From part 31:
Clark gave her a half smile. “At least we know the tests will stop.”
“Yeah. That’s what I was going to say, but…” She hesitated. “Well, he deserved the jail time, but I would never…” She stopped again.
“But you would never have wished him dead? I know that, Lois. I remember Princess Elizabeth’s story.” He grinned at her. “You – we – don’t kill the dragons. We jes’…”
She began to laugh. “Yeah.”---
The Girl Next Door, part 32:
By mid-morning, they had worked through the rest of the information Jimmy had provided so far.
Lois tossed the last of her documents onto the discard pile. “Well, I’ve got exactly nothing, Clark. How about you?”
He shook his head. “Nothing here, either.”
Lois pushed her chair back from the table. “I’m more sure than ever that our original theory is correct, Clark. There are no connections, no hidden scandals or plots, no revenge, and no business dealings - nothing that indicates why each of these incidents happened. Nothing that either explains each of them on their own, or links them all together.”
He nodded. “The only thing left to verify is the mechanics’ findings. Do you want to go out there now?”
“Sure.” She stood up. “We might as well, and then we can get lunch on the way back.” She sighed. “I think we’re going to hear that it was sabotage, Clark.”
He grimaced. “I think you’re right.”
They gathered up all the documents and dumped them unceremoniously on Lois’s desk. “There’s nothing confidential here, Clark, so we don’t need to file it right now,” she reminded him.
So together, they headed for the ramp, and they were slightly more than halfway up it when they both heard sirens.
Without pausing, Lois grabbed Clark’s hand, tugging him up the remainder of the ramp and through the stairwell door. As it closed behind them, they both slowed to listen.
“Do you hear it?” Clark asked. A police radio was broadcasting a bulletin about a bank robbery in progress.
“Yes – bank robbery.” She zipped up the stairs, knowing he was right behind her.
On the roof, she hesitated. Lois Lane couldn’t coincidentally be at every criminal event in the city; maybe she’d better not go with him this time. Besides, the faster they got information about that plane from the mechanics, the faster they could hopefully figure out what was going on, and stop it – or at least, solve it, assuming Luthor’s death put an end to the tests. “Clark, you go – and be careful, okay? It may be another test. I’ll go out to the airport and see what I can find out.”
“Okay –“ He spun into the suit. “But you be careful, too. Meet you back here?”
The spin thingy he did was still just as impressive as the first time she’d seen it. She was nowhere near as smooth with her own costume change, but Clark had reassured her that with practice, it would go effortlessly and flawlessly. “Yes.”
He was gone instantly.
Now… about the airport. She looked at the sky. Should she take a cab? Or should she test out the new disguise? Of course, she’d only practiced changing into it a few times out at the farm, and she hadn’t decided yet how – or if - to wear it under her clothes the way Clark did with his.
There were some logistics to the whole thing that she and Clark needed to really sit down and talk about. Wearing the suit under clothing, for instance. That was fine in the winter – she’d have to wear slacks instead of a skirt, of course – but what did they do in the warmer months? Clark could get by with wearing it under his suit, although he often had his jacket off and his shirt sleeves rolled up – but what about her? It would look odd if she wore long sleeves in the summer.
And if she didn’t wear the suit under her clothes, where - and how - would she stash her suit? She’d thought about that briefly in Smallville but had then forgotten about it until this morning, when she’d had to decide whether to wear the suit or not.
She’d left it – both of them, actually - still hanging in the back of her closet.
This sort of indecision wasn’t like her. Usually, she assessed a situation, made a quick decision, and went with it. But this was a scary new step for her, not unlike learning one of her powers for the first time. Somehow, she had to find a way to be comfortable with all this.
So it was probably best to wait, and show up in disguise for the first time at some emergency. Bide her time, more or less. Like Clark had done with the space shuttle. It was the exact same decision she’d already reached this morning, which was why both suits still hung in the back of her closet.
Besides, she didn’t want this new persona – they had tentatively decided she would call herself ‘Kinetic’ - to be linked to Superman any more than necessary; showing up in full disguise at the airport and asking about the plane would certainly cement in at least some people’s minds that Superman and this new superhero – superheroine? – were working together.
Still… the thought of a cab didn’t hold any appeal. There was no comparison to the beckoning sky.
Okay… So she’d fly. But she’d save the disguise for later – and she really needed to speak to Clark about how he managed the whole suit and clothes thing.
---
When she returned to the planet, she saw immediately that Clark wasn’t back yet.
She’d been relieved to find that that the mechanics who’d been there the day of the near-crash were on duty – that they might not be had occurred to her on the way to the airport. They had steered her to an Air Safety Investigator for the National Transportation Safety Board, who had finally had told her that the plane had, in fact, been sabotaged. The actual, technical description of what had happened was best left to the NTSB – but what *had* happened had been confirmed as sabotage.
It was what she’d expected to hear, but having it confirmed officially had somehow made the whole situation seem more… dire. She and Clark had suspected, *expected*, that the plane had been sabotaged. They had also suspected that it was the first of the Superman tests. But there must have been a tiny little hope that it was unrelated left somewhere inside her, because having their suspicions confirmed only increased her unease about the whole thing. Maybe it was the idea of the callous disregard for the lives of the people on that plane that was so upsetting.
Anxious to get what the NTSB investigator had told her written down in more detail than that which her rough field notes provided, she signed on to her computer and pulled up the proper file, and got to work.
She was citing her sources at the end of the document when she abruptly felt a flash of… something. A fleeting touch - not so much an actual thought as just a sort of *feeling* of Clark. But it was… It felt somehow… *odd*. The fleeting whisper of… *Clark* didn’t feel exactly… right.
Worried, she looked up through the floors of the Daily Planet building above her to the roof. If she was somehow… sensing him, he must be returning. But there was something… off about it. At least, she thought there was. The fleeting feeling was gone now. Maybe she was just… subconsciously hearing his heartbeat farther away than she usually sensed it, or something.
He wasn’t on the roof. She looked through the stairwell door, but still didn’t see him. Maybe she’d just imagined the whole thing, borne out of her unease over learning the plane had, indeed, been sabotaged and her desire to see Clark.
With a sigh, she went back to work.
She’d typed part of a sentence when she heard the hum of the elevator as it moved upward from the lobby. And she knew, somehow – didn’t she? – that it was Clark.
She was sure it was Clark.
Well, maybe it was Clark. Maybe she was still obsessing on the whole ‘sensing Clark’ thing, and suddenly hearing the elevator because her subconscious mind was *wanting* it to be Clark. And maybe, if he was coming up from the lobby, that was why the brief touch of him that she knew she’d felt – thought she’d felt – seemed off, somehow.
And maybe she was just losing her mind. Huffing impatiently, she refocused on the document on her computer screen. Time to concentrate on her work and ignore the office around her.
Nevertheless, she was watching the elevator door before she heard the ding that signaled the elevator’s arrival. Unconsciously, she held her breath as the door opened… and Clark exited. She exhaled in relief –
But he wasn’t the Clark she was expecting. Her Clark strode confidently, head up, smiling at those around him. This Clark stumbled out of the elevator, apparently barely able to stay on his feet.
She stared, dumbfounded.
He looked… ill.
She stood in alarm as he staggered partway down the ramp, stopped, and grabbed for the rail. As she moved swiftly toward him, only just remembering to check her speed and stay within normal limits, he swayed there, eyes closed.
“Clark?” she said urgently, reaching his side.
“Lois…” He sounded horrible. “I…”
“Clark?” She said again, alarmed. He looked ill, but he shouldn’t *be* ill. They – she and Clark - didn’t *get* ill.
She couldn’t leave him standing here, looking like he would collapse at any moment. She took his arm, placing it over her shoulder. “Here, Clark, lean on me. Let’s get you sitting down.” When he staggered again, she wrapped one arm around his waist, and they moved slowly down the ramp.
She parked him in the first chair she came to, unsure he could make it all the way to their desks. Leaning over him, she put one hand on his forehead. She didn’t know what the gesture was supposed to tell you about the sick person, but she’d seen it done countless times. His forehead felt cool and clammy.
“Clark, are you all right?” She knew it was a stupid question the moment she uttered it. Of course he wasn’t all right. “What happened?” she whispered.
He tipped his head back against the chair back wearily. “I don’t… Lois, I feel…” He shut his eyes again and gestured vaguely at his midsection. “My stomach… I think it hurts. And it’s hard to see… I think I have a headache…”
“Sounds like you’ve got the flu, CK,” said Jimmy, walking past them. “You probably oughta just go home.”
Clark opened his eyes. “I think maybe I’d better…” he said softly, looking up at Lois as she smoothed his hair gently.
“Okay,” she said, heart racing in fear. She glanced around. Several people were beginning to look their way, and Perry was crossing the newsroom toward them.
Straightening, she began, “Perry –“
“Son, you don’t look too good,” Perry interrupted as he approached them.
Clark shook his head weakly.
“Perry, I think I’d better take him home,” she said anxiously.
“We think he’s got the flu, Chief,” Jimmy chimed in.
Perry nodded. “I think you’re right, Jimmy.” He looked at Lois. “Can you manage on your own, Lois? He looks pretty ill.”
She knew she could hold Clark up, even if she didn’t look strong enough. She just wanted to get him out of there and find out what had happened.
“He walked okay with my support, Perry,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ll take him home, okay? And get him some…” What did you do for sick people, anyway? Medicines – and… and chicken soup. “Um, I’ll get him some chicken soup,” she continued, “and stop by the drugstore… You know…” Yikes, she was beginning to babble again.
But Perry was nodding. “Okay, Lois. Call me later and let me know how he’s doing.” Turning to Clark, he said, “Get some rest, son.”
“Yes, sir,” Clark said wearily, and she took that as her cue to haul him to his feet, taking care to make it look like she was merely assisting him instead of lifting him.
“Come on, Clark. Let’s get you home,” she said, and steered him carefully toward the ramp.
Slowly, they made their way up the ramp and into the elevator. The ride down to the parking level seemed to take forever. She guided him carefully to her car, where he sank into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief.
“Clark, what happened?” she asked urgently as soon as they were closed safely in the car. “What did this to you?”
He had his head tipped against the glass, eyes closed. Without opening them, he mumbled, “Don’t know, Lois…” For a moment, she thought he’d fallen asleep, but then he added, in a slurred voice, “…Just need to rest…”
She forced down the rising panic. She was Lois Lane. Mad Dog Lane. She could cope with this.
She’d always coped.
Always.
She leaned across him and carefully fastened his seat belt. He seemed to be sleeping. She started the car and headed for Clark’s place at a speed just slightly under warp.
---
She had to wake him up when they arrived at his apartment. She could carry him if she needed to, of course – at least, she thought she probably could. They had discussed the possibility that while both of them were super powered compared to humans, he might be stronger or faster than her merely because he was male, and males usually were larger and more powerful than females. And Clark certainly was bigger than her, so he might be stronger than her. Of course, she had yet to find something she couldn’t lift. But anyway…
Good heavens. She was so distressed she was even babbling in her thoughts. Thinking-babbling. Thabbling?
She shook her head.
“You’re losing it, Lois,” she muttered out loud, unbuckling his seat belt.
“Mmmm?” Clark groaned, and she hastened to reassure him. “It’s okay, Clark. We’re at your place. Let’s get you inside so you can lie down.”
She got out of her car and came around to the passenger side, carefully opening his door since he was still leaning against it. He tumbled against her, and she found she was supporting his full weight.
Okay. So the answer to the burning question of whether she could carry him or not was ‘yes.’
It was awkward, though, since she couldn’t just pick him up in her arms there on the street. She had to make it look like she was merely supporting him, which meant they had to move side by side with his arm draped over her shoulders. And she’d have to move him like this until they were safely inside his apartment. They were very unlikely to meet anyone once they got to the roof, but she couldn’t take the chance that they might encounter Clark’s landlord.
Slowly, they made it into his building, into the converted freight elevator and up to the roof. From there, it was only a short distance to his front door.
“C’mon, Clark,” she said now. “Just a little bit farther…”
He groaned again, but he seemed to be a little more awake, and to have his feet under him somewhat. At his door, though, she realized that she’d absentmindedly dropped her keys – including the one he’d given her to his place – into her purse, which was slung over her shoulder. With her arms full of Clark, she couldn’t maneuver very well to get at the keys, though. And he didn’t seem to be able to stand on his own.
Maybe she could use his.
“Clark?” He muttered something and turned more fully toward her, dropping his head on her shoulder, and she tried again, joggling him gently a little in her arms as he leaned against her. “Clark? House key?”
“Pocket…” he mumbled.
Pocket. Okay. That would be pants pocket. Probably his right pocket, since he was right-handed. But with Clark barely conscious, wouldn’t… groping around in his pockets be sort of an imposition?
<C’mon, Lois,> she chided herself. <You’re not taking advantage of him; you’re just helping him. This isn’t that kind of intimacy.>
And it wasn’t.
While they had had some fairly intense kissing sessions, they hadn’t crossed the line to complete intimacy yet. But somehow, getting his key out of his pants pocket didn’t seem excessively intimate, even though she could feel the heat of his body and the firmness of his hip and thigh under her hand.
Maybe it was all in the context. This wasn’t a sexually charged situation; Clark needed her because he was ill.
He also seemed to be in pain, and she wanted to get him lying down as soon as possible. Pausing briefly at the base of the three steps down into his living room, she looked toward the bedroom. His couch would probably be okay for now. Once she figured out what was going on, she could move him if necessary. And right now, she wanted him where she could see him at all times, anyway.
He was standing more firmly now, so she continued to just support him as they moved across the room. Slowly and steadily, she got him as far as his couch. He sank down onto it with a groan.
“…’m cold…” he muttered.
“I’ll get you a blanket,” she told him, and straightened up. Then hesitated. Where did he keep extra blankets?
After a moment’s thought, she strode into his bedroom and took the comforter from his bed. Returning to the living room, she guided him to lay flat and tucked it carefully around him, then tucked a couch pillow under his head.
“Clark?” She knelt beside him, her face close to his. He might be sleeping again - although his heartbeat seemed a little fast. Maybe she was imagining that, though. “Clark?” she said again, softly. Unable to resist, she kissed him gently on the cheek.
“Mmm?” he groaned.
“What happened? …When did it start?” She smoothed his hair off his forehead.
He opened his eyes and looked blearily at her. “After the bank robbery.” His voice sounded rusty. After a moment, he added, “I think… maybe another test…”
“What happened, though?” she asked softly. “Can you pinpoint it at all?”
“Don’t know. I was… fine one minute… Then the next…” His breathing seemed a bit uneven. “…felt a wave of… something… just… dizzy. Nauseous, I guess you call it. …Stomach feels… Well, I don’t want to eat anything.” He closed his eyes again.
“*Did* you eat anything? Drink anything?”
“No. No… just… stopped the guys inside the bank…” He trailed off.
“Clark?”
He stirred again, but didn’t open his eyes. “Hmmm? Oh. Uh… waited for… police. Handed the guys over…”
“Did they shoot at you?” She was still smoothing his hair, trailing her fingers gently over his head and curving her hand to stroke lightly down along his cheekbone. He turned his head slightly into her hand, and she stilled, cradling his jaw for a moment.
“No.”
“Hit you with anything? Put anything on you?” Some kind of poison? Some kind of powder or… or… She patted him anxiously. There didn’t seem to be any sort of… residue or anything on his clothes.
“No…” It was a mere whisper; without her enhanced hearing she wouldn’t have heard it. He appeared to doze off again.
She knelt there close to him, fighting panic. What should she do? It was obvious that he was ill. Take him to the hospital? No, that wouldn’t work. But… what if he got worse? She had no idea how to help him. The hospital would be the obvious choice for a normal human…
But he’d never agree to it, and she would have to make sure he was at least partially conscious in order to move him. Regardless of her super abilities, he was bigger than she was. A small woman couldn’t physically carry a full-grown, unconscious male any distance – a normal human woman, anyway. A man leaning heavily on her for support, yes. A six-foot plus, fully unconscious male? No.
And besides, what would she say if they couldn’t start an IV or take blood for tests? He appeared to have lost at least some of his abilities, but what if his skin was still invulnerable, or at least resistant, to needles?
She felt his forehead again. It was still cool and clammy, but Clark seemed to be sleeping. He wasn’t shivering, but she tucked the comforter closer around him. It would hopefully keep him warm enough – it was very thick and soft. Feeling a small, rough spot, she turned the corner of the comforter up, and saw that a small label had been sewn along the edge. It said ‘Handmade with love by Martha.’ Clark’s mom had made him this comforter…
Of course. She sank back onto her heels in relief. Martha!
She could call Martha. Martha would know what to do.
Hurriedly, she rose and went to the phone. Lifting it, she moved as close to Clark as the cord allowed, dialed the number, and waited. “Please be home,” she muttered anxiously.
Martha answered on the second ring. <<Hello?>>
“Martha, it’s Lois –“ She had to stop and gulp back tears.
<<Lois? What’s the matter, honey?>> She could hear the concern in Martha’s voice, and her eyes stung.
“It’s…” A sob shook her. “It’s Clark, Mama. He’s sick. I don’t know what happened…” Despite her best efforts, two tears rolled slowly down her face.
<<Sick? How?>> She could hear the incredulity in Martha’s voice.
“I don’t know. He was… he was at a rescue. Well, at a b-bank robbery. A-and something happened, Mama – Martha. He can’t pinpoint anything, just said he began to feel sick…” She trailed off, trying to compose herself. “If you could see him... He *looks* ill.”
<<What is he doing? Just a minute, honey.>> Martha broke off and speaking away from the phone, shouted <<Jonathan!>>
Just hearing Martha’s voice was helping Lois to calm down. “Right now he seems to be s-sleeping.” Her voice hitched around a sob.
She heard Jonathan’s voice in the background, and then Martha said <<Pick up the extension, Jonathan.>> Then into the phone, <<Lois, sweetie, describe what happened.>> Lois heard a click as Jonathan picked up the phone, and Martha added, <<Clark is sick, Jonathan.>>
<<Sick? How?>> Jonathan’s question was an echo of Martha’s.
“Well, I didn’t see him until he returned to the Planet… He was… was stumbling. He looked really pale…” She knew she sounded disjointed, and made an effort to speak more clearly. “I felt his forehead – I don’t know what good that does, but he was cool and kind of… I don’t know… sweaty…”
<<Clammy.>>
“Yes, I guess…”
<<What happened, Lois?>>
“I don’t really know. I mean, he was a-at –“ Her breath hitched again. “He was at a bank robbery. He came stumbling into the newsroom – I think he must have walked back to the Planet, because he came up in the elevator…”
She knew she probably wasn’t making much sense, but neither of the Kents attempted to stop her for clarification. “He was barely able to stay on his feet. I asked him what happened and he said he didn’t know. He was at the bank robbery and he was fine one minute and then the next, he felt dizzy and nauseous…”
<<It sounds like his invulnerability is gone. What about his other powers?>> That was Jonathan.
“I don’t know, but I think they’re gone, too. He could hardly walk – I pretty much held him up as we left the Planet, and by the time we got home, I was just about carrying him. He was – he fell asleep in the car, and he barely woke up as I got him inside and onto the couch.”
<<Were you able to talk to him at all?>> That was Martha again.
“A little. At the Planet, he told me his stomach hurt, and his head. When we got here, he said he was cold. I covered him up and right now he’s sleeping. Before I called you, I asked him to tell me what happened at the bank robbery. It sounds… from what he said, it was just a normal old bank robbery. He can’t pinpoint anything anyone did to make him sick.” She drew a deep breath. “He did say – he thinks it’s another one of those tests.”
<<Does he have a fever?>>
“Um…” How did you find out if someone had a fever or not?
<<You can take his temperature, Lois.>> Martha was either reading her mind or just had a really, really good idea of how Lois’s mind worked. <<Although I don’t know if Clark has a thermometer. Is he shivering?>>
“No, not right now. He was when we first got here, but I covered him with the comforter from his bed… I have him on the couch, so –“
<<So you can keep a close eye on him. Good idea. Is he sweating? Can you feel any heat coming off him?>>
Lois stretched out her hand and held it near his face. She didn’t feel any unusual heat. She gently touched his forehead, then his cheek. He made a sound that might have been her name and turned his head slightly into her touch, but he didn’t wake up.
<<Lois?>>
“I was checking to see if he was hot,” she said into the phone. “He isn’t, and he’s not sweating, either. I don’t think.”
<<You’d know, honey. His face and hair would be wet. Well, if he does have a fever, it sounds like it’s mild. Let’s see - what else? Did he throw up?>>
“No, but he said his stomach hurt.”
<<Any other intestinal symptoms?>>
“What – Oh, you mean like… Oh. No.”
<<A headache?>>
“Yes. I think. He said he thought that was what it was.”
Jonathan said, <<Sounds almost like the flu, Martha.>>
“That’s what Jimmy said.”
<<How is his breathing, Lois?>>
“Okay – maybe a little fast at first but slower now.” She looked at Clark. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.
<<Okay.>> Martha’s voice strengthened. <<I don’t know what he came into contact with, Lois, but - >> She broke off, then asked, <<How do you feel, honey?>>
“Me? I’m fine.”
<<Good. So it most likely isn’t something on his clothing, or you would probably be affected, too.>>
That hadn’t even occurred to Lois.
<<So you don’t need to worry about stripping him down, washing anything off him,>> Martha was continuing.
“Uh, good…” Lois said faintly. That, also, had not occurred to her.
<<Did he eat or drink anything unusual?>>
“No – I asked him that earlier. He said it was a normal rescue, but at the end he suddenly felt sick.”
<<Hmm. When he’s better, you’ll have to go over every step he took at the rescue. See if you can pinpoint exactly when he began to feel ill, and what exactly he was doing at the time. For now, though, let’s let him sleep, Lois. Do you have to go back to work?>>
“No - at least… No. I told Perry I was going to stay with Clark, in case he got worse.”
<<Okay. Do you want me to come out? Well, you’d have to come and get me at this point…>>
“Um… I don’t know.” Part of her really wanted Martha there, but she’d have to leave Clark to go get her. “Do you think you should come?”
<<Well, there’s not much I could do right now,>> Martha said. <<Besides, you probably don’t want to leave him, do you?>>
Lois gave a half-laugh, half-sob. Martha understood. “No.”
<< Why don’t you call me in a few hours, honey? Let me know how he’s doing. In the meantime, you need to let him sleep; push fluids…>>
“Push fluids?”
<<Offer him plenty to drink. Water is best. You might try a couple of Tylenol,>> she added musingly. <<If his invulnerability is down, he may respond to it.>>
“Okay…”
<<It’s a pain reliever and fever reducer. Standard treatment for flu symptoms.>>
“Oh. Okay.”
<<Try the Tylenol. I know he has some; he keeps that kind of thing on hand for when his father and I are visiting. Look in his bathroom medicine cabinet.>>
“How many?”
<<Two - and a glass of water.>>
“Okay.”
<<And Lois? Try not to worry, honey. Let’s let him rest and see how he does. I know you’re worried; I am, too. But he doesn’t seem to be getting worse, and you know I’ll come out there the minute you need me to.>>
“Okay.” It was barely more than a whisper.
---
It was a long, long night.
Lois was afraid to sleep at first; what if Clark got worse? Fortunately, she didn’t need much sleep, but to keep her mind from going over and over – and over – some of her scariest worst-case scenarios, she needed something to do.
She spent some time researching via the Internet on Clark’s computer.
The Daily Planet provided laptops and Internet access – both at work and at home - to its top reporters. Both she and Clark had had second phone lines installed at the Planet’s expense, and the Daily Planet had provided them with top-of-the-line high-speed modems.
Jimmy Olsen had explained – very enthusiastically and in more detail than Lois had needed to hear – exactly how fast the new 56k modems were. Lois would have been happy with the simple explanation that it was twice as fast as the modems they had been using. And in practical terms, the improved speed was amazing.
Jimmy had also set them up with the newest, premier Internet browser and the current best search engine. It wasn’t as good as using Jimmy himself for research, of course, but it worked pretty well for any research they did outside of the newsroom.
A search for Clark’s symptoms brought back lots of medical information sites, many of which listed infectious agents as the cause for the illness in question. With the exception of food poisoning, though, all of them began with gradual symptoms. Clark’s symptoms had occurred suddenly, but it couldn’t be food poisoning – he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink.
The search also brought back a couple of hits for radiation sickness. Researching that, Lois saw similarities to some of Clark’s symptoms, but not all. The treatment listed was called supportive, and it was similar to what Martha had suggested: Make sure the offending substance was gone, rest, fluids, individual symptom treatment with antinauseants, painkillers, and so on. If Clark *had* been exposed to some kind of radiation, it had to be gone, since Lois had not been affected by whatever it was.
Well, she didn’t have antinauseants, but she had the rest.
She checked on Clark frequently, at first waking him up to offer fluids, which he took in a state of semi-consciousness that alarmed her at first until she realized that he was simply still half-asleep.
She’d also done a lot of thinking.
She had felt him, earlier that evening. She was sure of it now. That fleeting feeling of… *Clark*, when she had thought she must be imagining it. And the feeling of unease – somehow, he had managed to transmit at least a ghost of his distress to her.
Was there some potential, then, as she was beginning to suspect, for them to use their unique telepathy in a broader sense? With a few exceptions, they’d only communicated when both of them were happy, laughing. But she hadn’t imagined that moment in the conference room at the Planet, and she was becoming more and more convinced that she’d… *felt* something from Clark after the window washers incident. And of course, tonight.
Or rather, yesterday, since it was now well after midnight.
She’d spoken to Martha and Jonathan twice more, giving them updates. Both times, Clark had been sleeping restlessly, but had otherwise seemed all right. During one of those calls, Jonathan had wondered again if Clark had lost any other powers in addition to the loss of his invulnerability.
Lois hadn’t been able to ask Clark yet. He had come into the newsroom via the elevator, not the roof. Did that mean he’d lost his ability to fly? Martha had mentioned that he sometimes floated in his sleep. He hadn’t floated yet – even while she was researching his symptoms, Lois had barely taken her eyes off him – but that didn’t necessarily meant he *couldn’t* float.
The Tylenol seemed to help - or the fluids, or both.
By the very early morning hours, he seemed to be sleeping soundly but naturally, and Lois was able to get some sleep, too. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch near his head, she dozed off, and was woken by Clark gently stroking her hair and saying her name. She lifted her head from her pillowing arms to find his face not ten inches from her.
“Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi,” she said equally softly. “How you doing?”
“Okay… better. I’m thirsty.” His voice still sounded rusty and unused, but it was stronger.
She sat up and took an insulated cup from the coffee table. “Here – it’s just water, but that seems to be the best thing for you right now.”
He took it from her and drank. “Thanks. Why don’t you go use my bed? Get some sleep.”
She shook her head. “I’m not comfortable leaving you, Clark. Not yet.”
“Then come here.” He lifted the comforter, and she didn’t need much coaxing to move up to lie next to him. He draped the comforter and an arm around her, muttered, “That’s better,” and went back to sleep.
She tucked her head against him and tuned in to his heartbeat. It sounded slow and reassuringly steady in her ears, and she fell asleep to its soothing cadence.
---
To be continued
Author's note (this is one of the few author's notes I can post that doesn't give away part of the story):
I found this site:
dejavu.org when I was researching the history of the Internet in the mid-1990’s (just to be disgustingly authentic <g>). It’s a browser emulator and it lets you see what surfing the web used to be like. You can see pages from those times as well as what modern pages would have looked like then. It’s actually pretty cool. Try going to FoLC sites
lcficmbs.com or
lcfanfic.com using some of those old browsers. (You have to use the entire address, including the http:// part.) They look WAY different nowadays. (I remember those days <g>, although I didn’t discover the FoLC websites until much, much later. I was online in the late-ish 1990s, using a 28.8k modem and Netscape.)
For this story, Lois and Clark have the newest technology, which includes a 56k modem (although the 28.8k modem was available in 1994 and the 56k modem wasn’t available until 1996). More appropriate to the timeline, Jimmy has set them up with Netscape (IE debuted in 1995, I think) and they have WebCrawler, Infoseek, Lycos, and Altavista available for searches.
