So glad y'all enjoyed the last chapter! This has been an interesting story for me to write because I'm trying to imagine how this relationship would develop over time...and there's so much more than physical attraction going on here. I hope I managed to convey that in Chapter 6.

On a somewhat-related note, I finished watching the Dark Knight Trilogy last night! Now that I'm friends with Batman, I am SO PUMPED for the Man of Steel sequel. It also means I may end up bringing Batman into this story like I did for The Girl of Two Worlds, only this time I'd feel much more comfortable writing his character. We'll see what happens... ;)

You can't hide forever from the thunder

Look into the storm and feel the rain

-Josh Groban, "Brave"

It was his first panicked fight to save lives, his first desperate race against time, since he fought Zod in the heavens. Clark clenched his teeth and thrust himself forward, willing himself to move faster, faster . . . he could see the plane making its plunge, right into the heart of a suburb about half an hour from Gotham's center.

His mind raced . . . how he was going to do this, where he was going to bring it, what to do about the fire . . . memories of the oil rig off the coast of Alaska . . . the fire curling around him, burning his clothes but barely making his skin tingle . . . the final explosion that knocked him unconscious.

He and the plane finally met. Bits of red-hot metal were breaking off and hurtling into the residential streets. Clark reached out his arm. His palm touched the plane's metal side. Quickly he grabbed it with both hands and twisted his upper body with an effort. The plane turned west, towards a less populated area.

His acute sense of hearing detected screaming inside the plane. He put all his strength into moving the plane fast-not too fast, lest he lose control of it-and in a descent. Hurry, hurry, they'll burn if you don't hurry . . .

The landing gear was already out; the pilot had been heading into the Gotham airport when the accident happened. Clark was grateful for that. It would help him land the plane. The burden was not quite as bad as the oil rig, but still significant; he felt his muscles crack under the weight and his blood pounded in his temples.

Finally his foot touched the short grass of the interstate median. Traffic screeched to a halt at the sight. Clark shot up off the ground, grabbed the plane's cabin door, and pulled. The locked steel groaned and gave way.

"Get the inflatable rafts!" Clark shouted into the smoke-filled plane. The terrified stewardess closest to the door immediately pressed a button that opened a panel full of the escape ramps. Clark grabbed one, activated it, held it firmly against the side of the plane.

"All right, now everybody out-quick and orderly!"

He kept an eye on the tail, the dread building in his gut as the frightened, soot-covered people began sliding out and onto the median. He couldn't take it any longer; confident that the ramp would hold, he darted to the back of the plane. Drawing back his fist, he made a hole in the side and peered in.

One panicked glance was enough. He drew away with a wave of horror and nausea. Back here, at least, he had been too late.

The next day, Lois held the phone at a safe distance from her ear. Her mother's voice was half-deafening, shrill with panic and grief.

"It's horrible, just horrible," Annie cried on the other end. Lois could envision her pacing the length of her penthouse, smoking cigarette after cigarette in her anxiety. "A hundred people on that plane, smothered or burned to death-and Laura Ramsey found in the back of the plane! Why the hell was she back there? She had to have flown first class, Lois!"

Lois tried to calm her. "Knowing Laura, I'm sure she was trying to help the people in the back of the plane. It's how she would've wanted to die."

"How would you know?" Annie snapped.

Lois took a deep breath and counted-rather too quickly-to ten. Annie always got like this when she was upset. Illogical to the extreme.

"I knew Mrs. Ramsey well," she said steadily. "She was a kind, sensitive woman, probably the only one in your Society who was more interested in social issues than in concert halls."

If Annie caught the subtle jab, she chose to ignore it.

"They're saying it was an explosion in the gas tank," she said, still sniffing. "A freak accident. This website here says it was 'an accident that could've been more devastating if Superman hadn't diverted the plane away from residential areas in the nick of time.' What I want to know is how Superman knew about the plane in order to get there 'in the nick of time,' but didn't get there in a short enough 'nick of time' to save the people in the back of the plane. Tell me that, Lois! You know him!"

"You're the one who told me to spend as little time as possible with him. I certainly haven't talked to him about this. I haven't even seen him since he helped with that pile-up on the interstate two weeks ago."

"I suppose all the focus will be on Superman now that he's made another appearance-and in Gotham City, no less."

Lois kept quiet. Anyone else would recognize there was no one to blame for an accident, but Annie Sarkwoski had to blame someone.

"They already have themselves a superhero," Annie went on. "I shouldn't wonder if he's miffed to find Superman in his territory."

"If the Dark Knight is anything like the people of Gotham say, I doubt he'd resent Superman saving lives in his city," Lois said dryly. "And if the focus does turn on him rather than on the victims of this accident, Superman will make sure it doesn't stay that way." She glanced at her watch. "I've got to head to work. Please, take it easy today. If you get a chance to call Mr. Ramsey, tell him I'm terribly sorry."

"Very well," Annie said, quieter now. "Are you going to Gotham-to the site?"

"No," Lois said. "I'm pretty sure one of our stringers will be reporting on it."

"Good," Annie said. "I don't want you anywhere near that crime-riddled city."

In spite of her mother's aversion to Gotham City, Lois would've raced to the wreck site if Perry had ordered her to do so. She never wasted time getting a story, but things were different now. She could all but count on seeing Clark Kent today, armed with an article on the wreck. The accident had been yesterday afternoon and reports indicated Superman had left the site by midnight, so he was probably back in Metropolis already.

The bull-pen crackled with excitement. The plane may have wrecked in Gotham but the death of Laura Ramsey, a well-liked philanthropist, made it a Metropolis story as well. Lois, however, was determined to keep the same cool head she'd tried to convey towards her mother. She went straight to work, going over the day's assignments with Jenny and the newest intern, a redhead by the name of Madeleine.

"Hey, Kent, heard you were in Gotham last night," Lombard's voice startled her.

Lois jerked her head up and saw Clark walking in. His eyes briefly fastened on her before turning, with his usual calm, to Lombard.

"Yeah, I made a late night of it, but I've got the story," he said. "Is White in?"

"Right in his office," Lombard said, adding in a teasing voice, "Need directions?"

Clark smiled-a little tiredly, Lois thought. "No thanks, I know the way. Hello, Miss Lane."

"Take your assignments and get cracking, you two," Lois addressed the interns. "Madeleine?"

She handed a folder to Madeleine with a scolding lift of her eyebrows. The young intern was staring at Clark in clear admiration. Even with the slouch and the glasses, he was still the best-looking guy in the room. Madeleine took the implied reprimand with a lowering of her eyes and hurried away; Jenny, used to Clark by now, was already halfway to her own desk.

"Nice to see you, Kent," Lois said nonchalantly. "Sorry you had to get such a nasty job."

Clark shrugged his bent shoulders. "Got to do what you've got to do."

"Did they get that plane moved off the median yet?" Lombard asked, curious.

Clark gave several vigorous nods. "Yeah, Superman moved it. I'll see you two."

"Good luck with White," Lombard said, waving him off. "Not that you need it. He likes your work better than any of the other stringers."

Clark smiled again and walked on, through the maze of cubicles. He pulled out his phone and started typing something with one thumb.

Lois waited a moment to put distance between them. A month of working together had left her paranoid about anyone finding out they knew each other beyond the office, and she wasn't about to let Lombard think she was following Kent.

She'd almost reached her own cubicle when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw she had a text from him.

Can I see you this evening?

She turned into her cubicle, about to text him back-and ran into Madeleine. Both women yelped and jumped back from each other.

"What are you doing in here?" Lois demanded sharply.

Madeleine was almost as red as her hair. She clutched her folder against her chest. "I, uh, I was looking for a stapler. Can't find mine."

Lois frowned, opened a drawer, and extended the stapler. "You're supposed to keep track of your own office supplies."

"Yes, ma'am, Miss Lane-"

"Bring it back to me as soon as you're finished with it and start looking for your own."

Madeleine mumbled her acquiesence and hurried away. Lois looked at her desk. Everything was clumsily rearranged. Lois followed Madeleine's progress to her own desk with narrowed eyes and texted Clark back.

Come to my place at 6. I'll be waiting for you.

Clark walked up and down Lois' street several times before he decided to cross it and approach her house. He hadn't been here in a month, not since he dropped her off the day he'd made his first appearance in the bull-pen. Their secret dates were confined to the sprawling park or to a few small restaurants where neither of them would be easily recognized.

Tonight, however, he didn't trust what he had to say to any public setting.

He knocked on her door-three firm but controlled knocks. He heard Lois' quick, light steps on the other side of the door and the turning of the lock.

"Come in," she whispered. Clark squeezed his massive frame through the half-open door; she shut it again and pressed her back against it.

She was still in the professional-looking blue shirt and black slacks she'd worn earlier in the day, but now her coppery hair was down, tumbling over her shoulders. Her big eyes brimmed with concern. Clark had always thought she was uncommonly pretty; tonight, she was downright beautiful.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly.

Clark slammed his hands in his pockets. "I don't know. I had to talk to someone, that's why I wanted to come . . . and I didn't want to do it out in public."

"I understand." Lois straightened, motioned for him to follow into her kitchen. "Have you had anything to eat?"

"No."

"Well, good, because I picked up a couple of sandwiches from the store. I figured if you didn't want the extra one I could have it for supper tomorrow night."

Clark shook his head. "Don't let me mess up your meal plan-"

"Don't be ridiculous." Lois reached into the refrigerator. "Catch, Smallville!"

Clark held out his hands and she tossed him the boxed sandwich. He caught it, sat down at her table. She brought cups, napkins, her own sandwich, and sat across from him.

"I've got cookies, too. Do you like Oreos?"

He smiled a little. "I like them too much."

"Me, too," she said, biting into her sandwich. "When I'm feeling particularly blue-and if I'm not caring about what the scales will say-I like to drown my sorrows in Oreos and milk."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "I need a whole pack of Oreos and a gallon of milk, then."

Lois looked hard at him. "Tell me about it, Clark."

He forgot how many times she'd said that to him over the past month. Their conversations had been cathartic. She now knew all about his childhood terror of himself, his lingering guilt over Jonathan Kent's death, the nightmares that had started to plague him. Not even his mom knew about the nightmares. He didn't have them when he stayed overnight in Kansas.

"I failed, Lois," he said in a low voice. "I failed one hundred and two people yesterday."

She said nothing, just looked at him with those large, bright blue eyes of hers. Clark took a deep breath and continued.

"I had the television at my place on while I was writing an article. That's how I heard about the plane. I was in Gotham airspace in three minutes. I tried to move as fast as I could, Lois, I swear-"

"I believe you," Lois said.

Clark took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "But a hundred and two people died. I saw them. I was so determined to make up for all the lives lost in this city last year because of me-"

"Stop right there," Lois said, pointing a long slender finger at him. "That wasn't your fault and you know it."

"All right, fine," Clark said, his tone rising a little. "So the actual battle wasn't directly my fault. But you know I've gone back and forth . . . should I have taken the battle further away from the city, could I have lured Zod into space sooner than I did, would it have helped if I'd-"

"Clark." She dropped her sandwich and held up both hands. "This is useless to this particular conversation. I'm not going to argue with you about the battle. Go back to the plane."

"But I can't help carrying some of that guilt, Lois! And I wanted so hard to prove to people that I could save lives-dozens, hundreds of lives-and on my first test, I still didn't move fast enough."

"You're-not-God," Lois said, emphasizing each word. "You can't be everywhere all at once! Yes, one hundred and two people died. One of them was a friend of my mother's, probably the only friend of my mother's I actually liked. But Clark, do you realize how many people didn't die? How high do you think the death toll would've been if the plane had crashed in that neighborhood?"

She reached over the table and laid her hand over his. Every time she touched him, it always sent something like a charge of electricity through his whole being that then melted into a feeling of complete trust and security. Now it soothed his raw nerves and he felt his stiffened frame relax.

"Nobody expects Superman to save everybody in every situation," she murmured. "You're a symbol of hope and courage and nobility, not of a Pollyanna world where everybody is happy-go-lucky! If you've done your best and people still lose their lives, it's because it was meant to be and you have to believe that. You aren't held accountable for that and nobody blames you-unless, of course, you count a few spiteful individuals who ought to keep their big mouths shut."

She stroked his hand for a moment, then drew back and stood up. She left the kitchen and he heard her going upstairs. Clark was startled. He didn't know whether or not to follow her and finally decided Lois wasn't the kind to leave him in a huff. She'd be back.

His faith in her was quickly rewarded. Her quick footsteps sounded again on the stairs and she swept into the kitchen. Before Clark could ask her where she'd gone, she slammed a big book on the table in front of him.

"I want you to go home and read that," she said.

"The Life and Words of Winston Churchill." He looked up at her, puzzled. "Why?"

"Well, first of all, because Churchill will make you laugh, and you look like you need a laugh or two," she said. "Second of all, because I think Winston Churchill is the one person you could probably relate to. Someone who knew what he had to do and did it, even when it cost him or his country something precious."

Clark opened the book. It was old, he could tell. Lois laid a hand on his shoulder and rubbed.

"Thirdly," she said, in a quieter voice, "that book belonged to my dad. He was always quoting Churchill. There's one quote I remember . . . 'Success is not final, failure is not fatal. It is the courage to continue that counts.' He said that all the time, especially after the divorce."

Clark looked up at her in surprise. Lois pressed her lips firmly together and nodded. "See if it doesn't give you some good ideas about how you're going to live your life, Clark. You can't live in fear of failure all the time. I won't let you."

The nightmare hit him only a couple hours after he'd drifted to sleep.

The dream was always about the 24-hour fight against Zod, but the scenes varied. Sometimes he dreamed about Zod looming over his mother. In the dream, Clark never got to the scene fast enough. Other nights, he saw Lois falling out of the C-17, and again he couldn't get to her fast enough. And still, on other nights, he was grappling with Zod in the subway station again, but this time he agonized a second too long, and the young family against the wall was incinerated.

The combination of the plane wreck and his evening with Lois probably inspired the C-17 dream. He bolted upright in bed with a gasping, wordless shout. The suddenness of his waking made his x-ray vision flare up unbidden. Clark pressed his fists against his eyes and waited until he calmed to open them again.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and turned on the small lamp. The little room, sparsely furnished, came into view. Freelancing still didn't bring in enough money to fill his apartment very well, and most of this stuff came from his mom's.

But not the book on the short nightstand.

Clark grabbed the book and opened it. The first page was blank, but as he turned to the second one, expecting another blank sheet or a title page, he instead saw a quote. Poetry. Placed and printed as if it summed up the entire book. He stared at it, murmuring the words aloud.

It is better to fight for the good,

Than to rail at the ill;

I have felt with my native lands,

I am one with my kind,

I embrace the purpose of God,

And the doom assign'd."

—Tennyson

" 'It is better to fight for the good, than to rail at the ill . . . I embrace the purpose of God, and the doom assign'd.' " He rubbed his eyes, thinking hard.

That was it, then. That was all he had to do. That, and to possess the courage to continue, no matter the cost, no matter the pain, no matter the successes or failures or in-between times.

I embrace the purpose of God and the doom assigned.