Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Superman and his suit have both been exposed to a frankly astonishing array of damaging environments. He’s been to the freezing vacuum of space, engulfed in frames, splattered with a laboratory’s worth of acidic substances, pummeled by a variety of enemies, shot with a full spectrum of lasers- and had his ankles bitten by Krypto. 

(Which, frankly, was just as annoying as the lasers.)

Through it all, the suit has remained nearly as impervious to harm as he has, coming out of things like a firestorm with little more than a sooty coating, and he’s glad for that, as the amount of times he would otherwise need to repair or replace the suit might frankly be cost-prohibitive to being Superman. 

It’s a day ending in “Y” in Metropolis, which means there’s something or someone attempting to wreak havoc downtown. The chaos du jour is a swarm of insectoid robots that latch onto buildings, cars, and any other structures they can find and in a manner reminiscent of locusts (which Clark is very familiar with from the farm) chew through whatever is in front of them with buzz-saw jaws.

There’s a staggering amount of them, but thank god, they seem to be targeting inorganic materials and ignoring the people trying to flee around them, and they fall apart like a piñata with one punch. 

In the back of his mind, something about this feels strange to Clark, but the thought is pushed aside as he puts on a burst of speed and flies straight through a cluster of the robots, leaving them practically disintegrated in his wake.

He’s not sure if it’s five minutes or an hour later as the fight blurs into one long punch, but finally he can’t hear any more robots around him. He touches down as civilians begin to reemerge from where they had been taking shelter and notes, with no small amount of pride swelling in his chest, that many of them are stepping over their own defeated metal husks and discarding improvised weapons. They begin to cluster around him, as they so often do, and he’s reminded once again just why he does what he does.

It’s not about their gratitude, as heavily as it’s always expressed.

It’s about seeing the expressions on their face, seeing that they are safe, seeing the way parents and children reunite in joy. 

Hands reach out from the front rows of people in the crowd, clamoring for a handshake, a fist bump, just to pat him on the arm or shoulder. He does his best to get each one with a smile.

He’s getting ready to excuse himself and lift out of the throng when he hears an indignant “Hey-” from behind him, out of place in the normally large but placid crowd of his well-wishers.

He turns, and that might be what saves his life as something sharp that was undoubtedly aimed for his heart instead slides neatly between two ribs on his right side

The sensation of something breaking his skin, entering his body, drawing blood is so utterly foreign that it takes him a beat to realize just what has happened, even as an involuntary choked grunt slips from between his lips.

And then-

-fire racing through his veins-

-his lungs won’t fill properly-

-it’s cold like the nothingness cold of space, not the sharp, beautiful cold of the Antarctic-

-and at the same time hot like acid, not the soft, all-encompassing heat of the sun-

-he feels as much as he hears the snap and shatter of the blade as he crumples to the ground.

Distantly he registers yells, screams- but not sounds of terror and panic.

It’s anger. 

He hears someone yell “Get his ass!” as a cluster of bodies encroaches on someone close by.

There’s hands on his arms, his back, a set of shoulders under each arm, all working together to haul him to his feet. He sways and nearly topples again but he’s supported from every direction, and now that he’s on his feet he can see about seven or eight people who have effectively immobilized someone on the ground- arms locked behind their back, covered face pressed to the pavement and legs clasped at the ankles and knees.

If he weren’t so busy with trying very hard not to die he’d be impressed.

The people holding him up are all clamoring at him and it’s all so loud and he can’t separate much from the buzz. Words like “ambulance” and “hospital” float into his ears and no he can’t go there so, as gently as he can manage, he pushes away from the people holding him up. With a truly Herculean effort he lifts off the ground, rising over their heads even as some of them plead with him to stay and let them help him.

The wind brushes across a warm wetness on his side as he drags himself through the air and that’s how he knows he’s well and truly up a creek; flying usually feels like a pushing force from behind, and it’s never him feeling like he’s doing the work. Flying right now feels like he’s hauling himself along against the current of a river.

But if he can make it all the way to the Fortress beaten senseless by Ultraman, then god damn it he can make it to-

-where was he going?

In a spray of masonry he clips the corner of a brownstone and is sent into a tailspin across all three axes, only righting himself by tumbling across the face of another building in his path. 

Doggedly, he pushes on, not knowing his destination but letting his subconscious steer him in his delirium.

There-

A balcony, an open window-

With the absolute last whispers of his energy he throws himself inside, tumbling over a sofa to the floor and landing in a crumpled heap as the sun outside sinks below the horizon.

Chapter Text

Coverage of Superman’s current fight is playing on several monitors on the Planet’s news floor when Lois leaves for the day, but she’d be lying if she said she’d done more than glance at a screen once in the last hour- she’s pretty confident in her boyfriend’s abilities and the last time she’d looked, he was pretty handily trashing the robot swarms. 

As she steps into the elevator, she starts a call to Clark. She doesn’t really expect him to answer mid-fight, but she’s intrigued by the robots and wants to leave a reminder for both herself and him to see if he noticed anything while fighting them.

“This is Clark Kent; please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Hey, it’s me- I wanna find out where the robots came from. Let me know if you saw anything on them. Call me back or come over; I’m picking stuff up for pizza and you’re welcome to join me.” She hangs up and tucks her phone in her pocket as the elevator opens in the parking ramp.

Thirty minutes later, as she opens the door to her apartment, grocery bag in hand, she stops. There’s a smell. Hot and metallic.

It’s blood. 

She stills, listening. It’s quiet, save for the gentle hum of her AC unit. She places the grocery bag on the ground with barely a rustle and reaches for the baseball bat in the corner. As her fingers curl around the handle, she hears it. Just barely.

A faint wheeze of breath, not even half a second long. She thinks it’s coming from the living room.

She pads past the kitchen entryway and leans, peering into the living room space. Over the chair, on the floor behind the coffee table, she catches a glimpse of dark curls; a red cape haphazardly crumpled over-

“Clark-” 

The bat clatters to the floor as she dodges around the armchair and practically vaults the coffee table to kneel at Clark’s side. The first thing she sees is the horribly familiar lines of green creeping along his veins- but brighter than she remembers them being when he was tortured in the pocket dimension.

The second thing she notices is that her knees are damp. When she manages to tear her eyes away from Clark for a split second, the carpet around him is red. 

She flips the cape away from his body to reveal a scarlet stain blossoming along his torso, turning the blue of his suit a sickly maroon. She finds the tear and the ugly wound along his ribcage- and sees the glimmer of something green and glassy within. A steady trickle of blood leaks out past the kryptonite and she has the presence of mind to pull off her jacket and press it to the wound.

The pressure elicits a sound from Clark that Lois has never heard him make. It’s high and broken, a wail without any air. A fraction of sky-blue eye appears under a barely-open eyelid, rolling to meet Lois’ gaze.

“L-Lo-” The syllables stutter out on a fearful exhale.

“Shh, shh, I know,” she says. “Don’t talk; try and just breathe.” She’s done enough research for articles on violent crime to know about the way stab wounds can cause a pneumothorax- air in the chest cavity causing a lung collapse. She knows Clark can go without breathing for- well, she doesn’t know the specifics, but a long time- but that’s only if he can fill his lungs first.

This isn’t something he’ll be able to sleep off.

“Clark, I can’t fix this. You can’t heal from this by yourself. I know you don’t want to go to the hospital but maybe-”

Clark wheezes out a protest. 

“Clark, we need someone with real medical knowledge to get this out of you.”

Weakly, Clark shakes his head. “F-fort-”

“Clark, you haven’t even told me where the Fortress is yet,” Lois counters. 

Clark tries to croak out something else, but the weak gasp he takes catches in his throat and he coughs, red phlegm spattering the carpet near his lips. Lois takes one hand off the jacket to cradle Clark’s head as the coughs wrack his form.

As they finally subside, Clark manages to choke out a word. “ Te-Teriffic. ”

Lois starts. Of course. Even if Clark hasn’t told the Justice Gang where the Fortress is, Terrific’s tracking nanites would show where Clark has been.

Lois fumbles for her phone, thanking anyone who might be listening that Terrific gave her a contact number after the dimensional rift debacle.

Terrific picks up on the second ring. “ I saw the news. He’s not good, is he?”

“He’s not," Lois confirms grimly. "I need a couple favors.”

It’s only a couple minutes before she hears her front door open, but each of those minutes is 60 seconds of trying to hold pressure to the wound, listening to Clark struggle to take in the occasional weak breath. She tries not to panic (or panic more) when she notices the slight dusty blue tinge his lips have taken on. 

Mr. Terrific lets out a quiet “shit” when he sees Clark. As Lois explains what she knows, Terrific helps Lois replace her jacket with wads of gauze before directing his T-Spheres into place near Clark’s shoulders and knees. The orange field envelops Clark, lifting him carefully from the floor. “We don’t want to risk moving him in a way that dislodges or moves the Kryptonite,” he explains, not that Lois was objecting at all. Clark doesn’t react, his face a deathly pale and the angry green streaks now crawling up his cheeks.

They manage to make it up to the roof of Lois’ building where Terrific has parked the T-Craft without being seen by any of the other residents. Terrific begins the start-up sequence while Lois straps herself into a seat near where the T-Spheres hold Clark in a hover.

“Just hang on,” she whispers, not knowing whether she means it more for Clark or for herself. Then, to Mr. Terrific, “Do you know where to go?”

“Data seems to indicate the Antarctic,” he replies as the ship lifts off, making the brief comment to grab a coat as they'd left Lois’ apartment make sense.

Lois couldn’t say how long the flight takes; she’s still focused on the intervals between the weak gasps that Clark is still managing to take. 

When she feels them begin to descend, she stares through the windshield at… nothing? The white Antarctic expanse stretches out before them, marred only by the occasional rock crags that break through the snow and ice. 

Then, without warning, a few hundred yards out, the ground erupts. Columnar crystals push themselves through the ice, layering and stretching and reaching up towards the sky that remains light, even while evening has long since fallen in Metropolis. Mr. Terrific starts a bit, but maintains their smooth descent toward the Fortress of Solitude.

He lands just yards from what has to be the entrance, a massive seal in the shape of the crest that adorns Superman’s suit. As they disembark, the seal blazes with a gold light, the full insignia glowing as the door begins to peel back.

The splendor of the Fortress of Solitude greets them. The inside fairly glows with natural light- reflected, Lois guesses, from the outside through the translucent crystals. A dusting of snow coats the floor and gathers in small drifts along the edges of the walkway, crunching under their shoes.

Someone- no, several someones- approach from a far room at the end of the walkway, and- holy shit, those are robots wearing honest-to-God capes. The one in front, with the number 4 emblazoned across its chest, speaks.

“You are not authorized- oh, goodness, Superman!” The robots move forward as one, hurrying to encircle Clark. Once they are positioned to support him, Mr. Terrific lets the T-Sphere force field dissipate. He turns to Lois as the robots spirit Superman away towards the far atrium.

“You gonna be okay?” He asks. She gives him a brief nod. He gives her a tight-lipped smile. “Keep us posted on Superman. Let us know if there’s anything we can do.” Lois almost wants to go for a hug, but decides that’s probably not Terrific’s thing, so she opts for a handshake.

“Thank you,” she says before she lets his hand go. “Get home safe.”

He nods before making a swift exit from the Fortress.

Lois turns and walks swiftly toward the atrium. The robots have settled Clark upon what looks to Lois like a high-tech dentist’s chair. His cape has been detached from his collar and the top part of his suit has been pulled away, revealing the ugly stab wound in all its awful glory. It looks even worse than it did at her apartment. The edges are a murky green color and even from where she stands, Lois can see the faint green glimmer just inside the gash. One robot appears to be running a diagnostic scan, a model of Clark’s body appearing on a nearby holographic projection.

“Penetrative chest wound, one lung fully collapsed,” she lists off. “Substantial blood loss. Shards of Kryptonite are lodged within the wound. Extraction must occur before any healing is possible.” 

Robot 4 has already begun cleaning the area surrounding the gash. “Please maintain a live diagnostic of the wound as I proceed with extraction,” he says, one of his hands morphing and reconfiguring into a pair of delicate forceps. 

Lois can’t look away as he delves into the wound. The first shard that emerges is large, likely the majority of the blade that broke off. Jagged on one side but smooth and honed on the other edge and up to the point, it slips out of the wound accompanied by a fresh gout of blood. Robot 12 is there with gauze, dabbing up the spilled blood. The shard is deposited in a collection tray before 4 returns his attention to the wound. 

He extracts, by Lois’ count, four other shards. One is as small as a fingernail, and Lois shudders to think what would have happened if it were missed. 

Almost in sync with the last shard leaving the wound, Clark shudders and takes in the largest breath he’s taken since Lois found him, and Lois nearly collapses in relief. His eyelids flutter as fresh gauze is carefully packed over the wound, butterfly bandages holding the edges together.

Which makes sense, Lois supposes- once the Kryptonite is away from him, his skin would likely become impenetrable once again, making regular sutures impossible. 

As the robots are cleaning up, 4 approaches Lois. 

“You must be Ms. Lane,” he says. “I am called Gary. Superman has told us much about you. We are grateful that you were able to bring him here.”

The absurdity of a robot named Gary after the events of the day almost causes Lois to burst out in giggles, but she manages to restrain herself. 

“Thank- thank you for saving him… Gary,” she says. “How long- he’s talked about the healing he can get here; can you… do that?”

Gary shakes his head. “I am afraid that Superman is far too weak to withstand the normal concentrated healing rays at this moment. He must recuperate as you humans do, at least until he regains enough strength.” He pauses. “However, I am confident that he shall make a full recovery.” He turns and gestures for her to follow. “We have moved him to his chambers to rest more comfortably. You may sit with him if you wish.”

Lois follows Gary down a smaller hallway to a bedroom. The temperature is noticeably warmer here, enough for her to finally shed her coat. The bedroom is sparse, with just a large bed, a chair, and a crystal that glows a little brighter than the ones providing the ambient light.

Clark lies in the bed, thick blankets pulled up to his chest. He’s still pale, but the ugly green lines have all but faded from his skin, and his breathing is already stronger. 

“I will leave you,” Gary says quietly. “Please find one of us if any needs arise.”

Lois watches him go before pulling the chair over to the bed and sitting down. The chair and the bedframe are made from the same crystals that make up the rest of the fortress, but don’t glow with the same light. Maybe a good thing.

Sitting closer to Clark, she can see the sheen of sweat that covers his forehead and hear the faint wheeze that still accompanies his breathing. She reaches over and uses the sleeve of her shirt to dab at his forehead before gently running a hand through his dark curls. His forehead is feverish. He stirs, his head nestling slightly into her hand. His eyelids move but don’t quite make it open, like he’s trying to rouse himself but can’t yet.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Lois murmurs. “You’re okay.” She cradles one cheek, running her thumb gently along his cheekbone. “You’re okay,” she says again, and this time she knows she means it just as much for herself as she does for Clark. Her voice must reach into his fugue, because he stills and his breathing evens out a touch. 

With her other hand, she takes his hand that rests closest to her, gently closing her fingers around his. She’s so tired all of a sudden- the adrenaline has completely drained out of her system and she can feel herself about to crash. 

When Gary comes in to check on them a few hours later, he makes a sighing sound- a purely cosmetic ability to express frustration, as he does not need to breathe- at the sight of Lois dozing in the chair, still holding Clark's hand. “Ms. Lane,” he says quietly, rousing her. “The bed is large enough to comfortably fit two occupants. If you remain on Superman’s uninjured side you will not impede his recovery. There is no need to confine yourself to the discomfort of sleeping in the chair.”

Lois colors slightly, but Gary makes a good point. She gives him an awkward smile, then climbs carefully onto the bed next to Clark, tucking herself carefully along his left side and quickly falling asleep once more, head pillowed on his arm, feeling his heart beat solidly in his chest.

Chapter Text

Clark opens his eyes.

And… hm. This is weird. He doesn’t remember coming to the Fortress. He remembers… 

Okay, that’s also weird. He’s drawing a blank on the last half a day or so. Let’s see.

Yesterday morning he woke up, got dressed, stopped on the way to the Planet for coffee and bagels for himself, Lois, and Jimmy. All normal.

He managed to make it through most of the workday without having to duck out for Superman Reasons, he thinks. There were… there were robots, yes, that’s right. But they were surprisingly easy to defeat; he remembers thinking about that specifically. 

As he’s mulling this over, he becomes aware of two sensations. On the right side of his body, there’s a deep, dull ache. On the left, a significantly more welcome warm presence pressed up against his body. For a bizarre second, he wonders if Krypto has escaped Kara’s custody and returned to cause more chaos in the Fortress. 

He tries to raise himself up to look over and ow mistake mistake that was a mistake but he does catch a glimpse of a head of long dark hair, sleep-tousled and half-covering its owner’s face as he drops back to the mattress with a groan.

The movement causes Lois to stir, raising herself on one elbow and haphazardly pushing her hair out of her face as she blinks at him for a second before her gaze sharpens. He gives her a crooked smile, because now he remembers what happened after the robots.

He reaches up to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “So if I’m Superman, but you’ve saved my life more times than I’ve saved yours, what does that make you?” he asks wryly.

She laughs before gently cradling the back of his head and lifting it slightly to meet him with a soft kiss to the forehead. “Superman’s extremely skilled and capable girlfriend,” she replies. Her other hand comes to rest delicately on his right flank below his bandages, her cool skin against his sending a wave of goosebumps racing over his skin. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Significantly better than yesterday,” he replies. “Anything is an improvement over ‘slow and painful death by poison and suffocation,’ though. Awfully low bar to clear.” He tacks the joke on to the end of the sentiment, but bits and pieces are beginning to surface in his mind- no more than flashes, but still full of pain. The hollow coldness of the blade piercing his side, the terror of not being able to fill his lungs no matter how hard he tries, everything slowly going dull around him and knowing that he’s dying.

But mixed in with the pain are bits of hope. Peeling open one eye to see that Lois has come home and found him, hearing Mr. Terrific say he knows where the Fortress probably is (as Clark hoped he would), the feeling of Lois cradling his head even as precious air is forced out of his lungs in hacking coughs.

“Think you can get upright?” Lois asks. “I’m sure Gary wants to know how you’re doing.”

“Oh, good, you met Gary,” he says with a laugh. “How’d that go?”

“He chastised me for trying to sleep in the chair instead of the bed,” Lois replies drily.

It takes a little bit of careful levitation to get to a standing position, and though it’s easier by leaps and bounds than yesterday’s flying, Clark still wobbles a little bit in the air before settling down on his feet. He turns to Lois, taking his face in her hands and dipping his head to press his lips to hers in a proper kiss. Her hands settle once again on his sides, careful to avoid his bandages as she returns the kiss.

“Yesterday was the first time in a long time- maybe ever- that I was really, truly scared for you,” she says softly once they separate. “Even during the rift crisis, when you were poisoned in the pocket dimension, it was hard to see you like that but I knew you’d recover. Yesterday- yesterday I didn't know.”

Her words cause an ache in Clark’s chest that has nothing to do with the stab wound, and he wraps his arms around her, holding her snugly against his chest. “I was scared too,” he murmurs. “I’m still scared. I’m… terrified that a random person in Metropolis was able to get ahold of some Kryptonite. I hate that I feel less safe around the people I want to protect.”

Lois glances up at him sharply, a glint in her eye that he’s come to recognize as “chasing down a story mode.” 

“Actually,” she says. “I was thinking maybe it wasn’t so random.” She takes his hand. “C’mon, let’s go before Gary comes to collect you and I’ll explain.”

A few minutes later, Gary and the robot with the 12 on her chest (who Lois learns has chosen the name Charlotte) and are running a diagnostic scan on Clark. They remove the gauze to reveal that the wound has scarred over, looking several days into the healing process. Lois explains her theory.

“The whole point of the robot attack may not have been to cause damage or hurt anyone- maybe it was just to draw you out so that this person would have the opportunity to attack you. It seemed like an easy fight, or at least the robots seemed pretty weak or easy to destroy.”

Clark nods. “They were; I remember thinking about that during the fight but I didn’t really have time to dwell on it in the moment.”

Lois snaps her fingers. “So if we can find out where the robots came from, we might be able to figure out who acquired the Kryptonite.” She scowls. “I swear to God, if it’s Luthor masterminding this from prison somehow-”

“We might have another lead,” Clark points out as Gary and Charlotte finish their scans. “The crowd took down my attacker before they could get away. We might be able to figure out a connection from there, if we can find out what happened to them. What’s the damage?” This last question is directed at Gary and Charlotte.

“Your wound has healed approximately 73% overnight,” Gary says. “I believe you can withstand the concentrated yellow sun’s rays if you wish to expedite the remainder of the healing process.”

Clark nods, settling himself upon the chair. “Let’s do it.” He glances at Lois. “You might wanna find something to hold on to.” As several large lenses begin to lower and slot into place facing Clark, Lois clings to a chunk of crystal, and not a moment too soon, as the entire structure begins its rotation to face the sun. 

“Would you like us to play the videos?” Gary asks as the sunlight begins to concentrate. He turns to Lois. “In order to comfort Superman during healing processes, we play childhood-”

“Gary, Gary, that’s-” Clark interrupts “You don’t have to- she doesn’t need to…” He trails off, glancing helplessly over Lois, his face flushing an impressive scarlet all the way out to the tips of his ears. Lois covers her mouth with one hand, absolutely failing to hide her smile. Thankfully, a sheepish grin also splits Clark’s red face. 

Lois has to squint when the beam of sunlight glances sharply through the lenses, but watches in fascination as the scarring begins to flatten and fade. Clark grits his teeth and grips the armrests of the chair, but rides out the healing without much issue. When the lenses retract and the beam of sunlight fades, the scar has been reduced to a faint pink line. One of the Superman robots appears with the top half of Clark’s suit and cape, which he quickly dons.

As the cape falls into place with a soft swish, Lois grins at Clark again. “I’ve seen your childhood bedroom, you know,” she says. “Baby pictures allll over your parents’ house. I’m sure the videos wouldn’t be much worse than those.”

Clark turns pink again, but gives her a wry smile. “Probably shouldn’t say so, but there’s a bathtub video in the mix that can never see the light of day. Don’t think even I could recover from that.”

“I suppose I can refrain from digging that up,” Lois says with a dramatic sigh. “For the sake of your health.” She’s about to continue ribbing him when Charlotte approaches them.

“Superman, we have a communication request from Mr. Terrific. Shall I display it on the holographic projector?”

Clark looks mildly surprised. “Didn’t even know it could do that,” he says. “Yeah, go ahead and put it up.” 

The podium where his parents’ message used to display flickers to life with a hologram of Mr. Terrific.

“Is this working?” Terrific asks. “Wasn’t sure if it would; when you gave me communications info a while back it didn’t seem compatible with any systems I know. And I know all the systems,” he adds. “Some weird Kryptonian tech, right?”

“Okay well weird feels a little rude,” Clark grumbles. “But yes, we read you loud and clear. And I want to say thank you, first of all- seems like I owe you my life for the second time.”

Mr. Terrific shrugs. “You don’t owe me anything,” he says. “We look out for each other. I know you’ll have my back- our backs- and that’s all I need in return. I’m glad to see you back on your feet.” He pauses, considering something. “But if you did want to let me come take a look at the tech you’ve got in your Elsa palace down there, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Done,” Clark replies. “Least I can do.” He folds his arms across his chest. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your call?”

Terrific reaches out of sight to manipulate something on his end, causing a smaller, static image of a young man to pop up next to him. “This is Everett Jacobs,” he says. “He’s the one who attacked you. He’s an employee of LuthorCorp. Turns out Lex left a whole stack of plans for his employees to try and carry out in his extended absence.” Clark and Lois share a pair of satisfied smiles. Another image joins him in the hologram; one of the robots Clark fought yesterday. “The robots came from a LuthorCorp shell robotics company. Designed to be easy to beat; meant to draw you out to give Jacobs the opportunity to attack you. Don’t think he was counting on the civilian response, though.” 

Clark smiles. “I wasn’t either.” He frowns. “I don’t like finding out about this shell company. I doubt it’s the only one Lex set up.”

“I’m already digging,” Terrific replies. “Should’ve done it sooner, but I was pretty deep in the rift research that he had compiled for a while there. It was pretty fascinating stuff, even if it was the most boneheaded, dangerous, stupid move to actually open the portals and the rift-” He cuts himself off. “Sorry. Still pretty pissed about that. Anyways, I’m doing a deep dive into LutherCorp’s servers. I expect to have a lot more info pretty soon here. I’ll keep you updated.” He removes the two images from the hologram. “You are doing all right, right?”

“Right as rain,” Clark replies. “Thanks for the update. We’ll head back to Metropolis soon.” The hologram shuts off. Clark turns to Lois. “Well, Miss Lane? Shall we get you back home?”

Lois drapes her arms around Clark’s shoulders. “Home by way of that breakfast place on 44th, maybe?”

In response, Clark slips his own arms around the small of Lois’ back, lifting her easily off the icy ground and bringing her face close to his. “I think I could manage that.”