SUGAR & SPICE

"......sugar & spice and all things nice...... ......that's what little girls are made of." Olde English Nursery Rhyme.

Superman drifted carefully through the open window, as cautious as though the shivering woman he was carrying against his chest was made of spun glass. He'd rarely felt as awkward about flying with anyone - let alone her - and he was thankful that she had finally calmed some. Her squealing and squirming had been completely disconcerting and his nerves were just about shot, leaving him still a little twitchy, despite his gratitude that she'd *finally* stopped screaming and settled on simply clinging to him with an around the throat Ninja death-grip instead.

He didn't actually *mind* the death-grip. Afraid that her struggles would result in her falling, he had been forced to hold her tighter than he might otherwise have done, which was not, he had to admit, an altogether unpleasant experience. Her tight grip around his throat pressed her soft curves in an equally pleasant way against his chest and her breath fanned warmly at his neck where she'd buried her face against his shoulder; an automatic gesture of seeking protection that had - as always - charmed him completely. It let him inhale the soft collection of scents that formed her, savor the feel of her settled in his arms......and it was preferable to that wildly hysterical screech which had just about driven spikes into his brain with its intensity and pitch. Even invulnerable Superears had their limits.

The flight to her apartment had been like nothing he'd known before. Lois had *felt* just the same in his arms as she'd snuggled up against his chest, but she hadn't behaved in the same way at all. He was used to her being relaxed in his embrace. She'd always trusted him, right from the start, and he'd grown accustomed to that trust, taken it for granted. More than he'd understood until now, when it had been taken from him, and so cruelly.

What he *wasn't* used to was the wriggling, squirming and - at one unnerving point as he'd taken off from the top of the Planet building - shrieking child she'd become in her mind. She'd all but given him heart failure on the spot and his balance had wavered, dipping them downward in a sudden jolt before he recovered. That hadn't helped convince Lois she was safe at all, of course. She *had* stopped screaming, after a time, but only because she appeared to run out of air. Silent and trembling, she had thereafter completed the journey wrapped so tightly around his neck that he'd long since have choked to death before reaching her apartment, if he'd been any normal man.

As though privy to these thoughts, the woman in his arms shifted slightly, bringing her back to his awareness. He tightened his grip around her reflexively in response. No, it wasn't that unpleasant having her cling to him like this; having her turn to him for comfort and protection. It was just that he was beginning to wonder, as he floated gently into the neat lounge, whether he could actually get the vice around his neck to loosen up, now that he had her safely home. Given her reactions to him taking into the air, it was entirely possible that he might never persuade her to let go again, and whilst this predicament might have been one to warm his heart under any other circumstances, it was dashed scaring at that particular moment, all things considered.

He settled onto the wooden floor, swiped a hand against the light switches by the front door, and made the attempt to loosen her grip with gentle fingers wrapped around one of her wrists. She sobbed and burrowed deeper. Superman sighed and let go. He was loath to use his strength to prize her loose of him. In her current, fragile state of mind he didn't want to scare her more by forcing her into anything. Even something as simple as this. He was too afraid of spooking her.

He raised his head, looking around the brightly lit room as he continued to hold her easily in his arms, patted her absently and soothingly against one shoulder, and tried persuasion instead.

"Lois? Look, we're home," he said. "It's okay, you're perfectly safe. See? We've stopped flying now. You won't fall."

She buried herself against his shoulder, whimpering. Her grip around his neck tightened convulsively.

Superman stood, nonplussed, and then he remembered his lure. Well, it had worked to get her *into* his arms......he thought wryly. He brought out one of the three dull gray objects he was carrying and held it close against his trembling passenger's ear. He squeezed gently. It squeaked.

Lois stopped whimpering and, although her position wrapped taut around his neck didn't change, he could tell from the way that her body tensed that she was at least paying attention. He repeated the move. She lifted her head, sniffling; eyes interested now, longing and curiosity dampening the fear.

"Yes, that's it," Superman said encouragingly. He pulled the object back a little; waved it slightly, tempting her. "See? Look, Lois......Space Rat. You want the nice Space Rat, don't you?"

Lois stared at the obnoxious little stuffed animal unblinkingly for a moment. Her eyes flicked warily in his direction. A look that said she was less than sure he wasn't preparing some trap that would be sprung the instant she took the bait. A look which left Clark feeling uncomfortably like one of those child molesters her parents had probably warned her about in her childhood. It would only take the inclusion of an invitation to visit some new born puppies and the illusion would be complete, he thought, giving in to his natural, innate sense of the ridiculous, even through his embarrassment.

Lois' gaze turned back to consider the toy, thinking it over. Finally, reluctantly, and carefully avoiding his gaze, she eased one arm from around his neck, reached out a hand and silently took the Rat from him. She clutched it close against her chest as she darted another suspicious glance up into his face, as though expecting him to snatch it back at any moment.

<Gee, Lois, thanks for the unconditional trust *there*!

That incautious reminder of bleak, earlier thoughts broke through the armored shell of his determinedly wry mood, saddening him all at once. She'd always trusted him. Always. The renewed realization that he'd lost that, along with everything else, made him suddenly want to weep. Lois was watching him carefully. He shook off the blackness of his new mood before she could pick up on it and pasted a somewhat overly bright smile on his face.

"There you go," he said, cheerfully. "Now, why don't I put you down and you and Mr. Rat can go play? Wouldn't that be fun?"

Lois didn't seem to be listening any more. The wary look in her eyes softened as she gazed at the Rat adoringly. She took her other arm from around his neck, settling back into his cradling embrace easily as she held the Rat between her hands and slightly away from her, the better to study it intently. Superman took this as an agreement. He lowered her to stand, more carefully than he had ever done in his life. He had the feeling that if he spooked her now she was going to cling on fast again and this time he'd never get her loose.

But, she seemed to have calmed some. The death-grip appeared to have been transferred to the Rat, her knuckles growing bone-white and the tips of her fingers punching deep dents into its fake, latex skin as she held it.

Superman set her gently on her feet. Lois lifted her head, looking around her, but to his relief she gave him little trouble, much more interested it seemed in her surroundings all at once than in him. He held on to her arms a moment, until he was certain that she'd found her balance okay, then let her go and stepped back a small pace to watch her cautiously, as though wondering what she might do next. And less certain than that that he really wanted to know.

What she did was nothing more startling than stand in the middle of the floor and gaze around the apartment uncertainly, before looking back at him. After a moment or so, as an awkward silence grew between them, her thumb rose slowly into her mouth. She began to suck on it thoughtfully, eyes large and solemn above its steady pull as they held his.

Superman sighed and leant forward to tug it free with a faint, chiding smile. It was the fourth time he'd had to remove it since he'd picked her up at the Planet. He looked around for something suitable to wipe it clean with and then sighed again. He dried it with the corner of his cape. She watched him without protest and he patted her hand with another comforting smile as he let it go.

Lois looked at the thumb as though it was some strange attachment she'd never seen before and transferred it back into her mouth. Superman rolled his eyes. He'd had enough. This time, he figured it could stay there.

Or not, he amended, as Lois removed it all on her own, the better to tug at the thin, plastic whiskers of the toy in her hand as it caught her attention again. This age regression thing hadn't dampened her capriciousness any, it seemed. Doing the opposite to what he expected seemed to be a natural trait.

He watched her worriedly as she bent her head to the Space Rat and began to murmur some unintelligible nonsense at it. Although the trip from the Daily Planet office to her apartment had taken less than five minutes, he noted with dismay how much further she seemed to have regressed in just that short span of time. He had enticed a Lois of perhaps eight or nine after him with the bait of that Rat. Now, he was facing a child of five at best. Or even younger than that, he thought morosely, as he listened to her babble babytalk at the Rat.

His frown deepened. Why? Why was whatever it was in that Rat that was causing this effect on his friends - spreading through the entire city if he'd heard those newscasts correctly - only affecting Lois this way? Were Jimmy and Perry and the rest of his friends back at the Planet regressing further too? He hadn't noticed any further change in anyone else.

Maybe the chemical that was affecting everyone took a firmer hold on the distaff half of the population than it did on the male? Maybe it was......hormonal. Or maybe it was a question of degree. Had Lois gotten more exposure to the thing than they had? He sighed. Or was it just Lois?

Clark grimaced. It was bound to be just Lois. Out of a hundred possible explanations, out of thousands of people affected, it was just one of the unwritten rules of the universe that if there was going to be trouble, death, doom, gloom or disaster, then Lois Lane was going to be right smack in the firing line and the worst casualty of all.

Looked like the good old Lane luck was still going strong.

A small clink of sound brought him out of these depressing thoughts. Lois had begun to wander through the apartment, heading for the kitchen and exploring various items scattered around the room as she went with natural, childish curiosity. She stood by the counter, blinking up at the overhead lights and then stared out of the window as she cuddled the Space Rat closer against her chest, cradling it against her like a child.

Clark studied her, feeling his throat tighten over the hard lump that had begun to form there. Her movements had lost their unconscious, feminine sway and swing as she moved. The smooth rolling motions of her hips which had so often drawn his eyes and tormented his libido were gone. The instinctive, seductive motions learned through years of adolescence and adulthood, so ingrained they were a part of her without her even thinking about it......these were simply reflexive lures to the male of the species; nature's enticements in the mating game. Of no use to her now and therefore forgotten, along with so many other learned skills.

Yet her slightly jerky, less co-ordinated movements as she tottered unsteadily around the kitchen in her heeled boots still sent the short pleated skirt she was wearing to flipping and dancing around her thighs, revealing enticing, momentary flashes of a body that was in no way, shape or form that of a child and still as much a lure - to him at least - as it had ever been.

Clark slowly became aware that he was tracking her intently, playing the old, by turns, frustrating and fascinating game of trying to sneak a glimpse more of that body than she'd intended to provide. The game he'd played out almost every day for months now. Flushing deeply, he looked hastily away. He fixed his eyes on a painting on the wall, feeling the low burn redden in his cheeks as he realized where his thoughts had been heading.

Before the day had turned crazy on him, he had rather enjoyed the outfit that Lois had worn to the office that morning. At any time of the day or week, Lois was an accident-causing collection of curves he never tired of watching, but it was always nice when she gave him a little added incentive. The dark, satin-backed waistcoat, teamed with its short - its very short - skirt, had gifted him an intriguing and welcome glimpse every now and then of those firm thighs with their flawless, satin covering of lightly tanned skin and showcased the long, slender and delicately carved contours of her legs, whilst molding itself to her upper body in ways that made the most of her softly rounded curves. Such incentives could make or break his day. And his nights too, as each glimpse was filed away to be recovered later and endlessly replayed in dreams that left him weary and sweat-soaked and unsated in the dimly creeping dawn light of his bedroom.

He'd followed her movements around the Bullpen with admiration and not a little healthy lust as she walked. The accompanying white blouse and the neat touch of the wide tie she'd put around its neck had made the whole ensemble seem perky and cute to him back then. Now, it only served to accentuate her descent into childhood, seeming schoolgirlish in the extreme. Recalling the thoughts it had given him earlier in the day, and the way it attracted his attention to her body now, embarrassed him, retrieving those unwelcome thoughts of perversion. He knew it was dumb - she hadn't changed any, she was still Lois. Still a bewitching, beautiful and sensuous woman.

The woman he longed for.

Except that she wasn't of course. She wasn't that at all. Not any more. And his desire for her was misplaced. No more than a cruel joke at best, his longing for her twisted into an unhealthy exploitation of her body by his deviant mind.

If this hadn't all been so personal, so wounding, he might have taken a philosophical course on that and begun to ponder on that dichotomy. Just what was it anyway that defined who they were to a watching world? Outward appearance or what went on in their heads? It might have made for an intriguing puzzle. But he was too close to the subject of the experiment to consider it.

What he felt wasn't anything close to clinical detachment or scientific curiosity. It was grief. As though he'd lost a friend. And, in all the ways that counted, he knew that he had. The sudden thought scared him so badly all at once that he felt its crushing weight knit his chest tight around his heart, chopping off his breath. What if she never came out of this? What if the effect was permanent?

Dark panic bubbled up out of where he'd buried it deep; deep where he'd hoped never to confront it: an evil smelling eruption from a cesspit, spilling into his mind like a rush of bile in his throat. He thrust it angrily away. The effect hadn't been permanent on him. True, that wasn't exactly a recommendation for hope, given the differences in his physical makeup, but it was a sliver of light and one which he clung to grimly, like a shipwrecked mariner to an upturned life-raft. He glanced back cautiously at Lois as she wandered the kitchen, opening up cabinets and peering curiously into their depths, and then, finding nothing of interest, moving on in her circular tour around the workstation. She stretched up on her toes to explore a high shelf, bending slightly at the waist - a move she would never have considered in that skirt under normal circumstances. It rode up around the backs of her thighs with the motion, giving him a new, sudden view of rose satin stretched snug across firm buttocks.

The low, distracting pulse in his groin which he'd been steadily trying to ignore became a spreading heat. A groan gathered in his chest, pulled up deep from the pit of his stomach - and was choked off as though he'd been punched in the throat as Lois straightened, curiosity waning, turned and saw him watching her.

The look in her eyes was frighteningly innocent; pure and shining; instantly recognizable. He saw it in the eyes of children every day, as they gathered around him, awed and wondering. Desire wilted. The cause of the uncomfortable tightness binding the red briefs did too. Shame replaced the hunger for her that had been clawing at his loins.

Clark tore his gaze away and scrubbed a sharp hand through his hair as he shook his head. He had to get out of here. Retreat sounded a clarion call in his ears. He couldn't hold back the pain and fear and anguish that was roiling in his chest; tightening in his ribs; making it hard to breathe. He couldn't reconcile the desire for her that pulsed in his belly and deep in his groin, warring with his shame and disgust. He'd never been claustrophobic, but suddenly the walls were closing in and closing in fast, the rolling tide of grief and loss threatening to overwhelm him like a rough surging wave.

Jimmy. Perry. He really had to get back out there - find out what was happening at the Planet, with the rest of the city. Find a way to beat this thing before it spread; before it lost more victims to its madness; before it brought more pain to others. He clutched at that excuse gratefully. Yes, he needed to help others besides Lois.

Others with whom he could be safe. Who wouldn't set his heart to jackhammering painfully in his chest whenever they stood close. Whose soft, warm scent wouldn't make him dizzy. Whose eyes wouldn't draw him in like dark, toffee-colored flames, consuming him and setting him afire with their brilliance.

He moistened dry lips and swallowed hard once or twice before he found his voice, injecting a by now reflexive ebullience into his tone as he spoke up, "Well, now that you're home okay, I'll just -- "

He hooked a thumb across his shoulder and smiled in that somewhat distant Superman way he'd become used to showing her in such moments of pseudo-intimacy, wrapping the strength of his alter ego around him like a cloak of protection, like a steel-plated suit of armor. A cinderblock wall he could cower behind and use to keep distance on her.

The fact that the walls he raised around him had proved dismally ineffective in keeping her out of his heart in the past, had proved no barrier at all to her determined and unconscious siege of his soul, he steadfastly refused to consider, knowing that if he did all of those carefully constructed walls would crumble into dust in an instant, brick by useless brick, and he would be lost.

He turned his back abruptly, cape swirling around him impressively as he headed for the window.

A soft, broken sob from behind him stopped him in his tracks and he turned back, startled. "Lois?"

Her eyes were his undoing. Wide and luminous with fear, spilling over with the tears that were welling suddenly in their deep, velvet brown depths, they tugged at his heart like nothing he could resist or deny. He was across the room without another thought, a few strides bringing her into his embrace as he trapped her in his arms and enfolded her against the solid, comforting wall of his chest.

She began to sob in earnest as he tucked her chin into the hollow of his shoulder and laid his cheek against the smooth silk of her hair. His hand pressed itself to the nape of her neck, caressing the thick strands against his fingers absently. He made soothing, meaningless noises in the back of his throat as he felt her tremble against him.

"It's gonna be okay, Lois," he promised quietly as he stroked a soft hand in small circles between her shoulders.

He closed his eyes, listening to those small, piteous cries as she keened against his shoulder, feeling the prickle of his own tears before he blinked them away. He had to be strong. She needed his strength, not pity or the weakness of his own misery and pain. She needed his help. He clung to that. A last straw before drowning.

As to *how* he could help - he hadn't the faintest idea. He had no idea what was wrong with her.

She was quite clearly terrified. Of what he couldn't say as he held on to her, puzzled. Although the evidence was right there in front of him, and despite his dark thoughts of only moments before, it was still hard for him to view her as a child. She had been a woman to him for much longer. But, at last, as he reviewed the last few moments, listened to the choppy, broken pleas she was sobbing over and over into his shoulder, he came to some understanding of what was scaring her.

Clearly, she had no real recollection of the apartment. All she had known was that someone she barely recalled had brought her here to somewhere unknown and that now he was about to leave her there alone.

He berated himself silently with the realization, the inherent empathy that served him so well as both reporter and superhero enabling him to view the situation starkly from her suddenly strange, five year old perspective. How could he have been about to just fly off and leave her here, all alone? What had he been thinking of? But he knew what he'd been thinking. He'd been thinking of her as he always had. As his brilliant, beautiful partner. A grown woman, perfectly able to fend for herself. This Lois, he understood with a surge of dismay, he could no more leave to look after herself than he could any other child. Even if that 'child' was a fully developed, beautiful and alluring woman.

As evidenced by the quivering, wonderfully soft and undoubtedly female form held in the circle of his arms.

The paradox of these two opposing realities - of the feel of this woman in his arms and the emotions, long held and long buried, that she invoked in him, coupled with the knowledge that her mind was no more than five years old at best - was disturbing.

He looked down at the dark head settled on his chest as Lois' sobs gradually subsided and became gentle hiccups of breath and closed his eyes again, tightening his arms around her small body and pulling her closer against him. No matter. He knew that so long as she needed him, he was going to be here. No matter how painful that decision was for him. No matter how hard it was to deal with her like this. Jimmy, Perry and the rest of the world were on their own. He was staying with his partner until she came through this thing. And she would come through. He knew she would.

Didn't she always?

It was a small, frightened whisper in his mind that last, and it sounded less than convinced.

Yes, she did. She did come through. The Lane luck worked both ways.

He took in a deep, steadying breath and held it a moment. <Now what? he pleaded desperately for some guidance to whatever higher authority might be listening. And who might take pity on him.

"Here," he said finally, taking the initiative when no one and nothing else stepped up to do it for him, and leading her over to the sofa.

She sat unprotesting under the faint pressure of his hand at her shoulder and looked at him doubtfully as he hunkered down beside her. Clark tried to ignore the glistening tracks of tears on her cheeks and the fear still harbored in eyes that were glassy and brimming over with lingering panic. A drop of moisture clung to her lower lashes and his fingers trembled as he reached out gently and wiped it clear.

"It's okay," he reassured her, letting that hand rest quietly against her cheek for a moment. "I'm not going anywhere."

She continued to stare at him, snuffling slightly. Clearly not reassured at all.

Clark stifled a soft sigh. This was impossible. He couldn't stand to see her so upset and yet not obey his first impulse to gather her to him and hold her close, stroking her through the pain. Yet he couldn't bring himself to comfort her further either. Her mind might be child-like and innocent, but her body wasn't and his was reacting all too eagerly to the remembered feel of her soft curves pressed against him. He'd longed to hold her that way for so long now. Fighting his body's natural response to that exciting, enticing collection of scent and warmth and voluptuous curves was impossible, no matter how ashamed that selfish urging made him or how deeply he castigated himself for letting his baser desires overcome her need for comfort from him.

His thoughts fumbled around desperately, seeking an escape, and then he brightened.

"Hungry?" he asked. It hadn't been that long since he and Lois had shared lunch at a pavement caf E9 just around the corner from the newsroom, but, he figured, grimly forcing himself along the somewhat difficult and ludicrous path he needed to take to get himself through this, kids were always hungry. Weren't they?

He didn't realize he was holding his breath again until Lois smiled tentatively. Bingo. Chalk one up for the Kansas farmkid. She nodded, almost shyly, and began to twirl a strand of dark hair around her index finger.

Clark nodded with her. "Great! How about - " He rose to his feet and glanced doubtfully across his shoulder into the dimly lit kitchen. He knew he was unlikely to find anything he could make into a kiddie meal. Lois barely kept enough food in there for anyone else. He felt himself begin to flounder again and then, "Pizza!" he declared, looking back at Lois with a bright, fixed smile. <When in doubt......

"Like pisa." Lois rewarded him with a firmer nod, a curious and entirely unexpected yet somehow endearing lisp that set his heart to fluttering giddily before he tamed it, and another smile.

"Well, okay!" he said, after a moment spent staring blankly at her and wistfully wishing she'd say something else just so that he could hear that lisp again, before he blinked and then evicted the thought ruthlessly from his mind. He headed rapidly for the phone, throwing out a commanding finger at her in his wake. "Stay there. I'll be right back."

Maybe he was going to get through this okay after all. All it took was the right mind-set. If he kept himself firmly on track, gave himself a half dozen reminders a minute that he was dealing with a child who was a stranger to him and not *his* Lois and kept a super-steel, super-hold on his responses, he'd get through just fine. How hard could it be? He'd had enough practice dealing with his own nephews and nieces. Kids liked him. They responded well to him. He could do this.

Yes, he could.

Lois' kitchen pegboard was a mass of brightly colored paper scraps, pinned haphazardly and scrawled upon in her familiar, bold script with what must surely have been the details of every takeout joint in a ten mile radius. Clark swiftly chose the one with the nearest location to the apartment. He dialed the number for Bernie's Pizzaria and glanced over at his partner as he waited out the burring tone in his ear. He smiled despite himself.

Lois had traded her perch on the sofa for the floor, where she was now sitting cross-legged, staring raptly at the TV. She'd found the Cartoon Channel and was watching THE ADVENTURES OF FLOPPY BEAR. The thumb was back in her mouth. As he watched, she removed it and seemed to be relating the TV action into the ear of the stuffed animal in her arms as its unblinking black eyes stared back at her.

From the secure perch of his new found conviction that he was in control of the situation now and could deal with it, Clark could find something in the incongruous image she presented to nearly make him laugh out loud. He almost wished Jimmy was here. No one was ever going to believe him without pictures. And Lois was just going to die when she --

"Bernie's! Whatcha wantin'?!"

The cheerful voice broke into his amused thoughts, took his attention from Lois, and he quickly gave his order. Replacing the receiver, he turned back to his partner - and his jaunty air of self-confidence fell apart and dissolved at his feet in a quivering heap.

Lois was sitting sideways on to the TV now, head bent to consider her fingers as they determinedly tried to divest her of her blouse, which had been pulled clear to hang loose from where it had been neatly tucked into the waistband of her skirt. The tie she'd worn around her throat was abandoned in a heap on the carpet. Her waistcoat was keeping it company.

Clark's eyes shot wide. His eyebrows joined them, climbing almost into his hairline. "What're you doing?!" he demanded, perhaps a shade more shrilly than he had intended. Certainly, the sharply barked question caused Lois to jump violently and glance up at him in surprise. He covered the few yards of carpet between them and hastily crouched by her side to put a hand over hers and prevent her opening any more buttons.

"Hot," she told him by way of explanation, getting over her momentary fright and looking up at him doggedly.

"Oh," Clark said, hoarsely. His voice sounded as though he were pushing it through an avalanche of rocks lodged deep in his throat. He was all at once all too aware of where his hand was pressed as it covered hers; deep into the valley between her breasts, his knuckles nudging up against a smoothly rounded curve through the thin material of a rose satin brassiere. She'd managed to unbutton the blouse all the way down to her navel before he'd spotted her and the view was just as spectacular as he'd always imagined it would be in countless, breathless dreams. Her skin glowed, deep honey, as the flickering shadows from the TV screen played against it. He could see that she hadn't lied in each tiny bead of moisture gathered between the inviting swells of flesh revealed by the opened blouse.

Clark swallowed past the rough blockage in his throat - his self-confidence was on its knees along with him, beaten and whimpering, and had begun to beg for mercy now. Certain other portions of his anatomy had begun to make their own pleas known: an urgent, clamoring throb of need.

He eased his hand carefully away from hers, clenching it into a fist in an effort to avoid the temptation beating at his temples, hammering hard against the walls of his chest; denying himself the instinctive urge to shift it onto her breast, so tantalizingly close now and heaving softly and enticingly with her every breath. He had never been so aware of her, never so torn by his impulses and conflicting emotions. It seemed suddenly as though she permeated every sense he owned. The scent rising from her skin; the softness of her body; the steady pulse beating in her throat and quivering in the pale curve of that breast, still sheathed in rose satin, still holding his darkening gaze, still pressed up warm and oh so *soft* against his --

He puffed out a hard breath and moved his hand to join the other at the edges of her blouse. Then, with a flicker of disappointment he couldn't quite conceal, tugged them gently closed and redid the buttons. He was unusually clumsy about it, the faint tremor in his fingers all too obvious against the white cotton.

"Well, don......don't take that off. I know! Why don't I open the window? Let in some air!" he babbled out hastily, getting to his feet and retreating rapidly.

Lois looked after him and then doubtfully to the window. Clark looked doubtfully at it too. With three days to go to Christmas and Metropolis still locked in the fading grip of its first serious whiteout in four years, it was nudging at the low side of freezing out there. Still, Clark reasoned, as he snapped clear the latch and threw the window wide, if cooling down was what she wanted......

......cooling down was what they were *both* going to get. He gulped in a few, deep lungfuls of the frigid air that crept into the apartment from out of the darkening night. The chill wasn't enough to dissipate the heat pulsating hard between his thighs, but it cleared the haze of his thoughts slightly.

He was so hard now, it was getting to be almost painful and he was dismayed by his lack of control. Each soft brush of spandex against him sent a rough pulse of arousal surging through him. The hard ridge of his aching shaft as it twitched against his thigh seemed like an entirely separate, living animal, set on its own agenda and refusing to listen to his pleas for mercy.

Clark felt a soft groan gather in his throat and held it back with an effort. This was ridiculous, he told himself, disgusted. What was the problem here? He wasn't some kind of base animal controlled entirely by its hormone levels. He was an intelligent, rational thinking man who had the brains to overcome his basic, biological urges and put them firmly in their place until he was willing - until he *chose* - to let them command him.

In fact he had more advantage over his hormones than most men. He could control the minutest changes in his body chemistry simply by thinking...... well, maybe hard was the wrong word to be using right then. Thinking hard was precisely the problem. Okay then......just by thinking about it. He was never too hot. Never too cold. His temperature was a simple matter of maintaining absent control. His physiological responses to external stimuli were as easy to will into submission. Usually. Was that what Lois was? 'External stimuli'?, his mind wondered absently before getting itself back on track.

So why did he have so much trouble controlling a basic, reflexive physical response to......to......

......he shook his head sharply, clearing it of a welter of sudden, distracting images that reminded him just what it *was* he was physically responding *to*.

<Come *on*, Kent! You're *Superman*! Remember him? The Big Guy? Resident local Superhero? All round Boy Scout? The Man of ---

He only just resisted a furtive glance downward. Yeah......well, *that* one was certainly apt right now. What was growing in those briefs definitely felt like a steel girder right then. It was just as uncomfortable as one too.

He wondered, distantly and with a certain frisson of panic, if he could get away with a quick dash to the Arctic and back again before Lois missed him. Five seconds, that would do it. Just a quick, mercy dash, a few moments of below zero silence, ice cold abstinence and ---

<You're babbling, Kent. You *don't* babble. *Lois* babbles. *You* are Superman. Calm under fire. Cool under pressure. You can --

A small rustle of movement sounded at his back and he felt his shoulders stiffen. Nor was it the only part of his body which did. Oh, god, she wasn't getting up, was she? She wasn't coming over to stand with him. She wasn't...... He screwed his eyes tight and prayed frantically for her to stay right where she was. His fingers clenched into the wide windowsill, barely avoiding leaving permanent gouges in the wood as he hauled in a few more hard, calming breaths.

Did Superman hyperventilate? he thought, desperately.

Only - the response came like the punchline to an old joke - when Lois Lane was in close proximity.

The sounds died and weren't repeated. No small body crept to stand by his side. Her warmth didn't rise around him, her skin didn't connect with his. The Man of Steel let out his relief in a soft rush of breath and sent a silent, heartfelt thank you out to a nameless deity he'd never really believed in.

Now, if he could just set himself to finding a few, calming moments - Lois-free - he might just be able to get himself under enough control not to embarrass himself completely.

He opened his eyes, staring up into the night sky. With the continuing cold snap, the black canopy stretched out overhead was clear and brilliant, dotted with shimmering points of light. Clark began doggedly counting stars like an insomniac counted sheep - and with much the same purpose in mind. Distraction. Control. Calm - naming the ones he knew...... wondering about the ones he didn't. Was there someone out there, on the other side of that starfield, counting dots of light and naming them too? Was it really possible *he* came from somewhere out there? Out there amongst that cold, sterile darkness? Sometimes, his life seemed all too much like one, big cosmic joke. If he listened real hard, he was almost sure he could hear faint, sardonic laughter.

His eyes continued to search the skies......reflexively looking for a star that wasn't there, that he would never see, that he wouldn't have seen even if it still existed, out there, somewhere in the dark.

Krypton.

A mapped out globe.

Lois......his mind answered, almost reflexively, as though it had become skilled at finding her amongst random patterns of thought and was wondering why it had taken him so long to get back to her.

Lois, kissing him goodbye in the plane, as the wind roared and howled around them, whipping her hair across her face......

She had tasted of coffee. Apple and cinnamon. And it had felt so......

......it had felt so *good*......

......right......

Clark had lived off of that moment for months, in midnight dreams and daytime fantasies......feasting on the memory that still had the power to make his heart beat unevenly and his breath quicken......even if it had all just been nothing more than one of Lois' desperate schemes. In his dreams, in his fantasies, it *was* the real thing.

He doubted if Lois even remembered that kiss.

He doubted that he would ever forget it.

Lois......

......wasn't going to be evicted from his mind or protected from the lustful intentions of his body, if he kept on thinking of her that way, he told himself sternly. He shifted uncomfortably against the tight grip of the briefs still binding between his thighs. How had he gotten back to Lois anyway? Wasn't he supposed to be thinking about......

What *had* he been thinking about?

Oh, yeah. Stars.

A bus passed by on the street below, momentarily taking his attention and his eyes caught on the advertisement it carried on its side:

SAVE IT ALL MEGASTORE! GRAND OPENING - JANUARY 15th - SAVE! SAVE! SAVE! BARGAINS GALORE!

The 15th. His tax returns were due in on the 15th. Taxes. Right. He thought about that, steadily, for a few moments, mentally beginning a tally of his past three months expenses account. He was doing fine - there was nothing like death or taxes to take your average (or not so average) American male's thoughts off of sex, he considered sardonically......until he got to the entry for the Talman story.

Research.

Travel expenses.

The motel......

Lois......

......and he, grounded in Baltimore during a lockout by air traffic control and an inconvenient blizzard. It had been the weekend of the Baltimore Trade Exhibition and there'd been three other conventions in town. Motel rooms had been at a premium, but they'd managed to get two that adjoined. The downside had been that the motel was definitely in the low rent district of town. Lois had freaked out when a cockroach got into her hair as she took a lukewarm shower.

Her shriek had just about given him heart failure and had brought him rushing from his own room and into the tiny bathroom in hers fully prepared to deal with kidnappers, serial killers or terrorist assassins - at the very least. Even as Clark. (He'd figured it was just pushing co-incidence too far for Superman to have heard Lois scream from way out there in Metropolis and hadn't had time to concoct a plausible explanation for him to be just 'passing by' when she did).

The sight of his partner dressed only in a skimpy, motel issue towel that barely covered the essentials and leaping up and down as she screeched at him to 'Get it out!' had been another memory his subconscious had filed away and brought out to play with repeatedly in sweat-soaked, breath-heavy dreams.

If he'd been another man, he might well have taken the opportunity to misinterpret her demand entirely......and who knew where *that* might have lead them. If he'd been another man he might well have feigned confusion in the hope that another few minutes of bouncing around might have seen that towel slip its precarious hold completely on her still wet, glistening, pink and warm body. But, being that he was a Kansas farmkid and gentleman, he'd simply plucked the offending insect from where it struggled in amongst her dripping hair and ignored Lois' hysterical demands that it be given a watery execution in favor of letting it loose in the darkness of the parking lot. Lois had recovered her cool and avoided embarrassment by muttering righteously for almost an hour afterwards about *people* who thought they were reliving the Baltimore version of BORN FREE.

They had shared takeout in his room too on that trip, he recalled. And a surprise bottle of wine that Lois smuggled in......just because. Although he'd known it was as close as he was going to get to an apology and accepted it in that vein. Had she put that on her expense account? 'One reward - to Sir Clark, for dealing with the evil, hideous, fire-breathing cockroach and rescuing fair maiden'.

Presented with picking up that tab, Perry's face would have been a picture.

Later, he'd lain in the darkness, restless and alone, tortured by the knowledge that she was there, just on the other side of the thin, adjoining door, mere yards away. Fingers clenching into fists as he fought the urge to check on her with his augmented vision and......

......and hadn't he been thinking about his tax returns?

He sighed, took a surreptitious mental check of his state of arousal and sighed again. Okay. Taxes weren't doing it for him anyway. Death. Death was good. He began stubbornly reciting two chapters of obscure twelfth century Indian funeral poetry, from a book he'd picked up on his travels: now well-thumbed, well loved and committed to memory through familiarity. In its original Urdu. Halfway through he switched to Russian. Then Greek. Ancient *and* modern. By the time he reached chapter three he was alternating half a dozen languages with each line quoted.

Given the fiercely dogged determination with which he habitually refused to connect the concepts of Lois and Death in his thoughts at all on a daily basis, this recitation conjured up no images of Lois......or Lois and him......or Lois in the newsroom......or a motel......or a plane......or......or anywhere else for that matter......

......and, to his relief - in more ways than one - it actually began to work. Finally, when he figured he'd regained enough equilibrium - and some degree of mastery over his traitorous body - not to mention the nerve to face his partner again, he carefully eased his fingers from the windowsill. The wood prized itself loose of his skin stickily, seeming to want to hold on for a moment, and he winced as he glanced down to find the perfect finger shaped dents in the edge of the sill. He cleared his throat, swiped a calming hand through his hair, reminded himself to buy some plastic wood sealant and make some repairs - preferably before Lois spotted the damage - took a deep, steadying breath and turned away from the window.

To discover that Lois - with typical five year old female mule-headedness - had ignored his earlier command completely, taken advantage of his distraction to dispense with her blouse, which was now a crumpled heap on the carpet beside her, and was currently staring down at the satin and lace scraps of her bra as though they were a conundrum needing to be solved. Her fingers twisted themselves into the low dipped front, between the rose satin half-cups, and tugged as her brow puckered in concentration. It seemed to be only the fact that the offending item of clothing hooked at the rear that had proved it to be such a puzzle for her and prevented her from removing it up till now. But she was working her way through to a solution. He could see that familiar 'Eureka' look hovering just on the edge of blooming in her eyes.

When he managed to prize his gaze upwards and onto her face.

"Whoa!" It wasn't super-speed that got Clark from the window to his partner's side in just under point five of a second, but sheer, unadulterated terror. Not least because he knew with stone cold certainty that no amount of considering the burial arrangements of a long dead Sultan's favorite elephant was going to save him this time if Lois succeeded in her current quest.

Like the inevitability of death and taxes, that one was a given.

Lois squeaked as his hands wrapped themselves around her upper arms and jerked her to her feet.

"Okay, if you're hot, why don't we go find you something cool to wear?" Clark muttered desperately as he snatched up the crumpled blouse and draped it, somewhat ineffectually, around her shoulders as best he could. He hustled her rapidly for the bedroom, practically dragging her along with him. He kept his eyes determinedly on his target as they went, refusing to let them even flicker downward.

<Spoilsport! a less noble and more base portion of his mind taunted him and he found himself flushing hotly as he fixed his gaze on the approaching bedroom door with an intensity which almost sent him cross-eyed.

Lois let herself be swept along, glancing up at him through her lashes as though examining some strange new species she didn't quite understand. She stood submissively where he placed her, against the wall, and watched the red and blue blur swarming around the room with round eyes as he went through her dresser at super-speed. When Clark finally stopped dead in the center of the room, with a thin tshirt and shorts ensemble dangling from one arm, Lois applauded him delightedly, eyes sparkling and practically bouncing on her toes.

Clark shook his head, keeping his eyes off the provocative bounce of her breasts by fixing his stare firmly an inch to her right. He held back a brief invocation to that higher authority which didn't seem to be listening to him much.

"Here," he said, handing over the garments and then, frowning as he noted her suddenly awkward stance. "What's wrong?"

Lois ducked her head, cheeks growing slightly pink as she shuffled from foot to foot. She glanced across her shoulder and then back at him, a faint desperation blooming in her eyes.

"Need to go make -- "

"Oh!" Clark nodded quickly. "Okay, sure. Bathroom's right over here."

He helped her on with the covering tshirt awkwardly and then led the way. Lois skipped a couple of paces to catch up on his stride and he started as she slipped one small hand into his. Clark glanced down at her and couldn't help but smile as she looked up trustingly into his face. When they got to the bathroom door though, she hesitated. Clark's smile slipped as a suddenly horrifying thought occurred. He glanced down at her again, eyes widening.

"You do......I mean, you do know how to......you aren't going to need me to......?" he blurted.

Lois frowned and then, somehow deciphering his meaning from amongst the almost panicked stream of words, removed her hand from his with five year old dignity and a lofty tilt to her chin.

"Big girl," she informed him, sounding deeply offended by his offer of aid. Tugging the bathroom door from him and entering, she peeked around its edge. "Go 'way," she ordered, before pushing it to a firm close and clicking over the lock.

Clark let out a puff of breath. "Right," he muttered, before he retreated thankfully to the living-room.

Lois was still in the bathroom ten minutes later when the pizza delivery arrived. Clark, although beginning to worry and already wearing a nervous trail in the Chinese rug with some restless pacing, was nevertheless of the opinion that this was a lucky break. Possibly his first of the afternoon, he thought wryly. It enabled him to safely spin into the suit he had worn that day to the Planet before he opened the front door.

He had wondered how he was going to explain Superman's sudden urge for pizza to the delivery boy. He hadn't thought that 'babysitting for a friend' would be a reasonable excuse. Especially if Lois arrived on the scene before he could deal with the delivery. 'Babysitting *a* friend' was probably going to do it even less. But he hadn't wanted to change out of the Suit and completely into Clark either when Lois was in the vicinity. Instinctively, he realized that Lois, even from the depths of her child persona, had remembered enough of him to trust Superman without question. Whether she would trust Clark in the same way, or even recognize him at all, was doubtful.

But, with Lois safely ensconced in the bathroom, his dilemma was temporarily solved. In a matter of moments, Clark Kent had taken delivery of the ordered Jumbo Pepperoni, paid and tipped the delivery boy and dispatched the delicious smelling concoction onto two plates, complete with cutlery and napkins, on Lois' low coffee table in front of the sofa - and all without any awkward questions being asked or the faintest flicker of a surprised eyebrow.

Setting down the last plate and with a cautious glance across his shoulder, he spun back into the Suit and then sat down on the sofa with a heavy sigh. Not only had he gotten away with it, it seemed he'd done so with seconds to spare. Lois would surely be back at any moment.

Congratulating himself on this small achievement, he took a slice of pizza from his plate as he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, he could no longer ignore his partner's disappearance. Putting down his last slice of pizza, he made his way to the bathroom. Pausing at the closed door, he listened cautiously. He heard running water, faint giggling and vigorous splashing. Lots of vigorous splashing. Frowning, he hesitated before rapping tentative knuckles against the door.

"Lois?"

The giggling stopped. After a second, the distinctive sound of the faucet being shut off followed.

"Lois?" he said again. "Are you through? Pizza's ready," he added with the shameless bribery instinctive to adults. "Hurry up, or it'll get cold."

There was a damning pause from the bathroom before a small, breathless voice yelled back. "Comin'!"

Clark stepped back a pace as the door was hauled open and Lois shuffled around its edge, trying to close it behind her as she went. Her attempts to leave enough room for her to ease her way out, whilst at the same time keeping it close enough that he couldn't see into the room wasn't the only glaring hint that she'd been up to something she felt guilty about.

Lois literally dripped water from head to toe. It fell from the ends of her soaked hair and collected in a puddle around her bare toes. That wasn't what drew Clark's suddenly fascinated attention though.

She looked like Miss Wet Tshirt.

The soaking had plastered the cotton shirt to her upper body, outlining the heavy lower curves of her breasts and becoming almost transparent against the straining peaks of her nipples, which showed as intriguing dark shadows against the desperately thin material where the water's chill had brought them to pouting attention.

She also wasn't wearing anything beneath it any more.

And, all at once and unwelcome, Mr. Basic Instincts was right back on line and looking for trouble. Clark wrenched his gaze away and sent an emergency message rocketing southward as he felt something he desperately wished wouldn't stir. It didn't seem to be listening to him tell it to stop right where it was either. Was it getting awfully hot in here or was his temperature soaring skyward all at once?

His eyes drifted back to Lois......and slid downward. The comfort zone in the front of his briefs - which had never been ample to begin with - contracted sharply. His thoughts scattered, yipping off into the darkness like frightened puppies. Good sense went with them.

"Supeyman?"

Clark coughed, tore his eyes away and fixed them on his partner's face as she looked back at him, innocent and inquisitive, and completely unaware of the effect she was having on him.

He blinked and then raised a censorious brow, retreating into superhero mode; using his disguise like a dash of iced water against his face. Or maybe a dash lower than that. Superman never ogled naked women......semi-naked women......women whose tshirts were plastered to their......oh, god.

"What were you doing in there?" he said gruffly.

Lois looked down at her feet and shrugged. The move immediately drew Clark's gaze back to her breasts as they bounced slightly with the gesture. Without any restrictions, they jiggled a lot more than they might otherwise have done too. Superman's gaze became slightly glazed. "Tol' you. Had to make - "

"Yeah......" Clark said absently and then, snapping back, "Yeah! Right! Why are you wet?" he added, suspiciously, mentally reaching back with the question to grab the scruff of his neck and shake himself vigorously.

Lois looked down at herself as though surprised to find that she was. For a moment, she gave him a look which suggested she was about to claim something outrageous - like she'd been caught in the rain - then, obviously thought better of it in the face of that sharply raised brow which lifted a dangerous inch higher. She ducked her head, hands tucked behind her back as she scuffed one toe along the edge of the hall carpet where it met the bathroom's tiles and muttered something about having had to wash her hands.

Clark sighed. He pushed open the door and grabbed for a convenient towel, taking care not to brush up against her in the process. He didn't think he could take any more provocation. He handed it to her before turning her around by the shoulder and prodding her for the bedroom.

"Go get dried off," he told her, exasperated. "I'll be through in a minute to find you something else to wear."

Lois complied happily. She even added a skip or two as she headed for the bedroom. Clark watched her disappear into the room and then shook his head, muttering darkly under his breath. He turned back, pushing the bathroom door all the way clear.

The small room looked as though it had been used as a set for THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE. The sink had been filled with water to over-flowing and a variety of Lois' perfume and bath oil bottles were gaily floating in the created pool as makeshift boats. Water had flowed over the sink edge and onto the floor, pooling on the pale green tiles. A pile of sodden towels in a heap on the floor were clear testament to a guilty Lois' attempts at damage limitation.

Clark grumbled to himself as he cleaned the ensuing disaster zone at super-speed, unwilling to leave the little monster he was sharing his afternoon with alone for longer than a second. Lord knew what it'd get up to next, he thought with a shudder as he mopped up the remaining water spill with a handy towel and gathered up the rest and Lois' underwear, which had also been discarded haphazardly on the floor.

He paused. For a moment, nonplussed, he was at a loss as to what to do with it, and the fact that his thoughts had begun to settle on the knowledge that she was now without replacements under that tshirt and shorts combo didn't help him decide. He hadn't thought to find anything else for her to put on. Perhaps naively, he hadn't expected her to take what she'd had on off. Did all kids have this sadistic streak of exhibitionism in them? Or was it just her? Had she been this way when she'd truly been a child? Or was it another side effect of the drug contaminating her? Or......was she just trying to kill him?

Yeah, that was it. She was trying to kill him. Plain and simple. Right out. Full throttle. No mercy.

He stared at the satin scraps dangling from one hand, resisting the faint urge tingling through his fingers to stroke their way across the soft material. He seemed to be doing that a lot. Resisting. Gathering will. He wondered if there was an unquenchable source he was drawing from. Or whether he was going to reach his limit any time soon.

He hoped not.

Finally, he opened the laundry basket and dropped the towels and satin underwear inside before slamming the lid down tight and then dropping to sit on it momentarily as he let out a low breath, almost as though he expected the lingerie to leap back out at him again, like some schlock B movie vampire. He shook his head. He was losing it. He was definitely losing it.

<Get a grip, Kent.

<Oooh - believe me, I'd love to......

The faint sounds of squeals, thuds and giggles reached him from the direction of the bedroom, startling him out of that unexpected memory......and the faint, wistful smile it had brought to his lips. He frowned.

What *was* the little minx up to now?

He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was about to find out. And an equally despondent premonition that his partner wasn't finished tormenting him yet. Not by a long chalk.

***

As premonitions go, Clark had been batting a thousand.

He grimaced as he carefully cleaned the last of the gooey sauce off of his partner's chin, ignoring her screwed up expression which was silently protesting his ministrations.

"There," he announced, crumpling the sticky tissues into a wad and tossing it negligently in a sure shot for the wastepaper bin beside the kitchen cabinet. "All clean."

Lois unscrewed one dubious eye and then, reassured that he was indeed through with his spot clean-up, relaxed. She gazed up on him with those trusting, doe eyes that melted his heart and made him smile, despite everything.

It had been that unquestioning trust that had somehow gotten him through the awkwardness of the situation. Once he had forced himself to look at her - think of her - as something other than his smart, sassy, street-wise partner, to stop thinking of her as a woman at all and respond to her solely at a child-like level, it had gotten easier. Not a whole lot easier, but easier all the same. When it came right down to it, as child or woman, she trusted the red and blue Suit implicitly, without reservation, and he couldn't help but respond as a superhero when she looked at him that way.

But, of all the superfeats he'd achieved since he'd come to Metropolis, of all the wondrous displays of heroism, of strength, of power and will that had awed an entire world......he had never, in his wildest flights of imagination, thought that simply keeping his hands off of Lois Lane would be the one that would most challenge the infamous Will of Steel.

He was glad that he had gone with his first instincts and retained his Superman persona. It had helped him maintain a necessary distance as he retreated into the safety of that other identity; helped him hold on tight to a sense of perspective. Since he couldn't hold on tight to Lois. And humor. There'd been times when he thought he'd needed that last as protection more than anything else. More than strength and power and Superwill combined.

There were other reasons why it had been a good decision too though. He was now more than certain that Clark Kent didn't figure in Lois' life right then and that she wouldn't have understood why the man she trusted had deserted her to leave a stranger in his place.

So, though it was Clark Kent who took delivery of the pizza, it was Superman who fed it to his giggling, uncooperative partner, who listened to her aimless chatter as she ate, and Superman who cleaned up the aftermath, trying all the while to ignore the ludicrous situation he found himself in.

But there was only so far his resistance could stretch. By the time he had gotten through the awkward meal, his nerves were pretty much at screaming pitch again. The unreality of the situation and his growing discomfort were beginning to wear him down. He just couldn't handle this any more, he thought, almost desperately, as he cleaned up the remains of their meal and Lois plumped herself back down before the TV.

He watched his oblivious partner from the safety of the kitchen as he washed up the few plates and utensils he'd used. It was impossible. He just couldn't deal with a five year old Lois for another moment. She was driving him crazy. They'd gone through five changes of clothing already and the laundry hamper was getting pretty full. Lois had apparently been on the cusp of laundry detail too. His choices for replacements whenever she messed up another shirt were getting pretty slim.

Then there'd been the disastrous incident with the basketball she'd unearthed from somewhere - he didn't know how he was going to explain the wreckage of her favorite blue glass vase, now residing in the kitchen trash can in a thousand jigsaw pieces, several of them crushed beyond even Super-repair. Or the Gatorade(c) stain in psychedelic Cherry Rush on the Chinese rug. Or the scrawl of red, fluorescent indelible marker on the wall behind the TV. He'd done what he could with the latter - with Lois wailing all the while about what he was doing to her daisy and doggie pictures - and it had faded some, would probably be easy enough to obliterate entirely over time, but it was still clearly visible. It had taken him over an hour to persuade her to sit down and eat, by which point he'd been about ready to just tie her to the sofa for the duration and have done with it.

He fixed a weary stare on the clock as he put away the plates. It was almost six. His mind spun furiously, and then a somewhat forced smile settled on his face.

At least - a desperate escape route beckoned - he couldn't deal with a five year old Lois *awake*.

"Time for bed!" Superman announced cheerfully, wiping his hands dry with the kitchen towel as he strode back into the living-room.

Lois' expression immediately turned mutinous as she glanced across her shoulder at him and then away again, as though in the firm belief that if she couldn't see him then she had to be invisible to him too. Her brow puckered into a frown and, in profile, her jaw set. She settled herself more firmly into the carpet beneath her, wriggling her bottom deeper into the plush pile as though anchoring herself and preparing for a siege.

<Oh-oh, Superman thought.

"Lois?"

Lois ducked her head, tracing fitful patterns on the carpet with one finger. "Not sleepy," she tried, but the conviction was half-hearted as though she was aware that this was a ploy which rarely worked in such situations.

Clark tried brightening the smile a notch. Several notches in fact. "Well, maybe you *will* feel sleepy once we get you into bed." He pushed back the sudden image that the words conjured up in his traitorous mind and the sudden tightening twitch from his newly interested groin as he put the towel back neatly on its rail.

He stood by the counter for a moment as she ignored him, almost straightening into the usual imposing stance, arms folded, expression grim, that he habitually used when Lois was being unreasonable and stubborn, and then realized that it was way too intimidating for a child to deal with. He thought for a moment and then crossed the room to sit on the edge of the sofa and eye her expectantly. Maybe if he exuded an air of quiet confidence in the fact that he was in charge here and he expected her compliance, she might take heed.

Course on the other hand, he thought, after a few moments of tense stand-off in which Lois doggedly ignored him entirely and began flipping steadily through the TV channels with the remote - her lower lip jutting mulishly and her shoulders stiffened into a tight, rebellious line - maybe Lois hadn't lost as many of her usual traits when she'd regressed as he'd figured.

A five year old Lois was still Lois, after all. Still stubborn, still willful......still damned infuriating.

Clark sighed and gathered his cape reluctantly as he began to rise to his feet. The thought that he might have to physically put his partner to bed - and keep her there - if she refused to co-operate appalled him, but if she was going to be awkward.........

He never got the chance - perhaps fortunately - to test the strength of will it would have required to force Lois into the bedroom......and then leave her there. Lois spotted his tentative motion from the corner of her eye, tossed the remote aside and, with a natural slyness that wasn't just reserved for her childish persona alone, pushed herself to her feet. Closing the gap between them in a move that rivaled superspeed, she threw herself bodily into her partner's lap.

"Story first!" she demanded, gleefully wrapping her arms around his neck and bouncing up and down with excitement.

Clark thought that he might just die. He could have sworn his heart stopped cold as she landed on him. And then recovered to make up for it as it set off in a thundering gallop. He closed his eyes as Lois wriggled in his lap, finding herself a more comfortable perch, and felt a flare of panic, barely holding back a low moan as her smooth thigh brushed against the front of the red briefs, sending a surge of heated desire through him like a jolt of electricity.

His eyes opened wide and found themselves inches away from her bright-eyed and hopeful stare. Somehow, his hand had found its way onto her knee as he made an attempt to stop her bouncing on him. The hard ball of bone beneath his fingers, encased in smooth satin, enthralled his fingers like nothing else they'd encountered before. He flexed them gently and then reluctantly pulled them clear. This was definitely above and beyond the call of duty. She wasn't going to be content with killing him. She wanted to torture him slowly first.

"Uh-uh," He shook his head firmly. "I don't think so, Lois."

He put his hands at her waist, preparing to lift her clear of his lap and stand her back on her feet and paused as he saw the tears well up in her eyes abruptly. Lois hauled in a high, shuddering breath. Clark knew, from recent, terrifying experience, just what *that* meant.

"Okay, okay! Story first!" he caved in, pre-empting her wail. <God, Kent, you are such a pushover...... he told himself, disgusted.

<Yeah, right! And if she starts crying again......? It's all over, buddy! he snapped back in his own defense. <Trust me!

Victorious though, Lois spared him, her face turning sunny with the capriciousness of the five year old she'd become. She snuggled closer against his chest and tucked her head against his shoulder.

"Supeyman smell nice," she murmured, sighing contentedly and fiddling with the edge of his cape.

Clark stifled another groan. He was, he thought dismally. He was going to die before the evening - and his partner - were through with him. He just knew it.

***

Superman swept the bed from top to bottom with a gentle burst of heat vision.

"Here we go. Why don't you get in while it's still warm?" he encouraged, turning back the covers of the neatly made up bed and bending briefly as he switched on the bedside lamp. It cast a friendly glow on the room.

Lois stood in the doorway of the room and watched these preparations in silence. But she was tired and, after a moment, she crossed the room unsteadily and brushed past the waiting superhero. To his surprise, she dropped the Rat carelessly to the carpet in her wake. It had never been more than a few inches from her side all evening and in fact she had had a minor attack of childish hysteria at one point when it had been temporarily mislaid, sending him on a frantic Super-vision search for it to calm her down. But now she abandoned it without a glance in favor of plucking a little black bear from where it rested on its pillow. Clutching the bear to her chest she scrambled under the covers.

"Good girl." Clark smiled down at her and then paused, struck by a sudden and almost overpowering glow of affection. In the dim pool of yellow light, in her Daffy Duck tshirt (all he'd been able to find in her dresser for sleepwear that didn't bring to mind thoughts that were undoubtedly salacious and best not dwelt on) and her hair tousled and tangled around her shoulders, she looked adorable. Before he could stay it or think better of the idea, he found his hand reaching out to tuck a few strands of her hair behind one ear and then drift further to briefly cradle her cheek.

"Goodnight Lois," he whispered. He bent closer, hesitated and then changed direction from her lips to press his gently to her temple.

As he straightened, she surprised him, shifting to wrap her arms around his neck and planting a wet and sloppy kiss against his cheek. "I love you, Supeyman," she said.

Startled, Clark could only stay still in her embrace, feeling his heart start to pound fiercely in his chest. He eased himself carefully clear of her and smiled, somewhat shakily, as she scooted down into the bed. After a moment's wriggling to find the most comfortable position, she curled up on one side and closed her eyes, that iniquitous thumb gravitating almost inevitably for her mouth again.

Clark sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, listening to her low breaths and the soft, drowsing beat of her heart as it drifted into sleep, unable to tear himself away. He stroked the back of one finger softly over her cheek. The evening had been a series of tortures for him and - just for this one moment - he couldn't deny himself the indulgence of taking advantage of the situation, reveling in the privilege of being allowed to watch her sleep as he never had been able to before.

She looked so......cute. He knew she wouldn't appreciate the definition, but it was apt. Clutching the plush little bear to her and curled around its comforting softness. Lashes laying like dark moth's wings against her cheeks, fluttering slightly as she entered REM sleep. He wondered what she was dreaming about. Little girl dreams? Or was Lois reasserting herself somewhere in the muddle of that drifting mind?

<Come back to me, Lois, his heart whispered a plea from the depths of his mind and he leant forward slightly to draw a strand of hair back from her forehead. She stirred, murmured something, low and soft, and he leant closer, suddenly intent, hope a wild drumming in his chest.

Had that been his name?

"Lois......?"

She didn't answer, settled back into sleep in another moment. Clark sighed and straightened, going back to simply watching over her a time.

At last, he pulled his fascinated gaze away. As he leant over her to switch off the lamp, his attention was caught by the toy she was holding.

His eyes widened a touch as he recognized it. Though he'd never forgotten - couldn't forget - the evening he'd won it for her at the Smallville Corn Festival Fair, he had never imagined that she'd kept it. And certainly not that she'd keep it here, in her bed. For a moment, he mulled over the vague implications of that and then shook his head. Best not go there. It was a cute bear, that was all. She had other such soft toys laying around the room. It probably appealed to her. Why shouldn't she keep it?

<But none of the others were in her bed, a small voice insisted.

Clark shook his head again and then took another glance at the woman beside him. He reached out and tugged the comforter higher around her shoulders and, remembering her words of a moment before as he rose to his feet, felt a warmth fill the pit of his stomach and flicker steadily in his heart.

"I love you too, Lois," he said softly, his eyes glowing in the dim light reaching long fingers across the bed from the lounge, before he turned and walked from the room.

***

Clark started awake, uncertain for a moment just what it was that had brought him out of a fitful doze, and then realized it had been a low, sharp cry from the bedroom. It was followed almost immediately by a thump.

"Ow! Dammit!"

"Lois!"

He was up, off of the sofa and at the doorway of her bedroom, in an instant. His subconscious warned by that savage exclamation of disgust, he somehow found himself reaching it as Clark. He paused, holding onto the doorframe with one hand, as he found Lois in a heap on the floor beside the bed; legs tucked under her as she leaned one elbow against the rumpled covers and one hand pressed hard to her forehead. She moaned softly.

"Lois?" he asked, tentatively.

"Clark? Oh......my head."

She looked up at him miserably, eyes dark with pain, and then gulped, a look of alarm swiftly crossing her face. She clapped a hand across her mouth, looking positively ashen now, and staggered to her feet. Violently shrugging off his automatic helping hand, she headed out of the door in a wild rush for the bathroom.

Clark watched her somewhat unsteady progress until she was out of view and then he let out a small sough of air that was tinged heavily with relief. He found himself wearing a somewhat goofy smile. <See, he triumphantly challenged his earlier, more pessimistic self as though he himself had never doubted it as fact. <Told ya she'd come through.

Faint retching noises emanated from the bathroom. Clark grimaced and went on a search of his partner's kitchen cabinets.

Lois paused in the bedroom doorway when she returned, watching him as he placed a water glass and foil packets on her bedside cabinet. He turned before she could speak and indicated the items. "I brought you some painkillers. You had some ginger ale in the refrigerator; if you wash them down with it, it'll help settle your stomach."

Lois ignored the advice with a scowl as she staggered past him, still clutching a hand to the side of her head. "What are you doing in my bedroom, Clark Kent? At - " she squinted painfully at the glowing digits of the bedside clock, " - four in the morning?"

"I heard you yell." He pointed a finger out into the lounge. "From the sofa."

Lois sighed as she leaned over to switch on the bedside lamp. The sudden wash of light drove splinters into her eyes and she winced. She switched it off again, relying on the softer light spilling fitfully into the bedroom from the dimly lit living room beyond.

"And you were on the sofa *because*......?" she said, grumpy with pain.

"Oh."

"I don't remember inviting you *onto* the sofa - "

"Ah. Well, once you were asleep I didn't want to leave until I was sure you were okay, so I got some blankets and - "

"Never mind." She waved him off as she slumped to the edge of the bed again. "Ohhhh," she whimpered. "What the hell hit me? Did something hit me?" she looked up at him muzzily and winced again as the motion set the ache in her skull to brightening unmercifully; a series of flashbulbs erupting crazily behind her eyes.

"Not exactly."

"Well, whatever it was, it sure hit hard." She groaned as she propped her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

"You don't remember?" Clark said, watching her with sympathy. "Nothing at all?" He sat down diffidently on the side of the bed beside her, leaving a circumspect inch or two of space between them.

Lois considered with a frown. "No. But, judging by the firecrackers going off in my skull right now, I have to figure it was some wild party." She jerked up her head, forgetting even to wince at the jolt of pain that speared through her, so dismayed was she all at once.

"Ohmigosh, I wasn't......" she swallowed the words, looking stricken and then went on in a whispered rush, "I didn't do any......" her hand gestured in midair; a series of vaguely suggestive curves, "......dancing. Did I?"

Clark couldn't help a grin. "No." The grin took on a thoughtful aspect. "At least," he reconsidered blandly, remembering the moment when Lois decided to show off the results of the ballet classes Ellen Lane had enrolled her in almost two decades previously with a slightly uncoordinated though definitely cute rendition of the 'Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies', "......not as such."

"Oh." Lois was silent for a moment. She looked down at herself. "Well, at least I'm not wearing chiffon this time," she muttered and then, plucking distastefully at the cotton t-shirt she was wearing, "Though this isn't exactly my usual taste in nightwear either."

The motion drew Clark's attention to the t-shirt. He stared at the Daffy Duck logo and the softly rounded curves that it was stretched across. It *was* a little on the undersized side of tight, now that he looked at it. He wondered briefly why he'd failed to note that when he picked it out for her to use as sleepwear. But then, by the point where he'd gotten her into bed, he'd been desperately trying to avoid noticing what she was wearing at all, he recalled with a small grimace.

"Did somebody say something about painkillers?" Lois' low, pained voice brought up his head with a jerk.

"Oh! Here!" He handed them over with the ginger ale and watched her down them. She tipped back her head to encourage their passage. Clark's eyes couldn't help but be attracted to the soft rippling motions of her throat as she swallowed and the way that her movements caused Daffy to dance across her breasts as they strained tautly against the thin fabric shrouding them.

"Thanks." She handed back the glass with a soft smile and then glanced down at the t-shirt again wryly. "You know, I haven't seen this thing for......well, I can't even remember. It wasn't even mine, it was Lucy's. She left it here when she moved out and I never remembered to give it back."

She stopped considering the shirt and looked up on Clark again, eyes clouding over with puzzlement. "Why did I start wearing it now?"

"Ah. Well, you didn't," Clark started an explanation and then paused as Lois gasped. He watched in concern as she straightened abruptly, her face suddenly wax pale as it drained completely of color.

"Lois?" he said, startled by the abrupt change. He reached out to clutch at her arm, as he said again, anxiously, "Lois? Lois, are you okay?" He moved quickly, taking hold of her shoulders. "Maybe you should lay back down and - "

She shook him off stubbornly as he made an abortive attempt to ease her under the covers again and he backed off, holding up supplicating hands in defeat. Her head swiveled to view him, her eyes round as saucers as she blurted, "No......! Tell me I didn't!"

"I said you didn't. I - "

"What?" Lois looked at him, confused and then, understanding and dismissing the comment with a sharp, irked wave of her hand, "No, not *that*!"

"Oh," Clark said, wrong-footed. "Didn't what then?" he asked warily. The question could cover a lot of sins and he wasn't putting his neck in *that* noose willingly.

Lois closed her eyes, recovering color in a rush, cheeks burning now. Clark, through his bemusement, watched with a certain, clinical interest. He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone change so many colors in so short a time before.

"Tell me I didn't ask Superman to read me a bedtime story!"

Clark chuckled and then shrugged as her eyes flew open to glare at him. "'fraid so," he confirmed. "At least, he did mention - "

Lois moaned again as her memories brightened unmercifully and then buried her face in her hands. "'Fox in Sox'!" she whimpered on a near wail. "I sat on Superman's lap while he told me 'Fox in Sox'!"

Her head jerked up as Clark watched her, at a loss as to how to respond to that. Although a small, uncharitable portion of him briefly considered taking up the offered opportunity to make his partner squirm - just a little. Payback for all the torture she'd put him through that evening. As he was rapping said portion sternly across the knuckles for its ungenerous thought, Lois' expression switched with a quickfire capriciousness he recognized from humiliation to calculating inquisitiveness.

"How'd Superman know 'Fox in Sox'?"

"I dunno. Maybe it was one of his favorites. When he......was a kid."

"You think?" A quick, fleeting curiosity crossed her face as she filed that away for future consideration in that portion of her mental file cabinet labeled: 'Superman - Curious Facts About', briefly mulling over the intriguing possibilities it hinted at, and then she crumpled into another wail. "How could I *do* that? I am never going to live this down, Clark! You realize that? Never!"

"Lois......" He reached out gingerly to pat at her shoulder and for a moment couldn't help but be struck by the memory of another time, when she'd been just as crushed, just as humiliated, as he'd fumbled to reassure her. A faint smile flickered on his face with the recollection and then hastily wiped itself clear as Lois glanced at him suspiciously.

"Don't tell me it wasn't my fault," she growled.

"Well, it wasn't."

"Okay......so whose fault was it?" She leapt to her feet without waiting for his answer, wavered for a moment, and then set off on a wild tangent, missing Clark's quickly aborted move to steady her. Her fists clenched spasmodically at her sides and she growled under her breath with that unsteady march for the closet in the corner.

"Wait a minute, where you going?" Clark said, rising hastily to his feet after her. He knew that tone -- and it never harbored anything good.

Or reasonable.

"To find the slimy little *skuzzball* who ruined my life! And, I'm telling you, Clark, when I do -- " She propped to halt and twisted on one heel to stab a furious finger at him, forcing him back an instinctive step out of its prodding reach. "I'm gonna show him just how much 'Christmas cheer', 'Peace on Earth' and 'Goodwill to all *men*' figure in Lois Lane's vocabulary!"

She tore open the closet door with a deal more force than it strictly deserved, sending it banging back on its hinges. "I'm gonna kill the slimy, sleazy, lowdown, son of a -- "

"Lois, it's four in the morning," Clark protested mildly. "Besides, don't you think 'my life is ruined' is overstating the facts? Just a little? Come on. Relax. It could be worse."

"Worse!" Lois spun back to face him, arms thrown wide in emphasis with that screech. "Oh, do tell, Kent! Just exactly *how* could it be worse!" she snarled, face twisted in sarcastic venom as she set her fists on her hips and glared at him in challenge.

"Well......at least Superman brought you home. You could still be back at the paper. Playing hopscotch," he pointed out congenially. "At least here it was just the two of us......you......the two of you. And......and me," he added hastily, recovering awkwardly from the almost slip.

"Well, there you go!" Lois gestured triumphantly at him, before resuming her burrowing of the closet in high dudgeon. "Not only do I make a perfect *idiot* of myself in front of *Superman*, but he invites my partner along to see the show! My *partner*, Clark! The person I work with at the Planet every day! The one person I need to have respect from! The only other person in the entire *universe* whose opinion I actually happen to -- "

She straightened abruptly, breaking off her tirade, floundering for a moment as she caught Clark's suddenly interested gaze and realized where that furious diatribe had begun to take her.

"I - I mean - well, anyway," she recovered smartly, disappearing again, "I'm gonna find the little creep and I'm gonna carve his liver out with a blunt dessert spoon and staple it to his forehead! If I can *find*......*my*......*damn*......*boots*!" she added in a frustrated growl as she gave up her search abruptly and hauled out her coat instead. "Where the hell are my boots!"

Part #2