From part 4:
Both Clark and Superman had returned to Metropolis, each in their own fashion.
Lois had let Clark off relatively lightly for his perceived desertion. “That heat made us all more than a little crazy,” she’d said.
Life had also returned to normal.
Normal for Lois and Clark, anyway.
And now, part 5:
-----
That incident seemed to be an eye opener for Lois, as far as their friendship went.
She unreservedly acknowledged that Clark was her best friend. She was openly affectionate with him, and would sometimes spend time outside of work with him, eating pizza and watching a movie or just talking.
And *he* spent a lot of *his* time tucking his foot under a chair rung, or the edge of his coffee table, to keep from floating.
Or stumbling in the newsroom, or shifting around in his chair, or holding onto doorknobs to conceal his… lightness of being.
Lois probably thought he had weak ankles.
Or a terrible sense of balance.
And he’d had to reshape a couple of the Daily Planet’s doorknobs after leaving finger indentations in them.
Despite his gravitational difficulties, he’d been thrilled with their deepening friendship.
It had, however, resulted in some narrow escapes.
One morning when he and Lois had lingered in the conference room after the morning meeting, she’d leaned against him as she riffled through the notes he’d taken at the meeting, attempting to prove a point.
He’d grabbed the underside of the table as he felt himself start to rise, and the table had begun to rise too.
Fortunately, Lois had assumed he was lifting the table on purpose, accusing him of trying to distract her. When he tried to apologize, she had laughingly told him not to bother. “Forget it, Kent,” she’d said, “…half the time, I don’t know where you are or where you’re coming from.”
He wondered how she’d react if he told her exactly *where* he’d come from.
-----
A few days after the heat wave was resolved, an army of cameramen, lighting technicians, models, and sundry assistants had invaded the newsroom.
Apparently, the Planet was to be the site of a photo shoot promoting some new perfume or cologne. While the event may have been a success for the Marketing department, generating revenue for the paper, it had backfired on the Daily Planet management from a news-producing point of view.
The newsroom had been overwhelmingly crowded with equipment, models, technicians, and scores of onlookers. There had been a miscommunication between the fragrance promoters and the Planet management; the Planet’s management thought there would merely be a relatively quick photo shoot, while in reality the promoters had planned what amounted to a premiere party.
And in the general confusion, none of the Planet’s news staff was able to work at all productively. Most had stood around, watching and mingling, while a few others - those more dedicated to reporting the news - had holed up in the conference rooms or had left the newsroom altogether.
In addition, the perfumer Miranda had used the event to spray everyone in the room with her pheromone compound, which resulted, ultimately, in chaos.
Once the newsroom had been restored to its former state, later in the day, the Daily Planet staffers had begun to act… strangely.
Clark’s first inkling of the trouble to come was when he’d looked up from his computer, distracted, and had found himself looking at the long, *bare* leg of his partner as she perched on his desk.
Fascinated, his eyes had traveled up the smooth expanse, before he had recollected himself and looked up at her face. Completely confused, he had noted her partly unbuttoned blouse, and the dreamy gaze she was directing at him.
He’d helplessly floated slowly up off his chair until his thighs bumped gently against the underside of his desk.
“What’cha working on?” Lois had asked in a singsong voice, leaning toward him. She’d seemed to be fascinated by his face, her eyes glued to his, and she hadn’t appeared to notice anything amiss in regard to his slight increase in height.
“Lois...” he’d asked nervously, “are you feeling okay?”
He couldn’t have returned to his seat to save his life, so it was a good thing that the entire staff of the newsroom seemed to have paired off and each appeared to be focused only on the other. Nobody seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to him or to Lois.
“Never better,” she’d replied huskily, leaning in closer. He had desperately tried to keep his eyes on her face, not the… other view her position was providing…
Realizing his eyes had wandered, he had quickly forced them up to her face again.
“I just... couldn't help noticing how very... handsome you look today,” she’d continued, running one finger lightly down his jaw.
The penny had dropped. And so had Clark - solidly back onto his chair. “Oh… I get it,” he had said flatly. “What do you want? Research? Your VCR fixed? A ride to the airport? Blind date with your cousin?”
“No…” Lois had replied, her voice dropping into a sexy whisper that brought him up off his chair again, “I don't want anything. Except... you.” She’d leaned in so close that he could have kissed her if he’d stretched forward only the smallest bit.
Clark had cast another desperate glance around the newsroom. If he hadn’t seen the same - worse - behavior all around him, he would have thought Lois *was* attempting to flatter him into doing her a favor of some sort, despite what she’d just said.
By that point, the desk had started to rise off the floor along with him. Again, Lois had not seemed to notice.
He had surged to his feet, backing away from her, and retreated across the newsroom toward the break area, barely keeping his feet on the floor as he went.
Undaunted, Lois had followed after him, and crowded him back against the vending machine. She’d leaned into him, her hands creeping up along his tie, then to his shoulders, then to caress his face. She had attempted to kiss him, and he had pulled back, bewildered by her behavior.
She had had a glazed look, almost as if she’d been drugged; his increasing conviction that the entire Planet staff had been drugged was one of the few things that had allowed him to stay - sort of - grounded.
He’d held her off, his hands at her waist, until she managed to place a kiss on his chin, at which point he’d let go of her and grabbed desperately at the vending machine behind him, fighting to keep his feet on the floor.
He’d felt the metal giving under his fingers as Lois had moved closer, and he’d sidled out of the space between her and the machine, backing against the closed door of Perry’s office.
Lois had followed after him again.
“Lois, just a minute…” he’d pleaded, and had looked through the office wall in the hopes of finding Perry and enlisting his help in making sense of the situation.
What he’d seen - Perry pursuing Rehalia, the cleaning lady, around the office - had made him wish he hadn’t bothered looking.
“Minute’s up, Clark. Come to mama,” Lois had purred, her hands starting to loosen his tie.
Once again, gravity had lost its grip on him, and he’d grabbed for the office doorknob behind him, stopping his upward movement but snapping the knob off in his hand.
“Uh, Lois…” he’d said, “…this is making me very… uncomfortable.” In desperation, he’d lifted her gently but quickly to one side and fled the newsroom altogether.
He’d spent part of the evening in the air, trying to calm down and searching in his mind for any logical explanation for the Planet staff’s behavior.
He’d worked his way backward through the day, and had come to the conclusion that the only common factor among the staff had been the perfume. The *perfumes*, actually, because there’d been that one woman who’d sprayed them all with the dirty-sweatsock-scented stuff.
-----
He’d exited the elevator the following morning, striding to the railing at the top of the ramp only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight before him - balloons and streamers, flowers, with musak wafting through it all, and on the wall, a huge blow-up of the day’s headline: COUPLE REUNITED! LOVE WINS OUT! Little hearts replaced all the O’s.
Lois had already arrived; seated at her desk, and catching sight of him, she’d risen to her feet and had begun to run toward him.
She’d been absolutely breathtaking, wearing a low cut and very, very feminine white lace dress; her hair had been curled and there appeared to be flower petals in it.
He *always* found her breathtaking, but the sight of her then had been breathtaking, breath*keeping*, breath*not-giving-back*, as well as wit-taking, voice-taking… and, of course, gravity-taking; his heels had begun to leave the floor.
He’d stood there - *hovered there* - wide-eyed, speechless, gasping for breath - like a fish out of water.
Like a *flying* fish out of water.
He’d clutched at the bullpen railing to keep himself earthbound.
Daily-Planet-floorbound.
<You’re babbling…>
She’d called out, “Clark! Where have you been, my darling?!” and had flung herself at him.
He’d had no choice but to catch her.
Her momentum had carried her high up against his chest, putting her face on a level with his.
He’d wrapped one arm tightly around her, steadying both her and himself, and had held on to the bullpen railing with his other hand. He’d felt it bending in his fist, conforming to the contours of his clenched fingers, and he’d still found himself rising an inch or so above the floor.
He’d almost kissed her; he’d been barely able to stop himself.
He had *wanted* to kiss her, so badly he could hardly stand it.
He *still* wanted to kiss her, and probably always would.
All his best and deepest dreams had her exactly that interested in him, but he had known it was a false situation. The knowledge that she was *not* in control of her actions and that he would be taking advantage of her if he gave in to his desire was the only thing that had kept him from following through on the opportunities she was so blatantly giving him.
Once he felt he’d regained enough control to stay grounded, Clark had led Lois to their desks. He’d pushed her gently into a chair near his desk, and had sat down in his own chair facing her.
“Lois, listen to me. You are not in control,” he’d said.
“I know that, Clark,” she had replied dreamily, “for the first time in my life...”
“No, no... There is something very strange going on around here,” he had insisted.
“Yes. Strange and... *wonderful*,” she’d… purred, and had stood up from her own chair and sat in his lap.
Before he could even think about hooking a foot under one of the rungs, he had shot up off his chair, his arms instinctively wrapping around her. He had quickly turned the upward motion into a rise - *more like a jump* - to his feet, Lois cradled in his arms.
Before she could get a good grip on him, he had returned her to her own chair.
They had been interrupted at that point by Jimmy, who had been almost crowing over his photos of the model upon whom he was fixated. “Beautiful, isn't she?” Jimmy had said proudly. “…And she's *all mine*.”
He had wandered off just as abrubtly as he had arrived, clutching the photo of the model to his chest and leaving the other photos behind.
Lois had picked up a photo of the three of them - Lois, Clark, and Jimmy - standing next to her desk, apparently observing the chaos around them. She had begun to stroke the photo-Clark’s face, a dreamy expression on her own face.
With a sigh, Clark had picked up the rest of the photos. At least Lois was distracted for the moment.
He had scrutinized the photos closely, zeroing in on a closeup of one of the models. Behind her, the woman who had sprayed the smelly fragrance on everyone could be seen in a three-quarters profile shot. While not face on, Clark had felt the photo was enough to allow him to identify the woman when - *if* was a word he had refused to entertain - they found her.
Maybe she was featured in a women’s magazine, possibly in one of the perfume ads, he’d thought, and had headed for the elevators.
“Where’re you going?” Lois had asked as he’d risen to his feet. She’d stood too, reaching for him, and had only allowed him to leave unhindered by making him promise he’d be back in a few minutes.
On the way up the ramp, Clark had encountered Lex Luther.
What was *he* doing at the Planet? Would the millionaire normally confirm a date in person?
Clark was willing to admit to jealousy where Lex’s interest in Lois was concerned, but even so, it seemed awfully suspicious that the man had appeared at the Daily Planet right after the newspaper staff had received some sort of mind-altering substance.
Clark had heard what Lois had said to Lex – “…please understand something. There's only one man in the world for me. Clark Kent.”
He’d floated ten inches above the elevator floor the entire way down to the lobby, thinking about that and wishing it were really true.
The sobering thought that it was *not* true had him finally functioning at full gravity when the elevator doors opened.
While he was buying a copy of every fashion and bridal magazine the lobby newstand offered, the elevator doors opened again and Lois had appeared, an anxious expression on her face until she caught sight of him.
Fearing a repeat of her greeting upstairs, one he’d rather not have in a lobby full of people who were *not* distracted - blinded - by drug-induced infatuation, he’d moved quickly toward her, grasped her arm and led her out of the Daily Planet Building.
By the simple suggestion that he wanted to walk her home, he had managed to keep them moving… and keep his feet on the pavement. Lois had nestled against his side, under his arm, but he’d been able to handle that without floating.
His concern for her and his worry over the situation, plus the fact that he’d walked with her in a similar manner - but not quite that… snugly - on one or two particularly cold and snowy days in the past, had allowed him to fully obey the law of gravity.
Well, mostly.
He had drifted slightly upward once or twice, but caught himself before his heels got more than a centimeter or so off the sidewalk.
---
Once he’d left Lois safely at her place, he went back to his own apartment with the intention of hunting through all of the fashion magazines he’d found, looking for the woman in the photograph.
Given the state of the Daily Planet’s newsroom, he felt he would accomplish more at home.
He skimmed at super speed through a multitude of magazines, looking for the woman’s picture or any mention of female perfumers. He suspected that she was, perhaps, a chemist or a perfumer. While she was certainly attractive, she hadn’t appeared to be a model.
After coming up with nothing, he went out to find more magazines.
He stopped in Milan, London, and Paris, as well as the Central Newstand in downtown Metropolis. He dumped the newest pile of magazines onto his coffee table and got to work.
He finally found the woman - Miranda - in an international professional publication entitled ‘Perfumer and Flavorist’. There was a feature article, including a short bio, on her; the article also mentioned her shop, Miranda’s, which was located in Metropolis’s exclusive Hobbs Hill arts district.
There was nothing more he could do tonight. Except maybe get rid of the extra magazines. Maybe he could box them up and donate them to a nursing home.
He wrote down the address of the shop, and then moved into the kitchen area to make some tea. The doorbell interrupted him and, gazing through the door, he was dismayed to see Lois on his doorstep.
Dismayed, yes… but he couldn’t help also feeling that rush of emotion he always felt when he saw her.
And the elation - and the *elevation* - that came with the emotion.
She hadn’t stayed safely in her own apartment after all; knowing Lois, he should have expected that.
He wondered if the substance had worn off; after all, by now it had been more than twenty-four hours since Miranda sprayed them.
Perhaps Lois had come to help him investigate the whole situation. It was late, but Lois had never let the time get in her way when she was on the trail of a story.
Or on her way to his place for any reason, actually.
He opened the door hopefully, saying, “It’s awfully late, Lois,” as he met her eyes. His hopes for Lois’s speedy return to normal were dashed with her reply.
“Not *too* late, I hope. For us. For happiness,” she… purred.
The sound of her voice, husky and low, washed through him in an almost physical wave. He felt his heels begin to leave the floor, and tightened his grip on the doorknob.
Still standing on his doorstep, she gave him a sultry smile and untied the trench coat she was wearing, revealing an extremely abbreviated harem costume that appeared to be constructed out of a few gauzy scarves and little else.
“Oh, no,” he groaned, “Lois, please don’t…”
He started to drift upwards, despite himself, and tightened his grasp even more on the doorknob. He felt it start to give under the pressure of his fingers.
“Lois, *please*, go home,” he pleaded in desperation. Was that… *sweat* gathering on his forehead?!
“You’re here. This *is* my home,” she replied, stepping in close and putting her arms around his waist.
He sidestepped around her and retreated into his kitchen, carefully not looking at her costume. Not seeing the outfit, not thinking about the outfit - and mentally reciting Abraham Lincoln’s famous Four-score-and-seven-years-ago address in its entirety, in Latin - helped keep him standing on the floor, but she followed him into the kitchen. He turned just in time to see her advancing slowly and deliberately on him.
Yes, that was actually sweat beading on his forehead. And his collar felt awfully tight. He tugged at the front of his t-shirt. There wasn’t any way to make the neckline less tight unless he took the shirt off.
<Not a good idea.>
As he backed up against the refrigerator, she advanced on him, drawing one of the scarves from its fastenings and tossing it in his direction. He grabbed desperately for the refrigerator doorframe and managed to keep at least his toes on the floor.
“Lois, you don't know how many times I've thought about this. Dreamt about this… “ he began.
She removed another scarf.
“Well… something like this,” he babbled, frantically trying to stay grounded and to avoid looking at... what she was revealing.
As the third scarf came off, both his desperation and his grip on the refrigerator increased. Peripherally, he heard the ominous creak of the refrigerator door hinge. “…Lois, I just can't take advantage of you this way,” he pleaded.
She reached up and looped her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe and gazing deeply into his eyes. He could feel her body pressed against his, and his arms came up and around her waist without volition. Having let go of the refrigerator doorframe, he began to float upwards again, taking Lois with him.
And his heart almost stopped when she suddenly said, “Superman. …You know, it's remarkable. I never noticed before.”
“What?” he asked apprehensively. He knew they were both several inches off the floor and he braced himself for the worst.
Was there was any level higher than Mad Dog Lane? And could even Superman survive it?
“That you look a lot like... Superman,” she said matter-of-factly. She strained upward, and he felt the movement along his entire body. He was shaking with the effort of restraining himself from simply sweeping her up and giving in to what she was ofering. She managed to touch her lips to his, and his mind went momentarily blank.
By now he had drifted up high enough that his shoulders were level with the top of his refrigerator. There was absolutely *no way* that she could miss that.
Even as he thought it, however, he realized that she had slumped into him, her head resting against his shoulder.
She had passed out… at either the most opportune moment or the worst, depending on which way he wanted to view the situation.
Still a good foot off his kitchen floor, he took a deep, deep breath and maneuvered her up into his arms. Carefully, he carried her into his bedroom, keeping his eyes on her face.
He tucked her under the blankets, still carefully keeping his eyes on her face.
Feeling like he’d just slipped the safety back on the gun, he quietly left the room.
-----
tbc
