Chapter 1: A Gotham Night*

Clark Kent leaned back in his barstool, the dim light of *The Ledger* flickering around him. The bar was a known spot among reporters—a place where stories were exchanged as freely as the drinks. Clark had been to plenty of these places during his years as a freelance correspondent. War zones, civil conflicts, stories from the front lines—he'd seen it all, written it all. This world wasn't new to him.

He'd only been in Gotham for two days, catching up with old friends—Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen—who were trying to convince him to settle in Metropolis and finally accept his role as Superman. He was ready for it now. His wandering years were over, and it was time to put down roots again. Tomorrow, he'd head back to Metropolis and look for a more stable job, maybe even at the *Daily Planet*.

But tonight, he was still Clark Kent, foreign correspondent—anonymous, free to blend in among other journalists who shared similar stories. He took a sip of his drink, his mind half on his next steps when the stool next to him was suddenly filled by someone new.

"You look like someone who's seen too much but says too little," came a voice that was both smooth and edged with wit.

Clark turned his head to find a striking woman sitting beside him, her hazel eyes assessing him with casual interest. She wore a leather jacket over a simple shirt, her hair falling in loose waves, and there was a kind of confident energy about her that made her hard to ignore.

"Lois," she said simply, extending her hand with a slight smirk.

Clark took it, offering a polite smile in return. "Clark."

"You a regular here, Clark?" she asked, her brow raised slightly as she motioned for the bartender.

"Not really," he replied. "Just passing through. You?"

"Same," Lois said, lifting her glass once it was filled. She took a sip, then added, "But a place like this? Feels like home when you've been in the trenches long enough."

Clark chuckled softly, nodding. "I know what you mean. I've spent a lot of time in places like this. Bars where the only thing you can trust is the bourbon."

She shot him a knowing look, intrigued. "Let me guess—freelance journalist?"

"Used to be," Clark replied, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You?"

"Reporter," Lois said, the corner of her mouth lifting. "But not the corporate, cushy-desk kind. I get in where it's messy."

Clark's grin widened. "Yeah, I figured you weren't the desk type."

The conversation flowed naturally, the connection between them almost instantaneous. They shared war stories, both literally and figuratively—Lois spoke of her relentless pursuit of stories that took her to dangerous places, and Clark, though careful with the details, hinted at the kind of foreign correspondence that had put him on the front lines of more than one conflict. They understood each other in a way few could.

Neither of them recognized the other, not really. Clark had been out of Metropolis too long, and Lois had no reason to connect him to the Clark Kent from Smallville all those years ago. To her, he was just another man who had seen the world through the same hard lens she had. And to Clark, Lois Lane was just a name that didn't yet spark any memories.

After a couple of hours, the bar had begun to empty, leaving just a few stragglers and the bartender wiping down the counters. Lois leaned back in her stool, stretching her arms above her head and giving Clark a playful look. "This place is starting to feel a little too empty. What do you say we grab another drink somewhere else?"

Clark raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not surprised by the suggestion. There had been an undercurrent of tension between them all night, something simmering just beneath the surface. "Got a place in mind?"

"My hotel's got a bar," Lois said with a grin. "Quieter. We could keep talking, or not."

Clark chuckled, setting his empty glass down. "Sounds good."

They ended up in Lois's hotel room, the atmosphere charged with an intensity neither of them wanted to acknowledge outright. The conversation from the bar had shifted gears quickly, the flirting and playful banter leading to something more physical.

Lois stood near the door, her jacket now off, her eyes locking with Clark's in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. "You sure you want to do this?" she asked, a smirk playing at her lips.

Clark stepped closer, his gaze steady, his voice low. "Yeah, I'm sure."

That was all the confirmation either of them needed. They came together fast, kissing with the kind of intensity that came from too many long nights alone and too many unspoken emotions. Clothes were tugged off, their bodies finding each other easily as they tumbled into bed. It was raw and passionate, both of them losing themselves in the moment.

Hours later, Clark lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his breathing steady as the adrenaline slowly faded. He hadn't expected to stay the night—this was supposed to be a one-time thing. But somehow, he hadn't wanted to leave, and Lois hadn't asked him to.

Beside him, Lois stirred, her hand brushing against his arm as she woke. She blinked at the clock on the nightstand, her mind clearly still foggy from sleep. She glanced over at him, surprised to find him still there.

"You're still here," she said, her voice rough with sleep but not displeased.

Clark turned his head to look at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, looks like I am."

Lois sat up, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at the clock again. It was 9:30. Checkout was at 11.

"I've got to check out soon," she said, stretching her arms above her head. "You should probably get going."

Clark nodded, sitting up slowly and reaching for his clothes. "Right."

As he pulled on his shirt, he turned to her, feeling the lingering curiosity between them. "How do I get in touch with you?"

Lois hesitated for just a second before grabbing a pen from the nightstand and scribbling her name and number on a Post-it. She handed it to him with a playful smile. "Here. Don't lose it."

Clark took the note, tucking it into his pocket. "Lois Lane," he repeated, the name still not triggering any recognition.

Lois leaned down and kissed him briefly, then stood up and grabbed her bag. "Don't oversleep, Kent. They charge you extra for that."

He laughed softly, watching her leave. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Clark alone in the quiet room. He pulled the Post-it from his pocket, staring at her name for a moment longer before tucking it away again.

For now, she was just a name on a piece of paper. But something told him that wouldn't be the case for long.

To be continued...*