Rest and Reproduction
By Meredith Knight <meredith@putwet.demon.co.uk>
Submitted: October 2004
Rated: PG-13


Author's Note:
This fic was inspired by a challenge posted to the Lois & Clark 
Fanfic Message Boards: 
http://www.lcficmbs.com/ubb/ultimatebb.php?ubb=get_topic;f=3;t=00
0239 .  I'm much indebted to the challenge originator; also to my 
faithful beta readers, Annette, Pam, Wendy and Yvonne, who kept 
me going and on the right track.  Doc Klein's LabRat gave me 
invaluable help with the conversion from the original nfic.  You 
ladies rock. :)

The characters and settings portrayed in this story are not mine, 
but belong to big corporations with big money and big lawyers.  
It's a shame, really, because I could use the money (though 
preferably not the lawyers).  I've borrowed them (the characters 
and settings, not the money, and certainly not the lawyers) for 
fun and not for profit.  The chapter titles are, of course, Simon 
and Garfunkel song titles.

I've placed a couple of additional acknowledgements at the end of 
the file, where they can't spoil anything. :)

The events in this L&C universe take place in production order: 
that is, the episode Witness took place after Pheromone, My 
Lovely and before Honeymoon in Metropolis.

Hope you enjoy!
Meredith


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rest and Reproduction

Chapter One: We've Got a Groovy Thing Goin'

Lois lifted the lid of the machine.  The light on the front was 
glowing a steady green.  She raised the eye-dropper and carefully 
dripped three drops of liquid onto the pad on the top of the 
machine.  They vanished at once.  Lois put the dropper back into 
the beaker and closed the lid.

The light flickered and winked to amber.

Lois's heart gave a sideways leap, then settled into a new, 
faster rhythm.  She stared at the light blankly for a few 
moments, then an odd, strained smile crept onto her face.

She turned away and began to dress.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clark was having difficulty concentrating.  He was supposed to be 
finishing his account of the Trevino trial for the Saturday 
morning edition, but as he studied his computer screen he could 
see Lois out of the corner of his eye.

And Lois had been behaving oddly all day.

She'd been brusque almost to the point of rudeness when she'd 
arrived at work this morning, which wasn't unusual - Lois's 
temper was becoming a byword in the newsroom, and sometimes there 
were lines of strain on her face that made Clark wonder if she 
was ill, but nobody dared ask after her health these days.  Clark 
had resigned himself to this being one of the more difficult 
days, and continued reading his email... and then, five minutes 
later, she'd brought him a cup of coffee and a doughnut, which 
was almost unheard of.  He could almost swear she'd been blushing 
when he'd looked up in surprise to thank her.  She'd leant 
against his desk for a few minutes and asked him about his plans 
for the day, which had simply consisted of attending the trial 
and then coming back to the Planet to write it up; then she'd 
bustled back to her desk and ignored him till he'd left.

Now she was sitting in front of her computer screen, pretending 
to work but in reality fiddling with all the various objects on 
her desk in turn and shooting him surreptitious glances every few 
minutes.  He had no idea what could be on her mind.  He'd 
developed the habit of walking her home in the evenings after 
work lately, even though the threat to her life had ended with 
Barbara Trevino's arrest; but it was only a quarter to five, and 
Lois never left work before six at the very earliest.

Still, five was his deadline for this piece, and he needed to 
forget about Lois long enough to finish it up.  Pretending to be 
bothered by the glare on his screen, Clark shifted his monitor 
and chair until Lois was no longer in his field of vision, and 
set to work.

Dead on five, the editor's door opened and Perry appeared.  
"Kent, where's the Trevino piece?" he bellowed.

"Just coming, Chief!"  Clark hit the enter key and sat back with 
a sigh.  It wasn't quite up to his usual polished standard, but 
it would have to do.  Time for a cup of coffee, he thought, and 
to catch up on the newsroom gossip; and perhaps Lois would 
finally tell him what was eating at her.

But Lois was straightening up her desk and taking her handbag out 
of her desk drawer.  As Clark walked over to get her coffee mug, 
she bent and pulled a small suitcase out from under her desk.  He 
stopped in surprise.  "Where are you going?" he asked.

She straightened, her face slightly flushed. "I've got the 
weekend off," she said.  "I thought I'd spend a few days away 
from home, for some rest and recuperation.  I'm booked into the 
Lexor Hotel."

"Wow!"  Clark widened his eyes in exaggerated envy.  "So you're 
going to be living it up in the lap of luxury while the rest of 
us are slaving away here as usual?"

She laughed.  "You don't know the half of it.  When I called to 
reserve a room, all they had left was the honeymoon suite.  I got 
a special rate for it.  Luxury indeed!"

He grinned.  "Well, have fun.  Give us lesser mortals a call to 
let us know how you're getting on with the jacuzzi and the 
crushed velvet."  He saluted her with his coffee mug.

"Clark..."  She turned away to reach for her coat, and he 
automatically stepped closer to help her on with it in the way 
that had become almost second nature over the last week or so.  
As she buttoned it she slanted a look up at him through her 
eyelashes.  "I was wondering... you suggested once that we go out 
for a celebration dinner, after we'd cracked a story, and I don't 
think we ever did.  And I really owe you for looking after me 
last week.  Would you like to have dinner with me at the hotel 
restaurant this evening?"

Clark felt the world tilt crazily under his feet.  Was this what 
Lois had been nervous about all afternoon?  Because, if so...

He gave a quick glance around the newsroom.  No one seemed to be 
paying them any attention.

"You mean, as in two partners having a meal together?" he said 
quietly.

Her cheeks flamed.  "No... I mean, as in a date."

He nodded.  He felt like shouting and leaping with joy, but he 
stood still and let his eyes convey his feelings.  "I'd love to."

"Good."  She picked up her things.  "I'll see you at eight, then.  
In the restaurant."

"I'll be there."  Clark wanted to lean against her desk and watch 
her walk away with a soppy smile all over his face.  Instead, he 
turned and made his way over to the coffee machine, listening to 
her heart beating erratically all the way out of the building.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"This is a full service hotel, madame!"  The bellboy's outrage 
was manifest in every line of his body and every throb of his 
reedy adolescent voice.

"I don't care.  I don't want you pawing through my things; I'm 
perfectly capable of unpacking them myself."

The bellboy debated internally for another few seconds and then 
raised a hand in front of him.  Lois sighed and reached for a 
banknote, which she placed in his palm.  His eyes flicked 
downward for a second; otherwise, he didn't move.

Neither did Lois.  She stood glaring at him until he shifted 
uncomfortably and darted a look at her.

"Git," she said, pointing at the door, and he drew himself up and 
stalked out of the room.

Trembling, for reasons quite unrelated to the recent battle of 
wills, Lois finally let go the handle of her suitcase and sank 
into a chair.

Phase one complete.  She was here, safely checked into the hotel; 
Clark would be arriving later.  For dinner.

He'd be downstairs at the restaurant in two and a half hours, and 
she needed to be there before him so that she didn't have to walk 
in with his eyes on her, because the way her knees were shaking 
she doubted she'd be able to walk straight.  If at all.

So that left just about two hours for phase two.

She got to her feet, carried her suitcase through to the bedroom, 
and unpacked the dresses she'd brought with her.  She'd been 
unable to make up her mind between them this morning, so she'd 
packed all three.

What do you wear to a seduction?

Well, your little black number, of course.  Only Lois's little 
black number was about three years old, and had frankly seen 
better days.  Not that Clark would be able to tell that it was a 
little out of style, she thought - women's fashions were unlikely 
to be one of his interests.  And a little careful draping would 
disguise the fact that what's his name - Gerald? - had ripped the 
seam at the shoulder slightly that night, just before she'd hit 
him over the head with her purse and felled him with a Tae Kwon 
Do kick to the unmentionables.

No, somehow the little black number didn't seem quite right.

Next to it hung the midnight blue dress she'd worn to the White 
Orchid Ball back in the spring.  Her intended target, Lex Luthor, 
had been stunned by it, and so, it seemed, had Clark... he'd cut 
her out just when she'd managed to pull off a dance with the 
elusive billionaire.  She'd been furious, she remembered with a 
chuckle; she hadn't given a smidgin of attention to the 
compliments he'd tried to pay her at the time.  Too busy prying 
into Lex's personal space...  She'd got to know both men 
considerably better over the last few months, well enough to know 
that Clark was the man she wanted with her tonight.

The ball gown was really way too dressy for dinner at a hotel 
restaurant... even dinner with an agenda.  And the dress she'd 
bought with Lex in mind didn't seem quite right for an evening 
with Clark, either.

Which left dress number three.  The one Lucy had insisted she buy 
when they'd been out shopping together, on one of their rare 
quarrel-free outings, and they'd seen a sale sign at an exclusive 
little boutique.  The dress was burgundy, a colour Lucy insisted 
suited Lois perfectly and Lois wasn't sure about; the draped 
bodice hung from narrow straps attached by tiny golden clasps, 
and the skirt was long and elegant.  It looked far more demure 
than either of the other two... at first glance.

Lois wondered if she dared wear it tonight.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clark had conscientiously sat at his desk reading traffic 
statistics until six-thirty, done his evening Superman patrol and 
showered and dressed at normal speed, but he still managed to 
arrive outside the Lexor Hotel at ten to eight.  He hung around 
outside the entrance for as long has he could, but although the 
winter chill didn't affect him he could see the concierge eyeing 
him curiously, and after a couple of minutes he gave up and 
ventured inside.

As early as he was, Lois was earlier.  The maitre d' waved Clark 
over to her table as soon as he mentioned her name, but Clark 
stood riveted to the ground for a moment at the sight of her.

She looked truly breathtaking.  She was wearing burgundy, one of 
his favourite colours, and she'd put up her hair in a cluster of 
curls, just one or two strands escaping to emphasise the long, 
elegant curve of her neck.  Clark found his feet piloting him 
automatically in her direction.

She looked up as he neared the table.  For an instant there was a 
flash of something like panic in her eyes; then she was smiling a 
warm welcome.  Clark recognised the same mix of emotions he was 
experiencing himself as he returned her smile.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," she said in a breathless voice as he 
seated himself.

"Wild horses wouldn't have kept me away," he assured her.  "Our 
first date."

Some odd emotion flickered in her eyes and was gone.  Then a 
waiter was handing them menus and waiting for Clark to order a 
drink; Lois, he saw with amusement, already had some sort of 
exotic cocktail with an umbrella in it.  "You're going all the 
way, aren't you?" he teased when the waiter had left to fetch his 
mineral water.  "With this relaxation thing, I mean," he added, 
waving at the drink, as Lois shot a startled look at him.

"Sure am."  Lois's eyes dropped and she opened her menu.  "The 
veal here is supposed to be pretty good..."

They talked throughout dinner, avoiding work-related topics by 
tacit consent.  Clark tried to draw Lois out on the subject of 
her family, but she seemed reluctant to say much about either of 
her parents.  Instead, he found himself talking about his own 
parents: how much he admired their marriage and how he wanted the 
same sort of family himself one day.  Lois listened quietly, 
staring into her glass of wine.  He turned the conversation to 
his travels then, and she grew more animated, asking probing 
questions about the various countries he'd visited and admitting 
to a sneaking desire to see the sights of Europe.

"You should take the time now, while you're young," he said 
lightly.  "Before you get bogged down with responsibilities."

A shadow seemed to cross her face, then she was laughing.  "I 
don't think I'll ever want to take that amount of time off," she 
said.  "If I spent six months in Europe, it would take me years 
to get back to where I am now."

Clark shook his head.  "You underestimate yourself.  Everyone 
knows you're the best in the business, Lois, and you've got the 
Kerths to prove it.  If you took a year off, all the major papers 
would be falling over themselves to hire you when you got back."

"You think so?"  She looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, 
considering the question with more seriousness than Clark would 
have expected.  On impulse, he reached out and took her hand 
across the table.

"I know so."

Her hand was warm in his, and her pulse was fluttering.  Her dark 
eyes met his shyly, and a spark seemed to jump the gap between 
them.  Her fingers shifted within his grasp and slid around to 
twine with his.  Clark felt his own pulse begin to race.

"I never imagined this happening, you know," he said suddenly.  
"After what you said about getting involved with co-workers, and 
everything... I never thought you'd consider me as a potential, 
well, date."

She smiled slowly at him.  "I told you not to fall for me, didn't 
I?" she said softly.

"It was a bit late," he said honestly.  "I was already smitten 
with you by then, you know."

She blushed at the admission, and seemed uncertain how to 
respond.  The waiter chose that moment to arrive at the table, 
and Clark released her hand reluctantly to sit back and let him 
clear the plates.  "How was the meal?" came the standard enquiry.

"It was excellent, thanks," Clark responded automatically.  In 
truth, he couldn't recall a single thing about it; he'd been 
completely preoccupied with Lois.

"Would you like the dessert menu?" the waiter asked.

Clark nodded, but Lois spoke across him.  "Is it possible to have 
dessert brought up to the honeymoon suite?"

The waiter's gaze flickered to her left hand before he spoke.  
"Of course, madame.  May I recommend the Chocolate Lovers' 
Platter, for two to share?"

"That sounds perfect," Lois responded.  "And some coffee, 
please."  She didn't look at Clark until the waiter had left; 
then her gaze met his with a hint of apology.  "I thought we'd be 
more... comfortable in the suite," she said.  "No more 
interruptions."

Clark didn't reply.  His heart was thumping and his mouth was 
dry.  Exactly what was Lois expecting from this evening?  He 
would have sworn blind she wasn't the type to jump into bed on a 
first date with anyone, let alone the work partner she'd warned 
off months before, but if it had been any other woman, he'd have 
said all the signs were pointing that way.

And with any other woman - and there had been a few, over the 
years - he'd have made his excuses at this point and gone on his 
way, footloose and fancy-free.  But this was Lois, and he was no 
longer heart-whole.  If she was interested in further intimacy, 
so was he...  He could only hope that if it did happen, his 
inexperience wouldn't disappoint her.

He swallowed, trying to relax enough to breathe normally.  He 
needed to keep a clear head and not jump to any conclusions.  
However he might feel about Lois, it was highly unlikely, from 
what he knew of her, that she felt the same way about him.  She 
obviously had more than platonic feelings for him if they were on 
a date, but she probably didn't intend the invitation to her room 
quite the way it appeared at first glance.

In fact, he thought with an inward grimace, he probably ought to 
feel flattered that she trusted him enough to invite him to her 
room.  Unless this was a test... and if so, he intended to pass 
with flying colours.  He would take his lead from her, letting 
her set the pace with which they explored their mutual feelings.

While he'd sat mute and unmoving, the waiter had brought the bill 
to the table.  Lois was signing it with her customary flourish; 
she didn't appear to have noticed anything odd about his 
behaviour.  In a moment they would stand up to go to her room...

Clark made a desperate attempt to control his physical response 
to the situation before he had to leave the shelter of the table.  
Thinking about something else ought to help.  The remote majesty 
of the Alps, seen from an altitude of a few thousand feet above 
them... the frozen wastes of the Arctic, near the North Pole... 
no, the splendour of nature wasn't doing it.  A murderous 
Sebastian Finn, struggling with Lois in her apartment?  That was 
better.

A sneering Lex Luthor, coolly threatening Superman with the 
deaths of innocent bystanders if he stayed in Metropolis...

That did the trick.  He just had to hold onto that image, and the 
embers of the impotent rage Luthor had aroused in him, with a 
remote corner of his mind while he dealt with the current 
situation.

Lois handed the signed bill and the pen back to the waiter and 
looked at him.  "Coming?" she said.  Without waiting for an 
answer, she slid from her seat and turned towards the restaurant 
door.

Clark suppressed a gasp.

The burgundy dress, draped unrevealingly around her at the front, 
was backless except for the two thin shoulder straps which 
crossed in the middle of her back and attached at the sides of 
her waist, the only interruption to a smooth expanse of ivory 
skin extending some inches below her waistline.  The skirt flared 
out as she took a step, and a slit at the side parted to reveal a 
long line of thigh with a hint of stocking lace at the top.

Abruptly, Clark was aware of only two things: his urgent desire 
for her, and the fact that every interested eye in the restaurant 
would be riveted on her, and not on his response.

Like a lamb to the slaughter, he rose and followed her meekly out 
of the room.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Phase three was proceeding perfectly, Lois thought with 
satisfaction as Clark caught her up in front of the elevators.  
Or nearly perfectly.

She hadn't bargained for the qualms that had assailed her as the 
meal had progressed and Clark had become steadily more open about 
his feelings for her.  Or as he'd spoken of his parents' marriage 
and his own desire to follow in their footsteps.

Guilt was too strong a word, she assured herself, watching the 
indicator light of the elevator counting down.  It wasn't as 
though she was preventing him realising his dream.  One day he'd 
meet a lovely woman just like his mother, and he'd marry her and 
acquire the picket fence and the 2.4 children.  He probably 
wouldn't even tell his wife about the strange interlude between 
him and his reporting partner, and really, there'd be no reason 
he should.  The feelings churning in Lois's stomach now had 
nothing to do with guilt, and little with jealousy; though 
perhaps there was a little envy, because somehow she was sure 
Clark and his wife would be idyllically happy.  But picket fences 
weren't for her.

No, her feelings were chiefly composed of pure nerves, because 
although phase three was proceeding perfectly, there was still 
phase four... and that was something she didn't even want to 
think about.

The elevator chimed and the doors swished open.  Clark raised a 
hand to motion Lois inside, as he so often did; his hand hovered 
a fraction of an inch from the bare skin of her back, but didn't 
actually touch her.  Was he still being a gentleman?  That would 
never do...

Lois deliberately took a short stride as she entered the elevator 
car, so that she stopped abruptly just inside the doorway.  
Clark's stride carried him past her and his hand landed squarely 
on the small of her back.  A warm tingling spread through her 
from the point of contact.

She stood still and raised her eyes to his.  "It's the top 
floor," she said huskily, fully aware that she was standing 
between him and the elevator control panel.

He hesitated for an instant, then leant over and pressed the 
button.  The movement brought him up against her, and she raised 
her hands to his waist to keep him there.  His breath caught in 
his throat, and his hand drifted back from the button to land on 
her shoulder.  She turned her face up to his, and saw his eyes 
darken as they fixed themselves on her slightly parted lips.

"Lois..." he breathed.

Even then, he didn't take the initiative.  She had to reach up 
and tug his head down before he closed his eyes and covered her 
mouth with his own.  There was nothing reluctant about his kiss - 
on the contrary, its intensity seemed to sear itself across her 
nerves - but she could sense him holding back, waiting for her to 
set the pace.

Part of her could only marvel at his self-control; another part 
of her was secretly wailing in frustration at it.  By this stage, 
he should have been completely in thrall to his libido, totally 
at her mercy.  Every man she'd encountered before, faced with 
even a hint of an invitation to kiss her on the way to her hotel 
room, would have taken it as proof positive of her sexual 
surrender; would by now have been mauling her thoroughly in 
anticipation of full sex as soon as they came within striking 
distance of her bed.

Instead, Clark was holding her body lightly against his, stroking 
her lips with his own and savouring every touch, every caress.  
His very restraint made her yearn for more.  She shifted her 
weight to arch her body against him and opened her mouth beneath 
his.  Her tongue reached out and stroked at the softness of his 
lips.  He moaned, his hand spreading out over the small of her 
back to press her more firmly against him, and his tongue snaked 
out to dance with hers and then to probe the depths of her mouth.

Conscious thought vanished.  There was only sensation; Clark's 
skin moving against hers, wet tongues and dry lips and the slight 
rasp of stubble, hands moving tentatively and then urgently to 
seek better contact with each other's bodies.

Somewhere, close by, there was a soft chime; then the hiss of the 
doors opening.  Lois hadn't even felt the elevator stop - Clark 
must have better balance than she did, or they would surely both 
have fallen.  The kiss broke, and reluctantly she opened her 
eyes.  She could see the same frustrated loss in Clark's eyes, so 
close to her own.

They needed to get out of the elevator, she thought hazily, 
before it set off for another floor.  Unwinding one of her arms 
from Clark's neck but leaving the other firmly hooked around his 
waist, she turned and walked forward.  Neither of them spoke; 
they were both breathing heavily, and Clark seemed as dazed as 
she was.  At about the third step she could finally feel the 
ground beneath her feet.

Mercifully, no one seemed to be around on this floor to notice or 
comment.  The door of the honeymoon suite was directly opposite 
the elevators, and Lois stopped outside.  Her purse, remarkably, 
was still clutched in the hand she had around Clark's waist; she 
had to let go of him to fumble in it for her room key, but his 
arm stayed looped around her shoulders as she unlocked the door 
and pushed it open.

The room beyond was still brightly lit, as she'd left it to go 
downstairs.  The light seemed to waken some semblance of rational 
thought in Lois's brain.  Clark seemed to sense the change in 
her, and as she took a step forward into the room he let his arm 
fall from around her shoulders.

"Come on in," she said.  She dropped her purse and key on the 
table next to the door as he followed her in.  He moved into the 
middle of the room and swung in a slow circle, taking in the 
details of the suite.

His lips pursed in a silent whistle.  "Nice," he said, flashing 
her a smile.

"Better than that flea-pit you stayed in when you first came to 
Metropolis, that's for sure!"  The one where she'd seen him in a 
towel once, when she'd arrived to collect him for one of their 
first assignments.  Lois felt her breath catch at the memory.  
"Would you like a drink?" she said at random.  "I could do with 
some iced water."

"I'll see what I can manage."  Clark approached the ornate mini-
bar with the air of a naturalist investigating a new and possibly 
dangerous snake, and began to experiment with it.  Lois turned 
away, unable to watch him without her body aching every time he 
moved.

Those few minutes in the elevator had served to reassure her that 
phase four of this operation wouldn't be as difficult as she'd 
feared.  At the same time, warning bells were jangling at the 
back of her mind.

She couldn't afford to lose sight of her real objectives.  She 
had to keep a cool head, even while she made sure that Clark lost 
his completely.

The knock on the door heralding the arrival of their dessert came 
just as Clark finally worked out that the cupid statue 
surmounting the mini-bar was in fact the ice dispenser.  Lois let 
the waiter in, tipped him once he'd placed his tray on the table 
near the couch, and then hung the "Do not disturb" sign on the 
outside of the door before closing it firmly, conscious of 
Clark's eyes watching her actions.

She dimmed the lights to an intimate level and then crossed the 
room to seat herself on the couch in front of the dessert tray.  
"Clark?"

He didn't respond.  When she looked up at him, he detached his 
gaze, apparently with some difficulty, from the slit in her 
skirt.  His eyes looked glazed.  Triumph leapt inside her; she 
hoped it wouldn't show on her face.  "Yes?"

She patted the cushion beside her.  "Why don't you join me?"

He moved towards her like a sleep-walker, and thrust out the 
glass in his hand.  "Your drink."

"Thank you."  She took the glass and placed it on the table, then 
took his hand and drew him down beside her.  He obeyed 
unresistingly until she leant forward and traced his mouth with 
her finger; then he let out a queer little sigh and reached for 
her hungrily.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clark was in heaven.

He'd nearly given himself away in the elevator; he'd floated them 
right off the floor when it had stopped in the middle of their 
kiss.  Fortunately he'd recovered before Lois had noticed 
anything, but if anyone had been waiting for the elevator on this 
floor they'd have had the shock of their lives when the doors had 
opened.

And if that kiss had been amazing, what he was experiencing now 
was, well... words weren't coming easily to him at the moment.  
He was sitting, half reclining, on the couch with Lois wrapped 
around him, and they were feeding each other chocolate.  It 
seemed to involve a great deal of laughter and more than a few 
sighs of delight as they licked chocolate from each other's 
fingers, stopping now and again to share the taste in each 
other's mouths.  At some stage Lois had undone his tie and 
unbuttoned his shirt, and more than once she'd chased a crumb or 
a stray drop of sauce down his chest with her tongue, wringing a 
moan of ecstasy from his throat.

He reached out for another truffle and found the tray empty.  
"It's all gone," he said ruefully.

Lois sat up to look.  Her hair was escaping from the elegant 
style it had been in earlier, curls rioting about her face.  Her 
eyes were heavy-lidded, her lips swollen from their kisses.  
Clark had never seen anything so sexy.

She handed him a napkin from the table, and he wiped the 
stickiness from his fingers.  His gaze wandered downwards, and he 
grinned.  "You have chocolate fingerprints on your neck," he 
commented.

She looked at him, her eyes smouldering, and leant forward 
invitingly.  With a low growl, he covered each mark in turn with 
his mouth, swirling his tongue gently against her skin to remove 
the chocolate.  Her pulse skittered and leapt as he worked his 
way down her neck.  When he raised his head she sat still for a 
moment, breathing heavily.

Then she opened her eyes and looked at him.  "Clark... come to 
bed with me."

His mouth opened in surprise.  Even after everything they'd been 
doing together, even though he'd been half expecting it ever 
since she'd kissed him in the elevator, it was still astonishing 
to hear her say it.  To know that she felt the same way about him 
as he did about her.

"Lois... are you sure?  We don't have to, you know."

"I'm quite sure."  She smiled.  "This time it's not just the 
pheromone perfume talking.  You... you do want to, don't you?"

"Of course I want to!  You mean, what I said about not being 
attracted to you?  Lois, I've been in love with you as long as 
I've known you.  I just didn't want you to be uncomfortable with 
me, and I never thought you'd want... this."  He gestured to the 
two of them.

She leant forward and kissed him open-mouthed, her hands roaming 
the skin of his chest and then his back, inside his shirt, until 
he was panting for breath.  Then she stood up smoothly and 
grasped his hand to pull him to his feet.  "Come on."

He followed her to the bedroom, half amazed that he could still 
put one foot in front of the other.  His body was taut and eager, 
his heart pounding at the knowledge that he was about to cross 
the final threshold of intimacy for the first time with the woman 
he wanted to share the rest of his life with.  And she felt the 
same way.  Oh, she hadn't said the words yet, but he knew how 
commitment-shy she was; and her actions were speaking louder than 
words.

She stopped beside the bed and turned to face him.  "Clark, will 
you just do one thing for me first?"

He smiled warmly at her.  "Anything."

She picked up something from the nightstand.  A clipboard.  "Will 
you sign this?"

He took it automatically, frowning.  "Sign...?"  He peered 
disbelievingly at her.  "What is it?"

"It's just a precaution."

He shook his head, mystified, and looked at the sheaf of paper 
attached to the clipboard.  As he began to read, a sense of 
unreality crept over him, followed by a wave of anger.

"'I hereby relinquish any right of access or custody... child or 
children... should conception occur...'  Lois, what *is* this?"


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Two: A Simple Desultory Philippic

She was losing him.  Dear God, she'd got him so far, and now she 
was losing him at the final hurdle.

She stepped forward and lifted her hand to his cheek, then ran it 
softly down his chest where his shirt hung open.  She dropped her 
voice to a husky tone.  "Clark, it's just in case.  Sign it and 
come to bed.  Please."

He jerked away from her.  His face was hardening.  "Lois, when 
most people talk about taking precautions during sex, they don't 
mean..."  He flapped the clipboard at her.  "... pieces of 
paper!"  He took a few hasty paces across the floor, turned back.  
"Tell me something... just how likely is it that 'conception will 
occur'?"

She caught her breath.  Clark was certainly no fool, even when he 
was supposed to be lost in a haze of lust.  She should have made 
sure he had more to drink.

Now she had no choice but to lay her cards on the table.  She 
closed her eyes.  "Very likely."  She heard him suck in a breath, 
opened her eyes again.  "That's why you're here."

His eyes went wide.  "Lois, are you crazy?  You *want* to get 
pregnant?"

She nodded slowly.  "Yes, Clark, I do.  I have every intention of 
getting pregnant, right now, right here.  And I want you to be 
the father."

"But you... I...  Lois, making love is one thing, but a child... 
the responsibility..."

She smiled mirthlessly.  "I'm not asking you to take 
responsibility for the child, Clark - quite the reverse.  We go 
to bed a few times, do everything you've been fantasising about, 
and then, once I'm pregnant, you're out of my life.  I bring up 
the child alone, my way.  No responsibility, no interference."

He'd gone quite white.  After a long, tense moment, he looked 
down at the clipboard again.  "So you just want a... a sperm 
donor, that's all.  You want me to sign away any right to be a 
real father to your baby."

She tried to speak, but her throat had closed up.  She cleared it 
and tried again.  "Yes."

He raised his head and stared blankly at her, obviously lost for 
words.  She had to act, Lois realised suddenly; after everything 
she'd already done, she wasn't going to give up without a fight.

She pulled back her shoulders and stepped towards him, letting 
her hips sway seductively.  His eyes flickered involuntarily 
downwards as her skirt parted.  She stopped in front of him, just 
a finger's breadth from touching him.

"What does it matter, Clark?" she whispered.  "It's what men 
want, isn't it - sex with no strings attached?  Make love to me, 
Clark.  You know you want to."

He took a step backward and tossed the clipboard onto the bed.  
"Is that what you think I'm after, Lois?" he ground out, his 
hands balling into fists.  "Five minutes of mindless pleasure, 
and then I'll just walk away without a backward glance?"

This wasn't supposed to be happening!  She'd never before had to 
deal with a man who could see beyond the immediate thrill of 
conquest.  Lois felt panic stirring inside her.  She had to keep 
him off balance, destroy his self-control.

"What did you think was going to happen, then?" she said sharply.  
"Did you think I was going to fall in love with you, and that 
we'd get married and settle down in the suburbs?"

He sucked in his breath and then let out a harsh bark of 
laughter.  "Yes, as a matter of fact.  That's exactly what I 
hoped would happen, God help me."

She gave a bitter smile.  "Newsflash, Clark: Lois Lane doesn't do 
suburbs.  She chews men up and spits them out, haven't you 
heard?"  She raised her hands to the straps of her dress, then, 
in one deliberate movement, undid the golden clasps and pulled 
the bodice down to her waist.  "Don't you want to find out what 
that's like?  Or aren't you man enough?"

"My God, Lois," Clark choked out.  He stared riveted at her naked 
breasts, his hands clenching and unclenching.  "Did you make 
Claude sign that piece of paper?"

She flinched as if he'd struck her.  Without thinking, she 
crossed her arms protectively in front of her.

His eyes crawled upwards until they met hers.  She could see 
self-loathing as well as anger and lust in his gaze; and beneath 
them all, a terrible aching loss.

"Go to bed, Lois," he said.  "If you're so desperate to have a 
baby... well, there are other ways.  I might even be willing to 
talk to you about it in a few days.  But not tonight."

He moved towards the door.  She blocked his way.

"But I'm fertile tonight.  This weekend."

"I'm not interested."  He grasped her shoulders and shifted her 
gently but firmly out of his path.

"Then I'll find someone who is."

He froze in the doorway.  "What?"

"If you don't want what I'm offering, I'm sure I can find another 
taker."

He turned, his eyes like flint.  "Who?  Perry?  Hardly.  Jimmy 
would run a mile at the mere suggestion.  I can't see you 
offering yourself to Ralph on a platter.  Or are you flattering 
yourself that Superman would -"

"Lex."

His turn to flinch.  That evened the score somewhat, she thought 
with savage satisfaction.

"You'd ask Lex Luthor to sire your child," he said after a long, 
breathless pause.

"If I have to.  I'm sure he'd be willing."

Slowly, as if his weight had become unsupportable, he leaned one 
shoulder against the doorpost.  His face had gone quite blank.

"So... why choose me rather than him in the first place?"

She chose her words carefully.  "Well, you're both fine physical 
specimens, and intelligent, and you're both charming... when you 
make the effort."  Clark's mouth turned down sardonically, but he 
didn't speak.  Lois hesitated, but she'd be shooting herself in 
the foot if she admitted that when it came to the crunch, she 
couldn't stomach the thought of sleeping with Lex.  "But he's a 
big corporate businessman, with big corporate lawyers.  If he 
decided, five or ten years down the track, to renege on that 
contract and sue for custody... I wouldn't stand a chance."

Clark gave an icy smile.  "Whereas I'm a hack reporter and likely 
to stay a hack reporter for the foreseeable future - no threat to 
your plans, hmm?"

She couldn't think of any response to that.

Clark straightened and moved forward into the room again.  She 
fell back a pace, her eyes widening, but he ignored her and 
picked up the clipboard from the bed.  He studied it for a 
minute.  "This isn't a contract, it's just a waiver," he said in 
clipped, unemotional tones.  "To be a contract, there has to be 
an exchange between the parties.  Quid pro quo."

"You mean...  Are you suggesting I *pay* you...?"

He raised his head and inspected her coldly.  "Not in monetary 
terms."  He pulled the pen from its holder and began to write.

"What are you doing?"  Panic was making her voice shrill.

"I'm adding a clause.  In return for my waiving parental rights, 
you consent to have unlimited sex with me over a period of - 
shall we say, three days? - around the time that you are fertile 
every month, until such time as conception occurs."

She stood gaping dumbly at him as he wrote, the blood roaring in 
her ears.  This just couldn't be happening.  He was actually 
proposing that she sell her body in return for his cooperation.

And yet...

Wasn't that just what she had been doing, without naming it to 
herself?

He turned over the top sheet.  "You made two copies - good," he 
said, and proceeded to amend the second copy.  Then he handed her 
the clipboard.  "Do you approve?"

She took it mechanically.  It said exactly what he'd suggested, 
dressed up in legalese.

She closed her eyes.  This was complete and utter madness.

But how much choice did she have?  She needed to get pregnant, 
and this was the only way.  She would be a fool to change her 
mind now.

She nodded her head jerkily and fumbled for the pen.

"No, don't sign it until the witness is present," he said.

"W..."  She licked her dry lips.  "Witness?"

"It's best to have a witness, don't you think?  To the contract, 
obviously, not the sex.  Of course, to make it watertight we 
should really get it notarised, but I don't suppose you want to 
go that far, do you?"

She stared at him.  His hair was tumbled over his forehead and 
his shirt was still gaping open, but his mouth was set in a thin, 
straight line, and behind the glasses his eyes were hard.  He 
looked like a stranger: a disturbingly sexy, rigidly angry 
stranger.

"Do you?" he repeated.

"I... uh... no, of course not!"

"Good.  I'll call the front desk and get them to send the duty 
manager up."  His eyes swept over her.  "I think you'd better 
neaten up a bit."  He reached down and pulled her bodice up over 
her breasts.  She'd completely forgotten that she was naked to 
the waist; she stood blushing scarlet, hands clenched on the 
clipboard, while he secured the shoulder straps.

Then she felt his hands probing through her hair, gently removing 
the pins from what remained of her earlier hairstyle.  His 
fingers combed the strands down around her shoulders.  She peered 
up into his face, trying to reconcile this cold, furious man with 
her easy-going partner.

"No, I can't fix that," he said.  "You might want to brush it 
out."

He left the bedroom, buttoning his shirt as he went, and a moment 
later she heard him speaking on the phone in the living room.

She sat down at the dressing table and looked at the clipboard 
still clutched in her shaking hands.  This was what she wanted, 
she said to herself, trying to quell the dread building in the 
pit of her stomach.  The fact that Clark had somehow turned the 
tables on her to become the driving force didn't change that.  
She had won.

So why did she suddenly feel like the hapless victim?


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A white-hot rage was burning at the corners of Clark's vision.  
He'd never felt such fury and yet, at the same time, such clarity 
of purpose.

He'd hoped to find out tonight just how Lois felt about him.  And 
for a short time he'd been under the blissful illusion that she 
felt the same way he had - that she was in love with him.

Well, now he knew exactly what she thought of him.  A "fine 
physical specimen" - fit to father her child, but no more.

So be it.

If all she wanted was his genetic material, he would oblige.  
Because there was one thing above all others he was quite 
determined on: the only man who was going to lay a hand on her 
tonight was going to be Clark himself.  And if she ever did 
decide to bestow her dubious favours on another man, Clark was 
going to do everything in his power to make sure it wasn't 
Luthor.

He stared out of the window, noticing after a minute that there 
were lights on in an office block across the road.  Two men 
talking near the window.  Thank heavens the bedroom curtains had 
been drawn, or they would have had a fine view of the bizarre 
scene that had just taken place there.  Grimacing, Clark tugged 
the curtains shut and turned away.

What could possibly be going on in Lois's head?  He knew, of 
course, that she'd had problems with men in the past - but 
deciding to have a baby on her own had to rate as one of the 
world's worst reactions.  But once Lois's mind was made up, there 
seemed to be no possible way to change it.  He'd tried, with that 
ludicrous contract, to make her see how insane the situation was, 
but she'd simply sucked up every insulting suggestion he'd made 
and carried on regardless.  And Clark was damned if he was going 
to be the one to back down.

And now the night manager was on his way up to witness the 
infernal thing.  Clark's hands clenched involuntarily.  He 
couldn't just stand here fuming, though; he had to make a show of 
normality for the man.

He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, 
smoothing it down.  He retrieved his tie from the back of the 
couch and his jacket from the floor, and put them on.  Then he 
righted the room, turning the lights up to a normal level and 
removing the 'Do not disturb' sign from the outside of the door.

The empty dessert platter was still standing on the table in 
front of the couch.  Clark winced, remembering how, bare minutes 
before, he had sat there laughing gaily, literally eating out of 
Lois's hand.  Even moments ago in the bedroom, with his hands in 
Lois's hair, he'd been struck by the urge to grab her and simply 
kiss her senseless, kiss her until she abandoned this bizarre 
scheme and fell in love with him instead.

He really was the world's biggest fool.

On the tray stood the silver cafetiere, untouched.  Clark felt 
the side and then pulled down his glasses to reheat the coffee.  
He was pouring himself a cup when Lois came out of the bedroom 
carrying the clipboard.  She'd brushed her hair and restored her 
makeup, and looked resolute, if a little pale.

"Coffee?" he said.

"Please."  She seated herself in an armchair and folded her hands 
while he poured a second cup and placed it beside her.

A knock on the outer door broke the tense silence.  Clark went to 
let in the manager, a thin grey man who looked anxiously at 
Clark.  "Mr, uh, Kent?  Is there a problem?"

Clark smiled blandly.  "No problem.  My partner and I are simply 
finalising a little business.  Would you mind serving as a 
witness for a contract?"

The manager's brow cleared.  "Of course not.  We try to give our 
guests the best service at all times."  He looked past Clark into 
the room and nodded.  "Ms Lane."  His eyes slid speculatively 
back to Clark.  "Are you staying in the hotel, Mr Kent?"

Touche.  Clark waved the manager into the room.  "I'll be staying 
in this suite for the weekend," he said.  "As soon as the 
contract is signed, I'll come down and register."

The manager hesitated, looking for confirmation at Lois, who 
nodded.  She looked perfectly calm, Clark thought, if you didn't 
notice the pulse fluttering in her throat.

He picked up the clipboard from the table and handed it to her.  
"Lois, would you like to start the ball rolling?"

She took it and looked at it for a long moment, two spots of 
colour rising in her cheeks.  Then she picked up the pen and 
signed at the bottom.

"Initial the written changes," Clark instructed, and she obeyed 
silently.  Then she folded back the top sheet and signed and 
initialled the second copy before handing the clipboard to Clark.

Quickly, before he could have second thoughts about the 
implications, Clark signed and initialled both copies.  He added 
the place and date of signing as a final legal touch.

Then he bent and picked up the welcome booklet from the table and 
clipped it over the text of the contract before handing the 
clipboard to the manager.  He might have taunted Lois earlier, 
but he was certainly not going to let a stranger see what was 
written on that highly embarrassing sheet of paper.  Behind him, 
he heard Lois let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

"I trust it's nothing illegal," the manager joked nervously as he 
took the clipboard.

"If it were illegal, we'd scarcely bother with a legal contract, 
would we?" Clark pointed out coolly.  "It's simply private 
business."

He watched carefully as the manager signed both sheets without 
disturbing the booklet, then took the clipboard back.  He thanked 
the man and ushered him from the room, closing the door firmly 
after him.

Behind him, he heard Lois pick up her coffee cup and drink.  The 
cup clattered loudly as she replaced it in the saucer; she wasn't 
feeling quite as calm as she looked.

Good.

Tossing the booklet back on the table, Clark separated the top 
sheet, folded it carefully and placed it in the inside pocket of 
his jacket.  He set the clipboard down in front of Lois; she 
looked at it for a moment, her hands clasping each other tightly, 
but made no move to pick it up.

"You have your contract," Clark said softly, but with a hint of 
steel in his voice.  "I'll go and register now, and buy myself a 
toothbrush -"

"I brought a toothbrush for you."

Naturally.  Clark smiled dangerously, then reached out and 
grasped her shoulders, pulling her to her feet.  "You think of 
everything, don't you, Lois?  I'll be back in a few minutes, 
then, to start collecting on our agreement.  Because, don't 
forget..."  He shifted his hands abruptly to cup her breasts.  
She gasped.  "... for the next three days, your body belongs to 
me."

She trembled, and her face tilted expectantly towards him.

He released her, turned on his heel and walked out of the suite.

They say you always remember your first time, Clark thought as he 
headed for the stairs.  There was no way he was ever going to be 
able to forget what happened tonight.

Lois might be planning to walk away without a backward glance 
afterwards, but Clark was going to make damned sure that for her, 
too, the memories would last forever.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lois stood staring, stunned, as the door closed with a final 
decisive click behind Clark.  Shocked tears were prickling at the 
corners of her eyes.

She blinked them away, stiffening her spine.  If the gentle man 
she'd selected to father her baby had vanished, subsumed into 
this icy stranger - if the bed in the next room was about to 
become a battleground - then she couldn't afford to show any 
weakness.

She had what she wanted, she reminded herself once more.  Phase 
three was complete, and she had her contract.

Now phase four lay ahead.  The phase she had been careful not to 
think too clearly about, until now.  Now there was nothing else 
left to think about.

Fear clutched at her vitals.  She could still feel the heat where 
Clark's hands had touched her in that blatant display of 
ownership.

Surely Clark's unwonted alpha-male behaviour didn't excite her?

She bit her lip.  No, the churning in her stomach and the 
trembling in her limbs were purely the result of fear.  And she 
had to master it before Clark returned.  Because she was not 
going to play the submissive female to his dominant male.

She had to get through tonight - this weekend - with her 
essential dignity, the force of her personality, intact.  Because 
on Monday morning, she had to be able to browbeat Clark into 
maintaining at least the semblance of a professional relationship 
at work.  Otherwise her career in the newsroom was over.

Lois forced her jelly-like legs to turn and carry her to the 
bedroom.  Once there, she sank down in front of the dressing 
table and began methodically to remove her jewellery and makeup.

Sex.

Experience had taught her that sex was a tedious business.  She'd 
had various fumbling encounters at college, followed by the 
brief, abortive affair with Claude - the affair she'd thought was 
going to be the love of a lifetime.  After that, she'd never felt 
any interest in trying again.

The best part was the early foreplay, before your partner 
realised he was going to score.  Because at that point in the 
game, his interest would inevitably shift from giving you a good 
time to maximising his own pleasure.  The rest of the encounter 
was always messy, occasionally painful, and usually mercifully 
quick.

She'd had a good time with Clark this evening, up until they'd 
entered the bedroom.  For minutes at a stretch she'd been able to 
forget what lay ahead and enjoy herself, and he'd been really 
good company.  Feeding each other with chocolate dessert had even 
been fun, and she hadn't had to fake the desire with which she'd 
invited him to bed.

Well, that part was over.  Even if he hadn't gone all Jekyll-and-
Hyde once he'd understood her real agenda, she couldn't have 
expected much more from him.

Now...

Uneasily, Lois swivelled to regard the huge bed behind her.

He was furious, that much was clear.  Was he going to take it out 
on her physically, deliberately hurt her?

She turned back to the mirror and picked up her brush, started to 
run it through her hair.  The familiar long strokes of her normal 
bedtime routine soothed her jangling nerves.

Would he hit her?

She thought not.

She hoped not.

Surely anger couldn't change him that much?

Or was this ruthless stranger the real man, the mild-mannered 
reporter just a mask he wore in public?

No!  That couldn't be true.  She couldn't be so mistaken about 
him, after working beside him for months.

Could she?

He was angry, that was all; his ego was deflated because she 
wasn't pretending to be in love with him.  He would probably just 
focus on using her body for his own enjoyment, ignoring the 
effect on her, and it would be over quickly enough.  He would be 
fast asleep within minutes, and she would be safe again till 
morning, at least.

He still wasn't back.  How long could it possibly take him to 
register?

She couldn't sit here dwelling on her fears, or she'd be a 
quivering wreck when he arrived.  She'd probably scream when he 
touched her.

Would that excite him?

The brush clattered to the table top.  She stood up and crossed 
the floor jerkily to stand in front of the wardrobe door.  The 
full-length mirror showed a hunched, frightened woman.  A victim.

Lois drew herself erect and straightened her shoulders.  That was 
better.  Now only her eyes showed her fear; they looked several 
sizes too large for her pale face.

Moving deliberately, proudly, she pulled up the skirt of the 
burgundy dress and drew it off over her head.  She opened the 
wardrobe door and hung the dress up beside the others, then toed 
off her shoes and placed them neatly side by side.  Her lacy 
underwear followed, then she picked up the wispy black garment 
that lay ready on the shelf.

Closing the door, she shook out the scrap of silk and held it up 
against herself.  It was a sheer black teddy, bought two days ago 
in a sudden fit of nerves, when she'd suddenly found herself 
unable to believe that Clark could possibly find her sexually 
attractive.  The hem skimmed the tops of her thighs; red ribbons 
tied at the shoulders and laced all the way up the front.  It had 
bolstered her courage when she'd bought it, and it was no less 
effective now.

Carefully, her fingers trembling, she drew it on and inspected 
the result in the mirror.  It looked stunning.  The silky folds 
shadowed the curves of her body without hiding anything, and the 
colours seemed to darken her eyes and hair and redden her lips.


Clark would surely find her body suitably enticing.  And the more 
enticing it was, the more quickly their physical encounter - and 
the others to follow - would be over.

Turning from the mirror, holding fast to her courage, she climbed 
onto the bed and settled herself in the centre of the mound of 
pillows.  She tucked one leg up under herself and left the other 
oh so casually extended.  At first she couldn't work out what to 
do with her arms; she settled on resting one hand across her 
upper hip and propping her head on the other, elbow supported by 
the pillows.

Not a moment too soon.  She heard a key in the outer door of the 
suite, a pause during which she held her breath, then a click as 
the door was closed firmly once again.  A rattle as Clark placed 
his key on the table, and then his voice.  "Lois?"

She swallowed, closing her eyes for an instant.  "In here," she 
said firmly.

He appeared in the inner doorway, unbuttoning his jacket.  As his 
eyes fell on her, it seemed that his hands froze and his face 
went slack.  But only for the barest instant; then he was 
shrugging off his jacket and crossing to the wardrobe.

"Gift-wrapped," he commented over his shoulder.  "How thoughtful 
of you, Lois."

"We strive to please," she returned automatically.  Her voice, 
she was relieved to hear, caught the perfect inflection between 
mild sarcasm and disinterest.

He opened the second wardrobe door, the one she'd left empty, and 
hung up his jacket.  His cufflinks clattered onto the dressing 
table beside her earrings.  Then he was standing at the side of 
the bed, loosening his tie, his eyes running slowly down over her 
body.

Striving to keep her breathing even, Lois quelled the impulse to 
cover herself with her hands.  He must have seen some involuntary 
movement, though, because the hint of a smile touched his lips 
and his eyes travelled leisurely upwards again to lock with hers.

"Having second thoughts?"

"Not at all," she lied smoothly.  "I'm ready when you are."

She heard Clark's breath hiss between his teeth; whether it was 
amusement or something else, she didn't know.  "You talk a good 
game, partner," he said, settling onto the bed beside her and 
reaching for her shoulders.  "Let's see how you are in action."


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Three: Patterns

After registering, Clark had left the hotel for a few minutes.  
Cranford's was a short walk along the street, and open late; 
Clark didn't know and didn't want to guess what the book store 
staff thought of the man who'd stood in front of the sex manual 
section, methodically taking out each book in turn and flipping 
through it, then left the store again without a word.

The walk had done more than allow him to refresh his memory on 
the theory of sexual technique, though; it had given his rage 
time to die, leaving bleak depression in its place.

The fates must have it in for him.  After years of lonely 
travelling, he'd finally found someone he wanted to share himself 
with; possibly even spend the rest of his life with.  And she 
wasn't interested.  He'd opened himself up tonight, told her that 
he loved her, laid his heart before her... and she'd trampled it 
underfoot.  Worse even than rejecting him completely, she was 
bent on using him first, then discarding him.  And he was letting 
her do it.

He was crazy to have signed that agreement.  If he'd genuinely 
thought that Lois would have his baby, there was no way he could 
ever have agreed to walk away from her.  Especially since any 
child of his might have super-powers.  The only reason he'd been 
willing to sign was the knowledge that, as an alien, the chance 
that his genes were compatible with hers was vanishingly small.

He couldn't possibly tell her that, of course.  He could have 
invented some other reason besides being Superman for saying that 
he was infertile, but if he told her he was incapable of doing 
what she wanted, she'd throw him out and go straight to Luthor.  
And that was a thought Clark simply couldn't bear.

He ought not to care what she did.  He ought to despise her for 
the way she was treating him.  But, try as he might, he couldn't 
rid himself of the images from earlier in the evening... Lois 
smiling at him over the dinner table, kissing him in the lift, 
laughing with him on the couch.  He wanted her so badly he could 
practically taste her.

God help him, he still loved her.  And he had to try... try at 
least to convince her that this plan to have a baby on her own 
was madness.  And maybe, just maybe, he could convince her that 
they could have some sort of future together.  After all, she 
wasn't actually physically averse to him... unless the whole of 
tonight had simply been an act.  Unless she'd been faking all 
along.

He'd soon know just how much she was faking.  She didn't have 
much chance of fooling him if he used his superpowers to monitor 
her body's responses to him.

But first, he had to talk to her.  Find out just why she had 
decided to have a baby, and try to convince her to change her 
mind.  As soon as he got back to the hotel room, he'd get her to 
talk.

And then he saw the erotic vision waiting for him, and all his 
good intentions evaporated in a sudden blaze of desire.  He tried 
to damp down his response, made some smart remark to cover it 
which she countered with sarcasm of her own, but all he could 
think about was her body and his, and how soon they would be in 
contact.

As he stood beside the bed, drinking in the sight of her, her 
heartbeat leapt and skittered, and her hands started to move.  
For an instant he thought her nerve had finally snapped, that she 
would cover her body and tell him to leave, that she'd seen sense 
at last.  The idea of having to turn away from her at this point 
was torture, but it was mixed with sheer relief.  Only she could 
release him from the trap she, and his own stupidity, had set for 
him.

But no.  Whatever scruple or flash of modesty had assailed her, 
it had lasted only a moment.  He was caught like a fly in 
honeydew, and there was no reprieve.

He sank onto the bed beside her and reached for her shoulders, 
fighting to maintain some sort of control.  It was so tempting 
just to let go, to lose himself in his desire and forget about 
the consequences... but he had every intention of making this 
experience as memorable for her as it would be for him.  Besides, 
he had to remember at all times how easily he could hurt her.

As his hands touched her skin, that same spark seemed to jump 
between them.  She seemed to feel it, too.  She leant back 
against the mound of pillows and her arms reached out to make 
contact with his chest.  She shifted, straightening her bent leg, 
angling her body towards him.  Welcoming him.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

He bent forward and pressed his lips against the pulse leaping 
under the curve of her jaw.  A faint trace of chocolate lingered 
there, and he opened his mouth to savour her skin once more.  Her 
hands crept around his neck, gathering him in.

He kicked off his shoes and swung his legs onto the bed to lie 
beside her, supporting his weight on one elbow and leaving the 
other hand free to roam over her gleaming skin.  His mouth 
followed the caress of his fingers, licking and nibbling at her 
neck and shoulders.

He'd dreamt of this for so long.  He'd been hard-pressed to keep 
his hands off her when she'd been sprayed by that perfume and 
fancied herself in love with him.  Ever since then, his sleep had 
been disturbed by fantasies of what would have happened if he'd 
given in before she'd recovered from its effects.

Now he was living out that fantasy.  And none of his dreams had 
prepared him for the reality, the sheer, incredible pleasure of 
being free, at last, to touch and taste her.  Her body was his, 
he'd said, and she'd made no demur; his to do with as he desired.

And as she desired.  She hadn't spoken a word since his last 
taunt, but her breathing and her heartbeat filled his hearing, 
and both were getting steadily more erratic as he continued his 
ministrations.

His own body, he was vaguely aware, was responding more and more 
urgently to Lois's tantalising nearness; an animal growl at the 
back of his brain was urging him to hurry, to give her what she'd 
asked for as quickly as possible.  So far, he was managing to 
ignore that part of himself, keeping it leashed and waiting.  His 
turn would come, he assured it.  For now, he was careful to limit 
the contact between his body and hers, concentrating as best he 
could on the sensations he was giving and receiving with his 
hands and mouth.

A scarlet ribbon tickled his cheek, and he lifted his hand and 
tugged the bow undone.  Smoothing the ends of the ribbon aside, 
he glanced up at her face; her eyes were closed, her expression 
remote.  Then, as he pulled down the shoulder of her garment, her 
eyes opened, and in their glazed depths he glimpsed... 
puzzlement?

The image stayed with him, niggling at a corner of his mind, as 
he bent his head again to explore the new territory he'd 
uncovered.  The second shoulder bow went the way of the first, 
and soon he was unlacing the ribbon at the front of her garment, 
step by teasing step.

Lois was still lying passive, doing no more than cradling his 
head against her or running her hands over his shoulders; that 
remote corner of his mind took note with a tinge of concern.  He 
unlaced the last of the scarlet ribbon and pushed the black silk 
aside.  She tensed as he laid his hand on the warm skin of her 
stomach, but as he caressed in slow circles she gradually 
relaxed.

His fingers explored gently, guided by the catches in her breath 
and once or twice the faintest of moans.  Soon she was clutching 
at his shirt, her breathing ragged.  Her eyes drifted to his, a 
sense of wonder in their smoky brown depths, and her lips 
softened into the faintest of smiles.

Then her eyes shifted and a blush stained her cheekbones.  He 
could almost see the shutters going up.

She wet her lips.  "Very nice, Kent."  He saw her wince as she 
registered her own throaty whisper, and she continued in a 
stronger voice, "But that's not why you're here."

If he hadn't been watching her so closely, he would have been 
fooled.  Even as it was, it felt like a knife in his gut that she 
could so casually dismiss what was the greatest intimacy he'd 
experienced.  So far.

She really did only want one thing from him.

"Don't worry, Lois," he said softly.  "You'll get your pound of 
flesh."  He mentally reviewed the words and added, "So to speak."

Her eyes flew to his; for a moment he thought she was going to 
laugh.  Then, just as he was about to relax into a grin himself, 
her eyes skittered away again with a flash of some emotion he 
couldn't name.

Not even laughter was allowed to get in the way of her 
obsession...

So be it.

His body was aching for its own fulfilment.  If that was all she 
wanted, that was what she would get.

He rolled to his knees beside her and drew aside the last folds 
of the black silk garment.  She shifted her body to help him as 
he pulled it from under her and tossed it to the floor.  Then he 
stood to remove his own clothing.  Her eyes followed his hands 
from beneath her lowered lashes, and her breathing altered 
subtly.

She might not want to show it, but her body was far from 
indifferent to him.

He knelt on the bed beside her once more, and her gaze flicked up 
to his face.  Then she reached out with both hands to remove his 
glasses.

No!

His hands caught her wrists easily; she made a single attempt to 
pull free and then lay quite still, looking up at him.  She'd 
gone suddenly pale, and he finally recognised the emotion now 
flooding her eyes.  It was fear.

He stared at her, arrested.  What did she have to fear?  She was 
the one who had done this before...

And then it hit him.

He dropped her wrists as if they'd burnt him and leant forward to 
run his palm along the line of her jaw.

"My God, Lois," he whispered.  "Who did that to you?  Who hurt 
you?"

Her eyes widened and then, slowly, filled with tears.  Cursing 
himself silently, he gathered her against his chest.  "Forget 
it," he said harshly.  "Forget I asked.  Lois, I never meant to 
upset you."  He felt her sob, once, against his shoulder.  
"Forget him, Lois.  He just isn't worth it."

He laid her back against the pillows and found her mouth with his 
own, and then she was kissing him unrestrainedly.  Her scent rose 
up around him, misting his brain with desire.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clark had confounded her not once, but twice.  First, when he'd 
joined her on the bed and she'd confidently expected him to 
concentrate on his own pleasure before anything else, he'd 
instead spent long minutes making gentle love to her.

And then, when they'd both been naked and she'd known that 
nothing was going to stop him this time, he'd recognised her fear 
and responded to it in a way that had crashed straight through 
all her barriers.  In a way that, against all the odds, had 
aroused her all over again.  Instead of being scared and tense, 
she'd been as eager as he was, and it hadn't even been 
uncomfortable - it had been about the most wonderful sensation 
she'd known.  She'd finally understood why it was that women 
could want sex, actually go out of their way to seek it out.

But now... now he'd reverted to normal male behaviour.  Only this 
time, instead of feeling faintly revolted by what had passed, 
Lois was still racked by desire.

He was lying half on top of her, trembling, his breath slowly 
easing, his eyes closed.  In a few moments he'd be fast asleep; 
the only real question was whether he'd roll off her first or 
not.

She had what she wanted, she reminded herself.  The chance to 
conceive the baby she needed.

The mantra didn't help.

She wanted more!  A frustrated whimper escaped her lips.

Instantly, his eyes snapped open, focusing on her.  "Lois..."  
His hand, stilled cupped around her face, flexed and his thumb 
brushed over her cheek.  "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No!  No, I... it's just..."  She caught her breath.

How could she have forgotten?  She had to work beside this man on 
Monday.  She had to guard herself against him, maintain what she 
could of her dignity... not much after he'd watched her in the 
throes of pleasure, but at least that experience was mutual.

Begging for more, however much she might want it, was out of the 
question.

"Am I too heavy?"  He shifted his weight onto one elbow, and she 
felt his body move against hers, the skin of his chest brushing 
against her breasts.  And against her will, she let out another 
whimper.

He gave a soft half-laugh and bent forward to brush a kiss over 
her lips.  "I'm sorry, I was selfish.  I'll try not to let it 
happen again..."

He actually looked embarrassed, she was astonished to see.  "Oh 
no, I... that's okay," she said, flustered.  "I mean, you did, 
uh, the necessary..."

He claimed her lips again for a deeper kiss.  His hand left her 
face to stroke teasingly at her body, drawing a moan of longing 
from her.

She gave in and reached for him, running her hands over his chest 
and back, feeling the play of the well-developed muscles beneath 
his skin as he bent over her, feeding her passion once more with 
his hands and mouth.

He was ready for more...  Earlier she had dreaded the thought 
that he might want her more than once; now nothing could have 
been more welcome.  She looked up into his face and saw her own 
surprise and delight mirrored there.

And this time, it was everything she wanted and more...

Some time later she came back to herself, shivering slightly as 
her body cooled.  Clark was lying next to her, one arm still 
draped across her chest, their legs still tangled together.  She 
studied the sleeping face so close to her own, wondering that he 
could look so peaceful.  She'd seen depths of emotion she'd never 
expected on that face today, of both anger and passion.  Now both 
were spent.

He was still wearing his glasses.  A tenderness she'd never known 
she possessed welled up inside Lois, and she reached forward to 
remove them.

Before she touched them, her wrist was caught once again in a 
vice-like grip.  Clark's eyes were open, gazing into hers, and 
his face wasn't peaceful at all.

For a long, tense moment his gaze held her pinioned.  Then he 
glanced down at her body, releasing her wrist as well as her 
eyes.  "You're shivering," he said.

He rolled off the bed and flipped the cover down with one easy 
movement, the muscles flexing in his arm.  Lois crawled between 
the sheets, feeling a sudden need for modesty as well as warmth.

A moment later he joined her.  He snapped off the light, then she 
heard his glasses clatter down on the nightstand.  His body eased 
down beside her, came to rest a few inches away from hers.

Had she expected him to take her in his arms?  They weren't, 
after all, lovers in any sense but the technical one.

She felt unaccountably lonely.  She wanted to roll over and 
cuddle up to him, but she didn't move.

Cuddling wasn't part of the plan.

"Good night, Lois," came a soft voice in the darkness.

"Good night, Clark."


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He couldn't afford to sleep deeply.  He might float in his sleep, 
or she might wake before him and see his face without the 
glasses.  He couldn't risk discovery.

And so Clark woke instantly when Lois rolled over and came to 
rest with her head pillowed on his shoulder and her arm flung 
across his chest.

For a long moment he didn't breathe.  She was breathing slowly 
and regularly, though.  She was fast asleep.

He relaxed just a little.  In a few moments, when he was sure she 
wasn't going to wake, he'd ease himself away from her.  In the 
meanwhile...

It occurred to him that the body pressed up against him was 
naked.  As was his.  His virginity was a thing of the past; he 
had finally - belatedly, some would say - taken the plunge into 
sex and now he was lying beside his sleeping lover.

He ought to feel overjoyed, overwhelmed with love.  Or perhaps, 
given the callous way she'd tried to manipulate him, he ought to 
feel angry and used.

He ought to feel something.

He probed at his emotions like someone worrying a loose tooth.  
Earlier, he had been so angry and hurt at the way Lois had 
treated him that he'd barely been able to think.  Now... there 
was only emptiness, and a dull, faraway ache for his broken 
dreams.  He'd lost his innocence in more ways than one tonight.

Perhaps, if he'd been a normal man, he'd still have been feeling 
angry and hurt and used.  As it was, he knew he hadn't given her 
what she'd really been after - the ability to conceive.  In a 
way, he'd been using her as shamelessly as she'd been using him, 
to satisfy his physical desire for her.  He was worse than she 
was, really, because at least she'd been honest about what she 
was asking from him.

His conscience gave a twinge.

But what choice had he had?  If he'd been honest she would have 
been lying in Luthor's arms right now.  And not only did the 
thought of Lois touching that snake bring Clark out in a cold 
sweat... but if she put herself in Luthor's power like that, she 
would be lost.  He would have her dancing on a string till the 
end of her miserable days.

Clark might have taken advantage of her physically, but at least 
he cared for her happiness.  Which was why he had to prevent her 
from following this disastrous course of action - not just having 
Luthor's baby, but the whole idea of becoming a single mother.  
He had to talk her out of it.

But he could do nothing for now.  Now she was fast asleep, curled 
confidingly against him, all her defences in abeyance.  Once 
again, Clark found himself dwelling on the feeling of her body 
against his.

The steady rise and fall of her ribs was creating the barest hint 
of friction between her skin and his.  A normal man might not 
even have noticed.  Clark was acutely aware of every shift, every 
subtle change in pressure.

He felt his body start to respond.

*Again*?

Was this another manifestation of superpowers, one he'd never had 
any reason to suspect until now?  Or was it simply that he had 
over a decade of abstinence to make up for?

A strand of her hair was tickling his cheek.  He lifted a hand 
and smoothed it down over her head.  It seemed natural to run his 
palm over her hair and then curve it around the base of her jaw.

She sighed and burrowed her cheek a little deeper into the curve 
of his shoulder.  Her breasts shifted against his chest.  His arm 
moved automatically to wrap around her body and hold her against 
him.

The skin under his fingers was satin-soft.  Heat seemed to 
radiate up his arm from the contact.  He fought the urge to 
explore her curves.

But he wasn't the only one affected by it, it seemed.  Lois was 
breathing faster and her body was pressing closer against him.

Was that possible?  And yet, Clark thought, what he'd learnt 
earlier suggested that she'd had a bad experience with sex - 
perhaps more than one.  Perhaps she hadn't slept with anyone 
since Claude, and she also had several years of abstinence to 
make up for.

Without intending to, he was gently massaging the soft flesh 
under his hand.  And Lois was responding, her mouth questing 
blindly over the skin of his shoulder.  She lifted her leg over 
his, pressing herself against his side.

He could tell the instant she woke.  She let out a faint gasp as 
she registered that what she had no doubt thought was a dream was 
solid reality.  Clark waited for her reaction, half expecting her 
to roll away in embarrassed denial and steeling himself against 
the frustration when she did.

Her hand left his shoulder and whispered slowly down over his 
chest, exploring and stroking.  He let out his breath in a 
muffled groan and his hand tightened involuntarily.  Her fingers 
drifted lower...

"Again?" she murmured.

He grimaced.  She would be disgusted by his libido.  Besides, 
they couldn't do this - they had to talk.  And after they'd 
talked, they wouldn't be doing this again...

But she didn't seem to be perturbed; her hand was still 
exploring, her caresses sending shock waves through his body and 
into his brain.

He had to stop her.  "No, go back to sleep," he said thickly.  
His voice was at least an octave deeper than usual.  "You don't 
need to -"

"But I want to."  She sounded faintly surprised at the fact, but 
her breathing was shallower, her scent getting stronger.  He cast 
about for some way to put her off, but her mouth started to rove 
over his skin and he couldn't remember why making love again was 
a bad idea.

He groaned and surrendered, drawing her soft warmth against him 
and kissing her hair.

No more words were spoken, but her body moved over his in the 
darkness, teaching him new steps in the oldest dance of all.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The sun was high when Lois opened her eyes.  A shaft of light was 
spilling between the heavy brocade curtains, illuminating the 
deep pile carpet.  Lois watched golden dust motes dancing in the 
beam for several seconds as she worked out where she was; then 
she carefully inched herself over to look at the sleeping figure 
next to her.

He was gone.

There was a dent in the other pillow, but it wasn't even warm.

Puzzled, she sat up and strained her ears.  There was no sound 
from the bathroom.  The living room, perhaps?  But her instincts 
were shrilling at her that Clark was no longer in the suite.  
He'd walked out, leaving it...

... empty...

She stamped down firmly on the faint stirring of self-pity.  She 
liked her living space empty, she reminded herself.  Whenever 
Lucy came to stay at her apartment they inevitably ended up 
fighting.  And she really hadn't been looking forward to sharing 
a bathroom with a man for the first time - especially under such 
strained circumstances.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she caught sight of a 
folded sheet of paper on the nightstand.  She picked it up; her 
name was inscribed on it in Clark's firm handwriting.  She 
unfolded it.

"Lois,
"I have to go to work.  You're not stirring - I guess you have 
some sleep to catch up on.  I'll be back around seven.
"Clark"

She ignored the way her heart sank at the curt wording.  Of 
course he'd had to go - she'd simply forgotten that he didn't 
also have the weekend off.  And he'd be back.

So he was still angry... that didn't matter, she told herself 
staunchly.  The chill around her heart when she thought of how 
he'd looked as she'd punctured his romantic fantasy, his face 
growing cold, the laughter dying in his eyes, was just remembered 
fear.  And his desire to punish her had gone no further than 
making her sign that contract... and that wasn't forcing her to 
do anything she wouldn't have done without it.

Anyway, the only alternative would have been to tell him about 
her condition and ask him to help her out of pity - and that just 
didn't bear thinking about.  Lois Lane hadn't clawed her way to 
the top of her profession by exposing her weaknesses, and 
especially not to ambitious male colleagues!

No, she'd chosen the right way - the only way - to do it.  The 
blow to his male ego would ensure that he was never tempted to 
spread the story of their dirty weekend around the newsroom.  And 
if he despised her for using him, and still more for agreeing to 
sell her body in return... so much the better.  That just made it 
more certain he'd walk away from her once the deed was done.

Was she already pregnant?  She leant back against the pillows and 
ran her hand over the swell of her abdomen, wondering.  She 
wasn't sure how long it took... but she could hope that Clark was 
virile enough to have got her pregnant right away.  His wounded 
ego hadn't prevented him from putting in quite the virtuoso 
performance, she thought, feeling a hint of a satisfied smile - 
or was it a smirk? - tug at her lips.

And she hadn't done so badly herself, in spite of all her fears.  
Phase three had ultimately succeeded, after a few hiccups, and 
phase four had surpassed all her expectations.

Definitely a smirk, she decided.  Claude had been quite wrong - 
in the right hands, she was anything but frigid.  In fact, she 
was quite thrillingly responsive.

Claude had prided himself on being a stud, as she'd discovered 
when he'd moved in on Jenny in the typing pool two days after 
Lois's own encounter with him; but Clark was obviously far more 
experienced than Claude.  Or perhaps it was just that he cared 
about his partners' pleasure in a way Claude never had...

A cold feeling had woken in her stomach at the thought of Clark's 
other sexual partners.  But that was ridiculous, she scolded 
herself.  She should be grateful to them for teaching him to be 
so skilful, so thoughtful.

Did she measure up to them?

She dismissed the thought, getting briskly out of bed.  Clark 
certainly hadn't been complaining last night, any more than she 
had.  And if she was, well, inexperienced at giving and receiving 
pleasure... she'd just have to learn as quickly as possible.  
While she had the opportunity.  Which was at least another two 
days.

It was eleven o'clock - *eleven*?  She never slept this late!  
But then, she never spent half the night making lo... having wild 
sex, either.  They must have been at it till after four, at 
least.  So now she only had to find some way to occupy herself - 
which shouldn't be difficult in a luxury hotel - and Clark would 
be back in about eight hours.

She'd be ready.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Four: The Dangling Conversation

Traffic statistics.

That was where his attention was meant to be.  Checking the 
background behind the city council's decision to widen the 
Eisenhower Bridge over the Hobbs River and rename it after the 
mayor.

Not sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye at his 
partner's desk, trying to reconcile her normal singleminded 
career focus with her absurd decision to become a single parent.  
Not straying to the honeymoon suite at the Lexor and wondering 
what she was doing now.

And definitely, unequivocally, not reliving intimate moments from 
last night.

Clark had always prided himself on his self-control.  Ever since 
it had become obvious, as a child, that the strange abilities he 
was developing were something more than natural, he had worked on 
controlling them.  More than that: he had worked on controlling 
his own natural reactions to any situation so that his abilities 
would never be suspected, and certainly never become a threat to 
any of the vulnerable humans around him.  Over the years his 
control had become such an integral part of him that it was hard 
even to imagine being without it.

Today, his self-control was nowhere to be seen.  He'd been 
sitting for hours poring over the piles of computer printouts in 
front of him, and not a single fact had actually gone into his 
brain.

But then, it wasn't just today.  His self-control had deserted 
him last night, when he'd walked into the bedroom and seen Lois 
lying on the bed in that pose, that wisp of black silk... his 
pulse rate still leapt every time he recalled the sight.

"What did you say, CK?"

Clark blinked himself back to reality.  Jimmy had paused 
curiously next to his desk, holding a brown paper bag and a soda 
can.  He must have groaned aloud in response to his thoughts, 
Clark realised in dismay.

"Uh, nothing, Jimmy... I just... I think I must have eaten 
something that disagreed with me."

"You're looking a bit grim," Jimmy said, scanning his face.  "Why 
don't you take the rest of the afternoon off?  The Chief won't 
miss you - he's busy fighting with Marketing about the new front-
page ads."  He gestured with the paper bag.  "This is the third 
time he's sent me out for fries - his blood pressure must be sky-
high!"

"I really ought to..." Clark started to respond automatically.

But at that moment, the door of the Editor's office opened and a 
roar of "Where's my food, Olsen?" issued forth.  Jimmy shook his 
head at Clark and scurried off with Perry's comfort food.

Jimmy had a point, Clark conceded.  He certainly wasn't earning 
his salary in his current state.  And grim didn't even begin to 
describe the way he was feeling.

He'd spent his first ever night of passion with the woman he'd 
been in love with for months.  And instead of joy and fulfilment, 
all he could feel about it was despair and a sick self-disgust.

His conscience had woken up with the morning, and it was gnawing 
savagely at him.

How could he just have leapt into bed with her like that, without 
making the slightest effort to change her mind?  And not just 
once, but twice now he'd succumbed to lust when he should have 
been reasoning with her.  If she ever realised how he'd been 
using her, she would kill him.  And he'd deserve it.

It didn't matter how many times he told himself that she had 
intended to use him, too; that he couldn't have told her the 
truth about his infertility and let her go to Luthor instead; 
that she had been the one making the running in the middle of the 
night.  At an emotional level, none of that mattered beside the 
fact that he was being dishonest, when he claimed to stand, among 
other things, for Truth.

It wasn't just guilt that was eating at him, though.

While the physical act of love had been more amazing even than 
he'd anticipated... he'd always expected something more when he 
finally took that final step.  Which was why he'd never chosen to 
do so before.  He wanted an emotional connection as deep and 
strong as the physical one, and infinitely more enduring.  There 
had been plenty of strong emotions last night, but none of them 
had had anything to do with the commitment he craved.

Alone, now and forever.  That was his lot.

Now he was getting morbid, and he still wasn't getting any work 
done.  Clark stood up and reached for his coat in sudden 
decision.  Maybe his evening patrol would clear his head a 
little, even give him some inspiration for dealing with Lois.  It 
was a bit early still, but maybe he'd catch some of the bad guys 
napping...

He was out of luck, though, in more ways than one.  The bad guys, 
like the rest of Metropolis, seemed to be sheltering from the 
bright, frosty January weather, while the view of his city from 
several hundred feet up only served to deepen Clark's sense of 
isolation.

He'd daydreamed, sometimes, about bringing Lois up here and 
showing her his favourite sights from the perspective only he and 
a few hot-air balloonists ever gained.  Now that fantasy was 
further from reality than ever.  Lois had no interest in Clark 
the man, only in his supposed ability to reproduce on one hand 
and his flashy powers on the other; and he had no desire to share 
himself with someone whose interest didn't even go skin deep.

A car skidded on an icy patch of freeway below, and Clark arrowed 
down to catch it before it could collide with the vehicle in the 
next lane.  Between fright and awe at Superman's intervention the 
driver was completely tongue-tied, and Clark delivered himself of 
a few stern words about driving more carefully until the gritting 
trucks had been out to treat the roads, then took off again.

After a few more sweeps of the city, he headed for home.  He 
needed a few things if he was going to spend another night in the 
hotel with Lois - and if he couldn't talk her out of her scheme, 
that was what he was going to have to do.  The dishonesty and the 
emptiness might be hard to bear, but the alternative was worse.

The phone rang as he was stuffing clothes into an overnight bag.  
He reached for it automatically before halting with his hand on 
the receiver.  He knew the only people likely to be phoning him 
on a Saturday evening, and he couldn't cope with the usual 
friendly chat with his parents.  Nor could he ever tell them what 
had happened, or what he'd done - the very thought of confiding 
in them turned his stomach.

He fetched some toiletries from the bathroom, adding the shaving 
kit he'd bought after his encounter with Kryptonite in Smallville 
with a grimace of distaste for the deception.  Then, leaving the 
phone still shrilling, he exited his apartment at super-speed to 
conceal the unusual sight of Superman carrying an overnight bag 
and headed for a quiet alley near the Lexor Hotel.

It was still some time before seven when he let himself into the 
honeymoon suite, and the room was empty.  He let out a breath he 
hadn't realised he was holding.  The confron... no, conversation 
with Lois would need to wait a little longer.  She was probably 
out shopping, or enjoying the hotel facilities... and he might as 
well do the same while he waited for her to get back.  Maybe a 
shower would help him relax.

The water was hot and soothing, and Clark washed his hair and his 
body at normal speed and then experimented with the various 
settings of the high-tech shower head.  He was standing with his 
eyes closed, enjoying a gentle flow after a stinging massage 
setting, when the click of the bathroom door roused him from his 
trance.

"Mind if I join you?"

He panicked.  For a moment he contemplated flying out of the 
shower at super-speed, getting dried and dressed in the other 
room, pretending he'd left the water running by accident... but 
even if the wind of his passage didn't rouse her suspicions, she 
must have seen the shadow of his body in the shower cubicle 
already... and yet, standing here waiting to be discovered, his 
glasses nowhere in sight, his hair slicked back with the water...

The cubicle door opened, and Lois stepped in.

He needn't have worried.  Her eyes barely flicked to his face 
before they sank to skim avidly over his chest, closely followed 
by her hands.

He reached out and gathered her closer, tucking her head under 
his chin so that she couldn't take a second look at his face.  
She smelt faintly of pool chlorine and a cocktail of unfamiliar 
chemicals - a visit to the hotel beauty parlour?  Then his body 
caught up with the sensation of hers, wet and pliant, pressing 
deliciously against it, and conscious thought was once again 
smothered in a tide of physical desire.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She'd never expected this.

Oh, she'd known Clark had a good body - she'd seen him once in 
nothing but a towel, and although the baggy suits he wore to work 
did nothing to flatter his figure, she hadn't forgotten.  She'd 
seen bodies as well-built as his in the gym, though, and while 
she was capable of appreciating an attractive male, the sight had 
never done much for her.

She'd never anticipated that, given free access to her partner's 
body, she simply wouldn't be able to keep her hands off it.  Yet 
the minute she'd arrived back in the suite and realised he was in 
the shower, the idea of joining him had leapt into her mind and 
refused to leave again.  She'd fought it, reminding herself once 
again that she had to work with Clark on Monday and that she had 
to keep what emotional distance she could from him... yet here 
she was, once again mother naked, renewing her acquaintance with 
those broad shoulders and bulging biceps, the narrow hips, the 
firm pecs and abs without an ounce of spare flesh anywhere, the 
skin that was smooth and soft, hairless except for the trail that 
led downward from his navel...


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was happening again.  They'd coupled in the shower and then, 
with his glasses safely back in place and his hair towelled into 
a more Clark-like style, they'd somehow ended up making love 
again, slowly but no less intensely, on a heap of towels on the 
bathroom floor.

And he'd still made no effort to talk her out of it.  They'd 
barely even exchanged half a dozen words since she'd walked into 
the shower.  Somehow, as soon as her body came near his, his 
brain seemed to cease functioning completely.

It was foolish of him to call it love-making, Clark knew.  For 
Lois it was just sex; not even important for itself, merely a 
means to an end.  And yet, in his head he could call it nothing 
else.  He wasn't capable of shutting down his emotions, and he 
still loved her.  Every touch, every movement he made expressed 
that love in a way he'd never be free to do in words.  Even now, 
as Lois came slowly back to life, he was savouring the feeling of 
her head pillowed on his shoulder, the curve of her hip under his 
hand, her breasts shifting subtly against him as she breathed.

If he succeeded in talking her out of it, he'd never experience 
this again.

She was shifting away from him now, rolling over and reaching for 
the luxurious terry robes provided by the hotel.  He caught the 
one she tossed toward him, sat up and shrugged into it as she 
belted hers around her.

She scrubbed with her sleeve at the mirror and then combed her 
fingers through her hair.  He caught the embarrassed glance she 
flicked at him in the glass.  She drew a breath.

"How was work?"

He nearly laughed before the full irony of the question caught 
him somewhere near the solar plexus.

How do you make small talk with someone who, outside the physical 
task he's performing as a favour to you, is not a boyfriend or a 
lover, or even a friend... just a colleague?

"Okay, I guess," he said.  "I spent most of it checking the 
background for the Eisenhower Bridge project.  Not even a 
Superman res... uh, story to liven up the day."

Her brows had drawn together at his words.  Clark rolled to his 
feet, cursing himself mentally for the slip; he needed to stop 
merely reacting and start thinking, for more reasons than one.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.  "We could get room service."

Her face cleared, to his relief, and she nodded.  "There's a menu 
in the living room," she said, leading the way out of the 
bathroom.

Truthfully, Clark wasn't that hungry - there was a knot in his 
stomach that only the anticipated talk with Lois could dispel - 
but he picked a sandwich almost at random off the menu.  Lois 
placed their order and then excused herself to go back to the 
bathroom, and Clark was left listening to the sound of the hair 
dryer and wondering awkwardly whether he was meant to get 
dressed.  She came back out still wearing her robe, though, and 
he relaxed a notch.

He couldn't think of anything to say.  He didn't want to start 
talking about her plans and then get interrupted by the arrival 
of the food.  After an uncomfortable pause, it occurred to him to 
offer her a drink, wondering whether a little alcohol might make 
her more receptive to his arguments.  Selecting and opening a 
bottle of white wine from the mini-bar occupied the next few 
minutes till the food arrived.

Once they were both seated with their plates, Clark on the couch 
and Lois in an armchair, he cleared his throat.  She looked at 
him enquiringly.

"Lois, have you thought..." he began, then shook his head and 
backtracked.  "Well, no, obviously you must have thought about 
this idea of having a baby, thought a lot about it, I mean..."

"It's not a spur-of-the-moment decision," she said quietly.  She 
was looking down at her chicken salad and he couldn't read her 
expression.

"Well, can you tell me why you decided to do it?  I mean, you 
seem so focused on your career, now suddenly you've decided you 
want to be a single parent... it seems cra--"  Her lips 
tightened, and he caught himself.  "It just doesn't seem to add 
up.  Can you explain it to me?"

She continued to stare at her plate for a while, frowning, and 
Clark began to wonder if she would answer.  At length, though, 
she looked up and said, "I never really thought I'd want to have 
kids, you know...  The way my parents brought us up, or rather 
left us to bring ourselves up - it wasn't exactly a good role 
model."

He nodded.  She'd never said much about her family life, but it 
wasn't the subject he wanted to pursue right now.  "What 
changed?"

"You know Amy Valdez?  The kid from the orphanage, during that 
Mentamide business?"  Clark nodded again.  "Well, at first I 
thought I wouldn't be able to cope with her at all.  Having a 
strange child staying in my apartment, messing with my things - 
actually, at first I could cheerfully have strangled her.  But 
when I got to know her... you know, Clark, she's a good kid, and 
she was trying to do the right thing in a tough situation.  She 
reminded me of me, really, trying to bring up Lucy.  It made me 
think..."

She took a sip from her wine glass and savoured it reflectively 
before swallowing.  "I've never had any contact with kids since 
Lucy was little, and I wasn't much older.  It's easy to think of 
kids as being almost a different lifeform.  Getting to know 
Amy... it made me realise that kids are just people, only they're 
still working out how to do stuff right."

"And that made you want to have a child of your own?"

"I guess so.  I mean, I actually missed her after she'd gone.  It 
even crossed my mind to apply to the orphanage to adopt her and 
her sister, but, well, two kids in my apartment... and they'd 
never consider someone like me as an adoptive parent, anyway."

"So what makes you think having your own baby is a good idea?"  
It was only as Lois shot a startled look at him that Clark 
realised how sharp the question sounded.  He took a deep, calming 
breath.  "I mean, the reasons an orphanage would have for turning 
you down - single parent, long working hours, a risky job - won't 
they be just as much of a problem if it's your own baby?"

"Clark, it's not as if I haven't thought about this..."  Lois's 
eyes flashed warningly at him.

He shrugged.  "Okay, so tell me what answers you've come up 
with."

"Well, first of all, I've realised that it's important to me to 
have my own child.  Not just adopt someone else's.  It's hard to 
say why... to carry on the family, I guess.  And because I've got 
more chance of understanding someone who's like me."

Clark shifted uncomfortably, taking a bite of his unwanted 
sandwich.  If there'd been any chance of having his own children, 
he'd have felt just the same - and he didn't want to feel 
sympathy with Lois's reasoning.

"So I really want this baby.  More than I want a Pulitzer, even."  
She gave a half-smile, but he looked away, refusing to share the 
joke with her.  "Enough to cut back on my hours as far as I need 
to.  The Planet's got a good daycare facility, though, so 
childcare during office hours won't be a problem.  And as for 
risks... well, Perry will almost certainly give me the less risky 
stories once I tell him I'm pregnant, anyway, whether I like it 
or not."

He swallowed, shaking his head.  "Lois, I can hardly believe 
you're saying this.  You're about the most ambitious, career-
driven person I know!  You may think now that having a baby is 
more important than your career, but what happens when you wake 
up one day and realise that having this kid has ruined your 
chances of ever getting that Pulitzer, or even another Kerth?  
Aren't you going to resent it?"

Lois had gone pale, but she was still regarding him levelly.  
"Weren't you the one telling me last night how good a reporter I 
am, Clark?  You're singing a different tune now.  Was that just a 
line you were spinning to get me into bed?"

"No!"  Clark looked down at the barely touched sandwich in his 
hand, dropped it on his plate and shoved it aside.  "You are 
good, Lois.  You're the best damn journalist I know.  But one of 
the reasons you're so good is that you never let anything, or 
anyone, stand in your way.  How are you going to do all-night 
stakeouts, or go undercover in an auto theft ring, if you've got 
a kid to worry about?"

"Clark, you can't seriously believe I haven't thought about all 
of that."  Her voice had risen.  "I'm well aware that I have a 
choice between having a child or being the best in my career, and 
I've made that choice.  And while we're talking about choices, I 
thought you'd made yours when you signed that contract.  You 
agreed to help me get pregnant.  Why are you so keen to talk me 
out of it now?"

He hitched himself to his feet and walked to the window.  "I 
meant to talk to you about it last night, Lois, but you... I... 
things got out of hand."  He turned to fix her with a pleading 
look.  "Lois, it's obvious you think all men are rats when it 
comes to taking responsibility, but I care about what might 
happen to a child of mine.  A child of anyone's for that matter.  
Being a single parent... it's hard, Lois.  There's no one to help 
out when you're sick, or it's just too much for you.  It isn't 
something anyone should take on lightly.  What happens when -"

"It's not something I'm taking on lightly, Clark."  She was on 
her feet too and was squaring up to him, her hands on her hips.  
"I've been trying to explain that to you, but you won't listen.  
And it's not your call, Clark.  At the end of the day, it's my 
body and it's my child and it's what I decide to do that counts."

"It's my child too, Lois."

"Oh yeah?"  Her lip curled.  "You signed a contract that says it 
isn't."

He opened his mouth to reply, found nothing to say and shut it 
again.  She smiled derisively.

He turned back to the window, gazing at the darkened offices 
opposite.  After a moment he said in a low voice, "What happens 
when your child asks who her father is, Lois?  And why he didn't 
love you, or her, enough to stick around?"

There was a pause before she answered.  "I tell her the truth.  
That her father wasn't important to me in that way.  And that it 
takes a man and a woman to make a baby, but sometimes it's enough 
just to have one parent to love you."

"And what if I'm still around?  What if she guesses it's me?  
What if it's a boy and he looks like me, have you thought about 
that, Lois?  I'm not going to take the blame for you, you know.  
Are you going to tell the truth then, tell him it was you who 
refused to let me have anything to do with him?"

She didn't answer immediately, and he turned to stare at her.  
She was paler than ever, but her chin was tilted obstinately.  
"In that case I'll lie.  Say it was someone else.  Someone who 
left, or died."

"But *why*?"  He flung his arms out incredulously.  "Why are you 
so determined to do this the hard way, Lois?  Why the hell can't 
you do it the usual way, find some guy you like who wants a 
family, get married and have kids together?"

Her lips stretched in a bleak smile.  "I don't know if you've 
caught up with my reputation on the office grapevine, Clark, but 
my record with guys is less than stellar.  All my relationships 
have been federal disasters - I just don't seem to have what the 
good ones are looking for.  I don't imagine that's going to 
change just because I've decided I want kids.  And marrying some 
loser and then having a messy divorce five years down the track 
wouldn't be doing the kids any favours."

"Have you even dated anyone since Claude?  Seriously, I mean?"

She hesitated, her lips compressing, then shook her head.

"Why don't you give it a chance?  You never know what'll turn up, 
Lois.  What's the hurry - you're several years short of thirty, 
aren't you?"

"Twenty-seven."  Her voice had gone husky.

"Well, you're not exactly an old maid.  Why do you have to rush 
into this now?"

She looked down at her hands, twisting them nervously together, 
biting her lip.  She seemed to be hesitating on the brink of 
saying something... hurtful?

His temper snapped.  "You're just not willing to give any man a 
real chance, are you, Lois?  We're all just pond scum, not worth 
your time.  You can't be bothered to give a guy like me the time 
of day, can you?  I'm just 'Mister Green Jeans' or 'Farm Boy' to 
you, and a 'hack from nowheresville'.  You don't have the guts to 
admit that any man could be as good a journalist as you, or that 
any man could have any decency or integrity.  Well, that's your 
loss, but when it comes to wrecking a child's life -"

Lois had turned several different shades from red to white while 
he was speaking; now she burst out angrily, "What gives you the 
right to tell me what a child needs, Clark?  It takes more than 
just being handsome and good in bed to raise a family right!  My 
father obviously has that sewn up, the number of mistresses he's 
been through, but when it came to his family he -"

Someone screamed.

There was a screech of tortured tyres and then the dull crunch of 
metal on metal.  Glass shattered.  Someone was moaning in pain.

Lois was still shouting at him, her words a meaningless roar of 
sound.  Clark shook his head, screwing up his face against the 
onslaught.

"I'm going out."

His own voice hurt his ears.  Belatedly he tuned down his super-
hearing, feeling the sounds of the accident fading like a fist 
releasing his heart.  He glanced down, realising he couldn't 
leave the suite wearing just a hotel robe; nor could he spin into 
something else.  He turned and made a beeline for the bedroom 
door, panting with the effort to hold himself at normal speed.

"You're *what*?"

He couldn't spare the time to answer.  He ripped open his 
overnight bag, dragged out the first clothes that came to hand, 
threw them on haphazardly.

"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.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Five: Bridge Over Troubled Water

How 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 red and blue 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