Paper CutSummary: What if Superman required a bit more time to recover at the end of the episode "Madame Ex"? Inspired by a question put forth by bakasi concerning another fic: ‘Trust Me, I’m a Reporter’ by Yvonne.
A/N: A special thanks to Ksarasara and Chereche who helped beta this fic and acted as soundboards ^_^.
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Cold water splashed onto her face, disturbing the haze of unnatural sleep that was wrapped around her before an even more intense cluster of droplets landed and threatened to enter her nose. Jerking aside, she sputtered and fought to gather her wits as she quickly sat up. Looking around her, a heavy weight in her hand forced her to first look down at her palm.
Why was she holding a gun!? Oh no! Was this the gun Arianna had?
Quickly putting it aside, her eyes continued to travel, trying to make sense of where she was and what was happening. Turning her head, any thoughts about Arianna instantly flew out of her mind when she spotted Superman lying on the carpet in front of her, bleeding heavily from a hole - A HOLE?! - in his left shoulder. He was pressing his hand against it, but it didn't seem to be doing much to stop the flow.
Her brain tried to process what she was seeing. How?! How could he be hurt?! He was Superman! He was invulnerable!
"Superman?" she asked, so confused she could hardly form syllables.
He sagged with relief when he saw she was awake, but the obvious pain he was in remained as she got to her feet.
She had seen injured people before, even people who’d been shot, but never like this. Never someone she knew. Blood was seeping from between his fingers and his skin was unbelievably pale.
"Superman, I'll call an ambulance," she said, latching onto the first thing she could think of to help.
Her eyes immediately spotted a phone on the desk in the large, elaborate office. She moved to pick it up but was startled by a strangled gasp that was quickly followed by an agonized plea.
“Too long,” he gasped. "It has to come out – now."
She felt like a spike of ice had just slid down her back.
‘Out’? As in, she had to somehow get it out? The bullet? How could she do that? She was no doctor, and even if she was, how would she be able to extract a bullet outside of a hospital?
But his uneven breathing and desperate eyes told her she had better figure something out and fast. He had no time.
She quickly searched the desk and zeroed in on the only sharp thing that might work: a letter opener.
She grabbed it and knelt beside him, placing her left hand on his chest, right on top of his emblem. His heart was hammering frighteningly fast. She could feel it humming, humming, under her palm.
Before she could fully process what that meant, his bloody hand moved from his shoulder and quickly gripped her hand. She looked up to find his eyes just as needy as she felt for reassurance.
"I don't know if I can do this," she confessed, trying not to imagine what was about to follow.
He squeezed her hand in silent urging; the level of trust he had in her was mind-blowing. She had no choice.
Praying everything would be okay, she stuck the tip of the letter opener in, hoping she wouldn't have to go too deeply but knowing there was no time to be gentle.
Superman released a cry she never imagined he was even capable of as he arched his back. But he somehow managed to keep his shoulders still, flat against the floor as he turned his head away.
Tears filled her eyes as she forced herself to pry further, his breaths now in broken pants, before she felt a hard object resist the blade. Silently pleading to any higher power listening that it wasn't bone, she rotated the letter opener and slid beneath it. Before she could question herself, she tilted the blade and slowly pried it out of him while ignoring the pain-filled grunts Superman was trying but failing to muffle behind clenched teeth.
An ominous green glow seeped through flesh before she saw the crystal surface. Relief flooded her.
It was the bullet!
She plucked it out to examine, and Superman immediately sagged in relief. She quickly wiped it clean to fully see, hoping it was whole.
It was.
She blew out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and lowered the bullet, only to immediately lift it back up when Superman gasped in renewed pain.
She stood up and backed away, watching in astonishment as he relaxed and the bleeding from his wound visibly slowed the further she stepped away.
She looked down at the bloody bullet in her hand. What should she do with it? She needed to do something with it so she could help Superman stop the bleeding! At first, she thought about flushing it down the toilet, but not knowing where it might end up felt like a horrible idea. She quickly snatched a tissue off the desk and wrapped it before going to the bookcase. She took out a book and stuffed the bullet in the back of the shelf before replacing the book, hiding the bullet completely from sight.
She would come back for it or, if she had to, would tell Inspector Henderson.
Her heart stuttered in her chest. This was a crime scene. Arianna had tried to kill Superman!
She hurried back to him, suddenly realizing Superman wasn't out of danger. What if he lost too much blood?!
He blinked up at her, dazed but alive.
"Thanks," he breathed.
"We need to stop the bleeding," she said, the slow seeping at his shoulder her new focus.
He tried to sit up but failed before she could even voice her objection.
"Don't move,” she said, about to find material for a makeshift bandage but then she realized the wound had stopped bleeding.
Peering closer, she could actually see it slowly – very slowly – healing.
“Wow,” she couldn’t help but whisper.
“What?” he asked, trying to look, but the angle prevented him from being able to see what she was staring at properly.
"You're healing. Slowly, but still," she said.
"Oh. Good. That's good," he said, and she was struck by how tired he sounded.
He lifted his hand and stared at it, looking both fascinated and disturbed by the drying blood covering it.
"You've never. . . ." She paused, uncertain, but then she decided to plow ahead. "Seen your own blood before, have you?"
"No. I have. I once got a paper cut," he said, still staring at his bloody fingertips.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, she suddenly wanted to laugh.
"What?" she asked, stifling a giggle. "A paper cut? How?"
"I was exposed to kryptonite and lost my powers for a bit last year," he explained, closing his eyes.
That admission rocked her, snuffing out all humor.
"You mean, you don't have any powers right now?"
He frowned and suddenly looked to be concentrating. Finally, he sighed, his eyes still closed.
"No. Not even my hearing."
"How long before they return?" she asked.
"I don't know. I've never . . . It's never been inside me before."
"How long were the other times?"
"Kind of depended on the exposure. Sometimes it was a few hours, other times it was over a week," he said quietly.
Lois frowned, recalling instances where there seemed to be notable lapses between rescues. Had he been hurt in those instances?
"I can't believe it's real," she whispered as her thoughts went elsewhere.
Jason Trask, the madman, had been right. But how had Arianna gotten a hold of it?
She shook herself. She could figure that out later. Right now she needed to help Superman.
"We need to get you to the hospital. Even though you're not bleeding anymore, you don't look too good," she said, taking note of his pale skin and the light sheen of sweat on his brow.
His eyes snapped open, alarmed. "What? No! I–" He winced at his sudden movement. "I just need to rest."
"But even if you don't need medical help – which I think you do – you can't just stay on the floor," she countered. "Besides, I'm sure someone will come up here eventually."
His eyes widened. "You're right. Clark had Jimmy call the police and tell them about Arianna and your double. Hopefully–" he took a deep breath, "Hopefully, they've already got them."
"So we need to get you someplace safe at least," she proposed. "There should be an elevator up here. Luthor once mentioned it. It goes down to the car park, so I could call Clark and have him meet us there in a car."
Superman blinked. She took his silence as agreement and began exploring the back part of the office. Her eyes fell upon a sliding door and she quickly opened it. It was the elevator, just like Luthor had said.
“Ah, ha! Here it is,” she said, triumphant before returning to the desk.
She dialed the Planet. Unfortunately, Clark for some reason wasn't there, but she did get a hold of Jimmy. She bit her lip and glanced at a concerned Superman still lying on the floor as she spoke to Jimmy, decision made.
"Jimmy, I need you to listen carefully. You still have those painter's clothes in your car right?"
'Uh, yeah. . . .'
"Good. I need you to get over to Luthor's penthouse with them right away. Go to the basement parking garage and wait in the far, northwest corner. That should be near where we'll come down at. Now, Jimmy, this is likely the most important thing you've ever done so far in your life. You'll understand when you see me," she said. "Now go, and please hurry."
Although confused, Jimmy, ever faithful, obeyed.
She hung up a moment later and returned to Superman, who was trying to sit up. She quickly went to him and helped.
"I know you probably don't want anyone knowing about this, but I hope you're okay with Jimmy knowing. I would have preferred Clark, but. . . ."
She frowned when Superman grimaced.
"Are you sure you don't want me to call an ambulance?" she questioned again, keeping him stable.
"I'm sure. And thanks," he said.
She nodded, suddenly remembering their last conversation so many weeks before. Before that disaster of a wedding. It felt so long ago now, but the unresolved tension and guilt reared up in her gut like a toxic dragon.
She took a deep breath, vowing to address it later. When Superman wasn't struggling to stay upright beside her.
She glanced back at the carpet, the red stain alarming in itself, before pressing forward.
She really wished he would let her call for an ambulance, but she didn’t want to waste time or worse: cause him to use up whatever energy he had left.
"Let's get downstairs," she said, determined.
She helped him to his feet, and she was inwardly alarmed by how his hand trembled while gripping her shoulder for support. She wrapped her arm around his back and side before taking hold of the thin yellow belt while he draped his arm over her shoulders. She couldn't believe this was happening and tried not to think about how close she was to him before leading him to the elevator. He needed her help, and she had to focus!
Passing by the bookshelf where she had stuffed the kryptonite, he leaned heavily against her and released a moan. She hurriedly shuffled them on.
"It's that strong?" she asked, alarmed.
"Unfortunately,” he rasped before relaxing when they got out of range, his steps immediately becoming more stable – though still hesitant. As if he wasn't sure his legs would be able to hold his weight.
They got in the elevator, and she was relieved there was no issue in getting it to work as they began to descend, although Superman still wasn’t looking too good.
She really hoped Jimmy was already down there and that they wouldn’t run into anyone. Briefly, she wondered about security cameras, but there was no helping that.
She glanced up at Superman to find him breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth with his eyes closed as the elevator continued down. She bit her lip.
He had to be in so much pain, and that was before considering whatever the kryptonite did to him.
They made it down to the parking garage and carefully exited the elevator.
Thankfully, there was no one out among the few parked cars, save for one running vehicle at the end.
"Jimmy!" she shouted, waving him over.
He quickly drove the car to them, though his eyes widened the moment he spotted Superman being supported by Lois.
"Lois, Superman!" he gasped, rushing out of the car. "What happened?!"
"Arianna, but never mind that now, Jimmy. Help me get him to your car," she directed.
"Right," he said, going to Superman's other side in disbelief and helping Lois get him to the rear passenger door.
"Where are the clothes?" she asked.
"In the back," he said, retrieving them as Superman braced himself against the car with Lois still providing support.
"We should get you into those clothes now, Superman, that way we won't have anyone immediately recognizing you if you're seen."
"'Kay," he said.
Lois knelt down and removed his boots before setting them in the back of the car on the floor, having him lift one foot at a time. Thank goodness for Jimmy.
"Jimmy," she said, directing him to help stabilize Superman while she held the brown painter's suit open. "Can you step in?" she asked.
Superman obliged, leaning heavily on the car and Jimmy. She pulled the single-piece jumpsuit up, forcing herself to be as matter-of-fact as possible as she helped guide it above his waist and over his cape. She was suddenly grateful Jimmy hadn't gotten the correct size, even though before she had been quite annoyed upon learning these undercover clothes were far too big on her to be convincing.
"Okay?" she asked, holding the top half in preparation to get his arms through.
He nodded but looked unequivocally queasy. Carefully, he put his left arm in, and Jimmy stared at the wound the whole time, clearly itching to ask questions but knowing now was not the time.
They somehow got the painter's suit on him and mostly zipped. She didn't dare zip it all the way because he looked like he was about to pass out, and she wanted to keep an eye on the wound, but at least his uniform was mostly covered. Even the red of his cape was hidden.
"Okay, let's get you in the back, then we'll take you to Clark’s place," she decided.
She would have preferred her place, but she knew Clark’s was slightly more secluded, and there was less chance of people asking questions than at her apartment.
Superman blinked at her, looking confused. Had he even heard her? Really, she was surprised he was even still standing.
They got him into the car, and she went around the other side and climbed in to sit beside him. Jimmy, being wise beyond his years, made no comment and got back in the driver's seat.
"So, Clark’s place?" he asked.
She knew he was wondering if they should really be going to the hospital instead. She felt the same, especially when she looked at Superman again. He looked positively ill.
"Please," Superman said.
Jimmy looked in the rear-view mirror at them. With a nervous glance at Lois, he nodded.
"You got it," he said, before putting the car in gear and driving them out.
"Any word on Arianna?" Lois asked.
"They got her and your double at the airport," Jimmy said.
"That's a relief," she said, glancing out the window and hoping there wouldn't be traffic.
She looked back at Superman who looked to be asleep, although his clenched fists told her otherwise.
"How much pain are you in?" she asked. "And don't tell me you're fine."
He took in a shuddering breath. "The truth? I think . . . using that scale I’ve heard about, a seven?" he admitted, looking at her with half open eyes. "But it's better than before."
"That's something, at least, but let me know if you begin to feel worse, okay?" she insisted.
"'Kay." He closed his eyes again.
He looked so vulnerable. Her heart lurched.
This was the same person who did the impossible every day, who had saved the entire world from Nightfall. Saved her life more times than she could count. And now he was completely powerless in the back of Jimmy's car.
Fear suddenly seized her. They better not get in a car accident before they got to Clark's! Superman wasn't invulnerable at the moment, and was probably currently weaker than her.
Thankfully, they got to Clark's without a problem, and before she knew it she and Jimmy were helping Superman down the steps into Clark’s front room.
"I'm going to have to have a stern talk with Clark. What is he thinking keeping a spare key under the pot by the front door?!" Lois asked.
"At least it's in a secret compartment under the pot," Jimmy added.
"Still," Lois said, before wanting to slap herself.
Where Clark kept his spare key didn't matter right then! Poor Superman was barely remaining conscious!
They helped him to the couch, and he sunk into it with an exhausted sigh, immediately lying down. Jimmy looked at her fearfully as she helped Superman lift his legs so he could lie down fully.
"We'll be right back, Superman," she said, motioning Jimmy to follow her.
Superman hummed his understanding.
"Is he going to be okay?" he asked tentatively once they were in the other room.
"I-I think so. It was a lot worse before."
"It was worse?" he questioned. "What happened? Was he shot?"
"He was. Arianna shot him. Remember that material Trask believed existed? It does. And he was right. It can hurt him," Lois stated.
"He was shot? He should be in the hospital, then!" Jimmy argued.
"I know, and I tried, but he insisted he just needed to rest. And as much as I agree with you, Jimmy, it does seem he just needs rest. And admittedly, it's not like they can give him a blood transfusion, and who knows if our medication would even work on him," she said with a sigh.
Jimmy frowned. "I guess you're right. So what now?"
"You go back to the Planet and tell Clark to come home. I'll stay here with Superman and call Henderson at some point. Arianna did kidnap me, and I'll need to make a statement."
She frowned, remembering the bullet.
There was also the question of what to do about the fact Arianna had attempted to kill Superman and frame her for it. She did not want Arianna to get away with that. Right mind or not. But she doubted Superman wanted Kryptonite to become public knowledge. And to be frank, she didn't either. Which brought the blood on the carpet to the forefront of her mind.
“Don’t tell anyone about Superman being hurt or kryptonite. I don’t know what he wants to do about it yet. Just tell Henderson, and only Henderson, I'll be talking to him about something very important soon.”
"Okay. Let me know if you need me to get anything," Jimmy said. “And call me if anything changes.”
"Alright. I will. Thanks."
Jimmy left with a glance back to the couch, closing the door behind him. Superman hadn't moved.
Lois quietly but swiftly returned to the couch, not wanting to disturb him if he was asleep, but wanting to check to see if he was okay.
He opened his eyes upon her approach, and from what she could see of his shoulder, she made a decision.
"I should check your shoulder," she said quietly, kneeling beside the couch.
"Okay. Thanks," he said, drained.
His left side was already near the edge, so that was good. Still, he shifted so she would have easier access.
He swallowed thickly when she pulled back the painter's clothes, exposing the blue of his suit. Unfortunately, the blood had begun to dry and stuck a bit, but she managed to get the brown fabric free without too much trouble. She knew the same would not be true for his uniform, however.
"I'll be right back," she said.
She went into Clark’s kitchen and rummaged for some clean towels, scissors, and a first aid kit. Fortunately, the first aid kit she found seemed fully stocked, essentially new, even though the plastic of the container was yellow from age.
Maybe he had just refilled it recently?
Well, it was fortunate, and she hurried back with her impromptu medical supplies to the living room before also bringing in a bowl of warm water. She positioned everything on the coffee table for easy access.
"Okay. I think it'll be best if I just cut this away. Is that alright?" she asked, hovering over him before the reality of what she was proposing made her hesitate.
She was actually going to cut away part of Superman's uniform. Remove part of the thin but substantial barrier that identified him as humanity's hero.
But more than that.
She was going to clean away his blood and see how bad the wound really was. What was she doing? She wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. And even though both of her parents worked in the medical field, that didn't mean she was capable. But here she was, about to try to tend to the most powerful person on the planet.
She felt completely inadequate.
"Lois?" he asked, concerned. "You okay?"
His voice snapped her out of her self-doubt.
Unfortunately, she was all he currently had, so she would have to be enough.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay," she said a little too quickly.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have put you in this position. If I had been more careful, I wouldn't have been shot, but I was cocky."
"What?!" she gasped, appalled. "Superman, this isn't your fault! I'm the one who was kidnapped because I went after my double! If anyone should apologize, it should be me. If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have been shot, and if it hadn't been for me, that whole mess with Lex Luthor wouldn't have happened at all, and then none of this would have happened either! But I had been stupid and hurt my best friend and made a complete fool of myself, and that's putting it nicely!"
She blinked back tears and looked away, suddenly even more appalled with herself because of her breakdown. She risked a glance back at Superman, certain she would find pity, shock or even disgust. Instead, she found tenderness, which actually made her feel worse.
He was the one hurt, and yet he was using up some of his energy to extend compassion to her?
She wiped her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, taking a deep breath. "The point is, it's not your fault, so please don't apologize."
She swallowed and got her hands busy with squeezing water out of the small towel over the bowl.
"But anyway, let's check your shoulder now, okay?" she said, silently begging him to just let them move on.
"Okay, but just because you asked," he said softly.
She worked in silence at first, carefully dabbing the washcloth on the stuck blue fabric.
"Sorry," she whispered when he flinched. He hummed at her apology.
She put the cloth aside once everything was moist and grabbed the scissors.
He held out his arm and she looked at him in question when she brought the scissors to the wrist of his sleeve.
"Go ahead," he prompted. “The suit is ruined anyway.”
She went up his sleeve with the scissors, cutting both the painter's clothes and his uniform as she went. She slowed as she made it to his shoulder to go around the wound, and then carefully removed the cut material, fully exposing his shoulder and the rest of his arm. Thankfully, her previous work of wetting the area helped ease the removal process.
"There we go," she said, wiping the blood away and revealing a scabbed over hole surrounded by vibrant blue and purple bruising.
He closed his eyes.
"Superman?" she asked.
"Yeah?" he asked, his voice breathy.
She bit her lip, suddenly wondering how she would feel if she was in his place.
"Are you feeling better than before?"
"A little, it's just . . . a lot to process," he said, exhaling.
Lois bit her lip, suddenly realizing how alarming all of this must be to him.
"This would be scary for anyone, but for you, I guess this is even more so, since you don't have much experience with injuries," she said, still kneeling between the couch and coffee table.
She took his hand.
"But, no offense, I don't really count a paper cut as an injury," she pointed out with a tentative smile.
He smiled. "I guess that's fair. But it was pretty startling: being hurt by a piece of paper. I hadn’t expected it at all."
"That's usually how it goes," she said, trying to imagine the scene.
Superman, who smirked in the face of criminals shooting him with large caliber rounds, reacting to a flimsy page slicing through his normally invulnerable skin.
"But you're right. This is . . . scary. I've been in pain before, but . . . not like this," he admitted, opening his eyes and looking at her. “I’ve never had to contend with a physical injury – especially a serious one – on top of . . . kryptonite.”
"How often have you encountered kryptonite?" she asked, unable to silence her curiosity.
"Hm. Four, actually five times now, counting this.”
"Five times?" she breathed, startled.
"Yeah, and let me tell you – kryptonite – it's a humbling experience," he said, and she was struck by his sincerity. “It . . . burns, and it feels like my energy is being pulled away or something. I still don’t really know what it does to me, only that it’s bad. And then once I’m away from it it takes time for me to get back to normal. Well, my normal. It’s really . . . disorienting? I wish I could explain it better.”
"I can imagine," she said, wondering how it would feel to go from being insanely strong and invulnerable to needing help to even walk.
He closed his eyes again.
"You're still in pain, aren’t you?" she asked.
"It's mainly the lingering effects from the kryptonite. Achiness mostly. It can last for a bit depending on the length of exposure. I know that much."
“Can I get you anything to help?” she asked.
“A blanket, please,” he said. “It’s strange to be cold.”
“Anything else? Would you like me to bring you some pain medication? Are you dizzy? Or I could make a cold compress for your shoulder. The cold could help dull the pain there?” she suggested, standing up. “Although you just said you're cold. Sorry. How is the pain?”
She suddenly stopped, realizing she was rambling.
“Hm, I don’t think medicine will really help me, but maybe some tea? Oolong? That has helped with the dizziness and the strange stomach feeling before,” he said.
She frowned. "Stomach feeling?"
"It's an odd pain. It's almost like . . . I feel silly for even saying it, but it's almost as if my stomach was beat up and spun around?"
"I think you're describing nausea," she said, once again faced with the fact much of this was a new experience for him. He didn't even know how to label how he felt. All of this was so foreign to him.
"Oh. Well, that's much easier to say than 'strange stomach feeling'," he said.
She smiled. “Okay. I’ll bring you a blanket, and then fix you some tea. I know Clark has some.”
"Thanks," he said.
She hurried off and returned a moment later, quickly but gently draping the blanket she had found over him before dashing off to the kitchen.
As she waited for the water to boil, her thoughts wandered until they for some reason settled on paper cuts. A certain paper cut to be exact. She smiled to herself as she recalled Clark’s baffled look when she had told him to suck on his finger, and she couldn’t help but wonder what Superman had done after he had cut himself. Had he looked as silly as Clark?
It was so strange that Clark had apparently never gotten a paper cut before. What kind of person can’t recall ever getting a paper cut?
Her brain suddenly stalled.
Wait, what?Everyone gets paper cuts.
She had gotten paper cuts for as long as she could remember. Many times in high school, middle school, heck, even elementary school!
And then she realized.
It wasn’t possible.
Unless. . . .
Robotically, she poured the now-steaming water from the kettle into a mug with a teabag to steep as she pulled at her memory as hard as she could of that day.
It had been when they had been in Smallville, when they had been investigating Trask. . . .
Her eyes widened.
He must have been exposed to. . . .
What on earth was she even thinking? It would mean . . . .
But it would make sense. It would make so much sense.
But then it didn’t make sense at all.
How could he be. . . ?
She felt dizzy and sat down.
There was no way. Just no way.
She had had a very long traumatic day – that technically wasn't even over yet. She wasn't thinking clearly. There had to be something she was missing. Had to be another explanation.
How could Superman be . . . Clark?
She took a deep breath, bobbing the teabag up and down in the mug as she tried to keep herself from hyperventilating.
It made so much sense, and as hard as she was trying to convince herself that it couldn't be true - it just couldn't be! - the more she realized. . . .
She closed her eyes as the past few months replayed in her mind like snapshots on a reel.
She had been such an IDIOT.
Of course, Clark had been dumb too, but–
She gasped.
Clark had been shot!
Clark had almost been killed today!
What if she had failed to get that bullet out in time?
She would have lost Clark.
Lost her best friend.
Lost the one person who she. . . .
She suddenly needed to see him.
She picked up the hot mug, wincing as she quickly repositioned her fingers because of how hot the ceramic was, its steaming contents splashing over the rim slightly.
She didn’t care.
She dashed out of the kitchen, heaving a sigh of relief when she saw him still on the couch, whole and breathing.
"Lois?" he asked, opening his eyes in concern, hearing her rushed entrance. "What's wrong?"
She knew she was being silly, but she just couldn't help it. She slowed her approach, forcing herself to collect herself as she brought his tea over.
"Nothing, I just–" She hesitated.
What could she say?
I just . . . found I've been more of a moron than I already knew.
. . . Discovered your secret.
. . . Realized what I could have lost.
. . . Reconfirmed what I have known for a while — I love you.Slowly, he moved to sit up when it became clear she wasn't going to complete her sentence. She hurried forward and put the mug on the coffee table so she could help him.
"Here," she said, stabilizing him as he came upright and eased his back against the back of the couch.
She carefully sat down beside him, to his right, and helped rearrange the blanket around him.
"Thanks," he said, before she picked up the mug and brought its handle to his right hand since his left arm was braced against his chest.
Her eyes shot to the circular scab surrounded by brown and yellow bruising. Her eyes widened. It had been blue and purple less than fifteen minutes ago!
"Is it looking better?" he asked as he took the mug.
"Yeah, much better," she said in wonder.
He released a breath and brought the mug to his lips without even blowing the steam away.
Abruptly, he hissed in pain and immediately pulled the mug back.
"Hot!" he gasped, surprised.
"Are you okay?" she asked, taken aback as she reclaimed the mug.
"Yeah, I . . . suppose I need to be more careful," he said, bewildered and moving his tongue gently over his upper lip.
"Sorry. I should have warned you. I guess you normally don't need to worry about burning yourself," she said, amazed.
"No, I don't," he said.
She stared at him, still digesting the earth-shattering revelation she had stumbled upon in the kitchen as she was once again faced with the brutal reality of what could have occurred in Luthor’s penthouse.
Superman was vulnerable. Superman was Clark. Clark had been shot. . . .
“What?” he asked, now a bit self-conscious.
His eyes took on the classic worried-Clark-glint, his eyebrows raising the way they always did when he was trying to keep up with her on stories or figure out how to dissuade her from doing something reckless.
She pursed her lips, so utterly overwhelmed by everything. She suddenly found herself blinking away tears. Again.
“Lois? What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed. “I’m okay, I’m going to be okay. I promise. The kryptonite will wear off, and I’m actually recovering faster than I thought I would. Even the nauseous feeling is almost gone now. It’s okay.”
She wiped her eyes and tried to reign in her stubbornly turbulent emotions. She took in a shaky breath, struggling to decide what to do.
But then he hugged her.
He wrapped his right arm around her before his left came up, despite his injury, and came to rest on her back.
She was afraid she would hurt him, so she didn’t move at first, but his steady breathing and firm hold of her made her relax.
He was undoubtedly Clark.
“Today was a rough day,” he stated after a moment.
She smiled at the vast understatement, biting back the resulting giggle because she didn’t want to jostle him.
“Super rough,” she replied.
He chuckled at that and she gently pulled away when he flinched.
“Ow,” he said, though he continued to softly laugh. “I didn’t know laughing could hurt.”
She smiled tenderly at him.
“You look just as baffled as you did when I told you to put your paper cut in your mouth.”
His quiet, broken laughter halted instantly, and he stared at her for a long moment.
“You–?” he breathed.
“I figured it out in the kitchen. When I was making your tea,” she confessed. “I thought back to that day. That was the first time you were ever exposed to kryptonite, wasn’t it?”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m, uh . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything,” she said, gently taking his hand. “At least not until you’re back to your normal.”
He smiled and slowly relaxed. “Okay.”
She gave him a pleased nod, already thinking about her future questions.
“I have pen and paper on the desk in my room if you want to begin making a list of questions. Just be careful,” he warned. “Paper cuts hurt.”
~The End~
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