A/N: This chapter has been significantly altered from its 2014 version.

Inherent Vice

Warm air pushed against his face, anger lingered in his veins. He was somewhere, heading south-west, blind in the darkness, lost in the clouds, and seething with annoyance.

He could smell smoke everywhere.

Why do you insist on making me so angry?

He kept his eyes on the dark horizon looking for an orange glow.

What is your problem, Richard?

The fire blossomed like a flower, red and hot in the distance, muted through the clouds.

Do you know who I am? How I feel about Lois?

Narrowed eyes started to look left and right, zooming in on different areas to get an idea of the landscape and flora to better assess the potential speed and heat of the fire.

Did I offend you?

The charred remains of a small house came up under him; he listened closely for the sounds of humans in duress.

Because you are really starting to piss me off.

The wind was coming out of the south-east, a small river that came up below him in the darkness seemed to hem the fire in this area, establishing a perimeter that he would not have to worry about unless the wind picked up speed.

And you're making it even harder to not hate you...

You do, after all, have everything.

You have Lois, you call my child 'son.'

You're an editor at my paper.

And you live a normal life with no lives to save, no terrible decisions to make.

Where was the base of operations for this fire? He looked around for lights, listened intently for the buzz of voices over hand-held radios.

Yet you feel it necessary to mess with me...

His sonic hearing picked up the whine of low-wave radio and he turned automatically to its source, homing in like a machine.

...you accuse me with almost every word.

There were electric lights ahead, behind that ridge.

You seriously lack any comprehension of just who you are dealing with.

You antagonize 'Bullpen Clark,' someone you think you can screw around with, someone you think you can intimidate.

Wait, Richard.

Wait.

Clark closed his eyes, letting the high-pitched scream in his ears echo around the darkness of his thoughts. He was too angry to see, he just wanted to think, to roll around in the misery that fed this anger. It felt so good to answer Richard's stare, to put a foot out of line against him, and in front of Lois... Lois.

Damn you, Richard.

You know nothing.

Nothing.

You have nothing to burden you.

You have everything I want.

His fists were clenched at his sides, yearning to find something strong enough for him to properly tear apart.

And so this is the man who gets to claim my Lois.

This is the man who gets to sleep with my Lois.

And something snapped inside his mind, somewhere a nerve fired without his permission, and suddenly his eyes flared bright with the heat of his anger-

And in that moment he saw her, her outline burned against the inside of eyelids, the kind of random images that make a man squirm. Naked and under him, nails ran down his arms, her voice filled his ears, before Richard's smug smile came to mind instead.

-and two pinpoints of fire caused a single pine tree to spontaneously combust in an untouched area of the forest.

The earth shattered beneath him as he slammed down onto the planet. Six firefighters to the left and right of him actually fell over with the force of his miscalculated and enraged landing. People called out as a major explosion concussed the very air and seemingly set a random tree into hysterics, and everywhere men were looking up and around, frightened. The car alarm on one of the Special Unit SUVs went off, blaring into the night as a chorus of voices cursed in shock and arms went out to steady comrades.

Reality slammed into Clark and he realized how out of control he was. He couldn't remember how he got here and just barely registered the stream of consciousness he had just emerged from. It all happened so fast, chaos was erupting around him and he looked down at his hands, shaking in the flicking light of another forest fire in Missouri. His breath was coming in pants, Lois disappeared from his mind and he was left with nothing but his rage.

Burning rage.

"Superman?"

He looked up and took stock of the crater he was currently standing in, his feet buried up to his knees and the smell of freshly exposed earth wafting up from this new hole in the ground. One heavyset fireman was trying to scramble up the wall of the crater from where he had fallen and tumbled, the loose earth crumbling under his feet. Clark scanned all the soot-stained, sweaty faces and offered them the truth.

"I'm sorry, I miscalculated, I was distracted. I'm having a bad uh," he paused for such a long time that a quiet awkwardness filled the already bizarre exchange.

"I'm having a bad three months."

He waited, numb, until after another pregnant pause a set of identical grins spread across the faces around him. The white teeth were blaring in the smoky, grizzly atmosphere and Clark was reminded of the Cheshire Cat.

He shuddered and tried to force himself past it.

"I did not act on the fire until I was able to consult you," he said as he raised himself out of the crater, floating to a stop near the highest ranked firefighter.

"You are more aware of the priorities and may even want to retain some areas for controlled burn, um," Clark couldn't help it and looked up at the tree he had accidentally set on fire. It burned alone and really quite hilariously in the middle of the night, above their heads.

Clark was very embarrassed as he set a shot of cold air in its direction. He sighed and shrugged, still flabbergasted at his state of mind. The tree sizzled.

Another firefighter off to the left let out a sharp laugh and descended into chuckling. All of the smiles came back.

"Feel better now?" asked the high ranked officer, all business. Clark was reminded of his Little League manager and looked down at his boots.

"Um, yes."

"Then this is our situation. Someone get me a flashlight and both those maps!"

The elevator doors closed, trapping Lois out of her life and back into reality. She sighed, her friends eclipsed, and now alone with Richard for the next ten hours. The space was warm and small, everywhere incandescent light reflected off brass and bronze.

'Christ, what am I doing?'

Lois leaned her arm against the wall of the elevator, sick at the motion of it. The last few shots had finally began to enter her bloodstream and what had been a very comfortable drunk was starting to turn into a mild nausea. She felt sick and exposed. A regrettable feeling.

They stood in silence.

"Lois?" She shivered at the sound of his voice, it was like the grinding of gears to her right now. All she could taste was tequila and some other taste, similar to the twinge that comes with licking aluminum foil.

"Richard. Yes. Where are we?" She hoped he wouldn't say 'the elevator,' she was more curious as to how many more floors until blessed stillness.

"Passing the 15th floor." That was... odd.

Lois realized she had been expecting annoyance, had been waiting for the exasperation to enter Richard's voice. It was an automatic behavior pattern. Instead he sounded... lost.

"Lois?" Again.

"Yes?" she cleared her throat and tried to sound sober and interested, so as not to start a fight and maybe even minutely curious as to this shift in attitude. She rested her head on the resting arm, trying to rest in a restful way. Uuuuuuuugh...

"You say this was a tradition?"

"Yup."

"Which you haven't done at least since I've known you."

"Yup."

"Why bring it back?"

There was a mysterious weight to this question. Lois frowned, not wanting to answer.

"Because."

Eventually the elevator bell sounded and the cabin came to a hydraulic stop, sending her off-balance. She looked up to see Richard regarding her, a guarded but interested look on his face. Her other hand came away from the flat, brass railing lining the three mahogany panels of the cabin and she shifted her purse back onto her shoulder, defiant in her drunkenness.

"Onward, Richard." She waved her hand.

He moved out of the cabin ahead of her and they began to walk. Richard looked bothered. Lois often commented that Richard should learn how to control his face. These thoughts were cut short by a wave of nausea. Lois paused, reaching out for one of the pillars nearest the elevator shaft and pressing her forehead against the cool concrete. Richard noticed and paused.

"What's so special about Clark?"

She turned her head against the pillar, the sandy coarseness of the cement grinding into her skin, and looked at him in the dim light. She responded with a little too much honesty: "Shut up, Richard, I feel sick."

"Why should I shut up, Lois?" Wow, he got angry fast, "What's so fucking special about him?"

"What? Nothing!"

"Then why do you listen to him?"

Despite expecting to be interrupted all over again, Lois tried to voice her confusion, "What?"

"You won't listen to fucking anybody but you'll listen to Clark Kent and you don't even realize it."

Lois started talking over him, the brief patience she had for this idiocy eclipsed by more nausea.

"Richard, I have no idea what you're talking about! So please, just explain it to me tomorrow and accept that right now I just want to pass out."

She tried to concentrate on moving again; her arms and face were numb, her lips felt swollen and she had the sudden desire to kiss something. She pushed off the pillar with her head, waving off any half-hearted attempt from Richard to pretend to try and help her.

He was about to open his mouth to shout some useless, incendiary observation about her being too drunk to function when the thought was intersected by another:

'What would Clark do?' it asked. 'He would give in and smile,' it suggested.

So that's what he did. He suppressed his reaction and strategically waited for Lois to get her bearings again.

They began to walk. They passed six cars by the time Lois spoke up:

"Clark isn't special. He's overly-normal, which is obvious," she glared at him. "He likes baseball. And fiction. And pickles, cheap suits, legal-ruled everything," she smiled, annoyance fading as they walked slowly towards the car, her bare feet trying to avoid oil stains on the parking deck floor, her voice echoing through the space, "And he likes to swim," she added, a smile in her voice.

Lois dropped a shoe and had to spin in a wobbly circle to retrieve it from the floor. She spoke as she knelt in the air, trying not to fall over while Richard looked back over his shoulder. He watched as a candid grin stole across her face, apparently thinking about Clark. Or swimming.

They walked the rest of the way to the car in silence until they both stood next to their respective doors.

"Why?" Her voice rang out hollow and sharp in the empty space, echoing around Richard. Her face was clear, no longer ponderous and back on key.

"I don't like him."

"You don't like him?" she mocked back at him, shifting on her feet and rolling her eyes at him, "Clark Kent, American farm boy is your fucking enemy now? Jesus. Unlock the door!" she demanded suddenly.

Richard stared at her over the roof of the car; she could tell he had a finger poised on the Unlock button, holding her hostage.

She looked at him, impatient. "You should be happy I listened to him, now I won't vomit in your precious car. Now come on!"

Perry and the others had been left to gape as the elevator door clunked closed and the stairwell down banged shut. Everything was a whole lot quieter in the Bullpen now. Lois's laughter faded away, leaving only the low voices of the newscasters still discussing the fire in Missouri.

A few seconds passed before everyone started wondering whether or not they had seen what they thought they saw.

Perry thought he saw the normally passive Clark Kent go from drunk to sober in just the time it took him to glare menacingly at Richard over Lois' head. And Perry didn't know which was stranger: that Kent sobered up or that he was drunk to begin with.

"So wow. I've never seen Clark do that," Kyle offered to the mostly empty room as he shifted in his seat and moved his mouse to wake up his computer.

Maurice nodded a few nods too many, decidedly drunk. The pair made motions to go back to their business, apparently satisfied with life and in no real way disturbed by the violent glare from a man sober enough to really mean it.

These two were best friends with fifteen years difference between them and they mimicked each other in almost everything. Kyle was a cynical but energetic 'gay man about town' who got to eat and write for a living; Maurice was the paper's most popular conservative writer and featured a Republican Party Forum in his weekly column. Maurice was the younger of the pair, Kyle was in the habit of borrowing pens and both of them played online poker almost to the point of having a serious gambling problem.

At first Perry had felt bad that Richard was badgering Clark, but now he wondered if that was all there was to it. Perry glanced at Jimmy.

"Is there anything I should know, Olsen?" A sharp question.

"Um, what?" Jimmy was the picture of fake ignorance from where was checking his e-mail on Lois' computer.

"Just answer the question!" he barked impatiently.

"No, I don't think so," Jimmy's voice immediately matched the tone of the question, a serious response without pretense. He cleared his throat, looking nervous and young. Whatever flimsy defenses the young photographer managed to put up in a normal mind-frame were utterly transparent when intoxicated. He looked left and right, probably missing the firewall that was Lois Lane.

Perry sighed. Clark Kent had been worshiping Lois for eight years, but in all that time Perry never thought he was going to have to intervene. But with Richard's paranoia now capable of making Kent, of all people, actually pissed off, the editor found himself in a difficult place. He cared about these idiots. But he was their boss.

His captive audience was staring at him, waiting for him to say something more. He was just standing there, staring at the elevator like a horrific crime had just been committed.

Maurice propped his elbow onto his desk and then plopped his head onto his hand, pouting. "Richard started it. Clark was only responding and he was obviously upset; doesn't his whole family live in Missouri?"

(Jimmy tried to interject with: "Clark only has his mother and he's from Kansas.")

"Anyway he's your nephew, ask him."

Perry frowned. Kyle was still looking on expectantly, but bleary-eyed, and Perry took a moment to breathe and look around.

The dim lights of the desk lamps were reflecting against the windows, shielding the city from view. Perry often felt that he was both the editor of a major international newspaper and the local print boy at the same time, especially when weird lighting made this office look like some old-fashioned local paper, trapped in time. Perry took a moment to look at the panoramic reflection. With his imagination in place he could glance over the computer monitors on every desk, could replace keyboards with typewriters, and could see himself in this world always.

He sighed. Maybe this did all boil down to jealousy. Jealousy over Lois Lane. Richard resented Clark for the way she had changed, Clark resented Richard over his age-old crush.

Silence reigned. But in the end, Perry didn't say anything. He didn't express his concerns because it was a bit too personal a thing. Perry was concerned as an Uncle and a Great Uncle both; this was his family, and discussing this with his staff was not appropriate.

He cleared his throat. "Does everyone have a ride?"

They all nodded.

"Then get the hell out of here! And be on time tomorrow!"

They all sighed.

Perry took a deep breath, turned around, and retreated to his office.

No one said a word while they each stood in turn, stretching, almost falling over, and then groaning as they dragged their feet towards the elevator.

As Jimmy went to roll his chair back over to his computer he turned and accidentally swept Lois' legal pad off her desk and onto the floor. His hand braced against his chair as he stooped to pick up the pad, he and went on to read it after he came upright, slightly dizzy and very heavy feeling. It was the list of drinking terms, most of them written in pen and a few in pencil, and Jimmy gave a small smile as he turned to throw it back onto her desk.

But he paused and turned the text back towards himself. Most of the terms were spelled wrong (save relatively simple words like 'United Nations' or 'White House') but only one had tally marks next to it. Jimmy looked up, glancing first at the editor's office and second at his comrades gathered by the elevator before looking back down.

'Superman' was apparently mentioned five times on the news tonight, and that was only in the short span that they had been paying attention. Jimmy stared down at the marks, thinking very hard about only the obvious, and sighed. He was really worried about Lois, and he placed the pad down gently as if showing compassion to an office product would take up all the slack in her world.

"We're not holding this forever, Jimmy, come on. Kyle's practically dead and I do not want to clean up after him again."

Jimmy sighed, moving to get his jacket and clicking off his desk lamp.

"Hey Jason?" she cleared her throat and moved into the room a little further..."Heeeey Jaaay-son?"

All was quiet on the little boy front and Lois couldn't help but think that this felt like a dream. Warm summer air was battling it out with the central air conditioner (Jason needed fresh air for his asthma, but cool air for his usually high body temperature) at the same time that both a humidifier and a dehumidifier were on call to maintain relative humidity (for the asthma and the allergies). A HEPA filtering machine also ran in the corner (for just the allergies). It sounded like the server room at the Planet in here and Lois knew Jason would probably want to sleep with white noise for the rest of his life.

Lois called his name again, bending down and dizzy.

She had told Richard she would be right back, knowing full well he would fall asleep without missing her and probably wake up in a few hours, shifting around so much that he would wake her. Then she would lie awake, he would fall back asleep, and she would get up to take a walk.

She spotted a little blue eye glinting at her from the direction of Jason's pillow and she sighed at the significance, but waved at him in the darkness none-the-less. She knew, despite the heavy atmosphere all around them, that he could see her as clear as day. She squinted towards the mattress and moved closer.

"Mommy?"

"Hey Jase," she whispered even lower than the average whisper as she came and knelt by the bed, ruffling his unruly hair and looking down at her son with a goofy smile, "Mommy can't sleep."

"Really?"

"Nope."

"Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah, something like that. Mommy doesn't feel well and knows she's going to have a really bad headache at the staff meeting tomorrow."

"Take some assprin."

"As-pir-in."

"Ass-prin."

"I did. Do you think I could stay in here with you a little while?"

"Okay."

Lois smiled and ruffled his hair in the darkness, "Thanks, buddy."

It took about five seconds before their whispers were a dream fading fast in the memory of a five year old. Lois was still kneeling and moved closer to tuck Jason's head under her chin, bringing her face to rest on his pillow. She was thankful that he was so gentle and easy in spirit; here was the peace she was looking for in her misery.

Lois' toes rubbed mindlessly against the carpet under her bare feet as she let the hum of the room overtake her senses. Everything in here was at once so quiet and so noisy, but she was thankful that Richard probably couldn't hear the low murmur of conversation that she knew was probably going on more often than she realized in this room. She knew He came to see Jason and so she had purposefully jammed the latch on the screen so that Superman could come and go without raising too much suspicion.

Lois put her cheek against Jason's hair and thought. This was the child of the most singular thing on Earth, and in her wildest moments she likened her gap in memory to some notion of an immaculate conception. She could think back on her pregnancy as if she was standing guard over a precious treasure, keeping it for the man who left it in her care.

Their son. A three and a half month old idea.

Lois ran her fingers through his messy hair and smiled, thinking that if she could never see His hair wild around his face then at least she could keep his son's as crazy as she wanted. Lois grinned to herself, playing little jokes in her motherhood with the halo of affection circling her head. But as often happens in the doldrums of intoxication, Lois' happy thoughts could only last so long.

She began to think sadly of the young man soon to follow in the wake of her little boy; a creature that would start to recognize how to resent her, how to question his parents, break her heart, make her worry, grow up and away...

Jason blew some air out his lips in a little 'putt' sound. Tears rushed to her eyes.

Her little boy. A true love child, the only evidence of finally having the man she had always wanted.

'Maybe...' thought Lois desperately as the tears did start to threaten to spill. Lois closed her eyes, determined.

She could, in her worst moments, still master her tears.

'Maybe he'll be like his father,' Lois took a deep breath, trying to calm down and stop the room spinning in the blackness, 'Polite and devoted to me forever,' she grimaced at herself, hating herself in her weakness.

But here in her arms was her little creature, her little secret, and she glowed in the light of motherhood, that goofy smile coming back across her face as she went quickly from one mood and into another.

The warm thoughts lingered and her nervous toes stilled as thoughts of his father played with the edges of her mind, the shy smile and the fair mind, kind and courageous. Not everyone grew up to be like her... what was He like as a boy? Her mind's eye smiled with the thought, drifting asleep without knowing it and sagging against the bed.

Was he shy and funny like he was now? Or maybe reclusive and dark, like he could be in his worst moments? Was he playful, like Jason, but still wise beyond his years? Or was he lonely, like her, cut off? She tried to see him in her mind, tried to strip away the years...

It wasn't long until she drifted away.

"Shhh, Lois, I've got you..."

"What?" she moaned, waking into nausea, the alcohol churning dangerously within her as she lay limp in someone's arms. She felt no movement, but there was a draft on her face.

There was heat pressed against the side of her body, there was smoke in the air, she could smell tequila all over again and fought back the disgust.

"You're levitating me," awareness started rushing forward, but everything was dark. Lois moved, sliding a now curious hand across a chest that was roughly twice the width of her and she tried to clear her throat. Her fingertips found the raised ridges of his shield and she smiled, "Mmmm, hello."

"Shhh..." he repeated, whispering somewhere above her, "I'll put you on the couch."

'He'll ignore my hands until the day he dies,' she thought, fighting off the sickness. He stooped to deposit her a moment later and she lost the argument.

"Oooooh god please get me a glass of water. Shit," she moaned into the couch, rolling at his insistent hands (so she wouldn't fall off) and she listened to him move towards the kitchen. With her face pressed against the soft microfiber of the upholstery she remembered how much she loved these cushions. Sickness was swirling in her; she lost her bearings again, but managed to remember that he couldn't x-ray glass very well.

"Above the dishwasher..." she gasped into the couch, far too quietly for an ordinary human to hear, and so sick that she wanted to die.

Water ran in the sink and she didn't care whether he saw the facet filter or not, she just wanted something, anything, to take away the helplessness in her stomach.

His voice came back, startling her, "There's a reason you stopped drinking tequila, Lois."

He was scolding her?

"What? Shut up," Lois tried to insert some bite into the words, tried to get back on track as she twisted to try and face him.

"Oh... oh god..." a fresh wave of queasiness hit her and now it was too much. Too much... she moaned in pain, her breath coming in short pants as she reached out for the water. She was still resting unwisely on one hand. She heard the glass hit the table and her eyes started to adjust to the dim light.

"Wait, no, you'll be sick if you drink now, hold on."

Two hands came around her, the first around her shoulders and coming behind the space under her back, the other cradling the base of her skull.

"Relax..."

She knew he meant it, so she let herself fall limp against his hands. He managed the slow descent back into the cushions for her and came to kneel by her side on the floor. Superman took his arm out from under her slowly and carefully, and Lois looked up at his shadow when his hand lingered under her hair.

"Help," she moaned again, a whole new set of emotions at his gentle touch and quiet presence battling the sickness for dominance.

He moved his head in the darkness, suddenly concerned for her, thinking that perhaps she was in worse condition than he thought.

And then a new thought, but one that seemed to merge with the cry for help:

"Jason, he..." she paused, unsure what to say. His hand came out from under her head and in her helplessness and worry she thought she saw disgust across his face. The shadows played tricks, a thousand paranoid thoughts ran across her mind. He doesn't want to hear this! He doesn't want this!

The breath stopped in her lungs, shame ran hot through her body, she tried to move but couldn't, frustration tore at her and she squirmed like a child uncomfortable in its bed.

The hand came back second later, smoothing wet fingers into the hair by her temple. He had only twisted around to dip his fingers in her water, had only moved away for a second before he was back and caring for her. A chilled breath came across her face, and Lois sighed into the soft touch of a man whose hands never calloused.

"Lois?" A whisper.

While he could definitely see her in this darkness, his ability to read her at this moment was probably limited.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, ugh, the frigging room is spinning..." she reached out a hand, waving it around and suggesting that she needed someone to hold on to. Her nails scraped along his forearm as he tried to guide her hand into his. She felt the moisture from the water there, the smooth and flawless skin that had crushed rock, ripped metal, and been slicked with so much blood. His were hands that were as untouched and soft as those areas of the body always shielded from the friction of everyday life, yet they had done more than generations of working people.

"Please tell me what's wrong so I don't panic," he spoke in what was obviously a strained voice.

"I just meant," she sighed, "Jason told me over the weekend that... he's can zoom in on things. He can look at a boat in the distance or read a cereal box from across the house."

Lois paused, a wave of nausea just at the edges of her eyes.

She continued in a rasp of a voice, trying to stay still, focusing on speaking to help distract her. "It's not a big deal, I mean it's not setting shit on fire, but I'm afraid! Because it's something he does all the time, which he's always done. It's part of his life. It just seems so real now."

She hadn't meant to talk about this, but it was coming out no matter what.

"Just like you're listening to me without needing to move closer, it's part of you. I'm just clueless on how to handle this!" Her hand was holding his, hoping that she didn't sound whiny and desperate. She didn't want to scare him.

"Does he get very many headaches?"

"What?" she understood it perfectly, she just wasn't expecting a question to follow her statement.

"His eyes seem to be the first tissue really affected, and I'm wondering if he feels any pain behind his eyes. It was the first pain I felt."

"What do you mean, the first pain?" She looked up into his shadowed face, trying to see him. The sting of stale smoke was lingering around him; she imagined the shadows across his face as soot, settling into the hollows of his cheekbones, across his brow. He was gorgeous.

And haunted.

"Coming into my powers was very uncomfortable at times. My joints ached when I got stronger, my eyes stung when I could see farther, I was dizzy for all the time I was learning how to fly, my lungs ached with cold... I cannot feel external pain, but my body still aches on the inside. I get stress headaches..." he said the last bit as if indicating he had one at the moment, and Lois smiled in empathy.

She loved it when he spoke to her like this, and it made a familiar yearning rise in her. Here it was again, the missing him, her friend... a man full of confessions, secrets, stories and extraordinary experience. She yearned for that tone in his voice, remembered what it was like to be hypnotized by it, obsessed with it. Echoes of interviews had nothing on this moment, of looking up at a man now speaking for their son...

"Superman..." it was a whisper that interrupted his thought, that made him pause and regard her. A small pressure engulfed her hand. She moaned, "I don't feel well..."

"Shhhh, Lois, I know. Here," his hand came away from hers once more and returned a moment later, combing more water into her hairline with his fingers. It lingered there, cool and calming, as he spoke softly, "I'll be right back with another glass, just stay still."

Reality was getting blurry, the solid forms surrounding her in her own living room were now only shades of gray in a dark room, transparent in her mind. He came back, she more sensed it than heard it, and he helped her sit up for a few blessed sips of icy (filtered) tap water. The cold traced a path down her throat and into her body, a feeling that reminded her of being three-dimensional.

She laid back down, sick and dizzy. Vertigo surrounded her.

"Don't worry about Jason, we'll talk soon..."

"Tomorrow...?" her voice cracked.

"Tomorrow," he whispered back.

Strong hands rubbed circles across her back as, face pressed into the couch, Lois prayed for sleep to save her from the agony of three shots too many. It was somewhere between layers of consciousness that Lois felt time pass and dreams move across her eyes, and long after she was sure he must be gone Lois surfaced in the quiet. She reached out into the darkness, selfishly indulging in unfulfilled desire, whispering for him into an empty room and prepared to suffer the cold rejection of Nothingness when...

"Shhh... sleep..." that same warm hand unexpectedly met her fingers in the darkness, guiding her hand back to her side and the only evidence that the disembodied voice in her ears wasn't a hallucination.

He was still watching her, guarding her, sitting with her...

Lois did not (and frankly could not) move any other muscle group than the small number that controlled her hand, but she was sure to meet his touch as he placed her arm back where it belonged. A contented sigh left her lips in acknowledgment just as the tips of her fingers slid lovingly across the sensitive palm of his hand as he pulled it back. For one harmonious moment his gesture matched hers, and the last thing Lois felt before slipping into oblivion was the gentle feeling of sliding your fingers against someone else's. Their fingertips touched, the highly receptive nerves there inflamed with the sensation, with the feeling...

... until a second later, when Lois fell into the pitch.