And I don't know,
This could break my heart or save me.
Nothing's real
Until you let go completely.
So here I go with all my thoughts I've been saving,
So here I go with all my fears weighing on me…

The radio out on the terrace has been playing for hours, tuned into a station that plays American Top 40. Not that I don't know enough French to enjoy any of the other channels out there; I do. But to concentrate enough for that would require more than the three extra brain cells I want to devote to what equates to white noise. Maybe that explains why it startled me when the lyrics of the song wound themselves into my already over-swamped mind. It was more than a little nerve-wrecking to realize just how on-target it was with my current thoughts.

Three months and I'm still sober.
Picked all my weeds, but kept the flowers.
But I know it's never really over…

Three months. In two more days, it will have been three months. Eleven weeks, four days, and assorted random hours since I saw him last. That was before the world fell apart. Well, before my world fell apart. God, that sounds neurotic. 'My world fell apart.' What a way to prove the naysayers wrong about you, Lane. Brilliant. It's such a good thing that your journalistic integrity has kept you so objective where this guy's concerned.

And I don't know,
I could crash and burn, but maybe
At the end of this road I might catch a glimpse of me.
So I won't worry about my timing,

I want to get it right,
No comparing, second guessing, no not this time…

That doesn't change the fact that I'm still watching, waiting. Hoping he'll swoop down onto the balcony with an ashamed look on his face and tell me that he was off-planet helping someone out there in the cosmos and that he didn't mean to scare me by taking off without a word. Hoping that he'll say that it was thoughtless of him, that he'd never do it again, asking for my forgiveness in a tone that shows just how worried he is that I won't. That he'll pull me into his arms for a reassuring hug that might just banish all of the fear that's been gnawing at my gut since the first whispers of his disappearance began, his cheek against my hair and I can just pretend that this was a bad dream…

Three months and I'm still breathing
Been a long road since those hands I left my tears in, but I know
It's never really over, no…

Wake up…

There isn't a major news hub I haven't contacted. A lead on a momentary sighting I haven't followed up on. Let's not even go into the amount of flight time I've logged. I've been everywhere from Helsinki to Madrid, bossing and threatening until I get the information I'm looking for. In the past month, I think I've spent about the sum total of a week at my own desk. The whole damn world considers me the authority on our favorite flying hero and I haven't, wasn't even aware he was gone until after the fact. And you want the real kicker? The Planet ran the original story, complete with banner headline: Astronomers Discover Krypton Intact. Signs of Life Found. The minute it went to press, I stormed Perry's office. He hadn't breathed a word about this article before it made the morning edition. Slamming it down on his desk, I let him know exactly how I felt about his keeping this a secret from me, of all people. Perry said I wouldn't have been objective. And, deep in my heart, I knew he was right.

Three months and I'm still standing here,
Three months and I'm getting better yeah.
Three months and I still am…

Once the findings were publicized, I remember the two of us on my balcony a few days later, acting like it was business as usual when it obviously wasn't. You would have to be blind to miss the way his attention wandered every other question or how his gaze was directed at something far past my ability to see. I should have known then what he was thinking. I should have said something. Anything. But I knew the price he paid for my involvement last time and didn't dare act as if I had a real clue. It hadn't taken long for those misted-over moments to come back to me, having torn away at those blank spots until they had given way. I had kept my mouth shut and played along for love of him and for the sacrifice he made. Until now. And admitting I knew the truth now would only cage him all the more.

Three months and it's still harder now
Three months I've been living here without you now,
Three months yeah, three months…

He was last spotted at the Thales Alenia Space facility, if sources are correct. Seems that they had managed to clean up the Cassini-Huygens satellite images released by NASA two weeks before. More than one eyewitness had confirmed that Superman had made a visit to view the images before they were made public. There were also whispers that he had discussed the actual location of the find. I can't even bring myself to say 'planet' even now. The moment I ferreted that little tidbit out of one of the reporters at the la Tribune Quotidienne, I was on yet another plane. But I was too late. Once I had convinced them that I was really Lois Lane, that I had a legitimate reason for knowing Superman's whereabouts, they agreed to speak to me. Nevertheless, it seems that he had sworn them to secrecy. All the scientists closed ranks after my initial questions, whether it was true that the Man of Steel had visited the facility, politely refusing to tell me anything beyond mentioning that he had been quite interested in the coordinates of what could possibly be his home world. He had also mentioned something about the rocket he had come to Earth in. They meant it to be a nice little scrap of information, a lead that any other reporter would have joyfully fallen on like a wild dog on weakened prey, but all I could feel was ice in my heart. I hadn't realized until that instant that I had known for sure what he had planning ever since the pictures had gone public. And even as I thought it, a sick feeling rose in my stomach. It had taken four days to find someone to let the information slip. I was too late.

I was already on my cell phone when I passed out the doors of the Thales Alenia Space headquarters, dialing Perry White's office number from memory and repetition. I had no more told him who it was before he started to bawl me out over Clark's resignation and why I hadn't told him that Kent was even considering it. And that was when I knew for sure that I had lost him.

Three months and I'm still breathing,
Three months and I still remember it,
Three months, and I wake up.

If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it will be yours forever. If it doesn't, it was never yours to begin with. Great, romantic, wise saying – but it's something else entirely when it actually happens to you. Worse when it happens twice-over. And let's not mention the fact that I likely lost him to deep space and maybe even a whole planet of his own people. They say Whoever's Up There has a sense of humor. I think they're right. I've been in Paris the last week and a half, tying up the last of my loose ends and trying to make up my mind what I'm going to tell the public, what explanation I can possibly give for his sudden disappearance that won't show my hurt or bias. Constant bouts of nausea have made keeping my mind on my work fairly impossible. I got a call back from the doctor I saw in Montparnasse yesterday with the diagnosis. My flight is due out tomorrow, but I've already called Perry requesting extended leave.

If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it will be yours forever. If it doesn't, it was never yours to begin with.

I guess now I have my answer.

I lean my chair back and look up into the clear blue skies, wondering what will come next. My heart both grateful and broken. I lost one, only to gain another that I never dreamed possible.

Yeah, I guess I have my answer.

Three months and I'm still sober,
Picked all my weeds, but kept the flowers…