From Chapter Four:"Where do you think you're going?" Lois had followed him as far as the bedroom door.
"Out. Away." Was he shouting or whispering? He couldn't tell. There were more screams now, a whole choir of them, and more screeching brakes. Two more impacts... three... He blinked at Lois, moved her out of his path. "I don't think that contract gives you the right to know my movements."
"Clark, I haven't finished with you! Come back here and face me, buster, or..."
The door of the honeymoon suite banged shut behind him. There was no one in the corridor. He shifted thankfully into super-speed and vanished down the stairwell, spinning into the suit on the way.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Table of Contents Comments Chapter Five: Bridge Over Troubled WaterHow could he just walk out like that, when she was talking to him? Okay, shouting at him? How could he up and leave in the middle of a fight? How dare he?
Lois stood, fists clenched, staring impotently at the door through which he'd vanished. And slowly, the red rage receded and the old terror bled in to take its place.
She knew this scene intimately, had lived through it dozens of times. The shouting, the man turning and walking out of the door, the woman collapsing in a sobbing heap before opening a bottle and sinking into a stupor till morning. Only before, she'd always seen it from the perspective of the petrified child sitting huddled on the stairs.
Before her eyes, Clark had turned into her father. And she... she was turning into her mother. "Come back here this minute, Samuel Lane, or -"
Or what?
What did you do when the man you loved just walked out on you, left you high and dry and empty?
No.
Not the man she loved.
She wasn't her mother; she was Lois Lane, intrepid Kerth-winning journalist, and she didn't need anyone. Certainly not a bastard like her father, who couldn't deal with personal conflict and who, when his family needed him, generally found some excuse to be elsewhere.
She had nothing to fear. She should be grateful that Clark was showing this side of himself before she was stupid enough to fall in love with him and come to depend on his non-existent support.
Before she'd really opened up to him, told him all about her endometriosis. About the steadily growing pain every month, the mingled relief and unease she'd felt when her doctor had told her it wasn't as normal as she'd always assumed; the panic when he'd told her the diagnosis, and that there was no cure short of a hysterectomy. The desperate desire to have a baby before it was too late.
Lois sank into the nearest chair and waited for her heart to stop pounding. The sick feeling in her stomach was just the all-too-familiar after-effect of the adrenalin rush. Nothing to do with being disappointed in Clark, because Clark was just a man, and she knew through and through that men - especially handsome, charming, sexually experienced men - were simply not to be trusted.
There, that was better. Her hands were scarcely trembling at all. She could stand up again, and cross the room to where she'd been sitting before, and pick up her plate. She could sit and force down the chicken salad that tasted like ashes in her mouth, because she needed something in her stomach to counteract the nausea. And she could ignore the wine glass, because she was not going to use alcohol to drown her sorrows. She didn't have any sorrows to speak of, anyway.
She was fine. Everything was going according to plan; Clark had done what she needed him to do, and with any luck she was already pregnant. It didn't matter that he'd left, and it didn't matter if he didn't come back.
Except that she was lonely.
She'd bargained on being alone, when this brief affair was over, at least until the baby arrived. She was used to being alone. She wasn't used to this nagging feeling that something was missing, that someone ought to be there and wasn't. She hadn't bargained for loneliness.
She put her empty plate down on the table. Clark's plate was already there. Balefully, she eyed the sandwich sitting there innocently, missing its single bite.
It made a good metaphor for Clark's behaviour, she thought morosely. He'd taken a single bite at their relationship, a whirlwind of pleasure lasting a mere few hours, and then the minute they'd got into a more serious discussion, he'd abandoned it.
Why did she care, anyway? She picked up the sandwich, frowning, and pulled off a corner to nibble at. Had she thought things would be different?
Had she hoped, somewhere in a hidden corner of her mind, that once she'd opened the door to him, Clark would sweep her off her feet and away into happy-ever-after land?
That was ridiculous, even for her. Even for the woman who secretly adored Ivory Tower and was writing a trashy romance novel that would never see the light of day. That didn't happen in real life.
She sniffed loudly and popped another bite of sandwich in her mouth, resolutely ignoring the prickling at the corners of her eyes.
If only she could forget about him. Forget about his defection, forget about their argument. Forget that he'd actually had a point when he'd yelled at her that she'd never given him a chance; because for a moment she'd actually felt guilty about prejudging him, as a man and therefore not to be trusted. And then, bare seconds later, he'd proved how little decency and integrity he had after all by walking out on her.
Find something else to do.
She dumped the half-eaten sandwich on the table, picked up the remote and switched on the television, flicking automatically to LNN. The news channel was showing live footage of what looked like a traffic accident scene, with blue and yellow lights strobing the darkness and figures in reflective jackets hurrying to and fro with stretchers. An LNN reporter - the caption identified her as Carmen Alvarado, but bundled to the cheekbones in a scarf as she was, it could have been anyone - was shouting hoarsely through a gusty wind about the icy condition of the roads contributing to the problem and the fourteen vehicles thought to be involved in the pile-up. Lois winced.
Just then, midway through a sentence, brakes squealed in the distance and the picture cut from Alvarado to a hazy view of what looked like the Trans-Metropolis Expressway. A truck had obviously just sped around a bend and the driver had realised too late what lay ahead of him - the truck was braking, but not fast enough, and as Lois watched, heart in her mouth, it skidded and began to spin as it travelled.
Then a streak of primary colours flashed across the screen and a caped figure appeared in front of the truck, bringing it to a miraculous stop only feet from the wreck of an SUV at the rear of the pile-up. After a brief colloquy with the driver, Superman picked the truck up bodily and moved it to the end of a row of vehicles parked safely in the slow lane, then flew off again in the direction of the mangled vehicles. The camera lingered for a moment on the truck driver climbing down from the cab, wiping his forehead, before cutting back to the reporter.
"As you can see, Superman has been working tirelessly at the crash scene, preventing further tragedy as well as assisting emergency personnel to reach and evacuate casualties from the crashed vehicles. And I'm just receiving word that the death toll has risen to twenty-three... also that police are closing the Trans-Metro at this time, so exciting as that was, we won't be bringing you any further live footage of hair's-breadth escapes..."
Grimacing in disgust, Lois switched channels, searching for some light entertainment. The Trans-Metro ran only a couple of blocks from the Lexor Hotel, and she was tempted to fling on some clothes and go out after the story - but she was off duty, and for once in her life she was going to ignore the opportunity. Besides, it looked as though the story was already cold.
The trouble was, everything she could find on TV was either some stupid sit-com or the sort of romantic movie that, in her current emotional state, she'd rather avoid. Gritting her teeth after hearing first Marlon Brando, then Meg Ryan, then Rock Hudson declare their undying love, she finally hit on the opening scenes of Basic Instinct and sat back with a thankful sigh.
It was some time later, and she was silently encouraging Sharon Stone to stick an ice pick in Michael Douglas, who was far too good-looking and charming to be credible, when there was a quiet knock on the suite door. Suddenly embarrassed at the scene playing out in front of her, Lois hurriedly turned off the TV before going to the door.
"Who is it?"
"I forgot my key."
Lois took a moment to collect herself before opening the door. "So you decided to come back after all," was what she planned to say.
Instead, she took one look at his face and blurted out, "Omigod, Clark - what happened? You look as if somebody died."
"Quite a few people, actually." He was leaning wearily on the door-frame, his face grey. "There was a traffic pile-up." Bleak eyes met hers. "May I come in?"
"Of course," she said automatically, stepping back. He hitched himself upright and walked past her to flop down on the couch. He was still wearing the T-shirt, jeans and sneakers he'd flung on before storming out of the suite. "Clark, were you out on the street in those clothes? You idiot - you must be freezing! What were you thinking?" She hurried to the bedroom and grabbed a couple of spare blankets out of the closet, almost ran back to the living room. She shook one out and draped it round him toga-style. He gave the faintest of smiles as she tucked the edges in. "Do you think if I phone housekeeping they'll send up a hot water bottle?"
"Don't." He caught at one of her hands to stop her going to the phone, and at the contact she felt again that almost electric surge of attraction. "I'll be fine, Lois - I'm not cold. I, uh, borrowed a coat."
It was true - the fingers around hers were cool and trembling slightly, but not icy the way she would have expected. Unthinkingly, she threaded her fingers between his so that they were holding hands. "Can I at least get you a hot drink?"
He nodded. "Coffee. That would be good. Please."
She needed to let him go so she could go and fill the machine.
Instead, she perched uneasily on the couch next to him. "Clark, are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just need... some coffee, that's all."
"Clark, look at me."
He hesitated, then his eyes met hers. The depth of misery in them shook her to the core. She reacted on pure instinct, dropping his hand and sliding her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his. After a second his arms came tightly around her and pulled her roughly onto his lap. She could feel tremors shaking his body.
She held him close, stroking the back of his neck, till she felt some of his tension drain away. It was as though he was drawing strength from her comfort. At length some of the pressure from his arms eased, and his lips moved against her hair. "Thank you."
She shifted so that she was curled against him, her cheek on his shoulder. "Clark, what is it? I mean... we've seen bad accidents before. There were, what, twenty-five fatalities?"
"Thirty-one. Thirty-one people dead. There was a bus... it stopped in time, and I think the passengers were standing up to get out, and then something hit it from behind, and it spun, and something else hit it from the side... there were just people all over... and kids, Lois. And not just dead. One kid lost an arm, and there's another one who'll probably be paralysed..." His voice trailed off, and he started to shake again.
"I still don't understand why... We've seen stuff like that before, Clark."
"It's just..." He stopped and took a deep breath; then it seemed to burst out of him in an anguished flood. "It shouldn't have happened, Lois! Superman should have been there as soon as he heard the first collision. Instead, he was... it took him several minutes to arrive, and all those people were killed and injured who shouldn't have been. It's his fault the death toll is so high -"
She sat bolt upright. "Clark!" She pushed him back against the cushions so that she could glare into his face. "Are you saying it's
Superman's fault that people get killed in traffic accidents?"
"Well..." He shrugged. "If he could have helped, then yes. And he could have changed things this time, Lois. He should have been there quicker."
"Clark, Superman does what he can! He's saved hundreds, maybe thousands of lives! How can you blame him for not saving everyone? He's only one man, Clark - one extraordinary man, sure, but even he can't be everywhere and save everyone. You might as well blame him for spending time here, in Metropolis, when he could be saving far more people in all the wars in the Middle East, or the Balkans. And so what if he took his time getting there - it's still not his fault people have accidents. Blame the drivers who speed in bad weather conditions, or the city council for not salting the roads when they know it's going to freeze! Give Superman a break - the poor guy deserves to have some time to catch a nap, or brush his teeth, or... Clark Kent, are you
laughing at me?"
"No, no!" he said hurriedly, but he looked a little guilty all the same. She was relieved to see more colour in his face as he quirked his lips straight again. "Oh, Lois..." He drew her into a fierce hug. "You really are Superman's number one fan, aren't you? His one-person cheerleading squad. No, I'm not laughing - I'm thankful. Truly. You don't know what it does for me to get a different perspective on things once in a while."
"Hmph." She sat silent in his embrace for a little longer. But their physical closeness was beginning to make her uncomfortable, after their earlier fight. There were unresolved, irreconcilable differences between them.
She stirred, and at once his arms loosened. "I'll get you that coffee." She slid off his lap, then turned. "Clark... why don't you write up the crash story for the Planet? I always find that helps, when I'm too... too caught up in it. I've got my laptop here, you can use that."
"Okay. Thank you." He smiled slightly. "I thought you were meant to be relaxing completely this weekend?"
She blushed. "I didn't bring it for work. I... I thought I might write something else."
To her relief, he didn't mention her novel. She'd always regretted telling him about that when she'd thought they were both about to die; perhaps he'd forgotten about it. He must have been pretty scared, too.
She got out her laptop and set it up for him at the table, then filled the coffee machine standing next to the mini-bar. By the time it had bubbled and spat itself into silence he was totally absorbed in his typing, his face set grimly as he remembered, but no longer so chillingly bleak.
As she set down his cup beside him, she realised he had no notebook - he was working completely from memory. Of course, he hadn't thought to take a notebook and pen any more than his room key.
She suddenly wondered how he'd known to go out after the accident story. Dressed as he was, he'd surely just been planning to wander around the hotel for a while until he judged that she'd cooled down enough for him to return. But she was being silly - he'd probably heard the sirens from downstairs, though they hadn't penetrated the sound-proofing on the higher levels.
The question reminded her of something that had struck her earlier, though. He'd said his day had been boring - not even a Superman story to liven it up. But he'd been sitting at his desk all day - Superman stories didn't drop in your lap, you had to go out looking for them. At least, that was true for most people...
Did Superman somehow contact Clark when there was a story to be had?
Jason Trask had been convinced that one of them could contact Superman. And Clark had been unaccountably nervous about taking that polygraph test - she'd noticed it at the time, but hadn't made anything of it.
How could Clark know that Superman could have been quicker tonight, unless he had some sort of hotline to the superhero?
Oh, for heaven's sake, she was being ridiculous! Clark had almost certainly spoken to Superman during the accident cleanup tonight - Lois had every reason to know how good he was about giving personal quotes to reporters on the scene. Perhaps he'd said something about being too slow. He was friendly with Clark, after all - he'd chosen to stay at Clark's place when he'd been grounded during the heatwave last November. Trask had been a complete madman; and Clark had probably just meant that watching a Superman report on LNN in the newsroom would have provided a break.
Clark sat back with a sigh and reached for his coffee. "Done," he said, looking over at her.
"I'll email it in to the Planet for you," she said, coming round the table and bending down beside him. When she straightened a minute later with a "Done!" he didn't reply.
She looked down and saw his gaze fixed on her cleavage. She was still wearing just a robe, she realised, and it was gaping open; he must have had an excellent view... She should have felt embarrassed, but the way his gaze was smouldering lit an answering fire inside her.
Unable to turn away, she sank down onto the couch beside him. He swallowed as her body approached him, then closed his eyes. When they opened again, they were fixed on hers.
"Lois... what I was saying earlier..."
She drew in a breath. Curse him! But it was true - they hadn't finished their quarrel. Because he'd run away. "About my being an unfit mother, you mean?"
He winced. "Lois, I didn't mean to imply that -"
"Well, you did. You were out of line, Clark."
"Was I? I'm sorry I upset you, Lois. And I'm sorry I had to run out on you, but I simply can't believe -"
Had to? She blinked. "It doesn't matter, Clark."
"- you're making the right... It doesn't?"
It did. It mattered terribly, because it proved how right she was about having this baby alone. But there wasn't any point in telling him that - hearing him deny it wouldn't change anything. "It doesn't matter what you believe, Clark, because it's my choice." The hurt in his eyes tore at her, but she forged on. "And you agreed to help - or have you changed your mind about that?"
His eyes closed and he seemed to wage a brief battle with himself before they opened again. "No, I haven't changed my mind," he said.
She leant forward and lifted a hand to his cheek. "Good," she said huskily, and drew his head down until his lips met hers. He shivered and then reached for her hungrily. She could feel his desire leap to meet hers. He tugged at the belt of her robe and then his hands were running over her body, trailing fire in their wake. She pulled his T-shirt over his head, careful to leave his glasses in place this time.
They should by rights be making up after their fight, she thought hazily. They weren't, though: they had resolved, could resolve, none of their differences.
But in one sense, at least, what she'd said to Clark had been true. The fight, and the fact that he ran away from conflict instead of dealing with it, seemed to make no difference at all to the way she wanted him.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Five o'clock.
Clark woke promptly and fully, as he usually did at this time. Patrol time.
Lois was snuggled up against him in the curve of his arm, though, and for the longest time he couldn't bring himself to move. She felt so good there, so natural, as if they'd been designed to fit together like this.
Their bodies fitted each other perfectly. In every way.
Heat rose in him at the thought. It wasn't the blush of embarrassment that he'd have felt only a couple of days ago, though. He'd travelled a very long way from innocence in those two days.
No, he was no longer innocent. He was guilty.
Guilty of lying to Lois about what he was doing. It had never occurred to her to ask whether he was capable of getting her pregnant, and he was callously trading on her naivete. Taking advantage of her.
He'd told himself when he'd signed that contract that he was only doing it to stall her until he'd had a chance to talk her out of the whole idea. It had never occurred to him that he would fail. He'd made one mistake after another trying to put his case to her, of course - he should have discussed it rationally, dispassionately, instead of letting his feelings about her choice leak out and anger her. He should certainly never have brought up her personal opinion of him, as though that mattered to her decision, much less shouted at her. And the timing of that Superman emergency couldn't have been much worse.
But he had a sinking feeling that no matter how lucidly he'd put his case, she still wouldn't have listened. She'd shown no sign of wavering in her decision at any point; she'd recognised the strength of some of his objections, but they seemed to make no difference to her at all.
She was as stubborn as a whole stableful of mules.
He'd never thought about what would happen if he couldn't change her mind. He could scarcely keep sleeping with her for three days a month for the foreseeable future - even if she was stupid enough to keep trying after he'd failed to get her pregnant the first few months, that would be the most appallingly cynical manipulation.
If he really respected her, he would tell her the truth - that he was infertile, and that Luthor was a criminal and totally unsuitable as a potential father - and let her take it from there.
And when she'd done tearing his spleen out and feeding it to the buzzards for the way he'd tricked her into bed, she'd demand proof of Luthor's villainy - and when he couldn't produce that she'd laugh at him and revert to her original Plan B. Just like Plan A, only with Lex Luthor replacing Clark Kent.
He stifled a groan. Lois shifted and made a sleepy, contented sound deep in her throat, then was still again.
He didn't respect her decision to have a baby on her own. It was as simple as that. It seemed completely crazy to him, and he didn't see how she could possibly be happy if she went ahead with it.
And if that meant he didn't respect her... well, there didn't seem to be much he could do about that.
He had to try harder to make her see sense.
And meanwhile, he had Superman duties to perform.
He levitated Lois' sleeping form off the bed just far enough to extricate his arm from around her, then settled her gently back down again. She barely stirred, and he waited a moment and then inched reluctantly away from her and out of bed.
Once again he left the suite dressed as Clark - not forgetting his coat and sweater this time - and spun into the suit in a convenient alley near the hotel. The city was quiet again, and his patrol was brief. Lois was still sleeping peacefully when he got back to the hotel.
He simply stood and watched her for a while, enjoying the opportunity he so seldom got to let his eyes linger on the curves of her beautiful face. In a simpler situation, he would have had a huge, sloppy grin plastered all over his face... as it was, his conscience didn't let him enjoy the sight for very long before it was pricking him back into worry.
How on earth was he going to persuade her to listen to him?
And then he had an idea.
Half an hour later, he piled his clothes on the floor beside the bed and climbed back under the covers. Lois was still curled up on her side, breathing slowly and deeply, but as he laid himself down next to her she stirred and shifted to fit herself into the curve of his body.
He looped his arm around her shoulders and gently brushed his lips against her temple in the very softest of butterfly kisses. He lifted his face, considered for a moment, and then repeated the kiss on her cheekbone. Three more followed, along the line of her jaw.
Her breathing was altering, quickening. As he continued to dust her face with kisses, her eyelashes trembled but didn't lift; then her mouth slowly curved into a smile. So slowly that it seemed almost coincidental, she rolled away from him and tilted her face so that he could reach the side that had been against the pillow. He responded obediently by lavishing equal attention on that side, then pressed his lips to each eyelid, the centre of her forehead, and finished by planting one last kiss on the tip of her nose.
"Good morning, beautiful," he said softly.
Her eyelashes fluttered open, laughter dancing in her warm brown gaze. "I don't think I've ever had a morning that started out better," she replied. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and she wound an arm around his neck, pulling him down till their lips met in a soft, tender caress.
She pulled back after a few seconds. "I should probably warn you, though," she said, stretching cat-like and sending every nerve fibre in Clark's body into instant overdrive, "I'm difficult to deal with before I've had my first cup of coffee."
He let his eyes linger for a moment on the vista of ivory skin where her stretch had pulled the sheet dangerously low. "A man of foresight is equal to the challenge," he said, hitching himself into a sitting position.
She gasped as he lifted the tray from the chair beside the bed and presented it to her with a flourish. "Madame's breakfast is served."
Her laughter rang out. "My hero! Oh, Clark - fresh croissants, and what's that?"
"Mocha cafe, with whipped cream."
"Oooh, how sinful!" Lois sat up, clutching the sheet, and Clark put the tray on her lap and then propped the pillows behind her to support her back. She attacked the tray with gusto while he watched, eating a little himself but mostly just appreciating the amount of enjoyment she could get out of food.
At last she leant back with a sigh. "Nothing left but crumbs. Clark, that was heavenly... and so indulgent!"
"I figured you could do with a bit of indulging," he said, taking the tray. "Your mornings are likely to be stressful for the next few years."
He turned to set the tray back on the chair, carefully not watching her reaction, but some of the gaiety had left her voice as she replied, "Guess I'd better make the most of it, then. What's next on the agenda?"
"Cleanup time," he said, grinning at her. He leant forward and delicately removed a few crumbs of pastry from her skin with his tongue. Her breath caught and then she murmured approvingly, her hand coming up to stroke the back of his head. The murmur turned to a squeal as he pulled the covers off her in one swift movement and swept her into his arms.
"Clark! It's cold! What are you - put me down!"
"Not yet," he said, holding onto her firmly in spite of her struggles and striding across the room. He negotiated the bathroom door successfully and stepped down into the heart-shaped sunken bathtub. He'd judged the water temperature about right, he thought with satisfaction; it hadn't cooled too far while she'd been eating.
"
Now I'll put you down." He sank to his knees and lowered her carefully into the foam. She was giggling helplessly.
"Clark, this is... ridiculous! Incredible! What's next?" She looked at him under her lashes. "Do you wash me, too?"
He grinned. "If Madame wishes... but I thought you might like to -" He reached forward under the water and splayed his hand gently over her stomach. "- soak for a while?"
Her eyes darkened in a way he was beginning to know well. "After all," he added casually, "you won't be getting many long hot baths in future, either."
She stiffened. "Clark." Her voice had chilled several degrees; in spite of the warm water, it raised gooseflesh on the back of his neck. "I know what you're doing. Stop it."
"What am I doing, Lois?" He met her eyes with what he hoped was a guileless expression.
"Trying to change my mind by pointing out what I'm giving up by having a baby. Well, I've thought about all these things already. Stop interfering."
A hopeless feeling of defeat enveloped him, and he sighed. "You can't blame a guy for trying, Lois."
Her lips pursed. "I can't even figure what you hope to gain by this, Clark. We've slept together - how many times, now? I'm probably already pregnant. Are you hoping I'll get an abortion?"
He winced. "No, Lois, never that. I just..." He had to lie, lie convincingly. Again. "It doesn't always happen first time. I'm hoping it's not too late for you to change your mind."
"But
why? What does it matter to you if I have a baby? I'm not asking you for anything except your genes!"
"As I said before, Lois - I care about how my child grows up. Single parenthood will be hard on him or her. And on you." He swallowed, tried a smile. "Besides - have you thought that I might not want to lose my partner? I was planning on riding your coat-tails to my first Kerth..."
There wasn't a glimmer of an answering smile. "If you feel like that, Clark, why are you here? Why on earth did you sleep with me in the first place?"
For heaven's sake! She had to know how he felt about her - did she have to drag a confession out of him?
Better that than admitting the other reason - that he knew he couldn't get her pregnant.
He caressed her slowly and deliberately, letting his own instant reaction show on his face. "In case it escaped your notice, I seem to have very little willpower when it comes to sleeping with you." His voice had deepened satisfactorily. "And I'm not too keen on the idea of anyone else doing... this... with you."
"Oh, Clark!" Her eyes closed. "I don't know how you do that..."
"Do what?" he asked softly.
"Even when I'm angry with you, you just have to touch me, and I..." She reached out a wet arm and ran her fingernails over the skin of his shoulder. His breath caught. "Did you learn that from your Nigerian princess?"
The familiar flood of desire was clouding his mind. "Ni-" Oh. The White Orchid Ball, so many months ago, and his stupid attempt to impress her. "No, Lois - Shadima's virtue was closely guarded, I assure you. I'm learning this from you... only you..."
Her eyes, equally clouded with desire, met his. "You have a silver tongue, Clark Kent." She drew him closer, and soon his only thought was of the way their bodies moved together, in a harmony their minds could never reach.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
.../tbc
