[FIC] Foregrounded (Lois/Clark, PG-13, 3025 words)
Title: Foregrounded
Author: januaried
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3025
Pairing: Lois/Clark
Genre: Humor, fluff, AU
Summary: A short story in which Lois and Clark are both secretly tremendous dorks with adorable crushes and everything is tiny fuzzy kittens and rainbows. A fix-it fic for STM.
Notes: Originally started in January of 2008, this was supposed to be a birthday fic last year but it didn’t want to happen. Finally, here it is this year: pure AU fluff. Happy (slightly belated) birthday to my bestie, kalalanekent, and happy holidays to all! <3
I think I may have screwed up the STM timeline in part V. Oops...
This probably also could have benefited from a little more editing, but then it would have taken me another year to post. So here it is. Anyone with awesome fic of their own that I should read should link it in the comments, because as usual I fail at keeping up with people.
I.
"Lois?" he called in his real voice, interrupting the stream of words in the other room. "Lois, I have something to tell you."
There was a moment of silence from the other room. Unable to resist a grin, Clark watched through the wall as Lois paused with hands in her hair, a baffled look on her face.
"Hold your horses, will you, I have to finish fixing my hair!" she said at last, shaking her head at herself in the mirror.
"Oh, I don't think it needs fixing, it doesn't look windblown at all," Clark said blithely.
That gave Lois pause. She ran her hands through her hair one last time, got up, and strode through the apartment, slowing as she neared him and eyeing his silly grin with suspicion.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded.
The silly grin became somewhat nervous; butterflies were dancing in his gut. Slowly he straightened out of his hunch and took off his glasses, looking directly into Lois's eyes. "I misled you earlier," he said quietly. "My name is Kal-el, but I was raised on this earth as Clark Kent."
Lois's jaw dropped.
"So, um - would you still like to go out to dinner with me?"
II.
There was a steaming cup of coffee on her desk.
Lois contemplated it for a moment, then noticed Clark, with a clever little smile, sitting opposite it on his side of their desk, pen perched precariously behind his ear. Her heart leapt - he smirked a little, he must have heard that - and everything she was holding - coat, purse, pen and notepad, tape recorder, hat - tumbled out of her arms. She cursed and reached for the mess, hoping the coffee hadn't ruined her notes and stained her coat, but Clark was holding the mug up intact, still smiling.
Inexplicably, it made her blush.
"My hero," she sighed when she had found her composure again, unable to keep a stupid grin off her face. It was different in the light of day, at work - he was Kal-el, sitting right across from her this morning just as he had done for the past several weeks, though he had had to be a wallflower and still did.
(“So how does this work, you being Clark?”
He’d smiled, lopsided, self-consciously Clarkish. “I’m sure you behave differently with your parents than with your sources. It’s the same principle. I exaggerate some parts of myself, and tone down other parts, depending on what I’m doing.”
“So you really are that clumsy?” she’d dared to ask, grinning. He’d laughed whole-heartedly and admitted, “You’ve got me, Lois.”)
Nevertheless, she had had an interview and a date with him, a spectacular date, and she couldn't stop beaming at the whole world.
"Lane!" the Chief barked in her ear, spoiling the moment. She jumped and let out an involuntary stream of curses, which made Clark wince and redden, and turned around to face White.
"What!" Lois bellowed back in his face, just to aggravate him.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" he asked a little more quietly.
"What the hell are you talking about?" she parroted.
"The article you sent me - it's the biggest interview since Moses talked to God, fer Chrissakes! Where's your victory dance? Where's your fire? Instead of giving your editor-in-chief a follow-up, you're sitting here making googly eyes at - uh - " Perry tapped his fingers on the desk, evidently hard pressed to remember Clark's name.
"Clark, sir," Kal-el supplied, stuttering just a little.
(“Do you have a name?” she’d asked, wide-eyed.
"What, like Ralph or Joe or something?" he’d answered, seeming utterly bemused.)
Lois couldn't stop a giggle from escaping; she slapped a hand over her mouth. Perry stared at her.
"Are you drunk? It's seven AM, you boozehound!"
"I'm not drunk, I just didn't get much sleep," she said solemnly - and truthfully - muffled by the hand still over her mouth.
"Oh, maybe you should go home and rest, Lois," Clark began with a worried frown. It was, technically, his fault she was up late, although Lois would gladly have sacrificed a week's worth of sleep just for that interview, let alone the date that followed.
She glared at him, but couldn't stop her mouth from twitching up as he mouthed behind White's back, "Sorry."
The Chief threw up his hands and, muttering, "Who can I call to find out if that alien did something to her brain?" and stomped off toward the back, calling over his shoulder, "Kent, I want to see you in my office!"
Lois looked at Clark. His face was perfectly solemn, but he brought one hand up to his temple and wiggled his fingers at her. Lois burst out laughing as Clark got up and the Chief slammed his office door.
III.
For lunch they met at the little sandwich place a few blocks away. Lois paid for their sandwiches and coffee (Clark protested to no avail) and they sat down in the corner. The table was kind of grimy and there were some coffee grounds stuck to Clark's knife, but he was too absorbed in happiness to care. After decades of making himself into a wallflower, he was shifting into the foreground; the world knew him now, and they loved him.
It was a very large change to adjust to. Kal-el was under no illusions about the xenophobia and the fear that he would have to face. But he was prepared to earn the world's trust; people would soon be connecting the dots between the nameless, otherworldly shadow who had been saving lives for years, and the colorful alien named Kal-el. After thirty years of silence, he had finally started speaking and he wanted to keep going full speed ahead.
Best of all, he didn't have to hide from this sharp, beautiful firecracker of a woman that he had fallen for. It was enough to make him float.
(“When Perry hired me, I was walking on air,” she’d confided. “I’d been the mail room girl for a long time. Kind of like Jimmy, really. Kid’s got the potential for an investigative photojournalist; he just has to grow up a bit first. --Nothing can prepare you for gangsters and kidnappings and falling off buildings, though.”
“I had no idea you worked in the mail room! I know I’ve only been at the Planet for a few weeks, but the bullpen just wouldn’t be the bullpen without you.”
“I’m indispensable,” she’d agreed with a grin.)
Through a mouthful of a Philly cheese steak Lois leaned over the table and said, "Okay, Clark, here's the deal. My name comes first, but we'll split the byline. Got it?"
"Um - what are we writing, Lois?"
He had to hang on to the edge of his chair to keep from rising too far as Lois laughed, then remembered who he was and turned a little pink.
"A follow-up, of course! What else? There's so much more that I - I mean, the public, wants to know. I need to observe Superman in action." Fiddling with a long strand of her hair, she gave Clark a soft look.
"Of course," Clark repeated, smiling wryly at himself. “Thanks, Lois, but the headline’s all yours. I don’t want to get too close to the story.”
“Oh,” Lois said blankly. Then: “Oh! Yeah, you don’t want to--” she gestured wildly with her sandwich, unaware that it was dripping on the table. “Okay. Got it.”
They weren't exactly surrounded by spies and hidden microphones. There were three construction workers eating near the window and a man absorbed in a novel a few tables away; the lone employee on duty wasn't paying any attention to them. Still, Lois tried to sneak a glance around the café, eyes narrowed in newly-born suspicion. Clark observed this with adoration swelling in his heart.
“I’d be glad to help with the writing, though,” he continued, then paused and rethought that statement. “Not that your writing needs help. It’s pretty darn amazing as-is. Except for the spelling. I mean really, Lois, how can you not know that ‘murder’ has two ‘r’s, not three? That is, well--um, I think I’d better quit while I’m ahead.”
He fidgeted a little under the hawk-like stare she turned on him until she gave up and laughed. “You’d better, mister. Not all of us can be as perfect as you.”
(Her eyes, dark and awed and shining in the pure moonlight.)
“Lois,” he murmured.
She blushed again, but thumped the table with the flat of her palm and said, “Come on, let’s finish up so we can get started. You’ve barely eaten anything, come on, let’s go.” She continued through an oversized bite of her sandwich: “You took advantage of me last night, but you’re not going to get away without giving me some real answers this time!”
Kal-el couldn't help the hint of a smirk curling his lips at Lois’s unintentional innuendo. Turning the smirk into a Clarkish smile, naive and oblivious, he said blithely, “You’re welcome to take advantage of me tonight, Lois." He took a large bite of his lunch and looked at her with innocent eyes.
Lois did a visible double take, narrowing her eyes at him above the remains of her sandwich. "You're doing that on purpose," she accused him. "I knew you couldn't possibly be as innocent as you looked, all those times you squeezed past me in the aisles."
"You started the game the day we met, remember?" He grinned. "I'm just playing by your rules."
"Oh Jesus," she grumbled. "Perry and his goddamn soda pop."
"Now Lois, you know that was entirely your fault, you can't go shaking a bottle of the stuff and expect it not to explode."
Lois raised her eyebrows. "You're the one who opened it, Clark. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think you'd wanted my hand there."
("Well, then, what color is my underwear?")
Surprised at his own daring, he murmured, "Maybe I do."
"But Clark, we're in public!" she exclaimed, the very image of a scandalized lady. She leaned in and whispered, "Who knew Superman was so kinky?"
Clark gave in and whooped with laughter. The man in the corner started up from his novel and one of the construction workers smirked knowingly at them. "All right, all right," Clark chuckled when he had calmed down, "you win this round."
He finished off his ham on rye and gathered up the trash, beaming. "Let's go have another interview. Say, how would you like to go to my place?"
IV.
"Your dad's an asshole," Lois informed him.
"Lois!"
"Well, he is. Telling you you have to be celibate for the rest of your life so you can focus on your job, not to mention disapproving of you interacting with us lowly humans at all? I mean really, Clark, does he want you to go stark raving mad?"
Kal-el shrugged helplessly. "They knew this planet had life when they sent me off, but they didn't know anything about human society - how could they? I think he's in culture shock."
V.
A kiss ghosted over her lips, soft as a breath. Lois thought for a moment she had imagined it, then realized she hadn't and grinned. "Come back here!" she demanded. "I know you can do better than that!"
In the next instant he was slouching in the passenger seat as if he, Clark Kent, had always been there, cheap suit rumpled and the edge of his collar folded back. She reached over and fixed it, her fingers brushing his neck.
"Stalker."
"I was in the area," he protested.
("It's true, I really haven't tested how fast I can fly, but I have flown around the world in less than eighty days. A very small fraction of that, in fact."
"Enough with the literary jokes," she'd groaned, to cover up just how impressed she really was. "You are such a nerd.")
"Sure. At least you're here; I was bored to the point of tearing my hair out. I don't know what idiot chose this route but this thing is never going to get across this goddamn bridge." Lois gestured ahead of them, where through the windshield she had been watching an argument over the Navy vehicle and the 18-wheeler facing it. "My interview got put off until tomorrow so I went looking for trouble and what do I find? A traffic jam. Typical." She thumped the steering wheel for emphasis.
Clark observed, "There's someone sneaking into the truck with the missiles."
"What?" She squinted at the scene, trying to see what his keen eyes had spotted. "You're sure he isn't supposed to be there?"
But he was already getting out of the car. Lois grabbed her notebook and tape recorder before hurrying to catch up.
She found him Clarking at the lieutenant: "--interrupt, sir, but I s-saw someone climbing into the back of your vehicle with the, uh, the missile on it."
"It was probably one of my men checking the security," the lieutenant snapped.
"I'm sure it was," interrupted one of the drivers he had been arguing with, tipping his cowboy hat, "and if we can just get back to the problem at hand--"
That voice sounded familiar. Lois inched closer, readying the tape recorder, while Clark insisted, "But it wasn't, it was a woman in a red dress!"
At that point all hell broke loose.
A number of ensigns dashed toward their hulking vehicle, shouting to their comrades inside it. The lieutenant turned toward them and the first trucker, sensing that he was losing his audience, objected, "Excuse me! Excuse me--" The other one, in a plaid shirt that was nearly as loud as his voice, began talking over his partner and waving his arms in excitement. Clark stiffened, clearly looking for an excuse to leave so he could change clothes and come back as Kal-el. And Lois recognized the first trucker.
"Lex Luthor!" she shouted in triumph.
(“--thought when I exposed a Metropolis mob boss a few years back that it was the highlight of my career, but then you came along--”)
"What? I mean--"
His face was ugly in frustration. Lois grabbed him by the arm before he could make a run for it. "I knew it! I'd recognize that mug shot anywhere."
"How lovely to see you again, Miss Lane," Luthor sneered, trying to jerk his arm away from her grip. "Passing through? Or just trying to impress Daddy before he finally kicks the bucket?"
(“I read that when it came out, I was very impressed.” He’d smiled, soft and lovely.
She’d waved it away. “It was nothing, I had some help along the way.”)
A chill swept down her neck. She demanded, “Is that a threat?”
“Here now, you let him go!” blustered the second trucker, yanking ineffectually on Luthor’s other arm.
“Stop it!” Luthor howled at him. Then to Lois, “Yes, it’s a threat! How stupid are you?”
(Nothing can come through him, she’d realized in amazement, not even bullets. If she were assaulted in the street, she’d be safe. Even if Luthor came looking for revenge, she’d be safe. For someone who regularly leapt into danger’s way, it felt rather good.
Not to mention no more falling off buildings, thank God.)
“All right, all right, enough,” the lieutenant shouted. “What’s going on here?”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on, we were tryin’ to stop the bridge so’s--I mean, we were tryin’ to get across the bridge--Uh-oh.”
The second trucker gave up on Luthor’s arm and tried to creep away as the ensigns returned, frog-marching a curvy blonde in a fire-engine red dress who was protesting, “Lemme go! I didn’t do it!”
He bumped into Clark’s massive form and froze as the lieutenant shouted, “You! Stay here!”
Lois caught his eye and jabbed a finger at Luthor for emphasis. “This guy’s supposed to be in jail,” she snarled. “He was behind the so-called Mercy killings and the Metropolis slum protection racket, and I’ll bet you a year’s worth of my salary he’s got that bimbo doing his dirty work for him. And this yahoo, whoever he is.” She nodded to the second trucker, held fast in Clark’s grip.
“Who’re you calling a bimbo?” the woman shrieked.
The lieutenant was turning red with frustration. “All of you, stop talking!”
“She changed the coordinates, sir,” one of the ensigns reported.
Naturally, the lieutenant arrested all of them.
VI.
It took a long moment for the sound of a throat being cleared to filter through to awareness.
Reluctantly Kal-el unwound himself from his soft, warm armful of Lois. It took a tremendous effort to leave the sweetness of her sharp mouth meeting his own. But he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down, knowing with a wry sense of certainty that in the meantime Lois was scowling fiercely at their visitor.
When he opened his eyes, Lois had mostly put herself back together and the lieutenant was still standing outside their cell, arms crossed. Trying not to stare at the disheveled Lois, Kal-el saw with a jolt of possessiveness. But he put on a sheepish smile, adjusted his shirt, and offered, “Sorry.”
“Your story checks out,” the lieutenant said gruffly. “You’ll have to give the police your statements, then you’re free to go.”
“What did I tell you?” Lois yelped. She continued to harangue the poor man about wrongful imprisonment while he unlocked the barred door and let them out, probably more for catharsis than out of real annoyance, Kal-el thought with amusement.
When they finally set foot outside in the warm night air after giving their statements, Lois said thoughtfully, "Nobody would ever believe it if I told them all this ended with Superman and me fooling around in the slammer. Then again, I didn't get my reputation in Metropolis City Jail as a crazed hot-head for nothing."
She winked at Clark and skipped on ahead to the car, leaving him still laughing under a beautiful starry sky.
-----
Headcanon: the Metropolis police force and/or the people who frequent the jail cells call Lois the "Jailhound Journalist." She's been known to assault police officers in order to get arrested so she can interview prisoners and/or get information from gang members.
Clark, of course, is the one who brings them homemade Kansan cookies to bribe them to let her out.
Author: januaried
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3025
Pairing: Lois/Clark
Genre: Humor, fluff, AU
Summary: A short story in which Lois and Clark are both secretly tremendous dorks with adorable crushes and everything is tiny fuzzy kittens and rainbows. A fix-it fic for STM.
Notes: Originally started in January of 2008, this was supposed to be a birthday fic last year but it didn’t want to happen. Finally, here it is this year: pure AU fluff. Happy (slightly belated) birthday to my bestie, kalalanekent, and happy holidays to all! <3
I think I may have screwed up the STM timeline in part V. Oops...
This probably also could have benefited from a little more editing, but then it would have taken me another year to post. So here it is. Anyone with awesome fic of their own that I should read should link it in the comments, because as usual I fail at keeping up with people.
I.
"Lois?" he called in his real voice, interrupting the stream of words in the other room. "Lois, I have something to tell you."
There was a moment of silence from the other room. Unable to resist a grin, Clark watched through the wall as Lois paused with hands in her hair, a baffled look on her face.
"Hold your horses, will you, I have to finish fixing my hair!" she said at last, shaking her head at herself in the mirror.
"Oh, I don't think it needs fixing, it doesn't look windblown at all," Clark said blithely.
That gave Lois pause. She ran her hands through her hair one last time, got up, and strode through the apartment, slowing as she neared him and eyeing his silly grin with suspicion.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded.
The silly grin became somewhat nervous; butterflies were dancing in his gut. Slowly he straightened out of his hunch and took off his glasses, looking directly into Lois's eyes. "I misled you earlier," he said quietly. "My name is Kal-el, but I was raised on this earth as Clark Kent."
Lois's jaw dropped.
"So, um - would you still like to go out to dinner with me?"
II.
There was a steaming cup of coffee on her desk.
Lois contemplated it for a moment, then noticed Clark, with a clever little smile, sitting opposite it on his side of their desk, pen perched precariously behind his ear. Her heart leapt - he smirked a little, he must have heard that - and everything she was holding - coat, purse, pen and notepad, tape recorder, hat - tumbled out of her arms. She cursed and reached for the mess, hoping the coffee hadn't ruined her notes and stained her coat, but Clark was holding the mug up intact, still smiling.
Inexplicably, it made her blush.
"My hero," she sighed when she had found her composure again, unable to keep a stupid grin off her face. It was different in the light of day, at work - he was Kal-el, sitting right across from her this morning just as he had done for the past several weeks, though he had had to be a wallflower and still did.
(“So how does this work, you being Clark?”
He’d smiled, lopsided, self-consciously Clarkish. “I’m sure you behave differently with your parents than with your sources. It’s the same principle. I exaggerate some parts of myself, and tone down other parts, depending on what I’m doing.”
“So you really are that clumsy?” she’d dared to ask, grinning. He’d laughed whole-heartedly and admitted, “You’ve got me, Lois.”)
Nevertheless, she had had an interview and a date with him, a spectacular date, and she couldn't stop beaming at the whole world.
"Lane!" the Chief barked in her ear, spoiling the moment. She jumped and let out an involuntary stream of curses, which made Clark wince and redden, and turned around to face White.
"What!" Lois bellowed back in his face, just to aggravate him.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" he asked a little more quietly.
"What the hell are you talking about?" she parroted.
"The article you sent me - it's the biggest interview since Moses talked to God, fer Chrissakes! Where's your victory dance? Where's your fire? Instead of giving your editor-in-chief a follow-up, you're sitting here making googly eyes at - uh - " Perry tapped his fingers on the desk, evidently hard pressed to remember Clark's name.
"Clark, sir," Kal-el supplied, stuttering just a little.
(“Do you have a name?” she’d asked, wide-eyed.
"What, like Ralph or Joe or something?" he’d answered, seeming utterly bemused.)
Lois couldn't stop a giggle from escaping; she slapped a hand over her mouth. Perry stared at her.
"Are you drunk? It's seven AM, you boozehound!"
"I'm not drunk, I just didn't get much sleep," she said solemnly - and truthfully - muffled by the hand still over her mouth.
"Oh, maybe you should go home and rest, Lois," Clark began with a worried frown. It was, technically, his fault she was up late, although Lois would gladly have sacrificed a week's worth of sleep just for that interview, let alone the date that followed.
She glared at him, but couldn't stop her mouth from twitching up as he mouthed behind White's back, "Sorry."
The Chief threw up his hands and, muttering, "Who can I call to find out if that alien did something to her brain?" and stomped off toward the back, calling over his shoulder, "Kent, I want to see you in my office!"
Lois looked at Clark. His face was perfectly solemn, but he brought one hand up to his temple and wiggled his fingers at her. Lois burst out laughing as Clark got up and the Chief slammed his office door.
III.
For lunch they met at the little sandwich place a few blocks away. Lois paid for their sandwiches and coffee (Clark protested to no avail) and they sat down in the corner. The table was kind of grimy and there were some coffee grounds stuck to Clark's knife, but he was too absorbed in happiness to care. After decades of making himself into a wallflower, he was shifting into the foreground; the world knew him now, and they loved him.
It was a very large change to adjust to. Kal-el was under no illusions about the xenophobia and the fear that he would have to face. But he was prepared to earn the world's trust; people would soon be connecting the dots between the nameless, otherworldly shadow who had been saving lives for years, and the colorful alien named Kal-el. After thirty years of silence, he had finally started speaking and he wanted to keep going full speed ahead.
Best of all, he didn't have to hide from this sharp, beautiful firecracker of a woman that he had fallen for. It was enough to make him float.
(“When Perry hired me, I was walking on air,” she’d confided. “I’d been the mail room girl for a long time. Kind of like Jimmy, really. Kid’s got the potential for an investigative photojournalist; he just has to grow up a bit first. --Nothing can prepare you for gangsters and kidnappings and falling off buildings, though.”
“I had no idea you worked in the mail room! I know I’ve only been at the Planet for a few weeks, but the bullpen just wouldn’t be the bullpen without you.”
“I’m indispensable,” she’d agreed with a grin.)
Through a mouthful of a Philly cheese steak Lois leaned over the table and said, "Okay, Clark, here's the deal. My name comes first, but we'll split the byline. Got it?"
"Um - what are we writing, Lois?"
He had to hang on to the edge of his chair to keep from rising too far as Lois laughed, then remembered who he was and turned a little pink.
"A follow-up, of course! What else? There's so much more that I - I mean, the public, wants to know. I need to observe Superman in action." Fiddling with a long strand of her hair, she gave Clark a soft look.
"Of course," Clark repeated, smiling wryly at himself. “Thanks, Lois, but the headline’s all yours. I don’t want to get too close to the story.”
“Oh,” Lois said blankly. Then: “Oh! Yeah, you don’t want to--” she gestured wildly with her sandwich, unaware that it was dripping on the table. “Okay. Got it.”
They weren't exactly surrounded by spies and hidden microphones. There were three construction workers eating near the window and a man absorbed in a novel a few tables away; the lone employee on duty wasn't paying any attention to them. Still, Lois tried to sneak a glance around the café, eyes narrowed in newly-born suspicion. Clark observed this with adoration swelling in his heart.
“I’d be glad to help with the writing, though,” he continued, then paused and rethought that statement. “Not that your writing needs help. It’s pretty darn amazing as-is. Except for the spelling. I mean really, Lois, how can you not know that ‘murder’ has two ‘r’s, not three? That is, well--um, I think I’d better quit while I’m ahead.”
He fidgeted a little under the hawk-like stare she turned on him until she gave up and laughed. “You’d better, mister. Not all of us can be as perfect as you.”
(Her eyes, dark and awed and shining in the pure moonlight.)
“Lois,” he murmured.
She blushed again, but thumped the table with the flat of her palm and said, “Come on, let’s finish up so we can get started. You’ve barely eaten anything, come on, let’s go.” She continued through an oversized bite of her sandwich: “You took advantage of me last night, but you’re not going to get away without giving me some real answers this time!”
Kal-el couldn't help the hint of a smirk curling his lips at Lois’s unintentional innuendo. Turning the smirk into a Clarkish smile, naive and oblivious, he said blithely, “You’re welcome to take advantage of me tonight, Lois." He took a large bite of his lunch and looked at her with innocent eyes.
Lois did a visible double take, narrowing her eyes at him above the remains of her sandwich. "You're doing that on purpose," she accused him. "I knew you couldn't possibly be as innocent as you looked, all those times you squeezed past me in the aisles."
"You started the game the day we met, remember?" He grinned. "I'm just playing by your rules."
"Oh Jesus," she grumbled. "Perry and his goddamn soda pop."
"Now Lois, you know that was entirely your fault, you can't go shaking a bottle of the stuff and expect it not to explode."
Lois raised her eyebrows. "You're the one who opened it, Clark. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think you'd wanted my hand there."
("Well, then, what color is my underwear?")
Surprised at his own daring, he murmured, "Maybe I do."
"But Clark, we're in public!" she exclaimed, the very image of a scandalized lady. She leaned in and whispered, "Who knew Superman was so kinky?"
Clark gave in and whooped with laughter. The man in the corner started up from his novel and one of the construction workers smirked knowingly at them. "All right, all right," Clark chuckled when he had calmed down, "you win this round."
He finished off his ham on rye and gathered up the trash, beaming. "Let's go have another interview. Say, how would you like to go to my place?"
IV.
"Your dad's an asshole," Lois informed him.
"Lois!"
"Well, he is. Telling you you have to be celibate for the rest of your life so you can focus on your job, not to mention disapproving of you interacting with us lowly humans at all? I mean really, Clark, does he want you to go stark raving mad?"
Kal-el shrugged helplessly. "They knew this planet had life when they sent me off, but they didn't know anything about human society - how could they? I think he's in culture shock."
V.
A kiss ghosted over her lips, soft as a breath. Lois thought for a moment she had imagined it, then realized she hadn't and grinned. "Come back here!" she demanded. "I know you can do better than that!"
In the next instant he was slouching in the passenger seat as if he, Clark Kent, had always been there, cheap suit rumpled and the edge of his collar folded back. She reached over and fixed it, her fingers brushing his neck.
"Stalker."
"I was in the area," he protested.
("It's true, I really haven't tested how fast I can fly, but I have flown around the world in less than eighty days. A very small fraction of that, in fact."
"Enough with the literary jokes," she'd groaned, to cover up just how impressed she really was. "You are such a nerd.")
"Sure. At least you're here; I was bored to the point of tearing my hair out. I don't know what idiot chose this route but this thing is never going to get across this goddamn bridge." Lois gestured ahead of them, where through the windshield she had been watching an argument over the Navy vehicle and the 18-wheeler facing it. "My interview got put off until tomorrow so I went looking for trouble and what do I find? A traffic jam. Typical." She thumped the steering wheel for emphasis.
Clark observed, "There's someone sneaking into the truck with the missiles."
"What?" She squinted at the scene, trying to see what his keen eyes had spotted. "You're sure he isn't supposed to be there?"
But he was already getting out of the car. Lois grabbed her notebook and tape recorder before hurrying to catch up.
She found him Clarking at the lieutenant: "--interrupt, sir, but I s-saw someone climbing into the back of your vehicle with the, uh, the missile on it."
"It was probably one of my men checking the security," the lieutenant snapped.
"I'm sure it was," interrupted one of the drivers he had been arguing with, tipping his cowboy hat, "and if we can just get back to the problem at hand--"
That voice sounded familiar. Lois inched closer, readying the tape recorder, while Clark insisted, "But it wasn't, it was a woman in a red dress!"
At that point all hell broke loose.
A number of ensigns dashed toward their hulking vehicle, shouting to their comrades inside it. The lieutenant turned toward them and the first trucker, sensing that he was losing his audience, objected, "Excuse me! Excuse me--" The other one, in a plaid shirt that was nearly as loud as his voice, began talking over his partner and waving his arms in excitement. Clark stiffened, clearly looking for an excuse to leave so he could change clothes and come back as Kal-el. And Lois recognized the first trucker.
"Lex Luthor!" she shouted in triumph.
(“--thought when I exposed a Metropolis mob boss a few years back that it was the highlight of my career, but then you came along--”)
"What? I mean--"
His face was ugly in frustration. Lois grabbed him by the arm before he could make a run for it. "I knew it! I'd recognize that mug shot anywhere."
"How lovely to see you again, Miss Lane," Luthor sneered, trying to jerk his arm away from her grip. "Passing through? Or just trying to impress Daddy before he finally kicks the bucket?"
(“I read that when it came out, I was very impressed.” He’d smiled, soft and lovely.
She’d waved it away. “It was nothing, I had some help along the way.”)
A chill swept down her neck. She demanded, “Is that a threat?”
“Here now, you let him go!” blustered the second trucker, yanking ineffectually on Luthor’s other arm.
“Stop it!” Luthor howled at him. Then to Lois, “Yes, it’s a threat! How stupid are you?”
(Nothing can come through him, she’d realized in amazement, not even bullets. If she were assaulted in the street, she’d be safe. Even if Luthor came looking for revenge, she’d be safe. For someone who regularly leapt into danger’s way, it felt rather good.
Not to mention no more falling off buildings, thank God.)
“All right, all right, enough,” the lieutenant shouted. “What’s going on here?”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on, we were tryin’ to stop the bridge so’s--I mean, we were tryin’ to get across the bridge--Uh-oh.”
The second trucker gave up on Luthor’s arm and tried to creep away as the ensigns returned, frog-marching a curvy blonde in a fire-engine red dress who was protesting, “Lemme go! I didn’t do it!”
He bumped into Clark’s massive form and froze as the lieutenant shouted, “You! Stay here!”
Lois caught his eye and jabbed a finger at Luthor for emphasis. “This guy’s supposed to be in jail,” she snarled. “He was behind the so-called Mercy killings and the Metropolis slum protection racket, and I’ll bet you a year’s worth of my salary he’s got that bimbo doing his dirty work for him. And this yahoo, whoever he is.” She nodded to the second trucker, held fast in Clark’s grip.
“Who’re you calling a bimbo?” the woman shrieked.
The lieutenant was turning red with frustration. “All of you, stop talking!”
“She changed the coordinates, sir,” one of the ensigns reported.
Naturally, the lieutenant arrested all of them.
VI.
It took a long moment for the sound of a throat being cleared to filter through to awareness.
Reluctantly Kal-el unwound himself from his soft, warm armful of Lois. It took a tremendous effort to leave the sweetness of her sharp mouth meeting his own. But he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down, knowing with a wry sense of certainty that in the meantime Lois was scowling fiercely at their visitor.
When he opened his eyes, Lois had mostly put herself back together and the lieutenant was still standing outside their cell, arms crossed. Trying not to stare at the disheveled Lois, Kal-el saw with a jolt of possessiveness. But he put on a sheepish smile, adjusted his shirt, and offered, “Sorry.”
“Your story checks out,” the lieutenant said gruffly. “You’ll have to give the police your statements, then you’re free to go.”
“What did I tell you?” Lois yelped. She continued to harangue the poor man about wrongful imprisonment while he unlocked the barred door and let them out, probably more for catharsis than out of real annoyance, Kal-el thought with amusement.
When they finally set foot outside in the warm night air after giving their statements, Lois said thoughtfully, "Nobody would ever believe it if I told them all this ended with Superman and me fooling around in the slammer. Then again, I didn't get my reputation in Metropolis City Jail as a crazed hot-head for nothing."
She winked at Clark and skipped on ahead to the car, leaving him still laughing under a beautiful starry sky.
-----
Headcanon: the Metropolis police force and/or the people who frequent the jail cells call Lois the "Jailhound Journalist." She's been known to assault police officers in order to get arrested so she can interview prisoners and/or get information from gang members.
Clark, of course, is the one who brings them homemade Kansan cookies to bribe them to let her out.