"Evil forges a tornado.

But goodness battles in a straight line."

―Caris Roane

The next thing Clark knew, he was lying on something hard and flat. A sudden terror that he was aboard the Black Zero again, about to be examined by that ghoulish Kryptonian scientist, seized him.

Break free, Clark, fight it!

With a cry, he thrust his upper body forward, fighting against the manacles pinning his wrists to the steel bed. But there were no manacles, and there was no cruel countryman leering over him. He sat straight up, and the violent effort and his own weakness catapulted him off a wheeled hospital gurney. There was no regaining his balance; he crashed on his stomach on the cold tile floor.

"Oh my goodness gracious!" a woman cried nearby. He groaned as two pairs of arms locked beneath his and he was pulled up off the floor. His head, chest, stomach-everything throbbed with disorienting pain. Clark gritted his teeth, forced his legs underneath him.

Fight it, fight it, fight it! Don't let it beat you-don't let him beat you!

His weight held. He staggered, but he was standing. And he still wore his suit.

"Are you all right, sir?" one of the strangers asked.

Breathing hard, Clark saw it was a male nurse in a teal uniform, accompanied by a female nurse. He nodded slowly, gave his head a slight, clearing shake. "Yeah, I . . . I think so . . . what happened?"

The female nurse spoke up. "You collapsed at the memorial service. By the time the ambulance got there-"

"Ambulance?" Clark repeated in alarm.

"Yes, sir," the nurse said meekly. "By the time it got to the scene you were unconscious. The doctors think you had some kind of allergic reaction, but they didn't want to do any testing or bloodwork until you woke up."

Clark tried to mask his relief and feared he wasn't doing a good job of it. He still didn't trust anyone enough to let them in on any of his biological secrets. It had been bad enough for the Kryptonians to get a blood sample from his arm.

"I think I'm all right now," he said with an effort, rubbing his side. It was strangely sore. "How long have I been out?"

"You've only been here a half-hour," the male nurse said. "Why don't you sit down until the doctor comes in?"

"No, no," Clark said quickly. "I'm grateful for your concern, but I'm fine now. Really."

The nurses glanced skeptically at each other, but neither seemed eager to argue. Clark gave them one quick nod and moved towards the door. His knees buckled, but he gripped the doorknob in time to conceal it; unfortunately he also gripped it so hard, the metal knob crumpled like a tin can.

He knew they were following him into the hall, but he ignored them; he couldn't pay attention to them and fight the sharp pain in his chest at the same time. Left foot, right foot, keep walking, keep your head up, hide it, don't let them know . . . he didn't even notice people stopping in the corridors or the front lobby, staring wide-eyed at him as he passed, but he did freeze when he came to the revolving doors that led out into the street.

The place was surrounded by people. Reporters. Cameras, people with notebooks, a TV crew.

"I'll go out the back way," Clark said, swallowing down a sudden salty taste in his mouth. Turning made him dizzy, but he knew he was doing well. The nurses, still following, made no move to offer him any kind of support. He was walking straight and tall and his head was up. He could do this . . . he had to get out, get to the sun . . .

He pushed himself against the door of a fire escape. It opened into a wide alley, sending off an alarm that he barely heard through the intensifying haze of pain. Get away, run, fly, anything, just get away from here!

It was the takeoff that used up the most strength and caused another burst of pain in his chest, but actual flying was almost effortless. As soon as he was beyond the skyscrapers of Metropolis and in full view of the setting sun, his head began to clear. He took a great gasp of air and glanced down; the reporters surrounding the hospital had caught sight of him.

Clenching his teeth, Clark turned towards the sun and thrust himself forward. A desperate need to chase the sunset was his predominant instinct; his second thought was to get away from here, from the reporters, from Lex Luthor.

He was responsible. He had to be. He was the only one in the city with his hands on material that could harm Superman.

But it was from the ruins of the Fortress of Solitude, not the Black Zero! The Fortress never hurt him. He'd lived in it while he learned to fly and tested his limits under Jor-El's instruction. Nothing there had ever caused any negative reaction-

Except for the robot sentry.

The thought hit Clark so suddenly, he almost froze in mid-air. The sentry! The one that shot Lois. The one that sent a whip-like weapon across his arm and made him feel physical pain for the first time in his life.

The whip-weal stung, just like his chest stung now every time he took a breath. It made him bleed, and it was blood that he tasted in his mouth right now when he coughed.

It had been just a mild reaction on the Fortress of Solitude, though. What he felt right now was exactly what he'd felt on the Black Zero.

He made a clumsy descent into a prairie somewhere in Wyoming. There was nothing but flat grassland as far as even his eye could see. The sun was still shining here, but he couldn't get any further west than this, not right now.

His foot hit the ground; he let his knees give way and threw out his hands to break his fall. A deep breath sent him into a spasm of coughing that felt like it was going to burn a hole in his chest. Gasping, Clark rolled over onto his back, his face to the sun, and wearily closed his eyes.

Lois sat in the living room with her head in one hand and her phone at her ear. Martha was on the other end.

"I don't know where he is," Lois whispered. "They're reporting that he left the hospital at four o'clock. It's almost ten now."

"Did they say which direction he went?" Martha whispered back.

"No. Jenny Olsen-she's a friend of mine from work-she was in the crowd at the hospital and I grilled her about it, but even she couldn't tell me which direction he went."

"I'll bet you anything he went west," Martha said, injecting some firm confidence into her voice. "He gets his energy from the sun, right?"

"Why isn't he back here, then? The sun went down hours ago!"

Martha didn't answer that directly. When she spoke again, her tone was gentler. "He'll be back, Lois. He's all right. We'd both know in our hearts if . . . if something final happened to him. But you know he was alive at four and you know he had strength enough to fly, so don't give up hope yet."

Lois drew a shuddering breath. "I called you to see how you were bearing up . . . and you ended up being the one to encourage me."

Martha laughed softly. "What else is a mother-in-law for? Go and get some rest, Lois. You sound exhausted. Everything all right with you otherwise?"

"I think so," Lois replied. "I'll call you if I hear anything. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, hon."

Lois tossed her phone away from her and buried her face in one of the couch pillows. She felt queasy. She'd been up since four and gone through all the raging emotions of this anniversary-and now she had no idea where Clark was, if he was still sick, if he needed her. One reporter from the Times actually dared to come and ask for her take on the incident. She'd slammed the door in his face.

Everything in her wanted to march up to the LexCorp building, go into Luthor's headquarters, grab him by the collar, and scream at him. First yesterday's threat against the Planet publishers and now this! What had happened in the past six months to make him so bold?

Oh, why hadn't Clark destroyed that lab when he had a chance?

She knew the answer to that question. Clark could do nothing until he had foolproof evidence that Luthor was trying to hurt or kill him. Even now, they still had nothing that would hold up in a court of law.

There was a knock at the apartment door. Groaning, Lois got up to answer it, looking through the peephole to see who was here at this hour. She threw it open with a choking cry.

"Shh!" Clark whispered hoarsely. "Close the door, quick."

Lois obeyed. The next thing she knew, they were clinging to each other and she was crying into his shoulder. She felt like a fool, but her nerves were at the breaking point.

"Oh, thank God, thank God," she sobbed. "Perry wouldn't let me come to you-I'm sorry-I wanted to, so bad . . ."

"He was right to keep you away." Clark tilted her head back from his shoulder so he could look at her. Lois was shocked. He was still very white and his blue eyes were dull with exhaustion. His hands trembled a little against her face.

"Come on," she said, pulling his hands away and putting an arm around him. "I'm going to put you to bed. Can you get up the stairs?"

He nodded. "I'm all right now, honest . . ."

"You're not strong," Lois snapped. "And you aren't leaving here tomorrow, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, a valiant attempt at humor.

Neither of them said much until, after he'd changed into some old clothes, he collapsed on his side in bed. Lois ran back downstairs for her phone and called Martha. When she came back to the bedroom, Clark's eyes were closed. She tiptoed across the room, folded the suit, slipped it into the very back of her closet. She was folding the cape when his voice startled her.

"I think that was the test."

Lois frowned. "What kind of test?"

He swallowed, his eyes still closed. "Luthor has the scout ship. He has a lab. Ever since your mom told him I had a weakness, he's wanted to know what triggered it. He's found it. He just had to make sure his guess was right."

Lois set the cape on the dresser and sat down on the edge of the bed. His eyes remained shut. She stroked his dark curls back from his face, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm affected by Kryptonian atmosphere . . . and condensed organic material from Krypton," he whispered. "That robot sentry, the one with the cryolaser that shot you?"

"Yes?"

"It lashed at me, too . . . hit me in the arm . . . made me bleed." He rubbed his forehead. "The sentries would've still been aboard the Fortress when it crashed. They might've been damaged in the crash . . . had to have been . . . but the chemical formula inside 'em might've been undamaged . . . and turned into a new weapon."

"What?" Lois cried.

Clark's eyes opened slightly and he looked at her. "I've got a mark, Lois . . . look."

Gingerly, he pulled up his shirt. Lois gasped at the sight of a bruise in his side, just below his massive ribcage. She could see a deep puncture wound in the center of the bruise . . . almost as if someone had thrust a long, large needle into him. At the thought, the nausea that had pursued Lois ever since she got home hit her again. She covered her mouth with her hand.

"I found it when I took off the suit," Clark said, pulling his shirt down again. "I knew it was sore but I couldn't check it out until just now. That's the first time I've bruised since . . . well, since that scientist took the blood sample from me aboard the Black Zero. This is worse, though."

"If you're right-if Luthor was behind this-" she began.

"He's behind it," Clark muttered through gritted teeth.

"But you can't prove that! He wasn't even at the memorial service today. He must've had an accomplice in that crowd of reporters surrounding you." Lois gulped. "If you're right, then he knows he's on the right track. He'll try again, Clark . . . and he'll try to kill you this time."

"He won't try anytime soon," he said, closing his eyes again tiredly. "I'm going to put him out of commission."

Her heart leaped. "You'll destroy the lab?"

"No. But . . . I'm going to make sure every villain in the world knows I won't . . . I won't stand for being threatened . . . like that."

His voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper and his ragged breathing slowed. He was falling asleep while he talked to her. Lois waited a moment, made sure he was stable. When she was sure he was only sleeping, she put the cape with the suit and turned off the light.

The next morning when her alarm went off, Clark was sleeping heavily. Lois peered at him, felt his forehead. His skin was cool and he seemed peaceful, which was more than she could've said for her night. She'd tossed and turned, and she still felt sick to her stomach.

She got ready for work was quietly as she could. Even when the sun was up and she was ready to go, Clark gave no sign of waking. She bent over him and kissed his cheek.

"See you later," she whispered. She could only hope that he'd have his strength back when he woke.

As soon as she walked into the bull-pen she saw the unsaid question on everyone's face. Lois braced herself for the bombardment, but her friends, at least, were more sensitive than that. She sat down at her cubicle and pulled out her laptop like nothing was wrong, and they left her alone for a good hour before Lombard finally moved in her direction.

"Hey, Lois," he said, and with a small, friendly smile.

"Hey, Steve," she said without looking up.

"Everything all right?"

"Of course." Keep it cool, Lane.

"Anything we can help you out with?"

"That's atrocious grammar, Steve," Lois said dryly. She glanced up from her computer, leaned her elbow against the arm of her chair. "Yes, as far as I know, Superman is fine, and no, I can't give you anymore details than that, and if you give that info to any other reporter-"

"You'll knock my block off. I get you," Lombard said, but with a look of relief that she knew was genuine. "Just out of curiosity-"

But before he could finish his sentence there was a sudden commotion at the other end of the room. Lombard turned, drew himself up with a start; Lois rose from her seat and her mouth fell open.

Moving with long, confident strides across the room, head held high and shoulders thrown back, was Clark. But he wasn't Clark the dorky stringer. He was Kal-El, the last nobleman of Krypton. The Planet staff gaped at him in shock and admiration, and the bull-pen turned silent.

Lois gripped the side of her cubicle, trying to keep calm. He was still pale but his eyes glinted and he seemed to have most of his energy back. His gaze locked on her.

"I need to speak with Mr. White," he said in a stern, lordly tone.

"Right this way," she said, moving as fast as she could out of the cubicle. She didn't dare look back at him; she rapped her knuckles on Perry's office door and opened it without waiting for an answer. Clark gave her one swift, subtle glance and nodded, so she followed him in.

Perry rose from his desk as soon as Clark marched in. His eyes shot to Lois. "Watch the door, Lane."

She obeyed, pressing her back against the door. Clark looked at Perry with flashing eyes.

"I need to ask a favor," he said in a low voice.

"First things first," Perry shot back. "Are you all right? You looked like death warmed over yesterday."

"I'm fine now," Clark said firmly, and this time Lois believed him. "But I need to give a clear challenge to the man who dared to threaten me with some kind of weaponized material from my home planet."

"You know who did it?" Perry demanded.

"I have a pretty good guess, but I don't want to name names, not yet. He'll know who I'm talking to the minute he hears my challenge, but I need a press conference set up for this afternoon. Can you arrange that for me?"

Perry grinned. "You've got it. Anything else?"

"That'll be it. Wait, one more thing . . ." Suddenly his regal pose fell away and he was Clark again, slightly apologetic and sheepish. "That article on the farm bill I was supposed to give you today? It'll be on your desk tomorrow, I promise."

Perry chortled at that. "Get out of here, Kent."

A brilliant smile flashed over Clark's face and he turned from Perry's desk. As he approached the door and Lois, his smile softened.

"Go get 'em, Kal," she whispered. He laughed, cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders, and assumed again the noble persona before she opened the door and let him pass through.

As soon as Clark strode into the press room, he made sure not to look at the blinding cameras or the TV crews. He had a mission right now; he intended to speak to one man and one man alone. It had already been established that he wouldn't take any questions. As soon as he was finished, he'd walk out and escape from the building by flight.

He stepped up to the podium. For a moment his resolve to look at nothing but the big camera in the center of the room faltered, and his gaze drifted to Lois. She sat in the front row, her legs crossed and a notebook on her knee. The pride in her bright blue eyes bolstered him. He had no notes. He drew a deep breath and faced the camera.

"Yesterday I was publicly attacked by someone in possession of material that can weaken me."

The journalists stared at each other. Clark was glad to see that most of them, especially those from the Planet, showed open dismay at his words. In spite of his own nervousness at being in front of so many people and cameras-he'd always be the shy Kansas boy who hated excessive attention-the sight warmed him. At least some of them cared; they didn't want to see him hurt.

"The reason I'm not revealing my enemy at this moment is because, firstly, I still don't have all the evidence I need to prove my case. I don't want to make hasty accusations. But secondly, maybe most importantly, I want to keep this a level playing field. I'll fight him on equal terms. I won't use his own tactics of intimidation-but I will return his challenge.

"I could destroy this new enemy of mine in ten minutes if I wanted to, but I won't. He thinks he can force me into submission. He can't. But he can make me angry enough to stand here today and dare him to come after me again. Because if he does, and I catch him in the act, I will expose him, and I will make sure he can't do it ever again."

"Is this a threat against your enemy's life?" someone shouted before he could continue. Clark let the violation of his terms pass and kept his eyes fixed on the camera.

"No, I won't kill my opponent unless I have no choice," he said. "I want to help this planet, not terrorize it. But part of that job description includes fighting against the corrupt and the dangerous, wherever they might be. I won't stand by and let anyone hold sway over millions through fear, and I won't let a possible threat to this city try to kill me and intimidate my friends in order to sweep away my guaranteed opposition to his plans."

That was all he'd come to say. Clark paused, then nodded and stepped away from the podium without another word. The cameras were flashing and the journalists were clamoring, but he ignored them and moved swiftly to the exit with his head high.

Your move, Luthor, he thought coldly.

Apologies if any sci-fi terms were a little off...I'm trying to describe things like the robot sentries as best as I can!