14315/So How Was Your Day

So How Was Your Day
Date of Scene:	14 April 2022
Location:	Clark Kent's Apartment, Metropolis
Synopsis:	Lois returns from a meeting with the Punisher, bearing a bug, questions, and hints of future woe.
Cast of Characters:	Lois Lane, Superman

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Lois Lane has posed:
He'd know she was on her way down the hall long before she knocks at the door. He might even realize it when she's getting out of the Uber in front of his apartment building. The familiar fall of her steps on the hallway floor, the pace of her breath, a little more shallow and tired than she would care to admit. Her scent brushed with cigarettes, sweat, and a touch of fried food from dinner with her familiar vanilla and amber beneath. She's home and she's safe, if exhausted. No blood, no bruising, nothing to say the night was anything but boring.

Half a minute later, she's knocking at the door and then just tries the knob, figuring he might have left the door open for her, and she is accurate. Each of her motions is a little too heavy, bone deep exhausted for no reason she can quiet put her finger on, but she's certainly feeling it. She's normally a night owl, but this long evening is getting to her. "Mm... still awake?" She huskily rasps to him, a drowsy smile pulling across her lips as she shuts the door with her hip and leans there. She pushes her shoes off with the toes of her opposite feet, kicking them to the side of the door before forcing herself to stand again so she can make it over to him on the couch.

Superman has posed:
The labored breathing, the heart struggling to power a body wracked by fatigue -- these signs make themselves known to Clark before Lois ever has knocked at the door. It might discomfort her to know the intimate familiarity her lover has with her, which when combined with his senses gives him the overbearing ability to follow her almost without end; if he stops and listens, wherever he is, he can hear her, detect her.

Naturally, Clark never quite points it out like that. He's not insensitive. People value privacy.

But sometimes, like now, she finds his head already turned to look at her from the living room as she opens the front door, watching her down the long hall leading past the kitchen. She takes off her shoes and wanders over and he scoots over on the sofa, leaving her a spot well-warmed by his body heat and nestled against a few pillows.

"I'm not tired," he mentions. Clark doesn't sleep much. "You look pooped, baby girl. Was this expose on a track and field star?"

Lois Lane has posed:
If he looks her over deeper, she looks generally like herself. Maybe a little thinner around the edges than she's been before, her jeans riding lower and looser on her hips than they generally do and her collarbones a bit more pronounced, but still Lois. She's got her cellphone in her back pocket, a crumpled pack of Newports, and... a small tracking bug. It's barely the size of a piece of lint, contact stuck to her back pocket, but it's definitely there, giving off a faint pulse of electric and signal so whomever she was with can keep tabs on her. That's NOT something that is generally there and, from the way she flops down into sitting, she's utterly unaware of it.

"You're *never* tired," she teases him, "It must be nice." She groans out gently, curling up against his side and savoring the warmth he's left on the couch for her. Shoes off, she curls her socked feet up and beneath her, kneels tucked to the side, her head sinking to the side of his bicep. She might end up falling asleep right there fairly soon, if he doesn't keep her awake talking. "And no... no... on the Punisher. That vigilante who is murdering a bunch of other criminals. Did you know he apparently brought Trask back to the US?" She gives a ragged sort of laugh, "And he says he's not dramatic."

Superman has posed:
There are things no mortal senses can detect but make themselves known to a Kryptonian; the small tracker is one of those. For eyes that can behave telescopically, a piece of lint may as well be a neon sign. And so when Clark turns to watch Lois and steal a kiss from her lips, he stares at it a moment, and then smiles and steals a kiss from her.

"That killer? I've heard of him before. A scoundrel who takes his anger out on the world around him, leaving nothing but corpses in his wake. I don't much like him, Lois -- someone who glorifies murder like that is no better than the criminals he faces."

His expression softens as she leans into his arm, and his lips plant a kiss atop her tired brow.

"I need a drink. I'll get you some water, looks like you could use some."

He rises to his feet and then, moments later, his eyes spark red. A thin red beam slices outward like a scalpel, and burns a teeny-tiny hole through Lois' pants, incinerating the planted bug.

"While I'm doing that, did he tell you he was planting a bug on you?"

Lois Lane has posed:
The kiss is happily returned, Lois leaning a bit closer, pressing deeper into it. She's still getting used to having him like this in her life. She gets to kiss Clark Kent. She gets to kiss *Superman*, every night, and he wants her here. No matter how exhausted she is, she has the energy to savor that. Then her lips pull back and she settles into the warmth of him, letting her eyes drift shut.

"That killer will sale papers. He thinks he's justified in it all. He kills only bad people, he says. Only those dodging the system. I'd have to go back through his track record to check, but I suspect it's true. Even if your point as well. But... murder sells. Besides, I was the first he talked to. I earned that exclusive!" Lois insists, doing her best to justify covering the man.

"...Water... could be good." And then she blinks, eyes shooting open at his last question. Even in her exhausted state, there is a cross of anger and betrayal on her features. "What?! No! No, he certainly did not. The bastard. Did you get it? Is that what you were just doing, or do you like putting holes in my jeans?"

Superman has posed:
It's certainly a prestigious situation Lois finds herself in. How many women in the world can say they're dating a superhero? Still, at times like this, there's nothing especially Superman about the man -- Clark's in casual home wear, sweatpants and a black hoodie with no shirt underneath. Other than the fact he casually shoots fire from his eyes and detects minuscule tracking devices, he's a normal fella.

"Violence as a solution is easy, and that makes it seductive. We've all thought before that the world would be better if someone died -- but once you start down that road, you won't like where it leads." He wanders now toward the kitchen and cracks open a cupboard, snatching two glasses and filling them up with some cold, filtered water. He exhales upon them and his breath is the blood of Ymir, frosting the glasses and chilling the water to a refreshing degree. Once he's back at Lois' side, he's handing her the glass, cold to the touch.

"Yeah, I got it... and I like holes in your jeans. It's a little trashy, but... kinda hot, too."

Lois Lane has posed:
Since he abandoned her on the couch, Lois has no where to lean against slumped, so she's shifted her legs to sit criss-cross beneath her instead, shoulders tired and slumped back into the plush couch cushions. She's trying to stay awake for him. She's gotten used to their little evening debriefs of the day -- only now they are doing it in his living room instead of him dragging her half asleep butt away from her desk at the Planet.

Another husky laugh comes at his last words, "That's me in a nutshell, a little trash, kinda hot. I'm glad I can always be on brand." Lois grins drowsily to him, fingertips stretchng up to accept the water. She doesn't *want* it, in truth, she's kind of starving for something to eat, her stomach grumbling at the thought alone, but she knows she needs it. She takes a good, long drink of the cooled glass and shifts, so he can settle next to her again. "You think I shouldn't print it? Don't give him any more publicity? Perry'll be pissed."

Superman has posed:
"I think you should tell the truth about him," Clark responds, easing back into his position next to Lois so he can once more serve as the steady rock in the river of weariness she flounders in. He sets his own glass on the coffee table and slings an arm around her shoulders to sweep her into a reassuring embrace. "Sunlight is the best disinfectant. There's a romance to vigilantism, but it's based in ignorance; people hear a bad guy is dead, and they don't register what that means. They don't imagine the crying families, the traumatized witnesses, the pain and ugliness. He deserves the chance to defend himself -- but the world should also know what he does. What he really does."

Is it possible to write about a vigilante serial killer without glamorizing him? Is it possible to look at the human side of evil, both on the Punisher's side and the sides of his victim's? It'd be a feat -- but if anyone is able to nail it, Clark knows it's the woman at his side.

"But I also think you can brainstorm articles in the morning, and that right now you need to wind down before I tuck you in. You want a sandwich? Stomach's a little grumbly."

Lois Lane has posed:
As he asks her about the food, her stomach answers for her, growling hungrily. Likely she skipped dinner, knowing her. "Mm... I probably shouldn't right before bed, but fuck, I'm starving. A sandwich would be great. But I can get up and do it... I don't need you waiting on me hand and foot, as nice as it is." And as tired as she is. She gives him a softer smile, unfolding her legs from the couch and readying to get up. He still might beat her to it, but she's got to try, for her own pride's sake.

"And that was the plan, just to tell the truth. You know me, Clark, I don't write sensationalized clickbait. When I talk to villains, to people like this guy, I'm just telling the human side of the story. Some people will be disgusted, some people will praise him... I'm just here to give the facts." She is good at weighing the truth of these stories with a rawness that makes them feel real but also not giving them glory for their actions.

Superman has posed:
"Lois, I respect your desire to be an independent woman who doesn't rely on a man," Clark begins, voice calm and intonation slow and measured. But then his arm is out and his hand is pressed to her soft chest and with the barest scrap of effort he pushes her back down. "On the other hand, you're my bitch, and I am literally Superman, so sit down and be patient for the two entire seconds it will take me to do this."

Clark smiles a lopsided and shit-eating grin, his voice thick with warmth and tease and a little bit of sincerity, if we're being perfectly honest, because he is a bit old-fashioned and possessive and thinks if he wants to pamper his woman she should shut up and take it. Provided Lois doesn't fight any further, he will rise to his feet...

... and then sit back down, placing a paper plate on the table in front of Lois. Upon that plate is a ham, salami, and swiss cheese sandwich, with two slices of tomato and a sprinkling of crunchy lettuce. The bread has been toasted but the cold cuts remain... well, cold. There is also a little bit of mayo and some pepper.

It's not the world's most complicated sandwich, but it is one of Superman's favorites!

"Here you go, sweetheart. And I know. You're the best writer I've met -- not just in technical ability, but in integrity. It's harder and harder to make it with good journalism these days, and the Daily Planet's one of the few hold-outs.. and they owe it to you."

Lois Lane has posed:
As he insists that she is his 'bitch' and he's going to take care of her, Lois blinks, but the smile on her lips is entirely, pleasantly surprised. She looks up to him, lips actually pulled into a bit of a drink now, and she lets herself be pushed back down into the couch, "Mm. Well, if you put it that way, yes. Sir." She give him a little salute, not mocking, but one of teasing, genuine respect.

she sinks back into the couch and he's back almost immediately. She accepts the sandwich with a sound that is almost sexual in approval. She didn't realize how hungry she was until food was in front of her. She accepts the sandwich gratefully from him and dives in immediately, appreciative sounds in her throat. She shifts her body so her feet are tucked under the edge of his thigh, keeping her toes warm, and the plate is balanced on her knee caps as she eats. "And I know. I'm one of the best writers in this country, if not the world. I'm sure as hell not going to make the Punisher a rock star, but I'm not tossing this story away because some people might sympathize with a man who has decided to be the law, after the law failed him." She takes another bite, watching his features. "But... if you want to look it over before I go to print, we are a team."

Superman has posed:
Clark laughs at Lois' unexpectedly sincere response to his joking machismo, puffing out his chest as she calls him sir. That doesn't change the fact he's behaving like a very traditional housewife, literally going to the kitchen to make her a sandwich, but it does fill him with a smug sense of pride. It's a pride that lingers even once he's nigh-immediately sitting back down, turning and watching her eat with a startling hunger.

"Geez Louise, Lois, you must not have eaten all day," he declares with a chuckle and a tilt of his head, resting his cheek on his knuckles and his elbow propped on the sofa. "I would have made something more substantial if you had called ahead of time." While heat vision can quickly toast bread, it's not all that useful for cooking a proper meal. "What, are you pregnant?"

She's not, he knows she's not, she knows she's not, but when he makes the wisecrack, there's still a faint blush that comes to his cheeks momentarily. If she was watching him, she can probably guess that Kansas there had certain thoughts in his head.

"Erm, obviously, you're not," he clarifies, in case she did worry. "I'd know, you know, I could -- oh, that sounds weird, doesn't it? Let's, uh, the Punisher. I'll definitely look it over. Make sure you don't have any typos snuck in before it goes to print."

Lois Lane has posed:
The first hint that something might be more wrong than they initially thought is her response to his teasing about the food, "No! I actually had lunch *and dinner* today. I swear. I must just be... PMSing, or something. And I am *not* pregnant. I swear. I promise. Just coming down with something... maybe. I'll get a good night's sleep and it'll pass." There's nothing really visibly wrong with her. Definitely not pregnant, not sick, nothing else that would explain this even to x-ray eyes. She continues savoring the sandwich, though. She does appreciate it.

Then her sharp reporter's eyes pick up on that faint blush on his cheeks. She blinks, tilting her head to the side as she tries to study his expression a bit closer. "...I'm definitely not pregnant but... what's that look, Clark? Would it be a... good thing if I was? I mean, I've got an IUD... the copper one." He knew. He had to know. But now she's curious. "Hell, you... You're an alien. CAN we even?"

Superman has posed:
Clark does take a moment to scrutinize Lois for signs of illness, scanning her with the precision of scientific tools -- albeit not state-of-the-art ones. As miraculous as Superman's senses are, modern technology at the cutting edge does still surpass it. It's just that that technology is usually not portable, and usually takes a super-genius to use it and interpret it, whereas Clark can fly around the world and interpret his senses as a normal (if intelligent) man.

He doesn't see anything immediately wrong with her. Part of that could come from not knowing what to look for specifically, though.

"Mm, well, you don't seem ill, but your body might have already fought something off, and now you're just worn out," he says, and then shrugs; sometimes people just don't feel good, there's nothing to really worry about. "If it gets worse, I'll check you again, but you probably just need to eat and sleep, beautiful." He offers her that lopsided smile and reaches out to curl her hair around a finger, before she starts to question him about starting a family. He doesn't turn away from her, but his lips do press into a firm line, and his brow furrows.

"I... don't know, Lois. Honestly, while I've studied my heritage as best I can, I don't understand how my powers work, or how -- how I work. I know I'm a Kryptonian, and I know what that means, but the details?"

He shrugs his shoulder.

"But if we could? Well... yeah, I'd like it. We'd have to get married, of course, and I know we've only been dating a little while so there's no need to rush it, but. Eventually? Yeah. Yes. I want to."

Lois Lane has posed:
As she finishes the last few bites of her sandwich, she watches him, listening to those words about the future. Lois is suspiciously silent for several heartebats, just staring into his eyes. She sets the plate quietly aside, taking in a slow breath through her nose as one of her hands slips over to wrap around his strong, so much larger palm.

"You know... I should be freaking the *fuck* out right now. Kids? I'm not a... kids person. I'd be horrible at it. I can barely keep myself together. I've never even THOUGHT about it, I just keep having them put that copper thing in... You saying this... I should be freaking out."

She takes in another breath, a quieter smile fluttering across her lips, "But I... I'm not. I know it's a ways off, and we have to make certain we don't end up wanting to kill each other in the first few months, but with you..." She pulls his hand up to her lips, giving those knuckles a quiet kiss. "Shit, you make me feel like maybe I could do something as wild as kids."

Superman has posed:
"I know that's how dating works," Clark replies, turning his hand to hold Lois' as she reaches out. "But I promise I won't ever be tired of you, Lois. I've loved you for years." His smile dimples his cheek and he brushes his thumb across the back of her knuckles. It's a gentle caress, suitable for those large, warm hands. "This isn't a casual test run for me. I -- well, gosh, I always intended to propose, eventually. I already know I want you to be a part of my life, Lois. I want what everyone else wants, too -- I want to love someone and be loved, I want to do well at my career, I want Ma and Pa to see their grandchildren."

As ever, the great dream of Superman is to be a normal family man. It's a notion that might beggar the belief of the world's sharpest minds, to wield the power of a God and the fame of a global phenomenon and desire absolutely nothing from it.

"And I promise, when I do, it'll be really romantic, much more romantic than you feeling sick and eating a sandwich on my sofa."

Lois Lane has posed:
That last bit makes her laugh, if tiredly. Lois is quickly running out of steam, but the conversation was certainly worth remaining awake to have. Lois watches him with tired, rather loving eyes, curling herself back into the couch once more but keeping her hand in his. "I know it will be. And I promise I'll act surprised." Lois teases him softly.

"You don't need a test run. I had a ton of test runs. Or, more so, test fuck up. I... shit. I care about this enough to try -- actually try. I try to be better for you, and you're the only one in the world who brings that out in me, so... I think you're stuck, handsome." Lois admits softly.

Then she's stifling another yawn, her eyes drifting closed for a moment as she tucks her head and nose against the crest of his shoulder and lets the couch eat half of her body even more. She might fall asleep right then in there, even if she's clearly trying to stay up so they can finish this talk.

Superman has posed:
Clark shifts and reaches an arm behind him, blindly feeling around for one of the heavy blankets thrown over the sofa's back for times like this. He pulls the folded fabric down and tosses it over Lois' body like a funerary shroud, nesting her against his side. He then gingerly plucks the television remote from the coffee table, stretching out to reach it, and turns the television on. With his hearing, he can turn it very low, indeed, so as not to bother Lois as she rests.

"Let's get some sleep," he tells her, her eyes already closed and her cheek on his shoulder. He leans and adjusts their bodies so she's laying with her head in his lap and he can stroke her hair. "I'll carry you to bed in a little while, okay? So just relax there."

And that is how their night shall pass: a bit of quiet background noise, Clark's strong fingers curled through Lois' hair and stroking her scalp, thoughts whirling through his mind...

And an unknown sickness spreading.