Story TOCChapter 5The frosted glass door to the bedroom fell shut behind her before Clark had even touched the box on the coffee table. He tried not to listen, to give her her privacy, but he didn’t need his super hearing to know her dinner was coming back up the wrong way.
He was on his feet in an instant, but...should he go in there? ...hold her hair? Was she okay?
Clark stood there, frozen with indecision. He didn’t know where any of the boundaries were—this was all so new. He without a doubt wanted to be in there holding her hair and rubbing her back and making sure she was okay. And Best Friend Lois might have even welcomed that, though she may have protested a little at her modesty or not subjecting him to the sight of her stomach contents.
But Almost-Dating Lois? He wasn’t sure. All night, she had vacillated between the nervous energy of a cricket, and a tender, affectionate, more vulnerable energy he couldn’t yet name. He wasn’t sure if her nervousness was due to the threat from Luthor, or the precipice upon which their relationship was currently perched, but his urge to care for her had never felt more pronounced.
Luthor. The uneasy panic he felt in his chest all day had been quelled somewhat by Lois’ adorable, nervous babbling and the heady feelings he was having on this electrically charged stakeout. But being trapped on a boat with Lois when he could have been out hunting down Luthor was eating away at him. Especially after he’d heard Nigel and Bender talking.
He had hoped that once she went to sleep, he could leave briefly to patrol, more secure in the fact that she wasn’t sleeping at her apartment. But if she was sick...he couldn’t leave her.
Before he could think much more on it, the door to the bedroom opened again, and a slightly flushed-looking Lois emerged. She grimaced, giving him an apologetic look as she ran her hand through her hair, her other arm wrapped loosely around her midsection.
“Hey,” he said softly, making his way toward her. “Are you okay?”
She gave him a rueful smile. “I should have known better than to order Chinese food from a place called Ralph's Pagoda.”
“Oh no,” he said as he put his hand on her lower back to help guide her to the couch. “Here, you should lie down—there’s enough room for you across the one cushion.”
“Where are you going to sit?” she protested.
“I’ll be fine.” He urged her gently so that she was resting on her side on top of the cushion, her legs bent and tucked a little. “Here,” he said, crouching down next to her and taking one of the throw pillows to place under her head. The silkiness of her hair whispered against his palm as he drew his hand away.
“Thanks, Clark.” She let out a sigh and a light groan. “Some first date, huh?”
“It’s okay,” he assured her. The last thing he was worried about right now was their date. He moved his hand to rest lightly on her stomach, rubbing it gently.
“I don't feel good,” she said, her eyes a bit tired and weary now as she looked up at him. Then she averted her gaze for a moment. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He continued to move his hand in slow, soothing circles on her abdomen. “It happens.”
Her brow wrinkled as her eyes found his again. “But you were trying to dazzle me and I nearly threw up on you.”
“Nah, you made it in plenty of time.” He nodded his head in the direction of the bedroom door. “Plus, I fully expect you to give me another chance to dazzle you.” His tone was teasing, but he hoped he’d have a million more chances to dazzle her for the rest of their lives.
That got him a smile and a weak laugh. “Deal,” she said.
Then another light groan escaped her, and his heart squeezed.
“Maybe you should go turn in,” he told her. “You can sleep in the bedroom.”
Her brown doe eyes looked over to the bedroom door and then up at him pitifully. “Ohhh, I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom.”
The tender feeling tugged at him again. “Here, c’mon,” he murmured as he scooped her up into his arms and straightened to standing, her arms automatically circling around his neck.
Her voice was faint, her face buried in the crook of his neck and her lips brushing against his skin as she spoke. “Oh...Clark...”
Even as she gave a feeble protest, he felt her tuck into his chest. He sucked in a breath. Her head was nuzzled into his neck; this was more intimately than he’d ever held her as Superman. As he walked them over to the bedroom, he reveled in the feel of her snuggled so closely in his arms even as he lightly admonished himself for enjoying the feeling under these circumstances.
When he reached the open door, he set her down gently, and her hands slid down from around his neck only to linger on his chest and stomach. “Here you go, door to door service,” he said, his voice soft.
She hummed and smiled at him weakly as she leaned herself against the doorframe. Clark found himself getting lost in her eyes, not daring to move so as not to break whatever this spell was that they were under—her hands on his abdomen, moving ever so slightly against the material of his shirt, and her eyes like dark pools, regarding him with some sort of awe.
There was affection there, a fondness he hadn't seen before, and he yearned to kiss her right there in that moment, but she was sick, so instead, he brought a hand up to cup her face. She tipped her head, leaning against his palm as his thumb brushed her cheek. He could feel the slight damp and the flush of her skin, and his heart ached again, wishing he could take all the pain and discomfort from her.
“If you need anything during the night...just call,” he said, his voice low and a bit rough with emotion. “I’ll be right out here.” He let his thumb trace once more against her skin before he dropped his hand slowly back down to his side.
She nodded, still staring into his eyes as though she were loath to look away. “Well...” she trailed off, wrapping her arms around her midsection.
“Well...” he echoed. And the silence stretched between them again for a moment. “Good night, Lois.”
“Don’t go...” she murmured, so softly he had to use a bit of super hearing to hear her.
“Don’t go?”
“Stay,” she said a bit louder, her eyes almost pleading.
He wanted to. Desperately. To make sure he could do anything and everything to keep her comfortable throughout the night. But that eliminated any possibility for a patrol, and it didn’t seem like a good idea, it being their almost-first date. Did it?
“Lois...”
“The sofa’s all wet, Clark. You won't be able to sleep comfortably.”
“It’s fine—I’ll need to stay up to keep an eye on Bender anyway,” he said, gesturing toward the window. He really did want to go scan for Luthor.
“The recorder will alert us if it starts to capture anything.”
“You need rest. You can't do that wit—”
“I need my best friend,” she said quietly, but with conviction.
He nodded instantly, and his hand came up to cup her cheek again for a brief moment. “Of course, Lois.” He was never any good at telling her no.
Her smile looked relieved but weary, and he hoped she really would be able to get some rest even with him so close by.
Clark lifted his head slightly, nodding at the room behind her to indicate they should go ahead and get her settled. As she turned to enter the bedroom, his hand found the small of her back, and he followed her the short distance to the side of the bed.
Out of protests and still looking drained, Lois was quiet as he helped her into bed. He pulled back the covers, then took her shoes off slowly one by one, setting them at the foot of the bed where they wouldn’t be tripped over in the night.
After adjusting the bedding around her, propping her up a little with the majority of the few available pillows, and grabbing the desk chair from the corner of the room, he sat at the side of the bed and reached for Lois’ hand. “Are you warm enough?”
She nodded. “Thanks, Clark.”
“You’re welcome,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “How’s your stomach feeling?”
“Not fantastic, honestly.” She frowned. She looked worse than she had a few minutes before on the sofa; her lips had gone pale and her eyes were only half open.
His other hand came up to rest on her belly again, rubbing gently in hopes of making the feeling disappear. “I guess it must be food poisoning?”
“Seems so,” she agreed. “I’m just glad you didn’t get sick too.”
A twinge of guilt hit him. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not like it’s your fault, Clark. If anyone’s to blame, it’s the schmuck who picked Ralph's Pagoda,” she said, managing a wry smile at her own expense.
“Well, it’s not like there were a lot of options around the marina. I guess it just doesn’t seem fair that you’re sick
and being hunted by a delusional killer at the same time.”
She cast him a wry smile. “While working an emergency stakeout on what was supposed to be our first date? It feels like par for the course, honestly. I’m surprised this place isn’t booby trapped or secretly hiding a bomb. I’m not sure why you want to get involved with me, Clark. I’m a walking disaster.”
“Lois. You are not a walking disaster. Granted, you get into more sticky situations than the average reporter, but that’s also what makes you the best reporter in Metropolis. And...I’m already involved with you, Lois. Us going on a date doesn’t change that.”
She looked at him, suddenly shy. “It doesn’t?”
“No, Lois. You’re my best friend. I care about you. And I know I’ve been a bit...on edge today. Luthor really scares me, especially when it comes to you. I know what he’s capable of, and I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you. So yes, Lois, I’m already very involved.”
He heard her heartbeat quicken, and his own heart swelled at her reaction. A part of him wondered if it was cheating to know these things that most people wouldn't hear—the hitch of her breath and those times when the sound of her heart fluttering just that much faster filled his ears after a fleeting touch or heartfelt words. He shouldn’t know, but he was grateful to have these acknowledgements that her feelings were more than she let on.
“Hey,” she said, squeezing his hand, that look of affection and tenderness back in her eyes as she watched him carefully. She turned her head slightly before bringing her gaze back to his, her smile full of warmth. “I’m glad we’re...involved. And I’m glad that I always have you to watch out for me.”
“Always,” he whispered before he could stop himself.
“Well, let’s hope I'm not
always sick,” she quipped, giving him another wry smile.
Clark grinned widely at her. And he was about to follow up with some witty comment, but she suddenly wrested her hand out of his and shouted at him to move—which he did, quickly—as she scrambled to get out of the bed.
One hand covered her mouth and the other was palm out, facing him, as if she was telling him not to follow. And he stared for half a second as he processed everything and watched her run for the toilet. Then, in an instant, just as her knees were hitting the floor, he was there by her side and gathering her hair up away from her face.
He knelt beside her, holding her hair and rubbing her back as she retched. His heart ached to see her suffering, and he wished again that he could take it on instead of her.
After torturously long minutes, she seemed spent and relaxed a bit, sitting back on her heels. He handed her some tissues to wipe her mouth with, and had another tissue at the ready so he could dab at her tear-streaked cheeks.
“Are you ready to get back to bed?” he asked.
She nodded weakly. “But I think I want to brush my teeth first.”
Before she could even try to stand on her own, he was on his feet and helping her up. He stayed while she brushed her teeth—she didn’t look at risk of collapsing, but all the same, he was glad for the excuse of close quarters in the bathroom to be right next to her just in case.
When she was finished, she gave him a hesitant smile and turned back toward the bedroom. She climbed into bed and pulled the covers up over herself again, shaking off a small shudder as she laid down.
“Thanks for taking care of me, Clark,” she said, her hand coming to rest on his forearm.
She was searching his face, and he hoped desperately she found whatever she was looking for. He let his hand drop slowly from her face and moved it to her stomach again, adding just the slightest hint of pressure as he rubbed it.
He tried not to feel the surge of warmth or the tingling where her hand still rested on his forearm—now, when she was feeling sick, was not the time nor place for kissing or his overactive imagination. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I love...that you let me take care of you.”
And then, he was struck by the strong desire to hug her, kiss her, ask her to spend the rest of her life with him—which is why he also had a sudden and desperate need for some fresh air.
He stood quickly, but then bent over to give her an excruciatingly tender kiss on her forehead because he couldn’t quite help himself. “You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll go check on the equipment and make sure Bender isn’t up to anything right now.”
She nodded, her eyelids getting heavy, though the shine of strong affection still remained in her eyes.
When he was safely outside the bedroom with the door shut behind him, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had the urge to clean the place at super speed and return to Lois as quickly as possible—his heart already scolding him for leaving her side for even a second when she said she
wanted him to take care of her—but he needed the distance. At least momentarily.
So, at a normal speed, he cleaned up the remains of dinner, setting the trash bag by the door to take out later, and he made sure the floor was free of evidence of all the champagne they’d managed to spill between the two of them. He took a moment to check on Bender—who was watching a cheap-looking movie that Clark didn’t linger on long enough to find out if it was indeed the type of movie he feared it was. Clark made doubly sure the recorder was set to the lowest possible volume shy of silence on their end but still set to record.
It was rare for Lois to admit or show weakness to anyone, and right here in this moment, it hit him just how many times she’d been vulnerable, unguarded with him—even that very first week he’d met her, when she’d confessed to breaking all of her rules. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before, especially all those times he’d felt lonely and adrift, aching to know if she would ever care about him the same way he cared about her, loved her.
She’d shown him, time and again that she trusted him, trusted him enough to let her see her vulnerable side, the side of Lois Lane he was sure very few people had seen. And now...now that he’d finally had the courage to ask her out and she’d said yes...she was showing him yet another part of herself, one he knew she’d kept heavily guarded for much longer than he’d known her.
Coming back in from taking out the trash, he headed straight for the bedroom. When he entered the room and didn't see her in the bed, he cursed himself for taking longer than he needed to to get back to her. He pivoted to head for the bathroom and his heart jumped in his throat when he saw her lying sprawled out on the floor.
In a flash, he was kneeling by her side. “Lois! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Clark,” she said normally, though a bit sleepily, her face half-flattened against the tile.
“Did you get sick again?”
“No.” She frowned. “It felt like I had to, but there’s nothing left in my stomach.”
“Then why are you on the floor?”
She attempted a shrug from her prone position. “Suddenly, lying down on the tile seemed like a really good idea. In fact, I think I’ll just sleep here,” she said through her half-smushed face. She smoothed a hand over the tiles. “It’s so cool. It actually feels really nice.”
“The floor?” he asked, incredulous.
“Not just any floor, Clark. The cold tile floor. It’s the best place to sleep.” She looked up at him. “I thought you said you went to college.”
“Lois, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.” He scooped her up, her arms sliding up around his neck as he cradled her body against his own for the second time tonight. "I'll get you a cool washcloth. How about that?"
“That sounds nice,” she said into his neck as she seemed to snuggle impossibly closer to him, the minty scent of his own mouthwash she must have used wafting up to his nose. “I'm lucky you're so strong, with all this carrying. Gonna give Superman a run for his money.”
His heart stuttered and he did his best not to flinch. Instead, he chuckled lightly, if a bit nervously, as he set her down on the bed again. He pulled back the comforter and just covered her with the sheet this time, mindful of her overzealous need to be cool right now.
Then, after going back to the bathroom for the promised cool washcloth, he was sitting on the edge of the bed next to her again. With a careful hand, he dabbed the damp, rolled-up cloth over her forehead, her cheek, and then down the graceful slope of her neck before starting again on the other side of her face.
“Mmm, Clark, that feels good,” she said, her eyes closed, with a tone that he was trying hard to remind himself could not have been intentionally sultry and seductive.
The woman was sick, and his traitorous libido was busy doling out shamelessly unhelpful suggestions. He took a deep breath to calm and center himself. This was about taking care of Lois while she wasn’t feeling well, nothing else. Besides, even if they’d still been in dating territory, it was only their almost-first date.
The sharp bang of an explosion filled his ears, and Lois shot up from her pillow with a startled scream. Almost instantly Clark’s broad hands were on her shoulders, holding her with gentle firmness.
“Oh my god. What was that?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
“Fireworks. Just fireworks, Lois. They’re a common occurrence around the marina at night.” He knew this because he flew over them nearly every night.
She was shaking. “Clark,” she murmured simply, her voice trembling. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. “I thought it was gunshots...a bomb.”
“Shhh, no. It’s okay, Lois. It’s okay. You’re safe.” The words tumbled out, his adrenaline pulsing now too, and it seemed like Lois’ fear finally more closely matched his own. She was more nervous than she'd been letting on, and part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it’d been typical Lane-bravado or somehow an attempt to temper his own fears. Either way, the protectiveness in him surged to new levels.
She nodded, then ducked her head into his chest, whimpering in relief as he enveloped her in his arms. “You’re safe,” he repeated, rubbing her back.
He held her like this for a long while, until he heard her heart lull itself into a calm rhythm and he gently laid her back on the pillow. He got up to return the washcloth to the bathroom, and back at the bedside, he placed a glass of water for her on the nightstand and sat down. Her eyes fluttered back open and she outstretched her arm to him.
He reached for her hand to hold and brushed his thumb over the back of it, enjoying the fact that she welcomed his care and affection, that this touch was somehow more intimate than anything before tonight.
“You should get some sleep,” he told her softly. “I can go check on Bender again, keep an eye on the equipment, if you’re all right here.”
“Don’t go...”
He wasn’t sure what to say. She’d asked him again not to leave, and his mind warred all the possible meanings and all the reasons not to stay. But the fact of the matter was that she was feeling vulnerable, and she needed him. There was only one answer he could give.
“Of course,” he rasped, his heart surging and aching all at once—filled with the indescribable feeling of being needed by her, but also wishing she didn’t have cause for feeling this way.
He reached to dim the lamp on the bedside table and then sat back, settling in the chair and all the while still holding her hand.
“Clark, you can’t possibly sit in that chair all night.”
“I’ll be fine, promise. I’m sure I can manage to catch a few hours of sleep on the couch or something.”
“It’s a big bed...we could share...” she suggested, the certainty in her voice surprising him—zero trace of teasing.
He was reeling with all kinds of thoughts and feelings—every part of him agreeing instantly with her assessment, except for the part of him that needed desperately to be a gentleman. “It’s smaller than the one in the honeymoon suite was.”
“It’s big enough, Clark,” she said. “It’s okay. I trust you. I don’t want you sleeping on the wet couch. And I really would rather have you here, with me.”
He realized he was finding it a little hard to breathe; tonight she was rendering him fully vulnerable with her words, her touch. Especially as she scooted over towards the wall side of the bed, making room for him to climb in next to her.
It was an invitation he couldn't refuse.
“Actually, I should probably sleep against the wall,” he said. “I mean, hopefully you won’t be sick anymore, but just in case, you know?”
She smiled softly at him. “That makes sense.”
He went to the foot of the bed and toed off his shoes, setting them next to hers, and he climbed in somewhat awkwardly to lie between Lois and the wall. He laid on his back stiffly, staring at the ceiling, pulling the covers up over them both.
“Goodnight, Lois. If you need anything, just wake me.”
She turned to face him, and smiled weakly in the dark. “I know.”
She drifted off to sleep, quickly, finally, and sleep found Clark too, once he focused on nothing but the rhythmic sound of her breath, and her heart.
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