit or countdown or anything. As long as Bruce doesn't mind, I'll hang out here." Her hands went to the small of her back in pragmatic fashion.

Clark glanced down at the wristband, "What about the other side? Emil?"

Lois flipped her hand that he'd be fine. "He keeps himself busy. He's reading 'War and Peace', he can add to his character chart." There was an adorable, tight-lipped, accommodating, smile.

"It's not that big of a deal."

Her tone chided him, "You're bearing witness to an important cultural moment; you're going to watch history being made. Right?"

For a few beats they just looked at each other. With an effort, Clark went to leave, got as far as halfway to the door then stopped. Then, as if thinking better of it, he went to leave again. But, again, he stopped. He half-turned back and found her eyes. "You wouldn't. You wouldn't like to come?"

It took a second and then her eyes widened. "To the coronation?" Immediately she fended off whatever had induced the reaction, replaced it with something more sober, more appropriate. She seemed to retract in on herself. "I don't want to impose."

"No, you wouldn't," Clark was quick to reassure. "No one wanted to go with me- it's in a remote part of the desert, there's no alcohol," he bit his top lip, braced himself, and just went for it, "the ceremony is nine hours long."

"Nine hours?"

His eyes narrowed, "You'd think I'd be beating people off with a stick, right?"

She breathed out a laugh.

"Because, uh, you'd be bearing witness to an important cultural moment?" His expression remained innocent. "You'd watch history being made?"

Lois could only twitch her lips at him, at her own words being used so flagrantly against her. "I don't know."

Clark weaved his head. "I'm trying to take advantage of that latent but finely-tuned journo streak."

She well knew; "Yes."

He became exceedingly grave. "There're free camel rides."

She laughed out loud. Then she let out a deep sigh. Helpless, her arms raised and flopped at her sides, "I don't have anything to wear."

Clark could've skipped, could've punched the air. "Bruce can take care of that. I can wait." His blue eyes gleamed with delight. "I can wait."

...

In support, out of solidarity, out of curiosity, everyone had stuck around. The television was on in the background, volume down, playing sports news. Bruce and John were hunched over, perched on the edge of the couches, facing each other down, locked in a cut-throat and intense chess match. A minor scuffle outside a bar in Keystone called for Wally to intervene, but he was back within minutes and didn't miss his turn at the table for the game of pool he was contesting with Dick.

Clark had been with Lois for about thirty minutes when Bruce's cell rang and it turned out to be Clark on the phone. After a short conversation, Bruce placed another set of calls and arrangements were made. Kara and Diana were asked to go over to the east wing and assist and that had been thirty minutes ago.

A large bowl of peanuts had been placed within convenient reach on the counter by the pool table. Kara and Diana had just returned to the room. Kara dropped down on the end of John's couch and picked up the folded-over Suduko puzzle she had left on the arm. Diana went to fix herself a tall glass of water from the drinks cabinet Bruce kept over by the television. Dick scooped out a handful of peanuts, threw them high into the air, and caught them in his mouth, one, two, three. Leaning against his cue stick, munching them, he was thoughtful. Out of one side of his mouth, he said, "So, it's like a date, right?"

Dick might as well have announced that he was thinking of stepping away from crime-fighting to pursue a career as a strip-o-gram; an inarticulate but enthusiastically derisory and voluble chorus of windy scowls was the response, issued by everyone, but mainly from Bruce and Diana. Without looking at each other they slipped into tag team mode. Diana sounded appalled. She nudged her glass, "It's not a date- she's a freedom fighter."

Bruce insisted, "It's a work thing. Clark had a long-standing commitment to attend-"

"she's going to go with him. It gives her a chance to brief him."

"To discuss strategy, plan the next move, figure out the best tactical solution to defeating Luthor."

Everyone was looking and listening and, ostensibly agreeing, and yet, somehow, despite the protestations, no one seemed as convinced as when they had begun. Especially not Bruce and Diana.

"Hey." All heads turned to the door where Clark had appeared.

He had changed out of his business suit and into one of a lighter material and a paler gray. A light blue shirt was underneath and he had left the first few buttons open at the collar to dangle a pair of dark sunglasses there. The suit was smart and slim and although it embarrassed him and bothered him when they all made a point of teasing him about it, the way he could wear a suit helped explain why he routinely topped all the magazine hot lists. Behind him, followed Lois.

There was an open-mouthed abbreviated intake of breath when she stepped into the light. The girls were beaming, the boys stood and straightened and over everyone there fell a reverent, admiring, hush. A room-wide once-over worked its way from the bottom to the top. Her standard-issue combat boots were gone and had been replaced by a pair of strappy high-wedged sandals and painted toenails. The toned curves of two long legs continued upwards and were met at knee-height by a wrap dress, the color of polished silver. From one side the dress was drawn tight across to the opposite hip where it was cinched and tied on the scoop of her waist. Together with the short-sleeves loose on her shoulders, it created a shallow V-neckline of exposed skin on which rested a delicate diamond necklace. When the necklace caught the light it shimmered, the same effect as the smudge of color on her eyes. Her hair was no longer tied back in a ponytail. It spilled loose, a tumbling cascade of wide glossy waves down her back and around her shoulders.

Sophisticated and simple, the effect was stunning and there was something powerful and sure and dignified in the sight of the two of them together. Lois seemed aware and conscious of their impact and of the atmosphere in the room. If Clark was not unaware, he gave no indication that he cared either. He had offered Lois his hand to lead her across the room to where floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the estate. All business, he was telling them, "Listen, I'm not too sure what time we'll be finished. But we'll be back here by first thing tomorrow, okay?"

Bruce, everyone, was nodding dumbly after them. It was when he'd been waiting by the first window for a time and still nothing had happened that Clark glanced back and only then did he appear to notice that they had silenced the room. Politely, he asked, "Bruce?" He had to point at the glass. "Would you mind?"

Recovering, almost apologetically, Bruce bent down to the coffee table and flicked a switch on a panel underneath. The window in front of Clark hinged open.

Standing there with him Lois realized he meant to take her in his arms. "Oh," she stumbled, reddening and pulling at her fingers, only just able to meet his eye. "It's been a while since I've done this."

Clark smiled and shuffled and admitted, "Me too."

Then, as if they had rehearsed it, he lowered one shoulder a little and she hopped a little, and, gently, he gathered her off the ground. Lois expelled a small involuntary sigh and for a second they were gazing at each other, the draft from the window tugging at her hair. As if remembering there were other people in the room, she looked, offered up a fluttery wave of goodbye and they were gone.

Bruce closed the window. His eyes tracked from face to face. They sized it up, upturned their mouths, nodded at each other. There was a unanimous decision; "Date."

...

Leaving Gotham Lois was equal parts nervous, hoping that Clark couldn't tell she was nervous, and embarrassed that she felt nervous in the first place. That this Clark didn't have his Lois shouldn't make a difference but she knew that it did, and she knew it from the perilous moment that this Clark had opened the door and she had looked into his eyes and seen something there that was kindred.

They flew across the ocean, towards the sunlight and after a while she was able to settle in and become accustomed to the presence and the pressure of his hands around her waist and on her thigh. Clark flew them high, above the clouds, away from the wind, so they could talk. She wanted to know why Clark was attending an Arabian princess' coronation ceremony and under what circumstance one received a formal invitation to such an event. Clark explained that they were headed for the northern part of Arabia, for a settlement on the Sinai that had once served the old trade routes. The settlement was the oldest and most cultivated of several similar outposts belonging to a small nomadic tribe that could trace an illustrious ancestry back to the time of the Persian Empire, to Clio, and Herodotus, and Cyrus the Great.

Lois was taken by the romance of it all, "We're going to visit the Bedouin?"

Clark scrunched one cheek. He told her that although that was strictly true, the current head of the tribe was enthusiastic about maintaining his people's heritage and traditions whilst integrating newer ideas and technologies; "So, it's not all adventures on horseback and passing round the shisha pipe."

"How disappointing."

Clark smiled. "Last year the head of the tribe, the sheik, volunteered his clan to assist as logistical support for a humanitarian project out in the desert. That's how I know him. On the same project, herdsmen from a second tribe, distant cousins of his, worked as guides. That was when the head of the second tribe asked if I would attend his son's wedding later that same afternoon. A huge honor."

"What did you say?"

"Yes."

Her eyes narrowed, "I see. And today, it's the first guy's daughter's big day?"

"The succession of his throne. The first time a woman will have held the position in two thousand years. And he invited me."

Lois nodded once, understanding. "Also a huge honor."

Clark craned his head to one side, "The two families, the clans. They get along-"

"But local pride is at stake."

He nodded. Lois studied him, her brow furrowed at the idea that this kind of realpolitiking seemed necessary on such a micro scale. "So what are you here? Some kind of über celebrity?"

He said nothing but the assertion had Clark looking uncomfortable so Lois didn't press the point. She told him that back home her situation couldn't be more opposite. In order to keep them safe, anyone not directly involved in the resistance movement- Perry, under house arrest, Jimmy, devoted to Perry and devoted to printing a weekly fanzine version of the Planet, even her sister- believed her to be dead.

When Clark lifted an eyebrow and informed her that in this world she didn't have a sister, they cross-checked and shared other similarities and differences. On both worlds Clark's father had died whilst Clark was still in his teens, but his mother had passed only recently, just three years ago. As a way of dealing with her own grief, Lois confided that after Clark's death she had written to Martha, but had had to do so under the alias of her new identity. Clark began to lower their altitude and they agreed it would probably be best to use her new identity and not introduce herself as 'Lois Lane' here, either.

It was early morning over the Sinai and the skies were clear. From the air, from several thousand feet, Lois was able to make out the geography of an encampment below. A sprawling outer boundary formed a large squarish shape beyond which there was nothing but a vast wilderness of red desert and stratified outcrops of rock that reared vertically, the size of cathedrals. Within, areas of the settlement had been fenced off and held cattle, and corrugated structures and covered rooftops of all sizes were organized along roadways like a small village. Over to the west of the settlement an area of water, an oasis, reflected, like glass, in the sun.

As they drew closer, Lois could pick out more details. The oasis was shaded on one side by a grove of date palms while on the near-side there was a narrow promenade of wooden decking and a small jetty. An assortment of cars and SUVs and flatbed trucks were parked in between the tents and buildings, and in one corner of the camp, taking up several acres, a copse of steel triple-bladed windmills were augmented by a line of shiny black half-court sized solar panels.

"You see the turbines?"

Lois answered yes.

"They power all the vehicles, all the lights. Everything's run on electricity."

"Ethical."

"Practical. The tribe doesn't have to rely on refuelling trips into town. They can just take the turbines apart, pack them up, and move on."

Lois whistled her admiration as they came into land and Clark touched them gracefully down. Her toes lighted not onto soft sand but against stone paving slabs that skirted the largest of the tents she had seen from the air. She looked around her- the settlement was a wonderfully unpredictable mixture of the old and the new, the straightforward and the exotic.

Almost as they arrived, a gathering of people exited and rounded the tent to greet them. The guests were an explosion of color- the men in long, white tunics, bright in the glare of the sun, and the women in black dresses that were embroidered and dyed in brilliant purples, oranges, blues. Out of the crowd emerged a small, middle-aged gentleman with a red-checked keffiya, a neat, pointed beard, and a wide smile. He was striding forward and when he saw Clark he threw out his arms and bellowed a loud, cheerful, "Assalaamu aleikum!'"

Lois watched as he kissed Clark on each cheek. "Wa aleikum assalaam."

The gentleman leaned back, chuckling, the deep lines on his face creased by excitement and delight.

Clark opened a shoulder to turn and address her, "It's my pleasure to introduce you to His Royal Highness, Sheik Zayed Hamid." The gentleman touched the fingertips of his right hand to his forehead and gave a small bow of the head. Clark turned back towards the sheik. "Sir, I'd like you to meet," momentarily stumped, for a second Clark shared the briefest look with Lois, "my friend." They smiled at each other, "Sadie."

Lois stepped forward, "Wa aleikum assalaam wa rahmatullah wa barakaatuh." And then she uttered more words, clicking her tongue and expertly rasping out her glottal stops. The sheik said something in response and the exchange turned into a conversation. She made it sound easy and musical but Clark was lost. A throwaway comment from Lois drew an appreciative sigh from the other guests and prompted Sheik Hamid to gesture extravagantly to the sky. Lois blushed.

The sheik flattened his right hand against his heart and turned to Clark. "Your friend has a remarkable way with the language. The beauty of her tongue is matched only by the luminosity of her presence."

Clark's gaze met Lois's. In the morning light his eyes seemed a deeper shade of blue. "It is."

Gripping his hands in front of his face the sheik announced they were nearly ready to start. With a final bow he left them to lead the other guests back into the main tent.

Lois was watching Clark watching her. An interested eyebrow was arched in her direction. "What?"

Clark stuck his hands in his pockets and they went to join the back of the line. "Fluent in Arabic?"

Lois demurred, "Hardly." Her noise wrinkled. "I have a working grasp."

"I have a working grasp." Clark dipped his head at the people in front, "You just charmed a crowd of strangers."

Lois tutted that he was being over the top. She insisted, "It's not classical Arabic- I speak more of a dialect. My father was based in Oman for a little bit, we had an Egyptian tutor." In the face of his continued skepticism, earnestly, she added, "His Royal Highness was being extremely gracious."

Eyes ahead, Clark waited a beat. "I can order coffee and ask for directions on, like, three hundred different planets."

She squinted at him, against the sun. "Jack of all trades, huh?"

Clark eyed her. She made no attempt to hide her insincerity. Sparkling up at him, she told him, "I'll be right over here. Being luminous."

At the entrance to the tent he stepped to one side to allow her to go ahead first, "Get in here."

They could talk only in brief whispered snatches after that. Inside, out of the heat of the sun, it was dark and there was a pungent aroma of incense. They followed the other guests through a second dividing curtain and into the main area of the tent. It was a cavernous space- at least a hundred feet wide with a small fire burning in the center. Around it guests arranged themselves cross-legged on plush pillows and tasselled cushions in a circle that was already several rows deep. The floor was not bare but carpeted with an overlaid patchwork of intricately-patterned rugs. Lois watched her step, following the heels of the couple in front until the next available space was reached and she and Clark lowered to the floor. Only one or two guests arrived after that and the gathering began to settle.

The atmosphere was solemn and pregnant with expectation. It reminded Lois of those knife-edged moments before a disgraced politician had to enter the pressroom and negotiate the flashbulbed walk to the rostrum. She looked around. On the front row she could see the craggy lines of Sheik Hamid's face modulated by the fire and, sitting either side of him, a woman and two younger men, then, beside them, younger children, two little girls. All wearing matching smiles of pride. Directly opposite them was an empty space, an empty cushion. In the silence, they waited and there was only the crackling of the fire and an occasional faraway tinkling of cattlebells. Suddenly Lois was itching to have a pen and a notebook poised in her hands. When everything was ready a lady wearing a long dark robe that skimmed the floor and covered everything but two shining oval eyes entered the circle and the ceremony began.

As Clark had promised the ceremony was drawn out and long enough to be separated into several distinct parts. But Lois was enthralled. Led by a venerable-looking five-strong council of tribal elders the event itself seemed to be a conscientiously orchestrated concoction of ancient custom and new ritual, and it was conducted entirely in Arabic. Sometimes spoken, sometimes chanted, sometimes accompanied by the syncopated beat of tabla drums, Lois listened out for phrases she recognized and followed it all as much as she could. She took in everything, reveled in the details; the coarse texture of the woolen carpet beneath her fingers, the damask tapestries and drapes hanging down from frames, the adornments of the womens' costumes- gold jewellery, henna tattoos on hands, the charmingly incongruous sight of the odd pair of box fresh sneakers peeking from underneath their robes. The sheer novelty of being here, and of being here with Clark. Once or twice, when they were shifting position in order to get comfortable, her knee or the sensitive underside of her elbow would brush against his and when that happened she would instinctively steal a glance and then find herself looking away when she realized he was doing the same.

When Layla, the sheik's daughter, the new head of the tribe addressed the circle, she offered a last prayer of thanks and it signaled the end of the formalities. The rows of guests stood as one to congratulate her and then headed outside to celebrate.

They emerged into the early evening, but it was already dark in the desert and thousands of tiny needlepoints of light speckled the skies overhead. A series of open fires had been lit and illuminated the area around the main tent. From the fires, and from stalls underneath the awnings of the surrounding tents, the smell of lamb and chicken being cooked and seasoned filled the air.

Pockets of people accumulated around the fires, talking and embracing and drinking out of tiny half shell-sized cups. The council elders drifted over to speak to Clark and Layla came by to introduce herself to Lois. With her she brought the rest of her family- one of the men Lois had seen sitting next to the sheik was her husband, and grasping tight on to his hands were the two small girls, their children. Layla spoke excellent English and as she poured from the long curved spout of a coffee urn, she chatted animatedly with Lois about her time studying for an MBA at their shared alma mater, Met U. They were the same age and Lois was fascinated by the attitude of the other woman, by the way her outlook echoed her father's, and by the way she saw her new status as simply the next inevitable step in a driven and successful business career. Lois learned that although the tribe was not poor and had access to modern communications, they placed self-imposed restrictions on external media and simply prefered a way of life that they, and their forebears, had upheld for millennia.

Once was the food was prepared it was served on large communal plates. Chunks of meat dripping with hot butter and piled on top of mounds of rice and flatbread were served on platters that were so heavy it took two people to bring them out. Smaller wooden bowls were filled with mangoes and dates, yoghurt and cheese. Clark found Lois at a stall being successfully exhorted by one of Sheik Hamid's granddaughters to try olives dipped with honey. Lois agreed they were delicious and offered out the bowl for Clark. He took one, spilling a drip of honey onto his chin before he could catch the whole olive in his mouth. He went to wipe away the dribble with his thumb but missed it and Lois leaned in, grinning, and dabbed him clean with her napkin. The gesture was so easily done and natural, it was over before their eyes locked and she blushed and they stepped apart again.

Later, there was an elaborate firework display followed by everyone dispersing to their own diversions; around one campfire a man recited poetry, around another, they were telling the old stories. Around another, spectators cheered the participants of a sword dance. Around another, Lois clapped along to the fast playing and rhythmic halftones of a traditional music ensemble. When the overlapping beat of drums and the high strings of the violin died down the sound system around the settlement crackled into life and began to play 'The Twist'. Lois had been enjoying the ensemble with Layla's mother. At Lois's look of surprise, she could only shrug and explain, quite seriously, "We like the classics." On cue, Sheik Hamid appeared and proceeded to demonstrate his twisting technique to an appreciative audience.

...

Happy, light-headed from dancing, carrying her heels in her hand, Lois mooched between groups of guests, sharing a word here and there, on the lookout for Clark. She discovered him, jacket off, and cuffs rolled back, surrounded by a crowd of small children, one of whom was wearing Clark's sunglasses. Clark was patiently fulfilling all requests for a pleasure ride that included one circuit of the entire encampment. Folding her arms Lois leaned to rest them against a fencepost and watch. Layla had told her that the tribe rarely used media services like rolling news feeds and satellite television, so perhaps that played a part, but Lois was struck by the way Clark lived here. No hiding, no misdirection, just himself, using his powers out in the open like this. She had never come across it before. The man grinning and joking before them, before these children, could fly. He was so obviously other. But he might as well have been a stage magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat; the children were concerned only with the thrill and the pleasure of a magnificent party trick. To Lois, it was wonderful.

From alongside her there was a throaty chuckle. Lois had been joined at the fencepost by an older lady. The lady had lifted her veil to reveal a tied-back plait of white hair and an impish warm smile. With one crooked finger she pointed over to Clark, to where he was crouched down while a little boy was clambering onto his back. A flex of his knees and Clark left the ground. Another chuckle colored her voice as the lady spoke.

Lois smiled widely with her in response. Following Clark's flight path above them, she replied, "Yeah, I guess he is kind of a magic carpet."

The lady's smile turned knowing when she said something else.

Lois nodded. Clark returned to the ground again. She watched him. "Very handsome."

Then the woman gestured towards the ranks of waiting children. Her remark was given as a compliment, a favor, a blessing, but Lois could only agree, "Yes, one day, I think he will," and keep smiling, and with it, mask the pain of her heart folding in on itself.

...

The oasis and the jetty were lit around the edge by the orange glow of paper lanterns that hung and swayed in the air. A low breeze stirred her hair off her shoulders and turned the blades of the turbines slowly, a steady whumphf-whumphf, and carried the sound to her across the water.

Away to her right she could hear the muffled laughter and voices and music of the celebrations as they continued into the night. She was down on the water's edge, dangling her legs, hanging her bare feet off the end of the jetty. Above her, shooting stars moved across the sky. She watched a scratch of lightburst, like the strike of a match, dissect the hanging W of Cassiopeia and extinguish.

A deep voice behind her said, "Hey."

Lois twisted to call over her shoulder, "Hey."

"May I join you?"

"Of course."

She felt his weight on the boardwalk of the decking and heard him padding towards her. "They're wondering where you are, back there."

She smiled to herself, gazing at her knees. "Do they want me to teach them the dance moves to 'Shake a Tail Feather' again?"

Clark chuckled. His jacket and a pair of shoes were flung to the floor and landed on her sandals before he hunkered down next to her, swung his feet over the water and they were side by side. He rested back on his hands too. "Actually, I think they want you to retell that filthy joke about TE Lawrence."

A breathy laugh escaped her. She nodded in agreement, "'If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue', right?"

For a moment or two, they said nothing, just listened to the night noises and admired the prettiness of the reflection of the stars in the water. Then Clark reached over to his other side and lifted something back to show her. "I brought this for you."

It was a four-pack box of beer. Clark extricated a bottle from the packaging and handed it to Lois.

Delighted, she regarded it, turned it in her hands and tilted her head at him, "I thought tonight was dry?"

Clark opened his own bottle. "I slipped one of the nephews a twenty and asked him to direct me to the nearest convenience store."

"We're right on the edge of the Sinai desert," Lois mused. "Very much in the middle of the middle of nowhere." She held up the label of her bottle in order to present him with her evidence; "And this price tag has a euro sign on it?"

Acknowledging the accusatory note in her tone, Clark tucked his chin into his chest as he nodded north. "Nearest convenience store was in Greece."

There was a soft shake of her head while she set her elbows and twisted off the cap. "You know, you keep spoiling me like this, I'm never going to leave."

It was intended as a joke, but they caught each other's gaze at the delicate moment and it fell flat. Clark didn't break eye contact. "I guess we should talk about that."

Lois looked out into the distance. "There's a lot to talk about."

She took a sip, felt him shift. "I know this was kind of an unscheduled stop. I wanted to thank you for coming."

Half-incredulous, she snorted, "Are you kidding? This is the most fun I've had since one of the Alfreds sent me home with a picture of Bruce in front of the Magic Kingdom." She slid Clark a half-lidded glance of confirmation; "Wearing Mickey ears."

"Was he smiling, though?"

She giggled, "Almost!" She spoke down into her bottle before taking another sip, "We teased him about it for weeks."

They settled into quietness again. Clark had his bottle between his knees and his thumbs were fidgeting along the rim. "Can I ask you something?"

Turning her head to him, Lois raised her eyes to meet his.

"Do you always visit Bruce first? When you jump?" When she nodded, he asked, "Why?"

Lois's brow lifted. She had never really thought about it. It had simply turned out that way. She inhaled a long breath and expelled a puff of air through her nose. Finally, she said, "Boils down to three reasons, I guess." She bobbed the neck of her bottle, "Number one; synchronization."

"Synchronization?"

"The lab we operate out of, Emil and I- it's a direct counterpart to the lab I jumped into," the base of the bottle was stubbed in a downwards direction, "here, in your world."

"Both owned by WayneTech?"

"Right. And in exactly the same geographic location." She had raised her index finger off the stem of the bottle to emphasize the point; "Exactly. I mean, our version of the building is derelict- or supposed to appear that way. According to public records, Bruce shut it down after the inauguration."

"And in reality?"

A small smile twitched at her lips, "We're there, in the basement, hidden away."

"But the alternative versions-"

"Are always in use." Her fingers found and picked up the discs of their discarded bottle caps. She held one up. "Early on, we discovered that there is a geo-spatial relationship between the jumps. The interfield that the device creates between the two worlds is anchored, fixed, as a physical location, in a corresponding point of time and space. Wherever we jump from here," Lois placed the first cap on the decking between them, "dictates where we materialize," she held up and placed the second cap neatly on top, "here."

Clark was blinking, as if seeing the world for the first time. "You're talking about quantum mechanics behaving within Newtonian law."

Agreeing, she nodded lightly. "Emil calls it 'Synchronization'."

"Unified theorists would have a field day."

He was smiling at her. She returned a grin that dimpled her cheeks. "He very much sees it as the first of many ironic indignities of our world that he can't publish a paper."

"So why Bruce's lab in the first place?"

Lois pointed again with her finger, "That's number two; expedience." She explained, "At first, we experimented- we hauled everything up to the fortress and I jumped from there. We tried a few times jumping directly from your old apartment. Another few times, I jumped onto the roofs of buildings close to the Planet and just cold-called Lois. Guerilla stuff, you know? "

His head moved side to side. "Didn't work out?"

"Meeting the other Loises," she stopped short, gazed into the middle distance, picked her words, "took up a lot of time. The strangeness of coming face to face with another version of yourself..." She trailed off. Her head bobbed as she recalled past escapades, "The fortress was a hassle, logistically. And you were never still living in your apartment, it was always a new tenant." As if it was him that was personally responsible for the inconvenience, she made a V with her first two fingers and admonished, "Twice, I gave two different versions of the same sweet old lady the fright of her life."

"Lives."

She laughed and beamed at him. "Exactly." Her bottle nudged in the air, "On our side, the lab is a secure Metropolis location- one of the few. And on the other sides, we found that WayneTech employees were more likely to react favorably towards an event horizon occurring in their workplace, more inclined to getting their boss on the phone when I asked." Another cheeky glint flashed across her eyes; "Less prone to fainting face first into their game of clock patience."

"You materialize in the same lab, the same room, every time?"

Her head bowed. "We've sort of settled into a routine that works. I jump; the lab's usually manned- technicians, scientists, security. If not, it soon is and I can get in touch with Bruce pretty quickly. Bruce, Diana, the others. They provide a good buffer zone to prepare you and Lois." She shrugged. "It's efficient."

"Like what happened earlier today?"

She nodded. He was looking down, into his beer. She could see he was frowning.

"How do you know it's always going to be that way? How do you know you're not going to jump into some world where," his fingers spread as he lifted an open palm into the air, "there's no Bruce? The building's there, but it's run by LexCorp. It's hostile."

Again, Lois sat and for a few seconds deliberated an answer. "You asked me earlier about whether there was any structure to the system, to the process-" she found his eyes, "there isn't- we can't control the jumps. But there do seem to be other patterns." She opened a hand to him, "Certain things repeat. Certain things are present and consistent in every version." Her fingers waggled, "Stuff might be changed up a little bit, but they're still there- like markers, in a genetic code. That's reason number three."

He was scrutinizing her with his eyes. "Universal constants?"

She tipped her head, 'right'. "So, so far, the sky's always blue. The sun always rises." The hand holding her beer motioned to the stars in a looped gesture, "The moon orbits the Earth." Her lips rolled inwards; "Dinosaurs existed, Congress signed the Declaration, Einstein wrote about special relativity." One hand flattened out on an invisible shelf, "The big stuff is still the bedrock. But there are differences- the in-between details change. The same people contest elections- but, sometimes the other guy wins. Their biggest hits might be different, whichever record went to number one, which albums went platinum, the order the albums were released; but there's always an Elvis, a Ray Charles," she thumbed back to the party, "a Chubby Checker. Cultural, historical, social commonalities. Touchstones that seem to underpin it all."

"Like a genetic code?"

She contemplated the bottle in her hand. "There's always a Bruce. He's always a good guy. Always an ally." Her eyebrow raised to him. "He's a marker."

"And what about us?"

"Us?"

He was gazing at her with a focus that she was unused to. "Back at the mansion. You said there's always a you and always a me." His eyelids fluttered a couple of times, "And that we're always,"

To have to say the word again, she understood it was an act of courage, for them both, "- Involved."

Clark said, "We're markers, too."

With some effort, she managed, "Yes."

This time he did look away and Lois was relieved that she could reclaim some clear-eyed composure, but he seemed unhappy. "Why us?" He turned back to her, "Why did we go through that, and not the others?"

Gently, sadly, she told him, "I wondered about that, too. What was different? What was changed? I have a theory," in the dark she smiled a small half-smile to herself, "it's only a theory." She released a sigh. "I asked your Bruce. If your Luthor had ever found a second meteor site of Kryptonite?"

His eyes were narrowed. "The other worlds- they don't have the second site?"

"The other Clarks, the other JLAs, they make a point of checking for me. They scour the planet."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing, so far. Just the piece that was recovered in Addis Ababa. There's nothing else. Luthor never gets the chance to power the trap."

Clark's eyes creased at the corner, "All this because a chunk of rock fell off in the wrong place?" But his anger was hollow and there was warmth and a healthy sense of the hard luck of it all in his incredulity.

Lois said nothing, her eyes gleaming with apology, sympathy, understanding, all in one. Simply, she offered, "It wasn't our fault."

They fell back with their beers into silences that felt separate and after a while Lois was not sure what to say. So it wrong-footed her when Clark asked, "Which one's your favorite?"

Lost, she glanced over, "Favorite what?"

He was staring out. "World. Alternate reality. Parallel universe." His face was so serious, and he used these terms, these ridiculous concepts, so comfortably, so in stride, she couldn't help but smile. He blinked. "So far?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. She sat a little straighter. "I don't think I have one."

She felt him turn to her. She didn't see but she sensed she was being baited with a skeptical raise of an eyebrow. As a concession, to humor him, and to be more accurate, she enquired, "My favorite version of the whole thing, or my favorite version of you?"

His tone was low and twinkly. "Same difference, right?"

He was shameless. "I don't have one."

They faced each other. She countered his disbelieving expression with an unwavering 'Come on' face of her own. She insisted, "It's impossible, it's like," a free hand swished up, "choosing a favorite Beatles record."

His look was suspicious, "People always say that, but it turns out they always do have a favorite, it just depends on their mood."

"Right!"

"All these variations- and there's not a single version that stands out?"

She fired back, "The you that had a mustache."

Adorably, his eyes widened and he exclaimed, "A mustache! I had a mustache?"

He didn't make it to ask how that would work before she cut him off- "No."

Wounded, his head dropped to one side.

Lois released a heavy, put-upon sigh, dabbed her thumbs at the bottle rim while she thought. Eventually, hesitantly, she told him, "There was one world. About a year ago. Jump number four-fifty, something like that. It turned out that this particular Clark still hadn't told his Lois."

Clark lifted his chin, took that in. "How long-?"

"Five years, just about," Lois provided, immediately. "Partners at the Planet. Side-by-side. Every day."

His neck crooked, "Long time."

When she spoke, she spoke carefully, remembering, "It was the first instance, the only instance, where I'd come across a Lois that didn't know." She felt his attention on her. "The first time that I jumped, world number one, to discover this other reality existed; a reality where Lois not only knew but," the smile lit up her face, "was part of it- it was a revelation. And then the next jump, and the next jump, and the next world, and the next world- it was the same. And they all had similar stories. Sometimes, it was just a year, sometimes two, sometimes three- but never more than that- Clark told her. Or Lois figured it out." Her head bobbled in the air, "Sometimes, it was a little bit of both." She stumped the bottle down on the deck between them, like she was placing a chess piece, "But it had always happened, that was always their history. And they were always so matter of fact about it, like this was simply the obvious way to live their lives, and they couldn't imagine anything else." She made a noise that was half-laugh, half-sigh. "It was," she scraped her bottom lip with her teeth, "pretty amazing. And, I guess, every time that I jumped, I started to take it for granted that that was just the way things were supposed to be."

Clark brought her back. "Until this guy."

She nodded.

"So what was the deal? Why hadn't he told her?"

Her empty hand lifted and dropped back to her side like she couldn't give him an easy answer. "He'd tried. As Clark, as Superman. Romantic dates, night flights. Those lamplit moments, alone, late at the Planet. Those big moments, endorphins flying about the place, when he'd just whisked her out of some exploding catastrophe or other. He had this long list of nearlies, almosts, near-misses. Near-perfect moments-" there was a quick quiver of her head, "ruined, interrupted, sabotaged; either by some outside emergency. Or his own trepidation."

Beside her, Clark's head ducked.

"They were so tangled up. Just dancing around each other. And the more time went on, the longer they knew each other, the harder it became. The stakes were raised, you know? A lot was riding on it. They were colleagues, desk buddies, a successful writing team, confidantes- best friends," she pushed her bottle in the air, "but trapped. Caught in this limbo of not moving forward, but totally and secretly besotted with each other." She tucked her head and gave a small sideways glance- "I mean it was heartbreaking, but it was kind of sweet." Her shoulders lifted up and down. "I stayed a whole night with him, listening, talking. Forgetting why I was there in the first place. In the morning, before work, he flew to her. Told her." A beatific and satisfied grin had worked itself into place.

"Just like that?"

The smile faded away in degrees. It was replaced by a faraway, stoic expression that looked out, considering the landscape and the stars. "When I arrive into their lives. The other Lois and Clarks. Usually, it's the opposite of that." Her voice became remote. "For me, I see a rainbow kaleidoscope of possibilities I never had. For them, I'm like a dark mirror. Held up and reflecting back their worst nightmare." She regarded Clark, met his eyes. "Usually, I'm a cautionary tale." If she had been expecting to see pity there, she didn't find it. Instead, his gaze was open and filled with something else. Her mouth curled at one corner and into a wry smile, "For once, it was nice to be able to fix something. To get their world back on track."

"So tell me. What's the plan?"

Puzzled, her eyes narrowed at him.

"To get your world back on track?"

Purposefully, she held him there. "First, I wanted to ask you about something?"

Off his careful look, she said only, "The Lois Lane Institute." She watched him closely, wanting to see his reaction. There was not much of one, but what reaction there was, was not unlike someone being caught.

"You've heard people talking about that, huh?"

Her head nodded towards the party. "Only in passing. But, I must say, in glowing terms."

"What do you want to know?"

He definitely looked uncomfortable. She wondered at it. "The traditional stuff. All the Ws?"

"It's a foundation I started. For good works."

It was a condensed kind of answer to a straightforward question. When he wasn't more forthcoming, she rolled her head on her neck. "And?"

"And?"

"Why?"

Suddenly he became more interested in his knees where he had the beer bottle between his hands. The timbre in his voice was soft and moderated, "Lois. After you died, in the aftermath of that, I didn't deal with things very well." Now he looked at her and once more she was aware of an intensity in his gaze. "I didn't show up back for work."

Concern pinched the middle of her brow together. "At the Planet?"

Light caught in his eyes. There was almost a chuckle. "No, not just at the Planet." The corner of the label he was worrying at scraped away a little from the glass. "I was so angry," she saw him shrug, "with the world. With myself. I could barely see straight. I couldn't stand the unfairness. After everything I'd done; to lose you. The only..." The bottom of his jaw was moving as he tempered himself, bit it all back down. "I mourned you. Publicly, openly," a mournful smile played on his lips and an eyebrow twitched; "loudly." He leaned in a little, "Not very heroic."

She smiled back at him, to show him she understood.

"That line between what was secret and what was not, what I kept from the world, what I didn't- it blurred and then it disappeared. And I didn't care." He looked up and away to stare out again. "And I think it shocked people. Once the funeral was over I went back to the farm to see my mom, and then I went north and I stayed there."

"To the fortress?"

He nodded.

"What did you do?"

"Oh, you know. The usual." His eyelids fluttered and caught at the memory of it. "I dragged myself around in a pair of baggy sweat pants for a couple of days. Didn't shave, didn't eat, I read depressing Victorian poetry."

Her eyes were wet but they danced at him. "How depressing?"

"I memorized Tennyson's 'In Memoriam'."

Lois said nothing but her lips rolled and her eyes creased around the edges.

He inclined his head at her, 'Exactly', before swishing something off his knee. "I felt thoroughly sorry for myself."

"And after that?"

"After that," he frowned at the horizon, "I decided I was going to get you back."

She stared at him, thinking she must have misheard, a look of incomprehension darkening her face.

Clark explained, "From the fortress I accessed the Advanced Physics research and development files of every major institute and program in the world; Harvard, Stanford, MIT, Caltech. Oxford, Cambridge, NASA, ETH, the SJTU, CSIRO, CERN, the Royal Society, the Institut de France, the ICSU." He gestured that he could go on. "I studied them, analyzed them, became expert. I reactivated all of my father's memory crystals, went through them again and again, relearned the Science archive off by heart. I was convinced that if I could combine hardware from Earth with Kryptonian technology," he stopped to find her eyes, and then made a swirling motion with his index finger, "I could warp the gravitational field to create a wormhole."

She understood the implications. But she was still taken aback. "Time travel."

"I was obsessed. Relentless. For a year, I worked day and night, formulating equations, running models, building micro-scale prototypes;" he allowed a shadowy smile, more than aware of the preposterousness, the audacity, "just trying to get the math to stand up under the weight of its own theory." He chewed on the edge of his lip. "Eventually I was ready to show the others my notes."

"The league?"

His eyebrows lifted in affirmation. "Bruce thought I was crazy. They all did, but I think they had reached the point where allowing the craziness out into the air was an improvement on watching me fester away with it in the dark." His hand swept through the air, his voice and manner fortified by past conviction, "As far as I was concerned, the theory was sound- I just needed the materials to build the thing. A project lab was established at the WayneTech building in Metropolis, a select team of experts were placed at my disposal, and within three months the construction phase was complete."

"I was in the lab," Lois told him. "I saw the blueprints." They looked at each other. "The project was abandoned?"

A beat. "Yes."

"It didn't work?"

Clark looked like he was about to say something else but instead there was a pause and he a gave a quiet, clipped, "No."

Moved, she breathed, "I'm sorry."

He sighed and smiled that it was okay. "And that was that. I had to go on without you." Light and lightness started to come back into his eyes. "I prepared to re-enter respectable society."

"That must have been hard."

One shoulder lifted and dropped, "I had outed myself as Superman. There was no hiding place anymore. Not for a normal life. I mean my mom had asked the media to respect our privacy," he tipped his head to her, "and they had, and Perry offered me my old job back- but I think all three of us knew that picking up where I left off in either Smallville or at the Planet was," there was a tiny shake of his head, a sucked inhalation of breath, "out of the question. I couldn't go back to the way things had been, as if nothing had happened."

"What did you want to do?"

He huffed out a sigh, "I didn't know. I had no idea. I guess I figured I'd deal with a day at a time." He swayed where he sat, "I'd spent a year out of commission. I prepared myself for public reaction- opprobrium, condemnation, contempt, intrusion, pity, fear." He stopped, became pensive. "And it was the strangest thing;" worry lines crumpled his brow, as if he still didn't quite understand, "I was welcomed. Like family. By everyone. Neighbors, strangers in the street, anyone I met."

She shone at him, "The prodigal son."

"It was like someone had flipped a switch somewhere and, suddenly, I was not above them, apart from them, outside of them. I was just a kid, hurt and grieving after a great personal tragedy, and the world had been witness to the grief, and it resonated- in a fundamental, human way. I had changed. And the world had changed, too."

Her voice was husky. "Sounds incredible."

He eyed her, like that was not the biggest part. "All the time I'd been gone, all those months, still, people were donating money."

Lois looked blank. "Money? To who?"

"To me. To Clark, to Superman."

"What for?"

His lips pursed and he shrugged. "As recompense? Reparation? Memorial contributions? People paying their respects?" He shook his head, laughed a little, "To say sorry? In overwhelming numbers. From all over the world. Huge checks with nine zeros from big business. Little kids sending their allowance. It was pouring in." He set his bottle down and rested back on his hands. "Representatives from the government, from the United Nations, and from the IMF came to see me. They'd organized a central account. There was about fifty trillion dollars in there, and it was rising all the time, and they wanted to know what I wanted to do with it."

Lois blinked. "Wow."

He returned her disbelieving expression, "More or less what I said."

"What did you do?"

His head cocked to his shoulder, "I took a good look around. Held meetings with experts, talked to Bruce and the others, and we tried to come up with the best way to use this incredible resource. Finally, I settled on establishing an institute that would be international, politically neutral, and open to solicitation to all, with the sole purpose of benefiting the world and everyone on it." He watched her and his look dared her to say something flip.

For effect, she waited. "Nothing too ambitious, then?"

They beamed the broadest grins at each other. "The institute has one bureau on every major continent, and the administration and staffing of those bureaus are the only financial streams out of the organization that do not directly relate to charitable donations. The rest of the money is allocated on a case-to-case basis to whomever petitions for it. It's an open door policy, with the only proviso that support can't disappear into a black hole. We've got a pretty good record and a lot of the initiatives make money, but chances of success or failure don't matter- funded projects, however big or small, must only demonstrate that they have a defined goal. The bureaus work in partnerships with local NPOs, NGOs, charities, education programs, relief efforts, governments. Anyone who wants help."

She had been listening carefully and attentively. She said, "And what do you do?"

There was a crooked smile. "I'm the CEO, basically. Mainly, I act as an ambassador. A facilitator, an honest broker. I can mediate to get things done- quickly. That means people can see results, quickly."

She was more than impressed, but something nagged at her. "What about everything else? I mean, do you ever," she squinted and didn't finish, not sure how to phrase it.

He knew what she had been thinking, and he looked amused, "Rescue a cat, for old times' sake?"

She bowed her head, thank you.

For a moment, Clark was quiet, choosing his words. "While I was gone, there was a lot of talk, a lot of soul-searching, a lot of fear that society might," he tried for the right term, "regress. Instead, crime rates stabilized. Across the board. They found a natural level that was slightly worse than when I was active, but better than before, and better than anyone predicted." He tucked one shoulder, "I still pitch in when the JLA needs it. But the truth is something happened when I gave up the hero in a costume. I looked differently at the world, and the world looked differently back, and they wanted it to be better." She could see fire animating his eyes, "As we speak, anti-malaria vaccines are halving the global death toll, the hole in the ozone layer is repairing itself, the ice caps are getting bigger, the list of political prisoners is getting shorter. An emphasis on wealth distribution, access to education, scientific innovation is creating opportunities, equality, fairness." He stopped midflow as if to check himself. "It's not perfect, it never will be- there's still disease, self-interest, corruption-" a sidelong glance sparkled, "all the things that are a unique and enriching part of the human experience." He looked at her, "But it's happening. There's a recognition and a consensus at the hightables that the right to some quality of life, for everyone, is... inarguable. "

Lois was awed by the magnitude of it. "Clark. I don't know what to say. It's incredible."

An eyebrow flicked up as he looked away, almost embarrassed. "It is what it is. I was the right guy, in the right place, at the right time."

More thickly than she had wanted to sound, she said, "Your mother must've been so proud."

"What about you?" He turned the tables with a warm grin, "Single-handedly saving the world?"

Like him, she shied away from herself. "I didn't have too many options."

A low hum was directed at her, like he was not sure that that was true. "Why do you do it?"

She forced a breath out through a small gap in her lips. "Because, one day, somehow, I have faith that things will be better." She blinked, serenely, at him. "Same as you, I guess."

Silence crept in and around them once more and in that gap Lois became aware that she was not sure how much she believed that anymore. She hoped that he couldn't tell.

"So, tell me the truth," he addressed the water. "I created the largest and most influential aid organization that's ever existed, and I named it after you." His gaze fell on her, solemn and earnest. "Creeped out or flattered?"

She snorted out a laugh that echoed into the night, and they cracked wide grins at each other, "Definitely splitting the difference."

His expression turned concerned, "I was afraid you were going to say that. Now I'm wondering whether to admit I still talk to you. Out loud."

Her bottle was held up in a Viking toast of solidarity- "I still talk to you."

"At the cemetery."

"Oh." Her look of surprise suggested he was right to wonder. "Do you visit often?"

He rolled his lips. "Every day." His brow lowered as he quickly explained, "I promise it's not like a weird ...shrine. Although I think Diana worries."

She chuckled softly that that wasn't it; "I feel kind of bad. I hardly ever visit you."

"Oh."

"There's a bronze statue. In the park. People can go, lay flowers, light candles. It's a little risky for me during daylight hours. At night, there's a curfew."

"I'm surprised there's a statue at all." Clark said. "Your Luthor must have more magnanimity than I would ever give him credit for."

"No, no, it's totally self-serving," she corrected. "He knows that even away from any kind of official opposition there's a dangerous level of support for Superman." She was grinning, "People wear t shirts, bands, have these little S-shield tattoos that they keep covered. His very public posthumous honoring of you is supposed to be a sign of his goodwill, but it's a safety valve."

"Still," Clark said, dryly, "a bronze statue?"

"He took a couple of inches off your height," she told him, evenly. "Resized ...some other areas."

"Jerk."

They were both smiling. She looked away. "I guess that is kind of a shrine," she mused. "I'd like to visit more." Her smile faded at the edges, "When you don't officially exist it kind of cramps your style."

"That must be hard."

"My choice."

They found each other's eyes again and she watched him. He didn't look happy with her. "Where was the last fun place you went to? For fun?"

She gazed away in thought. A little helpless, she said, "I don't remember. Emil took me to a bar for my thirtieth two years ago."

"No, I mean, like, a proper trip? Like you had to pack a toothbrush?"

Again, her brow furrowed. "I don't remember. It would've been," her hand moved off her bottle, "before everything."

Tenderly, Clark said, "So where would you like to go? In the world?"

"Oh," she sighed, dramatically, "lots of places."

"Anywhere specific?"

She did a double take when she caught his eye. "Now?"

"Yes."

There was a nervous laugh that died away. "Right now?"

Clark pointed to his left, "London." His finger tracked right, "Paris, Rome." He looked at her, "Agra's not too far from here; you could see the Taj Mahal by moonlight? I hear watching the sun rise over Mount Fiji is quite nice this time of year?"

She observed him while he talked. This combination of the fantastic and the humble, the heady and the sincere. His total lack of swagger or boastfulness. And he had, had never had, any idea how unlikely that was, how alluring it made him. In the end, troubled, Lois was forced to conclude, "You are serious."

"Yes."

She spent a long time considering it. Finally she looked back from the stars. She said, "There is one place I'd like to see."