Lois absent-mindedly toweled her hair, her eyes, and her mind, focused on the newsprint that was already almost a week old. It had changed everything. She had known even as she was writing it, probably especially as she was writing it, that it would be the defining piece of her career.

"I Spent the Night with Superman."

Admittedly, it wasn't the title she would have chosen had she been the editor, but it really did catch the eye. Most minds went straight to the gutter, of course. Most of Metropolis, if not the world, was wondering everything about the extraterrestrial she had dubbed 'Superman.' CNN was calling him the 'Man of Steel.'

She didn't really care what they called him. He was her ticket to everything she'd ever dreamed of.

She'd been working at the Daily Planet since she was sixteen, making her way from intern in the copy room to the top City reporter on the beat. She'd thought she'd lost her edge, too. The Chief had even gone so far as to set her up with a writing partner—Clark Kent, the new guy hired straight off the farm.

That interview had turned things around, though. Everything had become clearer. She hadn't lost her edge; the Chief had assigned Kent to her because he needed her, not the other way around. He was a shy guy, hardly cut out for the work of a reporter, and he was a naïve optimist completely out of his depth in Metropolis. He needed somebody looking over his shoulder or he would be eaten alive—and it needed to be somebody who he couldn't drag down with him. She was perfect for the job.

So, she'd taken pity on the poor guy. He'd fainted when they'd been mugged, after all. Fainted.

She wrote the ground-breaking article on Superman, then managed to secure three more in the following issues. Perry wanted Superman to be synonymous with the Daily Planet. Lois would rather it worked slightly differently, but to the same benefit—it would be Lois Lane and Superman, and Lois Lane and the Daily Planet, therefore it would also be Superman and the Daily Planet.

Then Kent had gotten an interview with Superman. That had chafed. She'd had half a mind to gripe to the Kyrptonian himself about it; luckily, she'd thought better of it before she'd made it to the roof. Besides, it had just been one interview. She had gotten everything after that.

And Kent was actually quite a good writer for all his other flaws. She didn't know how he did it. He'd been as jumpy as a kangaroo when they'd gone out to do interviews together; so jumpy, in fact, that he'd made excuses to leave early on four separate occasions. Yet he always turned in top quality stuff, sometimes contributing interviews with officials she hadn't been able to talk into giving a comment. It was remarkable, but not unbelievable. Kent had gotten her to take pity on him and bring him under her wing, after all. What's not to say his interview subjects hadn't taken pity on him as well? Actually, that was probably fairly close to what happened.

Poor Kent.

Despite all that, Lois was quite pleased with her life overall. Her article was the talk of the town. Her follow-ups were all catching eyes and generating whispers, too—mostly about her and her developing relationship with the superhero. Perry was pleased with her. So pleased that he'd given her the night off and patched Kent up with Gina from Society to cover a fancy dress gala. She'd had her favorite Chinese takeout for dinner, watched a Katherine Hepburn classic, and had a passing conversation—that's right, a conversation, not an interview; he'd stopped by of his own free will for an idle chat between rescues—with Superman. Then she'd had a bubble bath and a glass of wine.

Life could really not get better—not even if Kent decided to go back to his comfort zone in Kansas, Perry gave her a raise, and Superman showed up in a tuxedo and asked her out on a date.

Actually, she'd gladly take those last two, but Kent could stay. He was good entertainment, and he kept a spare dictionary in his brain for her.

Lois had just settled on the couch beneath the comforter off her bed, hair still damp, CNN was reporting on all the drops in crime statistics around the world since the "Man of Steel's" arrival (and she was being mentioned quite a lot), and she was pleasantly drowsy when somebody knocked timidly on her door. She just knew it was Kent.

"He probably wants to give me his notes on the fancy dress gala crap," she muttered to herself. "Just to make sure he wrote them out right for Gina."

She made him knock twice more before getting off the couch and straightening herself. She was in her old flannel pajamas, buttoned all the way up, and wearing a fluffy, if worn, bathrobe. He would probably still blush crimson.

She smirked.

"Kent, hi," she said upon opening the door, ignoring the predicted blush and stamping down on her urge to continue smirking at him. "What brings you by tonight?"

"Well, a-actually, Miss Lane, I was just—that is—I was going to—" He stammered, but Lois waved the words aside and let him in, unable to help but notice he was wearing a tuxedo that almost actually fit him.

Well who'd'a thought? Farmboy cleans up pretty nice.