Editor’s warning: This story is what is known in this fandom as a Tank story. I don’t want to say more here that could spoil the story except: read at your own risk.
Just Us This TimeChapter 1The smell of curry drifted through the brownstone - spiced, savory and warm, like a hug in a bowl. Snow fell steadily outside, the world muted by a thickening blanket of white.
Lois leaned against the kitchen counter, mug in hand, wearing thick socks, leggings and one of Clark’s old sweaters that nearly swallowed her. She watched her husband move around the kitchen with practiced ease, stirring the pot on the stove like a man who had long ago learned that comfort sometimes came in ladlefuls.
The news played quietly from the TV in the living room - a background murmur of news, weather maps and traffic advisories.
“…snowfall expected to reach six to eight inches in some areas by tomorrow evening. Forecasters are calling for light to moderate flurries through the early morning, intensifying by late afternoon. Authorities are urging residents to avoid non-essential travel after dark and prepare for possible delays. Plow crews are already active, but accumulation is slowing traffic in some outer boroughs…”
“I still can't believe we had to push the trip,” Lois muttered, taking a sip. “All because of that last-minute assignment on Winthrop.” She shook her head. “Feels like we wasted two days proving what we already knew.”
Clark gave the curry a final stir, then glanced back at her with a gentle smile. “Maybe. But we got another quiet night to ourselves out of it. I’ll take that before throwing ourselves into a weekend of family dynamics.” An amused grin crept on his face. “But I didn’t know *you* were that eager to spend time with your family?”
“You’re right, usually I’m not - but between our work and your Superman duties - I thought it would be nice to get out of town for a few days.” She paused, then added with a wry smile, “Though, dealing with Intergang might be less dangerous than keeping my family in close quarters.”
She took another sip of her tea and leaned her head back against the doorway. “And I still can’t believe we agreed to spend a whole weekend in one cabin with both sets of parents, my sister and her newest crush.”
Clark raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Let me guess - he’s ‘a real hero’?”
Lois smirked into her mug. “She insists this one’s different. Teaches at-risk kids, volunteers at shelters, helps his neighbor shovel snow.”
Clark smirked. “So, I’ve got competition, huh?”
“You’re safe.” She smiled as she scooped up a bite. “You’re still the one who makes the best curry.” She blew on it gently, then tasted. “Mmm. Okay, I need to confess. This is the real reason I married you.”
“I knew it.” Leaning in to steal a kiss he turned thoughtful. “She didn’t have much luck with love, did she?” Pouring the curry on two plates he looked at her questioningly.
Lois shook her head. “Must be a family trait, right? Before I fell in love with you I had the same problem.” She took the plates to the table as he poured a glass of wine for each of them. “Honestly, I just hope this guy makes her happy,” she added, softer now.
“Yeah. Me too. Your sister deserves a good guy.”
The conversation drifted from there, softening into lighter topics as they ate, shared memories, a few chuckles about past family dinners and the occasional eye roll at her sister’s taste in men. Outside, the wind nudged at the windows now and then, rattling them just enough to be noticed.
By the time they were clearing the table, the steady hum of the storm had grown louder.
Lois glanced over her shoulder as she loaded a plate into the dishwasher. “I’m telling you, that’s more than light flurries.”
Clark crossed to the window and brushed the curtain aside, peering out. “Forecast said maybe six inches. This already looks more like ten.” He turned back with a grin. “Maybe we get snowed in?”
She sighed. “I’ve married my personal snow plow, I don’t think we’ll ever get snowed in.” Then after a slight pause. “I guess *I am* a little nervous about everyone being together for a whole weekend.”
“Just a little?”
She gave him a look and shrugged. “But your parents will be there too, so it’ll balance out. And if tensions rise, we can always fake an emergency and fly off somewhere.”
“I’m always happy to fly with you,” he said, warm and low. “And I packed an emergency chocolate stash, just in case.”
Lois smiled, reaching for his hand. “My hero.”
Clark nodded, squeezing gently.
From the living room, the news anchor’s voice floated in: “…and authorities are continuing to investigate what appears to be another sniper attack near the Central Business District. The latest victim, a local business owner, was found earlier this afternoon. Police have not released details, but reports suggest the bullet used was a custom-made frangible round - making recovery and analysis extremely difficult…”
Lois looked up, her brow furrowed. “Sniper?” She glanced toward the screen. “How have we not heard about this until now? That would’ve buried the Winthrop piece in a heartbeat.”
Clark’s expression had darkened, gaze fixed on the screen.
“No one called for help?” she asked.
He shook his head. “They did. But the shot was fatal. Instant. There was nothing for Superman to do. I didn't even see the victim. It was already too late and with all the black ice on the streets I couldn’t linger, someone else needed me…”
She pulled him closer, fingers curling between his. “Hey,” she said softly. “That’s not on you.”
He didn’t answer right away. The anchor continued in the background: “Officials say the shooter couldn’t be tracked down after the attack. Our sources tell us that the police are suspecting Intergang…”
Clark exhaled slowly, jaw tight. “ didn’t even know this was happening, Lois.”
She squeezed his hand. “He planned it that way. You save who can be saved. This…” she gestured toward the screen, “…isn’t about you failing.”
He met her eyes then, reluctant but grateful.
Lois offered a small smile. “We’ll follow the story. You’ll help in other ways. But don’t carry what you were never given a chance to stop.”
The TV in the living room carried on softly, the anchor’s tone shifting to something lighter as a new segment rolled in: “…And in lighter news, Superman made a surprise visit to the Franklin Street Children’s Home earlier today, delivering donated toys, books, and warm clothes. Staff say the children were thrilled. One little boy called it, quote, ‘like Santa, but with muscles and a cape.’”
Lois looked up. “Seriously? You went to the orphanage today? When?”
Clark’s expression warmed immediately. The heaviness from before lifted just enough to let a quiet smile through. “Yeah. It was kind of last-minute. I had a little time between rescues. The kids were amazing. One of them found those old wooden cars Mom donated and wouldn’t let go. Honestly, I was surprised how well they held up, considering toddler me wasn’t exactly gentle.”
Lois smiled, the image vivid in her mind. Her eyes drifted toward a cloth bag by the door. “The rocking horse didn’t make the cut?”
“Turns out not everything survived me in one piece. One of the legs is wobbly,” Clark said, chuckling softly. “Didn’t seem fair to drop off something half-broken. I figured I’d bring it to Dad first. He might be able to fix it up.”
“He’ll love that,” she murmured, nudging her shoulder against his.
The wind brushed against the windows like a whispered lullaby. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The news kept playing in the background, softer now. Lois wandered over, pressing her knee against Clark’s as she settled beside him, the quiet warmth between them drawing in like a blanket.
The anchor had already moved on to a segment about winter driving tips.
“…even in light snow, visibility can drop quickly, especially at night. Officials recommend keeping your gas tank at least half full, carrying emergency supplies and slowing down well below posted speed limits. Black ice is a concern on bridges and overpasses - remember, it often looks just like wet pavement…”
“Speaking of emergency supplies, are you done packing ours?” Lois asked.
Clark nodded. “A basket of winter supplies sat beside them: extra blankets, mittens, thermoses, board games.”
“Well, nothing short of the apocalypse is getting in the way of this weekend.”
Lois tilted her head. “You’re tempting fate, you know.”
“Eh,” he shrugged, “fate’s had its shot.”
“I guess you’re right…” Lois straightened up. “This weekend is snow and cocoa and marshmallows and pretending our dads won’t argue over who builds the better fire.”
Clark smiled. “And pretending we know how to play Scrabble without cheating.”
“Speak for yourself. I am a paragon of virtue and vocabulary.”
Clark looked at her with a mock stern expression. “You mean you’re going to invent words in scrabble until everyone else gives up.”
She grinned. “It’s called creativity. And confidence.”
“You literally played ‘chumpy.’”
“I told you it should be a word,” she said, poking him in the chest. “And admit it, you like watching me win.”
Clark chuckled, pulling her even closer. “I like watching you - I don’t need a reason.”
Lois leaned in, eyes dancing. “I noticed - that time we played strip poker.”
His brows lifted, playful. “I might’ve peeked.”
“I know you peeked.”
“I had to! You’re much better at bluffing than I am… It felt like my only chance.”
She smirked. “And what did I tell you?”
He kissed her cheek. “That next time I should give you advance notice so you could wear the good lingerie.”
Lois wrapped her arms around his neck as she pulled his face close to hers. “Exactly. I put effort into my victories.”
He chuckled, the fondness in his eyes softening the tease as he stepped closer. “You’re also completely impossible,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And everything I ever wanted.”
She looked up at him, warmed by more than the fire. “Same here, honey.”
Lois leaned back, watching the snow dance in the streetlight glow. “Actually I’m glad we’re doing this.”
She smiled faintly. “It’s been a week since we had dinner together without a pager or a phone call and Ralph’s going to start spreading rumors if we keep arriving separately.”
They stayed for a moment in that quiet, warm space. Outside, the snow thickened against the windows, but inside, everything felt still - safe.
~~~ \S/ ~~~
Chapter 2The next morning Lois zipped her bag and straightened. “Okay. Everything’s packed.”
Clark glanced toward the door. “We should head out if we want to beat the storm.”
Lois nodded. “If the roads get bad, well…” She gestured vaguely upward. “I married my own emergency exit.”
He kissed her forehead. “Smart woman.”
“Don’t forget it.”
Clark grinned, reaching for his coat. “I’d never dare.” He paused.
His gaze had shifted from her, fixing instead on the window.
The street lay in soft silence, buried beneath thick, glistening snow. Peaceful. Still. A postcard of a morning.
Lois stepped beside him. “It’s eerie how quiet the city gets during snowstorms.”
Clark gave a faint nod, but his eyes didn’t leave the street. His head tilted slightly.
Lois noticed. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Nothing,” he murmured. “Probably just my imagination.”
But the furrow between his brows hadn’t eased.
Lois studied him for another beat, then sighed. “Alright. Grab the keys - I’ll double-check the kitchen.”
She turned heading down the hall.
Behind her, Clark moved–
And then–
Crack.
Not snow. Not thunder. Not the pop of a backfiring engine.
Something sharper. Closer.
And before she could scream, before she could turn–
Clark was there.
He hit her like a wall of muscle and heat, driving her to the floor, arms wrapped around her as glass rained down on them.
She barely registered the cold wind.
Just the sickening sound of impact.
He collapsed on top of her, shielding her as he always had - but…
He was heavy. Too heavy.
A raw, involuntary groan broke from his throat.
“Clark!” she screamed, panic detonating. She fought to twist beneath him, to see his face.
His wide, stunned eyes met hers.
Not afraid. Not confused.
Just… shocked. Disbelieving.
As if something had pierced more than his body.
And then pain - real pain.
A pain he couldn’t hide.
And in that instant, Lois knew.
Her breath hitched as she struggled upright, pushing against his weight.
“Clark - talk to me. Where are you hit?”
He winced, jaw clenched. “Back… left side…” His voice was low and tight with effort.
Lois moved out from under him, careful not to shift him too much, mindful of the jagged glass scattered across the floor.
Blood, far too much of it, seeping through his shirt.
More than enough to turn her stomach.
She forced herself to focus.
She crossed the room quickly, keeping low and out of sight as she yanked the curtains shut. The heavy fabric not only shielded them from any lingering threat outside, but also offered a meager barrier against the swirling blizzard now whipping through the broken window. Her heart hammered in her ears.
Now - the bullet.
She had to get it out. Immediately.
She’d done it before.
Only back then, she hadn’t known the man in the suit was Clark. He hadn't been her husband then.
And somehow, that made this so much harder.
Lois dropped to her knees beside him, pressing her fingers gently to the wound. He flinched.
She cupped his face, her voice trembling despite herself. “Stay with me, okay? You’re not allowed to check out on me, Kent.”
He blinked at her, a fraction of a nod. That was enough. “I trust you!”
Lois pushed to her feet and sprinted to the hallway cabinet. First aid kit. Kitchen drawer. She grabbed what she could - antiseptic, gloves, tweezers, a flashlight and a lead box they had bought months ago in an antique store - just in case.
Then she knelt beside him again, hands moving fast. She spread a towel beneath his side, put the gloves on her hands and carefully cut the fabric of his shirt open, exposing the wound.
There it was. Angry and red.
Lois peeled back the fabric, her fingers slick with blood.
At first, it looked like just one wound - a single, small entry point just below his ribs. But the bleeding didn’t match. Blood soaked his shirt in a wide, spreading patch, more than one bullet hole should have caused. Her breath caught as she gently cleaned the blood to get a better view. She gasped when she saw the bruising beneath the skin: not just around the entry point, but fanned out in a grim constellation across his side, a slight greenish hue mixed in with his bruises.
The bullet hadn’t gone through - it had shattered.
Tiny fragments must have torn through muscle and tissue, too small to see immediately but impossible to ignore. The wound seemed shallow but the danger of kryptonite combined with the slow, but steady bleeding and possible damage to his organs.
Her stomach twisted.
This wasn’t just a gunshot.
This was a bullet designed to destroy from the inside.
The sniper!
Her stomach flipped, but she didn’t let it stop her. She’d seen what that poison did to him - how fast it weakened him. Last time, it had nearly killed him.
"Okay, I’m going in." She was talking more to herself than to him now. "Just like before. I’ll take it out and it’ll heal, right?"
No response. His eyes were shut, face pale and drawn. The chill from the shattered window was already beginning to creep through the room, raising goosebumps on her arms.
She flicked the flashlight on and held the tweezers steady. She worked carefully, methodically, the way she had once pried a Kryptonite bullet out of a stranger in a cape with only a letter opener.
The green glinted faintly under the skin, mocking her. His dense tissue had stopped it - but it was enough to poison him.
"Come on," she whispered, "come on, you stupid…"
The tweezers clinked against something hard. She adjusted the angle, held her breath…
…and pulled.
It came free and she dropped it into the box with a soft ping.
Clark exhaled. His whole body shuddered.
So did she.
She went to the other injuries and repeated her actions until she had dug out a piece from each wound.
Lois tossed the tweezers aside and closed the lid. She ripped off the gloves and pressed gauze to the wounds, staunching the blood.
She sagged forward, bracing herself on one hand. Her other stayed pressed gently to his back.
"That’s it," she whispered. "You’re okay. I’ve got you." The bullet was out. He was alive.
But as she lifted the gauze the wounds hadn’t closed up. He wasn't healing. Instead, it had begun to bleed more, a dark, steady ooze that defied everything she knew about him.
Where the fragments had torn through his side, faint green glimmers could be seen - thin, glass-like shards glittering in the exposed tissue, embedded just beneath the surface.
Her breath caught.
Splinters of Kryptonite. Still in him.
Of course. Henderson had said something about the frangible composition, designed to fragment on impact with soft tissue. Meant to be missed. And in this special case able to kill him slowly.
Lois reached for the flashlight again, angling it carefully. She could see them now, several delicate little daggers of green crystal, laced through the tissue like cruel, deadly glitter.
She swore under her breath.
"There are fragments," she told him, her voice low and steady. "Still in there. I got the main pieces, but…"
Clark didn’t answer. His eyes were half-lidded now, breath shallow.
His skin felt too cold under her hand.
Too human.
Lois pressed her hand against his cheek, trying to focus.
He couldn’t go to a hospital.
He wasn’t like everyone else.
She had to try…
The cold wind surged again through the broken window, now a constant, bitter current, cutting through her sweater. She barely noticed the chill on herself. Her focus was entirely on him.
Lois leaned in, steadying her hand. Gently moving the injured tissue to look for the smaller slivers. With the tip of the tweezers, she isolated the first and eased it out. Clark flinched under her touch - a sharp, involuntary twitch - but he didn’t make a sound.
She dropped one shard and immediately moved to the next one.
Another.
And another.
But the wounds stayed open. Raw.
Bleeding slowly, but still bleeding.
She worked carefully, wiping away the blood just enough to see the next shard, trying not to make it worse. Every second counted. His skin was cold now, his breathing shallow.
And still more shards - and more blood.
Her hands were steady, but her heart thundered.
She didn’t talk. Couldn’t. Not yet. Her focus narrowed to this one task: get them out. All of them. Before it was too late.
He shivered. A sharp, involuntary tremor wracked his body. Then another.
Lois leaned down again, whispering urgently. "Hey, hey - stay with me. Look at me, Clark."
He stirred, eyes barely opening.
"You’re doing okay, just hang on. You’re going to be okay."
He gave the smallest nod. A faint sound escaped his lips - might’ve been her name. Might’ve just been breath.
Lois took his hand in hers, gripping it hard for a moment before returning to her task.
"I’ve got you." Her voice cracked, just slightly. "I’ve got you, honey. Just keep breathing."
And then, softer, more to herself: "This has to work."
She pressed her hand against the wound, gently moving the tissue to look for more shards. Watching him. Monitoring his color, his breath, the ragged edge of consciousness that threatened to slip away from him with each gust of wind curling around the shattered frame of the window.
His eyes fluttered, jaw clenched against a groan. He was still fighting it, still staying with her - but the color was draining fast from his face. His breathing came short, shallow.
Not just from the wound.
From the poison. From the cold.
She felt the heat of panic rise in her throat but pushed it down. She knew from her father that pale, clammy skin and rapid, shallow breathing were bad signs.
Then she realized that the cold feeling under her hand wasn't just the blizzard; it was his body shutting down. He was losing too much blood and the biting wind from the broken window was making it worse, chilling him to the bone.
Finally, when she couldn’t find any more splinters, she covered the wound and then threw a blanket over him.
After putting everything she’d used into the kitchen sink she grabbed a broom and quickly brushed the glass into a pile - Clark was vulnerable now, the last thing they needed now would be another injury.
He was shivering uncontrollably. Lois threw every blanket over him. Still not enough. His lips were pale, almost blue. She turned toward the fireplace, desperate to get a fire going.
Clark stirred under her hands. "Lois–"
"Shut up and breathe." Her voice broke slightly. "I’m almost done."
A flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips.
He was trembling - his whole body taut with chills, a deep, uncontrollable shiver that seemed to wrack him to the core. His pulse felt thready under her fingers when she instinctively checked his wrist, too fast and too weak. The wounds, despite her efforts, were still oozing, leaving dark, ugly spots on his back. The cold was making everything worse, preventing his blood from clotting, speeding up the drain of his lifeblood.
And then he passed out.
~~~ \S/ ~~~
Chapter 3Again, she shoved the rising panic down. Now wasn’t the time to feel - now was the time to act.
She had to get Clark warm. But with a blizzard howling through a broken window, it would be a challenge.
Looking around for an idea on how to block out more of the winter storm outside, she sprinted to the vitrine that held their Kerth Awards, heart pounding. Not ideal, but it was solid enough. She pushed it against the bottom of the curtain, weighing the fabric down to block some of the frigid wind. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Next, she gathered every blanket in the house and layered them over Clark, tucking him in from neck to toe. Then she turned to the fireplace, stacking the logs high with shaky hands.
The flames leapt to life, whipped by the wind - dangerous, maybe, but they brought precious warmth.
Her gaze drifted back to Clark.
He was still shivering.
She rushed to grab the thermoses they’d packed for the trip, then returned to his side. Gently, she pulled back the top layer of blankets and spread one out on the floor beside him. Bracing herself, she eased him onto his side - careful to avoid the wound on his back - and slowly slid the blanket under him. He groaned faintly at the movement, but didn’t stir beyond that.
Stripping off her own sweater, Lois slid under the blankets and pressed herself close, curling around him as well as she could. He was ice-cold to the touch, but at least… at least the kryptonite seemed to have come out completely. She prayed that moving him hadn’t ripped anything.
She began to murmur softly - sweet nothings, promises, memories - anything that might tether him to this world.
“Come on, Clark,” she whispered against his temple. “You promised me that pie from Maisie’s. You said we’d beat that city council story together. Your mom’s already got the table set for New Year’s and my dad’s working on his worst jokes. You don’t get to bail on that.”
Her voice cracked, but she kept talking. If words could anchor him, she’d never stop.
From time to time, she slipped out from under the covers to check the fire, adding logs, fanning the flames, praying they’d last. But when she reached for another piece, she realized…
The woodpile was nearly gone.
Clark had meant to restock it. But the week had been full of rescues, emergencies… everything but time.
And then she saw it: the bag with the wooden rocking horse.
Clark’s breathing had grown ragged, shallow. Each exhale was a struggle, each tremble of his body a fresh dagger to her heart. His skin had gone clammy, and his eyes – when they opened at all – were glassy, distant, full of pain.
Lois hurled more kindling onto the fire, trying to breathe through the rising desperation.
Back under the blankets, she resumed her one-sided conversation, fingers brushing lightly through his hair.
“You’re going to be okay. You hear me? We’ve got plans.”
The fire was fading again, warmth bleeding away with the minutes.
Her eyes landed on the rocking horse once more.
She hesitated - just for a second - before gently unwrapping herself from Clark, tucking the blankets tightly around him.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cold forehead.
Her limbs ached from the cold, her body trembling from fatigue, but none of it mattered. Not now.
She moved quickly, feeding what was left into the fire: scraps of old newspapers, spare kindling, bits of cardboard - everything she could find.
But it wasn’t enough.
They were out.
And then, as if summoned by dread, her gaze slid back to the bag in the corner.
The rocking horse.
A choice loomed before her.
~~~ \S/ ~~~
What will Lois do???PICK AN OPTION:
A. Burn the wooden rocking horse. <<--CLICK TO SELECT THIS OPTION
B. Let the fire die. <<--CLICK TO SELECT THIS OPTION
~~~ \S/ ~~~
