He was driving to pick up Liz, his girlfriend, and take her to school. Liz. His girlfriend. . .

How cool was that?

OK, so it wasn't the first time he'd done this, but for some reason . . for some reason everything seemed fresh and new now. Maybe it was this amazing, though warm, spring morning. More likely it was Liz's revelations the night before. And the fact that she loved him. And not anyone else. There were serious problems to solve, but they would. Together. And . . . and it was all going to be OK. Now. Finally.

Something had been missing from his life, from his body, ever since that awful night last fall. He knew it was his heart, but somehow his body continued to walk around Roswell, despite the fact that nothing was pumping his blood. And now that he had it back, his heart, he felt like he could fly!

Now, wouldn't that be a great power to have?

Pulling into an open space in front of the Crashdown, he strolled around to the alley and the stairs leading up to the Parker residence. Unfortunately, the way was blocked by a shiny, white Jeep Cherokee. And some big guy in safari duds carrying what appeared to be a heavy box of equipment like just so much cotton candy.

"Morning," Max said. "Can I . . . can I give you a hand with that?" Though the guy clearly needed no help.

"No, no, I'm fine," the man said, suddenly gripping the box more tightly, supporting its weight. "Thanks anyway, though."

He had a big, easy grin and a very steady way about him. Max noticed things like that now-how people carried themselves. Since he'd been working out so much-ostensibly to prepare for the fight ahead, but more truthfully, to keep his mind off his Liz troubles-he'd felt the play of muscles over his frame change, his movements more sure, more controlled, more . . . more economical.

Just like this guy. Not wasting a step or a flex.

Of course, now he was blocking the stairs, just standing there with a rather large toothed grin on his wide expressive face. And that's when Max noticed something sort of odd about him.

It was an unseasonably warm morning for Roswell in April; 85 degrees with 90% humidity. It was sure to rain before the day was out. Which though not exactly normal for this time of year, was not the strange thing here.

No, the strange thing was that this man had just carried a half dozen crates of heavy equipment down a full flight of stairs and loaded them into his car . . . all without breaking a sweat. Nary a bead.

And there he was, not sweating and standing in Max's way. . .

". . .um, you know the Parker's?" Max asked, squinting in the morning's sun.

"Not until today," the big guy laughed. "But it turns out we're related. Through my wife."

"Oh. . ." Max nodded, filling time. He was wishing the man would get the idea and step out of the way. Which he didn't. Like he was guarding the stairs. Like he was some big protector or something. "I . . . I'm dating Liz," Max finally said, surprised at the emotion and the way her name still caught in his throat. Sweet. He put his hand out. "I'm Max Evans."

"Clark Kent." Hand extended, they shook. . .

And it was as if a bolt of lighting had struck him at the base of his spine and traveled straight to his brain. Images filled his head, of spaceships, and barns, and aerial views, and he was conscious of not only the things he was seeing, but the fact that he still held the man's hand firmly in his. More images; a sadly deflated basketball and a child crying in his mother's arms; the free feeling of running through a field of new wheat, a speeding train moving in sync beside him; the face of a beautiful, brown-haired woman, smiling at him, beckoning to him. . .

Then the connection was broken and they stood regarding each other, stunned and breathing heavily. And, Max noted, the guy was finally sweating.

"Who . . . who are . . . you?" the man asked between breaths.

"I was . . . I was about to ask you that."

* * * *

Liz had tried, vainly, to elude Lois's questions, but with the skill of one used to such evasion, and the burning need to know that can only come from a personal connection to the subject matter, the reporter had worn her down. And of course, it helped that she'd basically heard everything already.

The girls were clearly guarded about the subject and just as clearly scared. Liz was in love with this alien boy and desperate to protect him. Lois could understand that. (Though Clark was probably in a better position to take care of himself than Max was.) It had taken quite a lot of reassuring to quell the panic she could see rising in the girl, a dicey proposition when Lois was trying to avoid an alien admission of her own. She wasn't ready to cross that line yet. Protecting Clark's secret identity was tantamount to protecting her own way of life. . .

On some level, Lois was aware of how vindicated Clark was going to feel when she revealed to him that she'd already found what he'd come to Roswell to look for, and while she was never very good at the crow-eating thing, she also knew how truly important this was to him.

When she came out to join her questing hubby in the alley, she meant to surprise him with the amazing news.

She had no idea he was fixing to surprise her with pretty much the same thing. . .

Opening the screen door to find Clark standing, grinning, on the other side, Lois nearly jumped out of her skin. From behind, Maria and Liz skidded to a stop, bumping into Lois. She heard Clark echo Maria's involuntary giggle and fixed her husband with a raised eyebrow and a silent plea for some grown-up decorum.

It was a lost cause, though.

"Guess what, Lois?!" Clark was all wide-eyed excitement. Like he'd discovered the missing link or something. "You're not going to believe this!"

A rather lovely, dark-haired young man had come up from behind Clark on the stairs. He looked through the screen door as though searching for something of great importance to him and did not relax under his eyes had lit upon that thing. Liz.

So this was Max Evans. . .

Clark's joy could no longer be contained. She was about to tell him she knew all about it, when Clark interrupted her.

"Guess who's an alien, too?" he hissed, leaning close, his voice a whisper meant to be heard only by the two of them.

Super Whispers don't always stay whispered, though. Or maybe Liz just had really good hearing. Aw, who was she kidding. If Clark hadn't beaten her to the punch, she'd be the excited one right now. And forget the whispering. . .

"'Too'?" the young girl asked incredulously. "What did he mean by 'too?'" Beside her, Maria's look was just as incensed.

Lois just shrugged and plastered a sheepish grin onto her face.

"It's not as though I lied to you, Liz," she said, backpedaling. "I just. . . I just. . ."

"You just left out one amazingly pertinent fact," Maria said, tartly.

Just then, Nancy called from the kitchen. "Liz?! Are you two still here? You're going to be late for school!!"

Maria mother-henned them all out the door.

"W-we're leaving now, Mom!" Liz called back to her, unsteadily, her cheeks coloring slightly. Lois thought it was Liz's mother, and the fear of being late, that had caused the blush in her.

She was wrong.

In the alley, Liz faced off with Lois. "You expected me to trust you, but you couldn't trust me?" she said, her voice controlled, but hoarse.

Maria looked like she might be getting ready to throw a punch. . .

Lois felt her own face grow warm.

Clark was suddenly at her side, one strong arm around her shoulder. Where was her spine, she was wondering? She was letting a little girl intimidate her? She, Lois Lane, who had stood up to gangsters and murderers and arch villains and not batted an eye?

The difference this time was that Liz was right and Lois knew it.

She stood mutely, fumbling for an answer, THE answer, not knowing how to say it or if Liz would believe her when she figured it out.

Ever-helpful, Clark jumped in, his tone soft and low and reassuring. "Liz, I'm sure you understand the importance of keeping secrets-"

The girl turned on him, eyes blazing. "I was trying to when cousin Mata Hari, here, read me back the notes she'd taken on the conversation she'd eavesdropped on. . ."

Clark shot Lois a questioning look and she finally found her tongue.

"Liz, you have to believe me. I wasn't spying on you two. I could just hear you talking. And once I figured out what you were talking about, I knew how dangerous it could be if anyone else heard."

"She knew that," Clark said, softly, "Because your's is the kind of secret she's kept, for . . . for me, for seven years now."

It was then Lois noticed that while Max's hands were rubbing, soothingly, at Liz's shoulders, he had his eyes glued to her husband. From the fascination she read there, she suspected they hadn't moved from him since before she and the girl had come down the stairs.