The rain-slicked pavement reflected images like glass, but without so much clarity. Black and twisted, they were warped from reality, tangled in the rainbow swirl of oil on water. He stared at his own reflection as words fell upon shoulders already bowing beneath grief and pain and saw - nothing.

Her words cut him, drawing not blood from flesh, but life from soul, because that was all he had that could be so wounded.

She wanted to know "why."

How did he answer? How did he shed the burden of guilt and place it upon another, laying the blame not on his failures but on the absence of God on this forsaken soil? He wanted to whine.

I don't even belong here.

He said nothing at all.

He wondered if he were finally broken, if the darkness that constantly surrounded him hadn't finally snuffed out his light. Fighting to find a modicum of joy among the pain had become a constant nagging ache that kept him awake, and left him writhing in the constricting coils of nightmarish visions when he did sleep. He woke clutching his chest, a scream dying in his throat.

The sound of sirens were muffled by the music of sorrow; the tears of a mother who had lost her son.

His jaw clenched, and he drew strength from what little he had left.

Lois stared into the mirror, fingering the fall of her bangs across her forehead, curling them just so to cover the scar. Her hands trembled, faltering momentarily as they always did when she looked too close, remembered too much.

She shut the compact with a snap and rose from her chair. Perry looked at her from over the edge of the file he studied and gave a short jerk of his head, acknowledging her departure, giving her his approval.

Clark hadn't come back from lunch.

Pushing through the revolving doors, Lois struggled to pull on her overcoat, looking up at a sky as gray as the suit she wore. Her heel caught a little in a crack of the sidewalk. She stumbled.

Break your mother's back.

A cab pulled up at the curb and she tugged open its door, falling into the patched plastic seat and wrinkling her nose at the scent of stale cigar and old vomit. The driver barely acknowledged her presence, instead pulling away almost before she closed the door behind her. She cracked the window for air, heedless of the damp.

"Metropolis Memorial Gardens."

Her lip was chewed raw already. She worried at the sore spot with her tongue as she peered out into the rainy city streets. They passed the corner of Fourth and Main, where almost exactly twenty-four hours earlier Lois had been standing among a crowd of onlookers, gaping at the horror that had unfolded before them.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, hard.

Accidents happened, hundreds a day in a city the size of Metropolis, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week....they never stopped.

But when a small car dashes through an intersection, sliding on cold, wet pavement into the path of an oncoming truck, nine times out of ten there are no fatalities. Nine times out of ten Metropolis' guardian angel would arrive to end the tragedy before it ever started. In her darker moments Lois wondered what happened when the tally reached ten.

Now she knew.

She rolled her window down a little further, letting the cool air rush in upon her face to drive away the burning flush of her cheeks. He hadn't seen her tears. He'd fled before she could battle her way through the crowd to tell him it wasn't his fault, before she could seize the woman who'd struck at him with her fists and demanded to know where he'd been.

And it would never stop. The tenth time would always come around again.

And again.

And again.

"You're Lois Lane," the cabby said.

Lois rubbed her forehead. The scar felt rough against her fingertips, like a speed bump in the smooth skin of the rest of her face.

"Most of the time," she whispered.

Rain bloodied his cape, spilling down across his shoulders to stain the bright crimson dark, as dark as the blood that had run through his fingers when he'd lifted the small, broken body from within a twist of steel.

Lois stood beneath a large fir, shadowed by its drooping branches. Small, dark monoliths dotted a bright verdant landscape that stretched out across what had long ago been filled with prairie flowers. Now the flowers were plastic, lying atop the graves in forlorn clumps, reflective of the pain surrounding them.

The flowers in his hands were real. She watched as a cascade of pink petals slipped from his fingertips like the rain dripping from the branches of her tree. He traced the words engraved upon the black marble. His shoulders shuddered.

Falling, Lois thought. He's falling in on himself, collapsing like a star in the throes of dying, only to become a black hole wherein no light could exist.

Fear drew her out from her hiding place. Water squelched up beneath her shoes from earth that could hold no more. The soft sound was enough to make him start, his face turning up toward hers.

And she remembered.

Rain.

Pain.

Blood ran down from shattered glass. Flames flickered in every little faceted piece that lay scattered around her, on her, and in places in her. But she'd felt only her racing heart and the terror when the second car pulled up beside what remained of her own.

"Nuh....no."

He'd stood there, watching the fire as it moved closer to where she lay pinned beneath the dashboard. His eyes were the same dark indigo as the sky, and were as sharp and reflective as the broken glass. Impassive and cold, he'd stood there in the darkness, watching and waiting, as he'd always done, until the time was right. He struck like a viper, twisting the knife he'd already driven into their backs with his pretty lies, and offers of friendship.

He'd watched her struggle within the twisted metal, deaf to her screams as the fire burned hotter, his eyes turning occasionally to scan the darkened fields.

Nobody came.

She'd said nothing, gave him nothing, until realizing his error, he had tried to save her himself.

Not her really.

What she knew.

And failing that, he'd fled into the darkness, leaving her to die alone, waiting for the rescue that came - too late.

In her dreams she remembered flying, and looking down on her own small form where it lay sprawled on the pavement. She remembered flashing lights and sirens, and the wretched grief of the one who, after all, really did love her. He'd clutched her to his chest and held her pale and bloody face up to his own, his lips jerking in an apology she never heard. His tears fell into her hair as he rocked her, wailing as if some vital organ had been cruelly ripped from his body. The expression on his face as he raised it to the sky and screamed was the last thing she remembered.

Clark....

"CHLOE!!!"

Water dripped from his hair. It hung in soggy strings over his forehead, the curls turned like the "S" shape adorning his chest. Lois put her hands on his face. It was cold and damp, and not just from the rain. He turned a cheek against her palm, long, dark lashes brushed her fingers and she felt the warmth of tears.

One large hand closed around her wrist. She knelt with him.

His voice was cracked and broken.

"She was the first."

"Shhh...."

"When I found her....I never knew what she was running from, how she'd gotten there....I never went back. I still don't...."

Lois' fingers touched his mouth, stilling his lips but not stopping the sob that choked from his throat. She felt it when she kissed him.

He grew very still....

....then kissed her back, his mouth opening to accept her tongue when she probed lightly at his lips. His hands hovered, then fell upon her shoulders, holding her steady as he pressed himself close to her. They were both trembling.

His mouth glided down to her throat.

Somehow a secret escaped her.

"I love you," she breathed.

Bodies slid against soft cotton sheets. Lois marveled at the softness of his skin, all of which was now exposed to her hands and her mouth. Her nails scraped across his bare chest, catching on a nipple, making him arch up into her a little until she could feel the swell of his cock against her damp opening. He made no effort to enter, as if he were afraid or unsure.

"Lois...."

She knew he was going to say, "I can't," and smothered the words with a kiss. Her body shifted, rocking back and forth upon his until he moaned with desire. Man of steel perhaps, but still a man, and she knew, still vulnerable to the same needs. Passions stirred in her, some of them long forgotten, never fulfilled. She lost herself in his beauty.

He was beautiful - alien. She saw beyond his physical beauty to places buried deep within him. His heart was an open book to her, and so was his mind, its intricacies spilled open for her to see. He let her in where he'd never let anyone go before, not entirely of his own choosing. The sharp stab of old memories stabbed at her like pins.

"You look good in blue."

Lois closed her eyes and rose above him, sliding back down with a sigh and allowing him, inch by inch, inside herself. There were places he could not go, that she couldn't allow him to go, but she could give him this. Her body would drive away the pain. Love could bring him joy again.

And she.....

Could have back what she had lost, and more.

His muscles tightened. She locked his fingers around his, leaning forward to kiss his knuckles and whisper a joke.

"Don't break my fingers. "

And he laughed - laughed! The smile she longed to see flickered across his face, fading after only an instant, but there just the same.

"Lois...."

"Shhh."

She rose again, savoring the slide of his cock inside her. A slow descent made them both moan, and he raised himself up to kiss her, a gymnastic feat illustrating his strength. Lois opened her mouth to his tongue as she'd opened her body to his cock. It occurred to her to wonder what it would be like to have sex with him in flight, hovering above the bed instead of lying in it. She caught his tongue in her teeth, and let it go.

"Touch me," she whispered. Her hand guided his to where she needed to be touched. He faltered a moment. "It's okay."

His hands stroked her breasts, making her tighten around him as she squirmed with pleasure. Encouraged, he did it again, and then his mouth was there, sucking first one and then the other while his tongue made lazy circles around each nipple. She thrust her hips forward and back. First she kept the tempo slow, sultry, but soon her hands pressed to his chest, pushing him back down to the bed.

Hovering over him, Lois felt powerful. She was his Kryptonite, leeching the strength from him with her sex. She could hurt him.

Their eyes met. In his she saw only gentle affection, and the urge to clutch at him, claw at him, cry, and tell him the truth was driven away by his love. Her hands caressed his arms, his chest, his stomach and he came to life again. She could feel the steady beat of his pulse in his wrists as he took her by the hips and pushed her upward from his cock, pulling her down again as he rose to meet her. His hands slid down her flanks to her legs, gently soothing the trace work of scars along her calves. She made him stop, raising his hands back to her chest where the skin was soft, pure and free of painful memories.

They were dancing, bodies moving in time to the music of rapidly beating hearts and breath that rushed past trembling lips. The faint strains of another song ran through her mind as she closed her eyes and let herself move to its rhythm. The memory of another time, another dance that had ended much too soon, fluttered away from her grasp as if mocking her.

Tears filled her eyes.

He rose again, this time twisting their bodies until he was on top, her legs around his hips and her body arching up into each thrust. With her hands on his shoulders she came, biting her lip to keep from crying out the name she wasn't supposed to know.

Clark....

The rain clattered against the window.

"I should go," he said, but didn't move from her bed. His fingers tangled themselves in her dark hair, raising a few strands, and then letting them fall again.

Beneath Lois' cheek, his chest rose and fell in a sigh.

"I never meant for this to happen, Lois. I'm sorry."

She raised her head and looked at him, and then kissed his chin gently. "Your responsibility is to save my skin, not preserve my virginity, which wasn't actually there to preserve."

His blush told him his had been. Another sacrifice? She was tired of watching him bleed to death.

"Let me give you something in return," she whispered, stroking his arm with her fingers. "You don't have to be alone."

And that was it, the fear he'd always carried with him as he'd watched his friends and family leave him one by one. She'd been his first in more ways than one.

Quickly she shut her eyes, but it was too late to blot out the memory of those plain white letters carved into the black grave marker. She shuddered. He thought she was cold and wrapped his arms more firmly around her.

She remembered being cold, always being cold, and the bright white walls of the room she'd occupied for months while she healed body, mind and soul. When she wasn't staring at the brightness she was lost in the dark, crying out his name and wondering why he didn't come save her.

"How did you find me?"

Lois opened her eyes again. "What?"

He met her gaze. "Why were you there, at the cemetery?"

"Remembering a friend," she murmured. "Does it matter?"

The pause was significant. He studied her eyes, seeking the lie. If he found it or not, he didn't say.

"No."

Lois dreamed of Chloe's blond hair, her eyes that twinkled and crinkled when she smiled or laughed, and her burning curiosity to know things that would ultimately send her running for her life down a long, dark Kansas highway. She dreamed of pursuit and the fear that came with it, fear that made her scream and thrust her hands against the steering wheel in frustration.

"Leave me alone!!"

He wanted her. He wanted her mind and what it contained. His desire for knowledge far surpassed her own, for it was coupled with the lust for power and control.

Lois dreamed of indigo eyes, and a pale oval face that held no emotion, no warmth. She dreamed of white walls and masked faces.

"You see, none of you understand. You don't know what he's done, what he will do, should I no longer bar his way."

Lionel Luthor's voice, bringing with it the frightening revelation that perhaps they had been wrong, and he was not the man they'd thought him to be. In her dream, Lois reached out her hand to him and he took it. His weakness frightened her still more. Here was her salvation, her shield, crumbling beneath the onslaught of a ticking clock, and terminal disease.

"Run," he whispered. "Hide. It's the only way you can protect the one you love."

He set her on her feet, and she did run, fleeing down that long, cold, dark highway once again.

She never looked back at what she'd been, not until Clark Kent walked through the doors of the Daily Planet and asked for a job.

When she woke, the room was dark and she was alone. Her arm flailed, struck the nightstand, and she groped for her watch.

Eight p.m.

They'd dozed away the afternoon.

Wobbling a little on her feet as she pulled on a nightshirt, Lois made her way into the bathroom. The bright white of her bathroom light stabbed her eyes with hot needles of pain. Blinking helped very little. Moaning made it seem better. When she pried open her eyes she saw only her own reflection in the mirror. It made her breath catch and her hands tightened on the cool porcelain of the sink rim.

How can he not know?

She traced the scar on her forehead, followed the slope of her new nose down to her lips. Another, smaller, scar tugged at her upper lip on the right side, making her smile slightly crooked. Weight loss and age accentuated her cheekbones.

But Chloe Sullivan still stared back at her.

Her expression crumpled, her features twisting with pain, as she remembered Clark's pain, and the flower petals falling from his limp fingertips. Tears ran down her face as she remembered him cradling the broken body of the child he'd failed to save.

"She was the first."

She sagged against the wall, sliding down it to sit on the floor with her face in her hands, her body shaking with gut wrenching sobs of despair that echoed off the tile clad walls. It reminded her of a tomb.

"Lois?"

Lois froze. Her body shivered in sudden, irrevocable chills.

When she raised her head she saw him standing there in the bathroom doorway. He wore jeans, and a t-shirt. His glasses were in his hands and he fumbled them into his pocket in such a "Clark-like" manner it almost made her laugh.

Almost.

He would not meet her gaze, speaking only after a significant pause. "She...." he said haltingly. "I always underestimated her you know. Took her for granted." His voice broke a little. "Never knew what I had until I didn't have it anymore."

It seemed a great effort for him to look at her, but he did.

"I don't want to lose you too," he whispered.

"Clark...."

He didn't understand. His hands were cold upon hers as he knelt before her, mumbling apologies regarding secrets and confused twists of identity, fear and desire. She remembered their warmth and shook her head, the tears continuing to pour down her cheeks.

He didn't understand, seeing only the life she'd taken on as the cousin who had never existed. The face he'd last seen masked in blood and the glitter of broken glass had faded from his memory, replaced by time and tragedy by the one she now wore.

Her hand slipped on the tile as she tried to rise. A broken corner caught her palm, tearing it. Her gasp broke through her tears. Blood welled from the cut, spreading out across her palm like the spokes of a wheel.

"You're bleeding," Clark's fingers touched the crimson stain gathering in the lines of her hand.

She tried to pull away but he held her fast.

"Don't be angry," he said, and she wanted to slap him for saying it because of all the things she felt, anger was not one of them.

A drop of blood fell to the floor. They both watched it fall.

When she looked up at him again his eyes were on hers, his gaze caressing her, loving her, like he'd never loved her before. She was captivated by it.

His voice was a breath, an echo from a dream she'd once had.

"Lois Lane, will you marry me?"

He could see in the dark.

His eyes caressed her as she lay sprawled among the twisted sheets of her bed. He remembered the feel of her body next to his as they made love; its warmth, its life stirring him to newly discovered passions.

New knowledge.

The darkness inside him had retreated, but the scars remained, like the scars she'd always hidden beneath her hair, or a swipe of lipstick and blush. Her disguise was as flimsy, and yet as effective as his own. He'd been fooled, and pensive until the very end, he'd not been sure....

....until she'd looked up at him and said - "yes."

The questions he had, the overwhelming joy, had been suppressed into silence by the overriding thought: "She's safe. Like this, she's safe."

And he'd kept her secret as she'd kept his.

Her eyes opened. Her teeth flashed a smile in the darkness.

He had to go.

She understood. She'd always understood.

"I'll be here," she said. "When you come back."

Clark nodded, and Superman slipped out the window, arcing up high into the night sky where the stars that birthed him glittered like broken glass on a long, dark road to nowhere.

It was time to re-evaluate the existence of God.