Author's note: Sorry for the delay in posting this part... I had some wireless network issues which took a while to resolve.
From part 5:
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.
And now, part 6:-----
And now, here he was in the middle of his living room, at five o’clock in the morning, alternately pacing the length of the room and back, or sitting on his couch with his head in his hands.
Lois’s trenchcoat was draped over the railing at the top of the stairs. The remains of his sandwich from the past evening - the pre-Lois part of the evening - still rested on the coffee table. One of the blue scarves from the harem costume was neatly folded on his kitchen table. There were deep finger indentations in his refrigerator doorframe, and his front door’s inner doorknob was pretty mishapen and lumpy-looking. He was still dressed in the jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing the night before. His hair was unruly where he’d been running his fingers through it.
And Lois Lane was asleep in his bedroom, wearing the briefest of outfits this side of a bikini that he’d ever seen.
The memory of that costume had him drifting upward again; he didn’t even try to fight it.
Dents in the refrigerator doorframe and the doorknob. Those, he could fix.
Probably.
The bigger issue was his relationship with Lois.
It was irrevocably changed anyway; they wouldn’t really be able to ignore this whole pheromone thing, once she was back to normal – although, knowing Lois, she might try.
But if she *did* know his secret, would he still *have* a relationship with her at all? Would she forgive him?
He’d spent a large part of the time since she had passed out reminiscing about his life since he’d met Lois Lane.
He’d lost count of the number of times he’d had to conceal his… Lois-induced loss of gravity, but he knew almost every encounter with Lois up until now had been marked by at least one. Sitting on his couch as the hours went by, he had relived many of those times and wondered if he should have confessed his secret to her as soon as he realized what was happening.
But she hadn’t been his friend during those early days. He had *had* to protect his secret, because the safety of his friends, his co-workers, and his parents relied on it. Would she have revealed him?
He honestly didn’t know.
On the one hand, she was perhaps the most ethical person - when it came to differentiating between right and wrong - he knew. She might break and enter, or cut other corners in her pursuit of a story, but would she have jeapordized Superman’s efforts by revealing his secret identity?
When he put it that way, no… he didn’t think she would.
But Lois “Mad Dog” Lane had been surrounded by emotional walls that while brittle, were high - heck, they were topped with barbed wire, circled by guard dogs and deep moats, and posted with warning signs and yellow caution tape.
She herself had said she tended to jump first and then check the water level. She *might* have written the story, caught up in the drive to be the first to report it, tantalized by the thought of another Kerth, or even a Pulitzer… and then regretted it later, when it was too late.
That had changed, though.
Lois’s drive and determination were unchanged, but her walls had come down, at least with him.
Or if there were still walls, she’d at least taken down the barbed wire and caution tape, drained the moat, and found a home for each of the guard dogs… and she’d put a door in the wall and left it slightly ajar.
Perhaps - if by some strange twist of fate she actually *hadn’t* guessed his secret - it was, indeed, time to tell her the truth. Maybe then the involuntary floating would stop.
Or she could help him conceal it.
Or something.
Clark sighed. Lack of sleep over the last two days had begun to take its toll on him. He was getting punchy - his thoughts were beginning to resemble Lois’s babble. And his resolve was beginning to crumble.
---
In between his pacing and reminiscing, he had occasionally looked in on Lois, to make sure she was all right, he told himself.
And it was mostly that, although if he was honest, part of it was the temptation she posed. She’d spent the better part of two days throwing herself at him, and his resolve was weakening.
He’d been determined not to take advantage of her, because that was what it would be if he gave in to her while she was in this altered state.
But he’d been in love with Lois Lane for months now, and he was only human… <Well, okay, not really> …But still, he could only resist so much temptation. And Lois was a temptation at any time; his involuntary parting from the ways of gravity had demonstrated that time and time again.
But a Lois scantily clad in a very *sexy* outfit, a Lois who was pursuing him with that single-minded determination that only Lois Lane seemed to have - that was a whole different spaceship of aliens.
Treeful of cats.
Newsroom of reporters.
Kettle of fish.
Whatever.
He found himself standing in the bedroom doorway again. Hesitating, wanting to go to her. To slip into the bed beside her and take her in his arms.
As he stood - or rather, hovered slightly - in the doorway, she began to stir. He stepped back, then zipped at super speed to his kitchen and brewed the world’s fastest pot of coffee. He poured a cup, added her usual extras to it, and went back to the bedroom doorway.
She was definitely waking up; he heard a groan from the depths of the blankets. Was that an I-can’t-function-until-I’ve-had-my-caffeine groan, or was that more of a hangover groan? As she sat up, he approached her and handed her the cup of coffee.
She looked adorable, sleep tousled, warm…
He forced his eyes to remain on her face. Unable to help himself, he sat on the side of the bed. Hooking his heel under the edge of the bedframe to stay grounded, so to speak, he reached out to gently cup her cheek, and said softly, “Lois… if you really want me, I’m yours.”
Lois couldn’t - or wouldn’t - put the coffee cup down anywhere remotely close by, but her glare was as effective as the slap she would probably have dealt him if her hands had been free.
“Have you lost your *mind*?” she growled at him.
Then she seemed to realize where she was, and after a swift glance around the room, she looked down at what she was wearing. Her eyes came back up to his face, bewilderment and embarrassment in them, as she muttered, “…or have I lost *mine*?”
The stuff had definitely worn off.
Clark stood up. She seemed to need some time alone, if her huddled position over the coffee mug and her refusal to meet his eyes were any indication.
“Uh, why don’t I find you some clothes… maybe some sweats… to borrow, and then we can talk about it?” he suggested. He quickly rifled through one of his dresser drawers, grabbed a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring and his favorite Midwest U sweatshirt, and set them on the bed. “I’ll just… whenever you’re ready…” He gestured vaguely toward his living room, and retreated.
---
Twenty minutes later, Lois sat on his couch, her head in her hands. His sweats were huge on her; she’d had to roll up the pants legs and the sweatshirt sleeves multiple times.
Her cup sat on the coffee table in front of her, and after a moment, she leaned forward and picked it up. Folding her hands around it, she took a sip and then held the cup against her chest, just under her chin, as if trying to keep warm.
“Are you cold, Lois?” Clark asked gently, and she shook her head mutely.
He’d given her a shortish description of the past two days, trying to gloss over her actions and stress the fact that Miranda’s compound had affected the entire newsroom, and that no one would have noticed her actions. They’d all been too focused on their own objects of desire.
He, too, was sitting on the couch, but had chosen a position that allowed some room between them. He hadn’t missed her slight stiffening and the increase in her heartbeat when he’d approached. His heart had sunk; he hoped they hadn’t just lost several months of friendship over this.
He turned slightly toward her, picking up his own cup of coffee.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“No,” she mumbled.
He pressed on. “Are you going to talk to me?”
“No…” She took a deep breath, and blurted, “I am *so humiliated*.”
Ah.
“Lois, I told you, you weren't yourself,” he said. “It's just lucky that the stuff wore off in time... to… uh, well… that it’s worn off.”
“Clark, did I *really* do the Dance of the Seven Veils?” Lois wailed.
He nodded
Lois moaned, and continued, “I don’t really remember much… bits and pieces, sort of… I remember being in the newsroom, and the perfume people, and… didn’t you walk me home? And… did I… did I sit on your lap? At the Planet? Tell me I didn’t!” She had to pause and take a breath, and Clark nodded again.
“Um, yes… yesterday… and… About two hours after Miranda sprayed us with that stinky stuff, you came over to my desk and, uh...” He hesitated.
Lois looked up at him briefly, miserably, and said, “You might as well tell me.”
Clark sighed, and continued, “You came over and sat on my desk… right in front of me, and, uh… well, you wanted us to leave for the day. I didn’t know what you were doing, but… uh, it was kind of obvious that a lot of the Planet staff were acting the same way. You… um, tried to kiss me - ” here, Lois made a sort of half-whimper, half-moan noise “ - and I realized that you must have been drugged. And your eyes were sort of glassy…” He trailed off.
Lois closed her eyes. “I… I sort of remember the desk… and… Oh, Clark, I am *so* embarrassed!” she wailed again. “I don’t even know what was real and what wasn’t… and you said Lex was at the Planet yesterday? I don’t remember him being there… Why was he at the Planet?" she asked, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment and sounding like her normal self. “…And I had these… weird dreams…” she continued, “…and …was Superman there? I sort of remember floating… or maybe I was dreaming…”
Clark winced slightly at her last words. She was confused about what was a dream and what was real, and was assuming her memory of floating had to be a dream.
While he could say that, technically, Superman had *not* been present during the past two days, he knew he was splitting hairs. He was glad that her question did not seem to require an answer.
And though he knew he should be concentrating only on solving this mystery, he couldn’t help feeling a moment of elation - and elevation, he realized, feeling himself start to drift upwards - that she didn’t remember Lex being at the Planet. Even though Luthor had… supposedly… stopped by to confirm their date.
Clark leaned forward, setting his coffee cup on the table, and used the forward motion to settle fully onto the couch again. Turning more directly toward Lois allowed him to tuck one foot slightly under the edge of his couch to keep himself from drifting upward again.
And… she didn’t appear to remember her comment about his resemblence to Superman; his secret appeared to be safe.
He was surely on his second cat’s worth of luck.
“Lois, please, let's forget about last night… okay?” he asked. “We have to find Miranda and find out what’s in this stuff. And how and why she’s using it.”
When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I need my partner back, Lois.”
That seemed to work; she sat up straight, placed her cup on the coffee table, and turned to look at him.
“I'm going home to get dressed,” she stated, a determined glint in her eyes. “I’ll meet you back here in one hour. And don’t even *think* of making me wait!”
-----
After a… frustrating… meeting with Miranda, Lois and Clark left her shop and started back to the Planet.
Clark had wandered around the little shop while Lois confronted the woman, and finding the atomizer Miranda had used to spray the Planet staff, had… borrowed it. As he reached into his jacket pocket to pull it out, preparatory to showing it to Lois, she spoke.
“She’s lying.” Lois stated flatly. “…So, how do we prove it?”
Clark showed her the atomizer. “I think a visit to Star Labs may help us with that,” he said with a smile.
Lois laughed and clapped him on the shoulder; Clark was pleased to note that he stayed earthbound.
This was the sort of thing he was used to with Lois, the easy comeraderie and casual, unconscious affection. He was happy that for the moment, at least, she had forgotten to feel any sort of awkwardness with him.
They flagged down a taxi and set out for the labs.
-----
Several hours later, Clark sat at his desk in the Daily Planet’s newsroom.
Most of the flowers, balloons and banners had been removed, and many of the normal day staff were present. Most seemed subdued; they worked quietly without a lot of their usual noisy banter. Perry had been sporting a black eye. Cat appeared to have been in the copy room for the entire time. Clark didn’t want to think about that in any detail.
They had discovered that Miranda’s compound contained a pheromone; that was what had made her victims lose all their inhibitions.
“I still don't get it,” Lois had said. “I mean… this stuff shouldn't work unless you’re already physically attracted to the person. Then it just overrides our normal restraint?”
“As I understand it, yes,” Clark had replied. “…All it does is inhibit that part of your brain that acts as an intellectual defense mechanism… it leaves you helpless to control yourself.”
Lois hadn’t said anything for a moment. Then she’d said, “But that would mean I found you... Clark, you got sprayed… How come you didn't fall for me?”
Clark had squirmed. They’d been sitting at their desks; he had noticed peripherally that he was still firmly settled in his chair. He could add deer-in-the-headlights, on-the-spot trepidation to his mental list of emotions that *didn’t* cause him to float.
He’d prevaricated; he was tempted - for a moment - to tell her he didn’t find her attractive. “I guess I just wasn't... attracted to you, Lois," he could have said. But he didn’t want to lie to her about that.
The truth was, he *was* attracted to her.
Seriously attracted to her.
He couldn’t - wouldn’t - deny that.
“Uh… Lois, I couldn’t take advantage of you… I… maybe I didn’t get much of the spray…” he had said, trailing off.
“Clark, you were standing right next to me. And don’t tell me you were holding your breath,” she’d said, leaning back in her chair and gazing at him challengingly. “…You got just as much as Jimmy and I did,” she had added.
Clark had seized on the excuse she was inadvertently offering him. “Guess not,” he’d said with a smirk.
“Guess so,” she’d replied, but before she could pursue it further, or challenge his statement, Jimmy had approached them with a sheaf of documents and faxes. He’d found them a longer biography on Miranda, and copies of several research documents she’d authored or co-authored.
That had sidetracked Lois nicely.
Clark was currently occupied in reading through the information while Lois fleshed out the basic facts of their story.
“It says in her bio that Miranda was first in her class at M.I.T.,” Clark remarked, reading quickly through the information. “And guess who funded her research? …Luthor Industries.”
“He funds half the scientists in Metropolis,” Lois replied. “He probably doesn't even know who she is. But I'll ask him about her tonight.”
“Tonight?” Clark questioned. He knew he didn’t have to worry about involuntary floating when they discussed Lex Luthor. Anger, dislike, and suspicion <and jealousy> weren’t float-inducing emotions either.
“We're having dinner,” Lois stated. “…*He* finds me very attractive,” she continued, in what he suspected was a dig to his own supposed non-interest in her.
“Lois…” he started. What could he say, though? She surely didn’t *want* Clark to admit he found her attractive, did she?
Before he could pursue the thought further, Jimmy approached them again and handed Lois an envelope. After reading it, she folded it in half and tucked it into her bag.
“Anything?” Clark asked.
“No. Nothing at all,” she replied, just airily enough to make him suspicious.
Rising to her feet, she continued, “I’m going to… run some errands. See you later.”
Watching her walk up the ramp, Clark decided that maybe he should leave for the day, too - Superman could keep an eye on Lois from quite a distance.
---
Superman followed Lois to the private airport where she met Miranda, staying high in the sky to avoid being seen.
He arrived in time to watch Lois enter a hangar filled with barrels of pesticide. A crop dusting plane stood ready for takeoff on the runway outside the hangar.
He saw Miranda spray Lois with something - <not the pheromone compound, please,> he pleaded silently. <I don’t think I could resist her a second time.>
He saw Lois slump to the floor - not the pheromone compound, then. He forced himself to stop and observe a moment longer, although every instinct was telling him to get to Lois immediately.
Miranda appeared to be extremely upset, ranting about eliminating her rivals, as she tied Lois’s arms and legs. He knew Lois would have her tape recorder concealed in her jacket pocket, and they needed Miranda to incriminate herself.
She dragged Lois toward one corner of the hangar where a large vat - labeled Malathion in big red letters - stood, nearly full. Leaving Lois on the floor not far from the vat, Miranda opened the spigot at the vat’s base. As liquid Malathion began to drain out of the vat in a slow but steady trickle, she darted out of the building toward the plane, laughing.
“Bye Lois. Have a nice, *slow* death,” she called as she climbed into the plane.
In a flash Superman had swooped down and lifted Lois, untying her and setting her safely out of reach of the sluggishly spreading liquid. She was already beginning to stir.
He looked for the HazMat spill kit that was supposed to be kept on site. He found it easily; it was the mobile-container type with large wheels and was situated next to the building’s emergency phone. The kit was in good condition and fully stocked with a good assortment of absorbent socks and pads. He quickly surrounded the spill with several of the socks and laid a thick layer of pads over the area as well.
With the pesticide safely contained, he turned to Lois. She was fully awake and had risen to her feet, and appeared to be unharmed.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“Yes, but Miranda - she’s going to spray the whole city with her pheromone!” Lois told him urgently.
“Call the police!” he said, and flashed into the sky after the plane, which had just left the runway. As he closed in on it, he saw that Miranda had begun to release the spray. He pinched the release valve closed, inhaling the small amount of spray already released, and moved toward the front of the plane.
When he drew even with the cockpit, he found Miranda staring at him in dismay. It probably wasn’t very nice of him, he reflected later, but he couldn’t resist puffing the small amount of the compound that he’d inhaled back into her face.
She coughed, then rubbed her eyes, and then looked back at him. She blinked, then said dreamily, “Superman… where are you going?”
“Why don’t you follow me?” he replied.
“Anywhere…” she sighed, turning the plane and starting to descend as he flew slowly in front of her.
He felt like someone who’d inadvertently stumbled across a hatching egg just in time for its feathered occupant to imprint on him. He led his… hatchling… back to the runway just in time to hand her over to the police.
Lois rushed up to him. “Superman!” she exclaimed. “…It’s lucky that stuff doesn't have any effect on you... or does it?
He was tempted - so *very* tempted - to pretend he’d been affected. “Lois Lane, I love you,” he could say, and he could kiss her… like he wanted to.
Like he longed to do.
Like he’d wanted to do long before she’d turned temptress on him, nearly driving him past the edge of his control. He had only resisted her during the last two days because he *knew* he couldn’t take advantage of her.
He couldn’t take advantage of her now, either.
Superman couldn’t tell her he loved her - no matter how much he acutally *did* - because Superman couldn’t have a relationship with her. He couldn’t have a relationship at all, period. He was too public; he belonged to the world, in a sense.
Clark, on the other hand, *could* have a relationship with her. But not if Superman was in the way. And he - Clark - would *still* be taking advantage of her; playing on her hero worship of his alter ego, and kissing her under a mantle of deception.
He couldn’t do that to her.
He gazed into her eyes; the look in them caused him to start drifting upward an inch or two. He took a deep breath, hanging onto his resolve with difficulty. But before he could reply to her question, he saw Luthor arrive in his limo.
Clark’s feet returned to the pavement.
What was *he* doing here? Another - rather suspicious - *coincidence*? No doubt Luthor had some story concocted that implicated Miranda but kept himself out of it, Clark thought cynically.
These thoughts flashed through his mind as he turned his attention back to Lois, again looking into her eyes.
Apparently, his non-answer - and probably the love he couldn’t quite conceal - had led her to her own conclusions.
“Oh, Superman,” she sighed. “…You’re not yourself, and so I shouldn't take advantage of this situation and... Oh, what the...”
And before Superman could react - although later Clark acknowledged that Luthor’s presence as a witness might have had something to do with Superman’s nonreaction, considering his super reflexes - Lois stretched up, slid her hands behind his neck and into his hair, and kissed him.
It was the most passionate experience of his life. He promptly forgot all the reasons Superman shouldn’t be kissing Lois. He forgot that they were in a public place and that there were various people watching. His arms slid around her and he immediately left the ground. Neither he nor Lois noticed.
When he finally lifted his head, he saw that the police were watching them with indulgent smiles, while Miranda looked distressed. Luthor looked like he’d bitten into something nasty.
Clark felt a surge of purely human satisfaction at Luthor’s obvious pique.
As they led her away, Miranda called out, “Don't let them take me! I love you, Superman. …No, wait, I love *you*, Lex. Will you wait for me?”
Luthor brushed at his suit jacket sleeve - <the old nonchalant, face-saving lint-on-the-sleeve routine, Luthor?> Clark thought - and after a moment, replied, “…No.”
As Miranda was bundled, tearfully, into a patrol car, Clark realized that he and Lois were still floating about a foot above the runway. He gently floated them back to the pavement, and steadied her as they touched down.
“Wow…” Lois whispered, and he had to agree.
*Wow* pretty much covered it.
With an effort, he broke her gaze and glanced around them again. Luthor had approached them and was trying - rather unscuccessfully - to get Lois’s attention.
One of the policemen approached to ask Lois to come to the police station to give a statement. She glanced at him and agreed, saying that she would stop in on her way back to the Daily Planet.
She turned toward where her jeep was parked, seeming to notice Luthor for the first time.
“Oh, Lex… what a surprise to see you here,” she said.
Luthor’s explanation - that having funded what he thought was Miranda’s legitimate work, he felt it was his duty to try to stop her when she made a threat to him the previous day - sounded perfectly acceptable to someone who didn’t have Superman’s knowledge of the man’s true nature.
Clark had to remind himself not to roll his eyes in exasperation; Superman didn’t roll his eyes.
“May I offer you a ride back into the city, Lois?” Luthor asked her.
“Thanks, but I’ve got my jeep,” she answered.
With suave charm, Luthor wished Lois a pleasant day, reminded her of their dinner appointment later in the evening, and returned to his limo. Only Clark saw the flash of anger in his eyes.
“If you’ll excuse me, Lois, I’ve got to fly,” Clark told her, and she smiled at him as he rose a short distance into the air.
While it was an acceptable way in which to take his leave of her, he actually meant he had to *fly*.
*Had* to.
He *wanted* to do barrel rolls.
Loop some loops.
Do handstands in the clouds.
Write ‘I love Lois Lane’ in huge letters in the sky.
Kiss Lois again.
That had been an amazing kiss… an awe-inspiring kiss.
An addictive kiss.
A kiss he was likely to repeat if he didn’t remove himself right away.
And Superman really *shouldn’t* be kissing Lois Lane passionately, in public.
<If she knew your secret, Superman could kiss her in private,> his inner voice reminded him helpfully.
Ignoring the voice, he repeated the thought: Superman couldn’t kiss Lois Lane. So he’d have to settle for flying.
<That’s probably the first time in my life I’ve ever even *thought* of ‘settle’ and ‘flying’ in the same sentence.>
Once Lois was safely inside her jeep, he shot up into the sky.
-----
tbc
