Welcome, Constant Readers! We're back with another chapter. A few things you should know: ours is the movieverse Lana. She doesn't know the secret. Also, Jimmy Olsen was kind enough to let us put some of his pictures of Lois up on KalaLaneKent's livejournal. Specifically, the one of her on the desk is there. Link's in the profile.

I, Maryse, have been awake for ten minutes, so I'll end this intro here while I'm still making sense. As always, many thanks to our wonderful beta, Barbara, Evil Cliffie Queen and Empress of Beta Readers. Also, thanks to YOU, our readers. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't have gotten this far.

Jimmy Olsen was in the throes of one of his rare fits of organizing. In theory, a better filing system would make finding photos simpler and faster, which in turn would leave him more time for actually taking the shots that would advance his career. In practice, the more organized he got, the harder it was to find things that weren't in their long-accustomed places. That didn't stop the young photographer from occasionally succumbing to the siren call of brand-new file folders with color-coded tabs, however, and at the moment Jimmy had several years' worth of pictures sprawled across his desk as he tried to update his filing system.

At first he didn't even see Richard walk up to his desk, and the international editor's voice startled him. "Looks like you have a bunch of office pictures from way back. Is that Perry before his cardiologist made him stop smoking cigars? Mind if I look?"

Jimmy looked up quickly, almost dropping the handful of folders he was trying to fit into his filing cabinet, and then smiled. "Sure. Some of these go back to before Clark started working here." Go on and look, but don't be surprised at what you see.

Richard started leafing through the photos on the desk, ostensibly looking at his uncle (Perry had never been without a cigar in the old days, even if he didn't always light it, he always had one), but really looking at Lois. Jimmy knew he probably had more shots of her than anyone without a crush ever needed, and Richard noticed that, too.

"You've got a lot of Lois here," her fiancé said offhandedly.

"She's a good subject," Jimmy replied just as casually, twitching an office candid out of the stack. "See here? Terrible lighting, but with her coloring she still shows up well. Good contrast. Besides, Ms. Lane never runs from the camera like some people." He showed Richard a picture of Lois smiling broadly, while Perry tried to skulk out of the frame with a scowl. "She's such a ham sometimes," he added, pulling out a few more.

As if by accident, Jimmy chose another that showed Lois grinning at his lens, having hopped up on a desk and crossed her legs to better show off her white skirt. It happened to be Clark's desk, and the edge of the shot captured his face. His expression was a complicated mixture of surprise and a touch of embarrassment, but his appreciation of the view was also quite clear.

Richard's eyes narrowed and his lips thinned, but all he said was, "It's amazing how much leg she has for someone so petite."

Jimmy didn't smile. He liked Richard well enough; he was a good guy, great with twins, and he adored Lois. But he wasn't Clark. Since realizing Lois thought of him as a cute little brother, James B. Olsen had always secretly hoped that his best friend would finally win her. Have a good look, Mr. White. See what you interrupted. Well, actually, Clark interrupted it himself when he left for six years, but if you hadn't come along and pestered her into going out with you, I bet they'd already be back together. Clark's a lot less shy since he traveled the world, and I've seen some pretty intense looks going back and forth between the two of them. Besides, he loves her so much it practically surrounds him like a halo. If anyone here deserves Lois, it's him.

Jimmy filed several shots of just Lois into their own folder, which was unlabelled. He had to remember to show some of those to Clark, just in case he needed to replace either of the snapshots Jimmy had given him years ago. Even with the best and most attentive care, pictures that old tended to yellow. The newer photo papers lasted much longer.

Richard was now investigating the group candids, what Jimmy thought of as the family photos. There were a lot of shots of Clark, Lois, and Perry in that stack, along with people from all the Daily Planet departments. A majority of them had been taken at various company Christmas parties and other functions. The infamous 'premonition' snapshot was in there, Loueen kissing Perry under the mistletoe, the editor trying to look annoyed but not succeeding in the slightest.

And Richard saw it, smiling as he picked it up, but the smile melted off his face as he caught a glimpse of the shot immediately below it. This was the same Christmas party, from the year just before Clark left, and the same bunch of mistletoe hanging by the door. Lois was caught in the act of dodging away from it, her hazel eyes glaring up at the parasitic plant. At the edge of the frame, Grizzly Lombard scowling in disappointment at having missed her.

Much closer, Clark watched Lois, beginning to laugh at her adept evasion. He wasn't trying to maneuver her under the mistletoe like Lombard had been, just watching. Jimmy sat back and said nothing as Richard perused the pictures, seeing how many of them had Lois either grinning devilishly at Clark or Clark smiling wistfully at Lois. The two years they'd worked here together were chronicled in those snapshots, and they painted a picture of another relationship Richard knew nothing about.

"Wow. I never realized how close Lois and Clark were," Richard said to Jimmy.

"Well, they were best friends," Jimmy explained. "Didn't people tell you about the stories they ran down together?"

"The stories, yeah," Richard muttered. Then he looked seriously at the photographer and said, "You know them both better than anybody, Jimmy. Did you ever think … something else was going on?"

Jimmy just raised his eyebrows and looked completely innocent. "Something else? Like what?"

"Like maybe they were more than friends." Richard was looking at the pictures now, avoiding Jimmy's questioning gaze.

"Oh." Now how do I handle this? Tell him I don't think there was ever more between them, but I always thought there should've been? Back in those days, Clark was the only one here besides me and the Chief who really cared about her, and Perry and I were disqualified by age. The rest of the guys here just wanted to get in her pants. Clark cared – he still cares. He's the only one who deserved to be with her. But it's not like I don't know that Richard loves her, even if I don't think they're perfect for each other. Jimmy took a deep breath. "They were best friends, Mr. White. They had to be, to work together the way they did. And they cared a lot about each other." He paused, then shrugged. "Clark probably liked her, you know, more-than-friends liked her, but he's always been a gentleman."

"What about Lois? Do you think she liked him, and maybe nothing ever happened just because they had to work together every day?"

No way am I going there. "Hey, if I could read Lois' mind, Mr. White, I wouldn't get yelled at so much. Maybe she did. Maybe she just thought he was a nice guy, and the only one around here she could trust."

"Hmm."

…

Clark was bent over his desk, pretending to work, while listening to Jimmy's conversation with Richard. He was also looking at the same photos, thinking that Jimmy's pictures of Lois were clearly framed by Love's eye, and all but reliving the memories those snapshots carried. Jimmy even still had the full picture from which the one on his desk – hidden behind the photo of Ma – had been cropped. That one was from the last Christmas party, Lois lounging in a chair after a couple of drinks, a sweet unguarded smile on her face, that incredible red dress…

She'd walked into the party, fashionably late, wearing that long black coat that covered her from neck to ankles. Someone laughed, someone else kidded her, "A trench coat? Some party dress, Lane!" And then Lois had smiled wickedly and shrugged the coat off her shoulders, letting it land on someone's chair. The exclamations and wolf whistles had startled everyone who wasn't looking her way, and Lois stalked to the punch bowl like a queen moving through a crowd of her adoring subjects. Hair down and wavy, lying night-black over her pale, bare shoulders, the vivid crimson of the dress in high contrast. It wasn't really all that racy; it was just that she wore it so very well… Clark had almost forgotten to breathe while he watched her, love and longing wrapped so taut around his heart he thought it would burst… And as everyone was leaving, she had hugged him tightly enough to leave the scent of her perfume on his clothes, and kissed his cheek…

The phrase "more than friends" yanked Clark's attention back to the present. It made him uneasy to hear them talking about him, especially with the direction Richard's questions seemed to be leading. Jimmy seemed to be avoiding a straight answer, for which Clark was grateful.

While he was wondering what would be the best way to distract Richard from his current line of thought, his phone rang. Momentarily startled, he answered it. "Daily Planet International Department, Kent speaking, can I help you?"

"Kent? C'est Henri Archambault. Parlez-vous français?" The reply had a heavy Quebecois accent, and this was the source he'd been trying to reach for his newest article. The man was notoriously difficult to get hold of … no way he could pass up this call.

"Oui, je parle français. Merci pour retourner mon appel, Monsieur Archambault. Je voudrais vous demander…"

Clark soon found himself so absorbed in the call that he had to tune out Richard and Jimmy. Hopefully, the photographer wouldn't say anything incriminating…

Several minutes later, he hung up the phone with a sigh of relief. In addition to the immigration story, he now had an extremely knowledgeable source to quote for Quebec's continued desire to secede from Canada.

"I didn't realize you spoke French so fluently," Richard said from the other side of the desk, and Clark jumped.

"Gosh, I didn't even hear you walk up," he replied, keeping his face open and innocent while his stomach churned. "I took French in high school. And college. I like it a lot."

"Your accent's flawless," Richard told him, and there was that intensity about him, that slight narrowing of his eyes. "You'd sound right at home in Paris. Ever been there?"

"Oh, a couple times."

"I used to visit all the time when I lived in London," Richard said. "Hey, what years did you go to Paris? We might've just barely missed meeting each other."

Clark panicked a little then. He'd been to France many times, actually, but not as Clark Kent. The only time he could remember actually using his passport was the time he'd gone to the French observatory outside Paris to see what everyone had thought was Krypton. So he stammered a little as he named the year. "That was my first stop, you know, on my big trip around the world."

Richard's eyes lit up with an almost savage expression of triumph, but he damped it down quickly. For a moment, he'd looked almost like Lois when she'd shot him… Chills ran down Clark's spine. He knows. He knows something. The last public save I did as Superman was that woman who fell into the Seine – how could I be so stupid? How could he not make the connection when I practically drew him a map? Oh, dear God, what am I going to do now?

But Richard's voice was very calm as he replied, "Yeah, I was in London then. Couldn't get away 'til summer, though. Oh well, I guess it's better we met working here, right? I hear enough crap about being Perry's nephew, it'd be worse if I'd been friends with the star reporter years ago, too."

Clark tried to chuckle, but it sounded a little rusty to his own ears. "Oh, no, I'm not the star reporter. Lois is."

"Lois isn't a beat reporter anymore," Richard replied, a glint in his eyes. "A lot has changed about Lois while you were gone."

Clark met his gaze with a faintly puzzled expression, trying not to remember Lois' mouth on his only yesterday, nor the things both hurtful and truthful she'd said to him later. "Lois has always been pretty, um, dynamic," he offered. "Anyone who wants to be her friend gets used to change."

Perhaps they would've said something else, perhaps something they would both regret, but Clark's eyes went unfocused as he picked up a sound he was beginning to dread. Fire engines? Not again!

A moment later, someone monitoring the police bands yelled, "Holy crap! The French consulate's on fire!"

Perry and Lois were both gone. Richard gave Clark a twisted grin. "You're the one who speaks French, Kent. Get down there."

Clark just nodded, grabbing a tape recorder for the look of it. He was running for the air shaft before the reporters in City had even figured out who should go. Richard stuck his head in the bullpen and called out, "Jimmy! Head down to the consulate – I bet Superman will show up there pretty soon. One of you guys from city go, too – I've got Kent covering the international angle."

"Kent?" someone groused. "Great, there goes the whole story. I'm not wasting my time. He's too damned good."

"The international angle?" someone else complained. "What international angle? This's Metropolis' arsonist!"

"Yes, the international angle," Richard said sweetly. "Because the French consulate is technically foreign soil. Your precious pet Metropolis firebug just targeted another nation for the first time. I'd say that's news, wouldn't you?" Into the utter silence that followed his chiding, he continued, "No volunteers? Gil, go for it. Get moving!"

He turned back to his own department just a second too late to see the look Ron had been giving him.

…

Lana left Agi's office smiling. One minor detail in the write-up of her fashion show had needed to be changed, something the event organizer had gotten wrong, not the Daily Planet staff. Ms. Vega had been very professional about it, promising to take care of the correction immediately, and getting that done so quickly left Lana with a large blank space on her schedule for the day. On a whim, she decided to go see Clark.

She arrived, unfortunately, only a few minutes after he'd left to catch the consulate story. "Sorry you missed him," Richard told her. He had just happened to be by Kent's desk, not nosing around at all, when she walked up. "I don't expect him back for an hour or two, but I can give him a message for you if you'd like."

"Oh, no, that's all right," Lana demurred. "I was just hoping he was free for lunch. I've only got an hour or so to kill."

"Hey, my lunch offer still stands," Richard said impulsively. It would be nice, for once, to spend an hour with someone who wasn't connected to the Planet, its rivalries, its demands, its gossip… "We can call it a business lunch and put it on the expense account; you're going to have shows in Paris and Milan, right?"

Lana laughed. "I don't think that quite qualifies as international news, Mr. White…"

"Please," he replied. The more Richard thought about it, the better the idea seemed. Lana was pleasant company, and he needed to talk to someone with whom he wasn't involved. "My uncle is Mr. White. I'm Richard. Although around here I mostly answer to Hey, You."

She smiled, and asked a trifle shyly, "Are you sure your fiancée will understand?"

A brief flash of something in his eyes, anger or annoyance, and then Richard chuckled. "At the rate things are going, I doubt she'd notice. Besides, this is business – you're a news source, Ms. Lang."

Against her better judgment, Lana let that handsome grin sway her.

…

Superman had never made any distinctions between nations; when the need of him existed, he answered it. The fact that the French consulate was technically foreign soil didn't slow him in the least.

This time, he was on guard, listening carefully for anything that might be a timer. Same nitromethane, but no bombs so far. No delayed ignitions either. Why is his M.O. so different each time?

He had little time to ponder it, though. This fire involved fewer people, but they were less amenable to the idea of fleeing the building and leaving their precious documents behind. All in all, he was kept too busy to wonder about much more than how many people were left inside, and whether the fire had smoldered into life again.

After it was all over, while dodging the press, his worries returned. This arsonist is unlike any other in Metropolis' history. Some of his targets are much more elaborate than others; some seem political, others just seem calculated to create the greatest havoc possible. I'm beginning to wonder if this is the work of one man…

Of course, there's always the possibility that Luthor's mixed up in it somewhere. Though I would expect Luthor's plans to have more rhyme and reason to them.

…

Boredom lay on Lois' skin like a swarm of ants, making her irritable and frustrated. The investments representative had been going on for more than ten minutes about the side of the business that interested her the least, and she found herself wondering if there was any way to escape the meeting. If I see one more bar graph, I'm going to find out how far up that guy's nose I can stick this pen. Maybe if I pretend to have a migraine … or the flu … or Ebola…

Her cell phone suddenly vibrated in her pocket, and Lois glanced at it under the table. "New text message," the screen read. Intrigued – even a wrong number would capture her attention at that point – she read it.

MS LANE. FIRE, FRENCH CONSULATE. SUSPECT: YSTDY'S ARSONIST. And it was sent from Jimmy's phone.

Lois leaned a little closer to Perry and hissed, "The French consulate is on fire! Jimmy just texted me. Looks like our firebug is at it again!"

"Damn," he muttered. "And I'm stuck here. Well, they'll send somebody."

"What if they send someone like Polly?" Lois whispered. "Neither one of us are there to make sure it's done right!"

"I could've been there if I'd trusted you to come to this thing without me," Perry replied out of the side of his mouth. "Ask Jimmy who went."

WHO COVERING? Lois tapped the little keys rapidly, and got a reply in seconds.

CLARK, GIL, ME.

"Clark? Clark?! He's bloody International!" she muttered. Not quietly enough, apparently, for several of the large men in suits sitting around the table glared at her, and Perry's elbow caught her ribs.

"Continue on, gentlemen, I've got Lane monitoring the pressroom for me," he said aloud, then grumbled, "It's an embassy, Lois, it's International's baby."

"It's in Metropolis though."

"Technically, it's on foreign soil…"

"Bullshit," Lois growled. "It's surrounded on all sides by Metropolis, so it's City."

Perry was looking over her shoulder at the tiny screen. "Hell, one reporter from each department and a photographer. What more do you want, Lane?"

Lois glared at him and thought of another question. WHO SENT?

It took Jimmy a minute to work out what she was asking, then he responded, RICHARD SENT US.

Hazel eyes narrowed, and Lois glared at Perry. "I could've been on this one if only…"

"Hell, no, you couldn't," the editor growled. "Last time you went after a story you forgot your car!"

"That was different!"

Just as Perry opened his mouth to reply, he noticed how the rest of the board was watching them instead of the Powerpoint presentation. "Well? Is this a meeting or a spectator sport?"

…

Richard found Lana very easy to talk to. Perhaps too easy to talk to. "I just think, if you really love someone, you shouldn't keep secrets from them," he said, and speared a piece of grilled chicken.

Lana leaned on her palm and looked at him wryly. "So you want a dating resume? A list of everyone she's ever seen, all the way back to her first kiss? What would you do if she asked that of you? You went to college after the Air Force – don't tell me your list wouldn't be longer than hers, if you could remember all the names."

Richard paused, thinking, and then said, "Okay, you got me there. I was a stupid kid in college. But I don't want to know everyone she's ever been with, just the important ones."

"Oh. Just the famous ones." Lana chuckled and had a bite of her salad. "Has it ever occurred to you that she might not be trying to keep secrets? She might just be trying to respect his privacy."

"His privacy? He's Superman, he shows up on radar, Lana!"

"I know, that's precisely my point," the redhead replied, gesturing at him with her fork. "Everyone knows Superman. They know everything about him, they think. Don't you hate reading about celebrities in the tabloid papers? Don't you pity the people who have to live like that, everyone taking pictures of them at six AM when they're just trying to run to the corner store for some milk? And if they look awful doing it, the pictures get even more coverage. He has no private life, except with her. Can't you see why Lois would never talk about anything that happened between them?"

Richard opened his mouth to reply, then slowly closed it. Lana soldiered on.

"Furthermore, how could they ever have a real relationship? It's not as if he can take her to a movie or a restaurant. He's a six-four hunk in a bright primary suit. Not exactly unobtrusive, Mr. White. It had to be a very strange relationship, one that probably doesn't fit into any easily-labeled pigeonhole. If she really cares about him, she'll never talk about what happened. Not even to you – not that it's your business, either."

"It's none of my business?" Richard's voice rose slightly.

"None. That was years before you met her. She's not trying to leave you for him, is she? Seems like she's pretty upset with him still, from TV yesterday." Lana leaned forward to make her point more firmly. "He's no threat to you, Richard. You're smart, you've got a good sense of humor, you're handsome, you have a good job and lots of other great stuff going for you. Just let it be! Stop being a reporter for five minutes and ask yourself how you'd feel if she started grilling you about all those awestruck college girls."

Totally nonplussed by the question, Richard could only sit back in his chair and stare at Lana. The litany of his good points was very helpful to his ego, even if it was unexpected. "I … I guess you're right…"

Lana rolled her eyes heavenward. "The man sees sense! Just don't harass the poor woman into doing anything stupid, and you'll be all right."

His eyes narrowed. "There is one more thing, though."

"Oh, dear God, what now?"

"The twins' father."

Lana peered at him over her glass of iced tea. "What about him? You knew they weren't yours. And he's clearly out of the picture, too. Unless… You don't think…"

"Nah, they're not his," Richard said. "She told me she'd never … you know. And I kind of believe her. Anyway, he's an alien. I mean, come on. Nobody ever thinks about that because he looks just like us, but who knows if he could successfully hybridize with a human? Even if he could, I doubt the kids would be so normal. Other than being precocious and having some health problems, they're just regular kids. No picking up cars, no laser vision, none of that."

Lana just looked at him interestedly. "Okay, so if he's not the father, why are you so determined to figure out who is?"

Richard sighed. "Because I have a pretty good idea already who it is, and I think he deserves to know. It's no one from the Quotidienne, I know that. She said the father was a guest columnist, and she hinted that Jason's middle name is for him, but that paper has never had a Garen in its byline. The only Garen in Paris that even heard of her worked in the office across the street and happened to meet her for coffee a few times."

"Just how do you know all this?"

"Because I called them all. That last one, his boyfriend of the past twelve years answered the phone, so I know it's not him."

Lana dropped her fork and put her head in her hands. "My God, Richard, if she ever finds out about that, she'll kill you. You do know that, right? I only met her yesterday, and I know that."

"I know Lois," Richard said. "Like I said, I'm pretty sure I know who it is. But before I confront her, I have to prove to her that I know all her explanations are lies. Lois will never back down as long as there's a shred of chance she can brazen something out. I have to have evidence."

"Okay, fine, Sherlock. Who is it?"

Richard sipped his coffee, a beverage he believed complimented every meal including dessert. "Nope. I'm not telling anyone until I know for sure, and then I'm telling her."

The redhead glared at him. "You mean after all that, you're not even going to share your suspicions? It's not like we know any of the same people!"

"I thought you said you hated gossips," he replied.

Lana's green eyes narrowed still further. "Oh, that's low. That's really low. Fine, Mr. Holmes. I was going to split the check, but since you made me eat my own words for dessert, you get to pay."

"I already planned to," Richard chuckled, "I'm putting it on the expense account."

…

Richard made it back to the office first, dropping Lana off on the way. Gil and Jimmy were next, claiming not to have seen Clark at the fire at all, but about fifteen minutes after they left to work on the article and develop photos, Clark turned up at Richard's desk with a typed rough draft of his own take on the events. He seemed puzzled that Gil and Jimmy hadn't seen him; he'd certainly seen them, and told Richard that Jimmy's photos would probably be front-page stuff.

Things had barely settled down in the office again when Lois and Perry got back from the meeting. Richard heard their raised voices before they ever got into the bullpen, and steeled himself for a confrontation with one or both of them. The world would be a better place if I spiked the coffeemaker in here with Xanax, he thought.

"Oh, bite me," Lois snapped as she shoved open the door.

"I can't, my cardiologist told me I had to give up cheesecake," Perry retorted.

Lois came to a sudden halt, and whirled to look at him incredulously. Half the reporters in the room instinctively buried themselves in their work, hoping not to attract notice. Perry just walked on by Lois, adding, "I knew there was a reason I don't take you out in public."

After a few minutes, she laughed, surprising everyone who expected to hear another extensive recital of profanity. "Nice one, White," Lois chuckled, a hand on her hip as she leaned against Jimmy's desk. "You're still a jerk, though."

At his office door, Perry shot a glowering look over his shoulder at her. "You're the one who brought the whole meeting to a screeching halt because you couldn't go chase a firebug, Lane. After scaring everyone half to death and then leaving early yesterday, don't be surprised if I start locking you in your own office!"

"Try it and die," she muttered, but she still had half a smile on her face. Once the old man had entered his lair, Lois stood up with every intention of going straight to her own office and getting some work done with what was left of the day, when something caught her eye. On her way out earlier, she had heard Jimmy comment that he was going to try to get some of his older exposures in some semblance of order. Seems he'd been in the middle of that when the story broke. Unable to help her curiosity, she leaned closer for a better look.

Once she did, it was clear that it was old pictures of the Planet employees, from before the twins were even a thought. In a couple of the photos on the top of the pile she spotted a familiar dark-haired girl and smiled. Well, since there are pictures of me in here, not to mention him and Perry, I doubt he'd mind if I looked.

What she saw made a small thoughtful smile come to her lips. As she shuffled the photos around, recalling the events of the pictures, memories of the past rose around her. One snapshot half-buried under the others fell out, Clark's face captured in a moment of absolute shock tinged with moral horror, and it provoked a particularly vivid flashback…

Right after Perry's infamous "most important interview since God talked to Moses" meeting, Lois had been thinking about various ways to snag an interview with the mysterious flying man who had saved her life. Perhaps if she lay down on some train tracks…

Clark's voice, hesitant: "Ah, Lois … about tonight…"

"Mm? What about tonight, Clark?"

She'd only been giving him half her attention, and he smiled shyly. "Our date. Well, our dinner. Don't you remember?"

Damn. She needed to get that interview before anyone else did. "Sorry, Clark. I must've forgot."

His face fell, and she felt like a heel. The poor guy, it had probably taken every ounce of nerve he possessed to ask her in the first place. "Gee, I planned on it all week…" he said resignedly.

She'd sighed, not having much resistance to the sad, hopeful puppy-eyes, and said, "All right, Clark. I'll go out with you. Might as well get it over with."

Clark had brightened immediately. "You're wonderful, Lois. Where would you like to go?"

Teasing a little, she'd grinned and said, "How about the Gold Room at the Park Towers?"

He'd gulped. "The Gold Room? But that's the most expensive place in town."

Seeing his expression, she'd been ready to say she was joking, to suggest someplace else, but Jimmy Olsen had just walked by, and heard enough to turn a very impressed look on Clark.

"Wow, Mr. Kent, are you really going to take Ms. Lane out to the Gold Room?" His voice had been full of admiration, with just a touch of envy.

Lois had watched with amusement as Clark realized he was trapped. Then he shrugged, and trying to sound suave (not precisely succeeding), he replied, "Oh, I don't know, Jimmy. Maybe … if she's a good girl…" He dropped a wink to emphasize the last two words, but the poor man had no idea who he was dealing with yet.

When playing poker, Lois always upped the ante, no matter what her hand. Mimicking his self-satisfied wink precisely, she shot back, "And if I'm not a good girl… Let's let Jimmy take the pictures, okay?"

As she walked off, smirking with delight at Clark's sudden blush, she heard Jimmy ask, "Boy. What do you suppose she meant by that, Mr. Kent?"

Ah, old times. Good times. Still chuckling to herself over the memories, Lois continued on her way to her desk, only glancing into International once.

Richard was bent over his desk, reading something intently, and didn't even see her. But he was watching, and though mind-reading wasn't one of his talents, thank God, he seemed to smile at the same thought.

Love that trip down memory lane with the Gold Room flashback, don't you? Yes, we borrowed heavily from the 1977 shooting script for Superman the Movie for that scene. It's available at SciFiScripts. But the Christmas party? All us!