Well, here's the next part. I hope it doesn't disappoint anyone.
Previously:
"Lois, you don't know how much I've thought about this -- dreamed about this ... Well," he amended, "something like this." He followed her down the steps, trying to get through to her with sheer desperation, if nothing else. "But, it's not real! What you're feeling isn't real! I don't know exactly how, but there was something in the perfume. It made everybody in the newsroom drunk on ... love."
She wasn't listening, he saw. Not that he'd really expected anything he said to work. Hopelessly, he tried one more time. "Lois, I cannot take advantage of you like this."
She moved to stand in front of him, looking into his eyes. "You're not taking advantage of me, Clark." She frowned, suddenly. "You know, it's remarkable. I never noticed it before."
"What?" Clark asked.
She ran a gentle finger across his cheekbone and he shivered reflexively. "You look a lot ..." She paused, looking closely at his face. " ... Like Superman."
"Lois ... "
She slid both arms around his neck. "Don't be jealous, Clark. It's you I want."
"Lois ..."
She giggled, her mood changing with mercurial quickness, and whirled away from him. Lifting one of the veils she wore, she began to dance. Clark sighed, moving dejectedly back toward the sofa. It was going to be a long evening.
**********
And now, Part 4:
Clark strode back and forth in the living room of his apartment. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his watch. Three A.M. Lois had finally fallen asleep, after completing the Dance of the Seven Veils, which, to put it mildly, had severely tried his self-control. He had restored her clothing and put her in his bed, then retired to the living room to pace. Again he glanced at his watch. Thankfully, it seemed as if Lois would sleep for some time yet, so maybe now would be the ideal opportunity to check out Luthor's office. Maybe it would focus his mind on something besides the vision of his partner wearing only a flimsy veil that left very little to the imagination. The memory left him feeling flushed, and not solely from embarrassment. Never before had Superman's resolve come so close to cracking.
Still, the evening hadn't been a total loss. Something that Lois had said at the onset, to which he hadn't paid much attention at the time, had been repeating itself over and over in his mind for the past half-hour. He knew that it was probably the chemical spray speaking, but he couldn't completely dismiss it. She'd noticed his resemblance to Superman and brushed it away with a casual, "Don't be jealous, Clark. It's you I want."
Was it even remotely possible that she actually preferred him, at least when in a state akin to intoxication, to his alter ego? Didn't they say "In vino veritas?" And there had been that remark about Luthor, too. "He means nothing, Clark. You're the only man for me."
He sighed heavily. Maybe it did mean something, but only when her defenses were stripped away. When she was in her right mind, she regarded him as a brother. Superman and Luthor, both men of influence and power, albeit very different kinds, were the ones that caught her interest. There were times when he wished that he'd never invented Superman.
But then, where would he be? Lois would still be infatuated with Lex Luthor, which was a thousand times worse. He had to find some kind of proof about the billionaire's real character, something that he could show Lois as evidence of the kind of man that Luthor really was. Or, if nothing else, something that would make her look twice at him and maybe realize that there was more there beyond the face that he presented to the public, every day.
A rapid, heavy pounding on his door yanked him away from his frustrated musings. Startled, he lowered his glasses and checked. His eyebrows flew up. What the dickens was Wally doing, beating on his door at three in the morning?
"Come on, Kent! I know you're in there!" His co-worker's angry voice came clearly to his ears through the wood and glass. "Open up!"
He started for the door and then hesitated. If Wally was still under the perfume's influence, which he probably was, then he was still fixated on Lois.
A quick glance through the wall of his apartment told him that Lois's brand new Jeep, that she had had less than a week and of which she was extremely proud, was parked prominently on the street, clearly advertising to the entire world, or that part of it which chose to pass by his apartment, that she was in here. With him.
He groaned softly. Was he going to have to deal with a jealous would-be boyfriend on top of everything else tonight? Well, why not? Just about everything else that could conceivably go wrong already had.
More banging on the door and a pane of glass shattered under one of the blows. Wally's voice said, "If you don't open up, Kent, I'm going to break it down! I know she's in there!"
With a sigh of resignation, he strode to the door and opened it. "Wally? What do you think you're doing, trying to destroy my door at three A.M.?"
Wally tried to push past him, but he stood his ground. "You haven't answered my question, Wally."
"I know she's here, Kent. Don't try to deny it. Her Jeep is parked right out front."
"Yes, she is. What business is it of yours?"
"I won't let you take advantage of her! You're luring her away from me, trying to seduce her with your --"
"My what?" Clark said, ironically. "My country boy charm? Lois is a grown woman and my partner. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself, Wally. Besides, don't you have a fiancee?"
Wally tried again to push past him. "Lois! Come on out! I'm taking you home!"
Clark stood firm, conscious of a twinge of genuine anger. This was getting past the point of ridiculous into the borders of intolerable, even for Superman. "Wally, go home! Lois is fine and doesn't need your help."
"Where is she? What have you done with her? Lois!"
"Wally, if you don't go home, I'm calling the police!"
"Call them, Kent! I'm not letting you get away with this!" Without warning, he flung himself upon Clark.
Taken off guard, Clark stumbled backwards. His foot missed the top step and he let himself fall backwards into his living room, like any ordinary man would. How much of this that Wally would recall after he sobered up, Clark didn't know, but he couldn't take the chance of his remembering that Clark had behaved in any way out of the ordinary. He sprawled backward, half on the steps, half on the floor and endeavored to roll over and get to his feet, but the other man was instantly on him. Clark caught the fist that tried to hit him in the eye; Wally would probably have broken a few bones in his hand if the punch had connected. His co-worker straddled him, trying to hit him with the other fist. Clark caught that one, too.
"What's going on in here?" Lois's voice said.
The scene froze. Clark twisted his head, to see Lois standing in the opening that led to his bedroom, still clad in the harem outfit. Even from his position on the floor, he could see that her complexion had a greenish tinge to it, and she was rubbing her temples, gingerly. Wally stared at her, his mouth open in shock.
"Lois!" He glared down at Clark. "I suppose you're going to say that you weren't taking advantage of her, now! Pervert!" He looked back at Lois. "Get dressed, Lois. I'm taking you home."
"Clark, are you all right? What do you think you're doing, Wally? I've got a monster headache, and you're trying to play the protective boyfriend?" Lois glowered at her co-worker through squinted eyes. "Get off of him!"
Wally was trying to yank his wrists free of Clark's grip. Clark released them and shoved him away, starting to get to his feet. He couldn't deal with Wally the way he would as Superman, and that left him at a disadvantage. The other man wasn't a criminal; he simply wasn't in control of himself.
Wally staggered to his feet and swung at him again. Clark dodged, allowing the fist to miss him by a hair's breadth. The force of the punch swung Wally around, off balance, and at that second, Lois apparently decided to take a hand in the matter. Or rather, a foot.
Wally doubled over, clutching the target of Lois's kick and collapsed to the floor, groaning. Lois ignored Wally as if he didn't exist. She put a hand over her forehead and eyes, gripping the back of the armchair for balance with her free hand and squinted with one eye at Clark, through parted fingers. "Serves him right," she mumbled. "He was making too much noise and I feel like I have a hangover to beat all hangovers. Clark, are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Clark started to kneel beside his moaning colleague. "I hope he is. That was quite a kick."
"Clark, he cracked your glasses!" She reached forward with the hand that had been over her eyes and pulled them off. "Are you cut?"
Taken off guard, he froze for a split second. "No," he said, after a pause. "I've got another set in my dresser. I'll get them."
"Okay." She looked down at Wally, moving her head cautiously. "I guess I shouldn't have," she said, "but when I saw him try to punch you, he made me so mad ..."
Clark had ducked into his bedroom to retrieve his other glasses. Returning to the living room once more, he saw her waver slightly and raise a hand to cover her mouth. He stepped forward to grab her. "Lois, are you all right?"
"I think so ..." She massaged her forehead. "My stomach's upset and I have an awful headache. What am I ..." She looked down at herself. "Oh my God, what am I wearing?"
"Look, lie back down and shut your eyes," Clark said, helping her toward the bedroom. "I'll deal with Wally, and then explain, okay? It's not as bad as it looks."
"It can't possibly be as bad as it looks," she muttered, letting him guide her back to the bed. "How much did I have to drink? And what am I doing in your apartment, sleeping in your bed, anyway?"
**********
By the time Clark returned from dropping Wally off at his apartment, in the guise of Superman, Lois was again asleep.
He'd given Wally a short, pithy lecture on the un-wisdom of breaking into colleagues' homes at three in the morning and picking fights over women, and, after ascertaining that the man wasn't seriously hurt but seemed to be developing a tremendous hangover, he'd left him to nurse his headache and various bruises in solitude.
The perfume, it seemed, might be wearing off at last, if Wally and Lois's experiences were typical. After checking on his partner, Clark debated the question of whether to waken her, but decided against it. If she was indeed suffering the equivalent of a hangover from the effects of the perfume, the longer she slept, the better. He didn't want to have to explain the last two days to a hungover Lois. That was going to be bad enough, anyway. It was just fortunate for him that she'd been so preoccupied with her headache when she pulled off his glasses that she hadn't noticed just how close his resemblance to Superman really was.
Quietly, he found the aspirin bottle that he'd bought two months ago when Lois had strained a muscle on one of their more active investigations, and placed it, along with a thermos of cold water on his bedside stand. Quickly, he scribbled a note to his partner, explaining that he had to go out for a short time, and put it on the table next to the thermos, setting a clean glass on it to hold it in place. With luck, he would be back before she woke up.
**********
Lois Lane awoke slowly, blinking at the rosy light of dawn that filtered in the window. The pounding headache that had made her skull feel as if it were on the verge of exploding last night had subsided to a feeling of discomfort, and her stomach seemed to have settled. The light in the room no longer seemed too bright, and the muted sounds of a radio in the other room did not, any longer, give her the urge to destroy whatever was making the noise, although she was aware of a slight sensation of unreality about the scene. She'd had two or three hangovers before, and it felt as if she were on the tail end of one, now. The only thing was, she didn't recall drinking anything alcoholic. She didn't remember drinking anything at all.
Slowly, she blinked around at her surroundings. This wasn't her bedroom.
Vague, jumbled memories of last night's events filtered into her mind. Clark's face, and something about a harem outfit? She had danced for him, she recalled, and suddenly the memory of the Dance of the Seven Veils was mercilessly clear. Flashes of memory about the other events surfaced disjointedly and she felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She had thrown herself shamelessly at Clark, and he -- he had behaved like a complete gentleman. She remembered him patiently fending off her advances, saying something about caring too much about her to let her do something she'd hate him for, later. And there had been Wally. He'd shown up, shouting at her to get dressed. She'd only wanted to silence the voice that was making her head pound so agonizingly. He'd attacked Clark and broken his glasses, and she'd kicked him ...
Slowly, she turned her head. She was in Clark's bed, she recognized, finally. A bottle of aspirin, a thermos and a glass sat on the nightstand beside her. Trust her partner to be sure she had something for her headache. Carefully, she pushed herself upright. The discomfort in her skull increased slightly, and her surroundings swayed unsteadily. Her stomach lurched. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing things to settle down.
After a moment, she opened her eyes again. The aspirin was looking better and better to her, and after a few seconds' thought, she carefully twisted open the lid of the thermos, trying to keep her shaking hands steady as she did so. She had to work not to slosh water onto the floor as she filled the glass, suddenly aware of the fact that she was extremely thirsty. Chips of ice clinked against the sides of the glass as she set it and the thermos down on the nightstand. Slowly, she opened the bottle of aspirin and shook two tablets into her palm.
She almost choked on the tablets, but the water tasted better than she could ever remember water tasting, even the imported mineral water that she usually kept in her refrigerator. She drained the glass and was pouring herself another, when there was a light knock on the wall that separated Clark's bedroom from the living area, and her partner's voice said very softly, "Lois? Are you awake?"
"I guess so." Her voice sounded cracked and hoarse. What on Earth had she been thinking last night to allow herself to get so thoroughly drunk? And why didn't she remember any of it, especially since she seemed to remember what had happened afterwards, in fairly humiliating detail.
"May I come in?"
She looked down at her clothing to assure herself that she was decently clad and, to her horror, saw that she was still wearing the blue harem outfit. She looked like that woman in the show about the astronaut that had found a genie in a bottle, who proceeded to turn his life and the space program into chaos. Only, hadn't that outfit been pink?
It didn't matter. She pulled the sheet up to her chin. "Have I got anything to wear out there?"
"Your trench coat is still here," Clark's voice said. "If you'd like, I have some sweats in my dresser. Just stay under the covers. I'll get them for you."
She lifted the sheet and glanced down at herself once more. Oh, what did it matter? If her memories were anywhere near as accurate as she was afraid they were, he'd seen her in a lot less before he'd been able to coax her back into this thing. She was never going to live down the humiliation, anyway.
"Would you get them for me, please?" To her further embarrassment, her voice started to tremble, and she wiped away the moisture that had begun to fill her eyes. She wasn't going to let Clark see her cry! She lifted her chin. "I'd appreciate it."
Clark entered the room, crossed to the dresser and opened a drawer. "Here you go. I'll just go back into the kitchen and get you some ..." He broke off. "Um, how are you feeling? Are you up to some coffee?"
Surprisingly, the thought of coffee sounded good. "Not too awful, considering that I must have been so bad off last night that I don't even remember drinking. What happened, Clark? How did I get here?"
He laid the sweats on the foot of the bed. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll talk about it. If you'd like to shower, the bathroom is yours. Take your time."
"Clark, what *happened*?"
He smiled, not looking up at her. "Not what you're obviously afraid of. I'll explain everything, but it's really too complicated to cover in a few minutes. Go ahead. I'll get you some breakfast. Something ... light."
**********
(tbc)
