Chapter Text
"Mr. Luthor, sir, are you not concerned about the negative health impacts this could have on Metropolis's population? Or the economy? If people aren't going to work…"
Lex waves his hand flippantly, kicking his feet up onto the conference table and crossing one leg over the other. "The virus is designed to mimic the symptoms of a cold. It's contagious, but it's not deadly, and it won't prevent most people from going to work." He clicks a button on the remote he's holding, and the PowerPoint slide projected above him changes. It's a photoshopped image of Superman, wearing pajamas and surrounded by cold & flu medicine. "Besides, the collateral damage here isn't the concern. Getting Superman vulnerable? That's the goal."
A sharp-looking woman beside Lex raises her hand. "So this virus will affect both humans and Kryptonians, but appear normal, thus keeping Superman off-guard?"
"Exactly."
One of the younger employees at the table sheepishly raises his hand. "Sir, what will you do with Superman once he is vulnerable? You don't want to kill him, do you?"
"Wh— not kill him? Is this kid new?" Lex sputters, shooting a confused look to the higher-ups in charge of organizing the meeting. "Of course we're going to kill him!"
"And how exactly do you plan to do that, Mr. Luthor?"
"We create a disaster so irresistible that, even in his weakened state, Superman can't help but show up. And then we'll…" Lex trails off, shrugging. "I don't know, shoot him or something."
★
"Bless you, Jimmy."
…
"Bless you."
…
"Bless—"
Jimmy digs the balls of his hands into his eyes and lets out a congested, exasperated noise. "You can stop doing that now, Clark. We're only an hour into the day; it's going to get old."
Clark laughs and adjusts his glasses. "It's common courtesy. It's not going to get old."
"Jimmy's got a point there," Lois chimes in, walking behind the man's desk and patting him, maybe a little more forcefully than she needs to, on the back. Jimmy coughs despite himself. "If you do that for everyone in the office, I don't know if you'll get any work done today."
It seemed that everyone in the office had come down with or was in the process of coming down with the particularly annoying cold going around Metropolis: everyone but Lois, of course, which endlessly annoyed her coworkers. Ever conscious of germs (others might call it being neurotic), she took pride in her immune system and ability to avoid most common winter ailments. Clark always beat her in the "never getting sick" department, for obvious reasons, but she was more than happy to be taken care of by him on the rare occasion she did succumb to an illness.
"Siding against me, Miss Lane?" Clark says, smiling at her in a way that would make her collapse into his arms had they been at home.
"I'm siding with efficiency, Clark," she replies with mock annoyance, taking a sip from her coffee cup. She bends down and leans over his shoulder so only he can hear her. "And don't call me that at work, or we'll have to take a trip to the staff bathroom. The private one."
"Noted," Clark says, his ear flushing slightly next to her mouth. He clears his throat, and Lois can tell he's turning his work persona back on. "Jimmy, you should really head home early. I doubt you'll get anything done feeling like this."
Jimmy spins his chair around. "Considering you're, like, never sick, I don't know if you get to tell me what this feels like." He gestures to his desktop. "I'm actually writing an article about this common cold epidemic right now. After all, I've got first-hand knowledge."
"Who in their right mind is going to read that?" Lois teases, leaning against Clark's desk. "Breaking news, world! It's January, and people are getting sick because nobody knows how to cough into their elbows or wash their hands anymore!"
"I wash my hands," Jimmy says defensively.
Lois smirks. "I'm sure you do. Maybe for five seconds instead of twenty, but it's a start, bud. My nephew is potty training right now— maybe you could learn with him?"
"Oh my god, Lois, I can't deal with you right now," he sighs, throwing a balled-up tissue at her and missing. "My head feels like it's going to explode."
Lois kisses Clark on the cheek before walking back to her own desk, calling out behind her, "Write that down, Jimmy! It's good content." She slides into her chair and lathers her hands with sanitizer. "Readers will love it."
The day passes largely without incident. The sickly ambient noise around Lois grosses her out a little, but the jazz station and podcasts she keeps playing in her AirPods provide a sufficient barrier to this. Still, when the end of her shift comes, she's thrilled to be in the fresh air again.
She waits for Clark outside the revolving door: she's capable of walking to the car alone, but her taser and pepper spray can only provide so much comfort. Her boyfriend is a walking security blanket, especially on the dark city streets.
When said security blanket arrives, she tucks herself under his arm without a word.
"Hi," he says softly, his face illuminated by the streetlamps above. Tiny snowflakes land and nestle in his curls, bright white and glinting. "Good day?"
"Good day," she affirms, falling in step with him as they make their way to the staff parking lot. "Worked on an exposé about some politicians with influential Boravian donors. It was okay— not anything new. I'm just glad I'm not getting sick; that bug looks awful."
Clark nods his agreement and unlocks the car.
When they get to her apartment (her and Clark's apartment, she reminds herself), Lois pulls Clark in for a kiss in the doorway. They levitate about an inch above the ground, which Lois can tell he is doing unconsciously. Thankfully, nobody is in the hallway to see them. Her nose is cold where it touches his, but Clark, as always, is hardly affected by the temperature. He's perfect.
Well, perfect until his phone starts buzzing in his pocket and he almost drops her in his haste to pick it up. "Shoot, Lois, I'm sorry. It's Ma. She said she and Pa would call me tonight, and I completely forgot. It'll just be a second." He kisses her again, quickly this time, and rushes to sit down and take off his coat. Lois holds back a giggle at his adamant refusal to swear.
It is unusual, though, for Clark to forget such simple things. Still, she puts the worry out of her mind and shrugs off her coat, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door, before heading into the kitchen. The two of them have meal-prepped for the week, but she isn't exactly eager to eat a cold chicken salad wrap, so she opens the cabinet and pulls out a canister of strawberry Nesquik. She mixes it with milk in two mugs and places them in the microwave.
"Yeah, Ma, I'll put her on for you," she hears Clark say, his shadow appearing in the doorway before he does. "Lois, Ma wants to talk to you."
Lois takes the phone from her boyfriend's outstretched hand. "Hi, Mrs. Kent," she says, tucking it between her shoulder and her ear as she retrieves the mugs from the microwave. She hands the one with the large C on it to Clark, who gives her a look.
"Hi, Lois," says Martha, speaking loudly and with exaggerated enunciation. "How's our Clark treating you?"
"Really well," Lois says, smiling at him and clinking her mug against his. "You don't have to worry about that— you two did such a good job raising him."
"Well, thank you, hon, that's real kind." Martha lowers her voice, as if Clark won't be able to hear her if she's speaking in a stage whisper. "Has he been hurt recently? We know he don't want to worry us, but I'd quite like to know."
Lois racks her brain for any memorable recent injuries. He'd broken five of his ribs about a week ago, but one rest was all it took to heal them. "Just a few broken ribs a little while back," she settles on, covering Clark's mouth with her hand when he tries to say something to the contrary. "They healed fast."
Martha sighs on the other end of the call. "You hear that, Jon? Clark broke his ribs!" Some muffled, disgruntled speech follows. "Lois, tell Clark to put a hot bag of rice on that."
"Will do, Mrs. Kent."
"Call me Martha, honey." They exchange a few more pleasantries before Lois hangs up. Clark leans against the doorframe by the fridge, gingerly taking a sip of his hot strawberry milk. He looks tired, much more tired than he usually does after the average day of work. It seems to be almost a post-fight level of fatigue.
If she wants to inquire about this, she'll have to be subtle.
"Enjoying your dinner?" she asks, gesturing to his steaming mug.
Clark laughs softly and nods. "Very much. Really nutritious."
"It's got some protein, I think," Lois says, taking a large sip of hers. "You should get something real to eat. I might work a little more on my article."
Clark swallows. "I'm not really hungry. You mind if I sit with you?"
"What, on our couch? You think I'll say no?"
He shrugs at her.
"C'mere, big guy," Lois says, pulling him into a hug. "What's up with you? You seem really down. Like, fatigued."
Clark seems to hesitate for a moment before admitting, "I've been feeling a little rough today. I don't really recognize the feeling, if I'm being honest."
Lois tries not to let her concerned expression become too pronounced when she pulls back to arm's length and scans his face. She thinks he looks a little pale, but that could just be her imagination. "Rough how?"
"Just tired. And, er, my throat hurts a little bit. Near the back?" He opens his mouth and points, as if she might not know what he's talking about. "Mostly when I swallow. Maybe something I ate scraped it?"
"I don't think so," says Lois, having immediately recognized the sensation he was describing. She cups his cheek with her hand, then the back of his neck, then his forehead. No fever, or at least not a fever to human standards. "That sounds like a regular sore throat."
Clark sets his mug aside and coughs experimentally over his shoulder. "Oh, that's weird."
"Yeah, really weird, Clark," Lois says, touching his back when the first cough sets off more, which come light and repetitive. "Hey, why don't we go lie down? I can work on my article in bed."
He nods, clearing his throat. "You taking me to bed?"
"Putting you to bed," she says, going up on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck. "As much as I'd like to have sex with my boyfriend tonight, I'm not sure that's the best idea with his current condition. Let's take a rain check."
"Rain check is good," murmurs Clark, smiling into her lips. She can feel his abdomen press into hers, and has to keep from reciprocating. Stick to her caretaker persona.
"Bed," Lois says when he starts to kiss her neck, this time with more emphasis as she pulls away.
As she leads him to the bedroom, he starts to cough again. When he speaks, his voice sounds weaker than normal, like it's hurting him to talk at full strength. "Don't worry too much, I'm sure it's nothing."
Lois laughs, but there isn't much humor in it. "I hate to break it to you, but coming down with your first human cold after thirty years on the planet doesn't exactly seem like nothing."
"How do you know it's a cold?" Clark asks, loosening his tie and beginning to unbutton his shirt. "What are the chances that I suddenly have a normal immune system? There's got to be another explanation for this."
"Look around you! Half of Metropolis, maybe more, is sick right now with the same thing. If you don't have what they have, I'll—" She tries to think of what she'll do. "I'll give you twenty bucks."
"I don't need twenty bucks."
"God, you're insufferable." She flops back on the bed and looks over at him. Clark has now taken off his shirt and is sliding into a pair of sweatpants. She shamelessly looks at his chest, his pecs, his perfectly carved abs, the hair snaking down his chest and into his waistband…
"Checking me out, are we, Miss Lane?"
"Perhaps," she mumbles, pulling off her sweater and tossing it to the end of the bed. "Here, now we're even."
Clark laughs and takes the sweater, folding it and setting it on top of the dresser. "I'm going to shower and get ready for bed. Back in a flash."
Lois nods and grabs her laptop from the bedside table. She can hear him coughing softly in the bathroom as she reviews one of her sources for the piece she's currently writing. It's weird, the thought that her impenetrable fortress of a boyfriend could be coming down with something as simple as a common cold. She doesn't remember a time, other than when he'd had kryptonite poisoning, when he'd been anything less than perfectly healthy. Even bruised and battered after a fight, he was almost annoyingly perky.
Clark is back by her side within fifteen minutes, still toweling off his curls. "Whatcha working on?"
"What I said I was working on," she replies simply as he burrows under the covers. "Do you want some tea, babe?"
"I'm okay. I'll feel better after I get some yellow sun tomorrow morning," Clark says, his voice muffled by the sheets.
"You'll probably breathe better if you're above the blankets."
Clark groans. "But it's so cozy down here! And you're warm." Lois flinches as one of Clark's appendages touches her stomach. She's pretty sure it's a hand.
"And you're going to get too warm if you stay under there." She pats his pillow. "Come on, up."
He complies, his attitude more of a petulant child's than a superhero's. She brushes a hand through his still-damp curls, smiling at the way he leans in when she scratches the patch behind his ear.
She goes back to her work after that, proofreading what she'd written so far. She might have to cut the word count down slightly. When she looks back at Clark, after only a handful of minutes working, he's asleep, his breathing even and mouth open. She looks at the clock. It's not yet eight. Poor guy.
Lois tucks the blankets up to Clark's chin and rubs his shoulder before returning to her article.
★
Clark has a habit of waking with the sun, which has annoyed Lois to no end since they started living together. He's like a bird— at dawn, without fault, he'll be up and bustling around. He'll go for a morning run, make breakfast, and get a little work done before Lois has even had the chance to brush her teeth or wipe the sleep from her eyes.
So when Lois wakes up to her 6:45 AM alarm, and Clark is still snoring next to her, she knows something is very wrong.
Quietly, she slides out of bed and tiptoes to the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for a thermometer. When she finds it, she returns to the bedroom to find Clark sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she says, climbing onto the bed and kneeling next to him. "How are you feeling?"
Clark presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and massages it lightly. "I don't know. I'm not really used to all of," he gestures vaguely to his face. "this." He coughs, making no attempt to aim it into his elbow or his shoulder.
"You've got to cover that," Lois says, mimicking the necessary gesture.
Clark blushes. "Like I said, not used to it." He gets up, heading for the dresser and his work bag.
"Wait a second," Lois says. She holds up and shakes the thermometer. "If you still want to go to work—"
"I'm going to work, Lois."
"—then I need to make sure you don't have a fever," she finishes. "Open, please."
As it turns out, Clark doesn't have a fever. She didn't exactly expect one, seeing as this is presenting as a fairly typical common cold, but she's a little disappointed that she doesn't have a reason to keep him home.
"Can I go now, Doctor Lane?" Clark asks, sniffling. He's really cute like this, Lois realizes, although it does little to lessen the apprehension she feels about the whole situation.
"I guess," she says, standing up and starting to dress herself.
The rest of the morning is fairly average, save for Clark's intermittent sniffling and coughing. It's only the first real day of his cold, so Lois expects it to be relatively tame. However, when they get to work, she refuses to take her eyes off him for more than a second, lest this cold turn into some sort of super-bug.
"Well, look at that," Perry says when he walks past Clark's desk. "Kent's finally sick."
"Kent's sick?" Cat asks, looking up from her computer. "Jimmy, you owe me five bucks."
"Shit," Jimmy says, fumbling with his wallet and taking out a bill. Lois can tell he's still in the throes of his cold. Where Clark will likely be in a couple of days.
"You two were betting on me?" Clark asks indignantly, pulling a tissue from the box on his desk and wiping the underside of his nose with it. He might not know how to blow his nose, Lois realizes belatedly. She'll work on that tonight.
"Yeah, and?" Cat asks, taking the five-dollar bill from Jimmy and shoving it in her pocket. "You don't bet on your friends?"
"Not usually," Clark replies. He coughs briefly into his elbow before returning to his work. All things considered, he seems to be handling being sick for the first time quite well.
After about half an hour, Lois hears a sharp intake of breath from Clark's desk. When she looks up, she sees that Clark is staring confusedly into space, his hands instinctively raised in front of him. His breath hitches once more, and before Lois can intervene, Clark sneezes toward his desk, partially covered by his hands.
This effect is instant. It's as if a large gust of wind swept over Clark's desk, sending papers flying to the floor and leaving all objects upon it rattling in the aftermath. Lois gets up, making sure she stays next to or behind him so as not to be caught in the crossfire. This looks to have been the right idea, as Clark quickly gears up for a second monstrous sneeze, this time cupping his hands more securely around his nose. The damage, though, is not reduced much by this.
Lois grabs Clark by his upper arm and practically drags him toward the staff bathroom. He is very compliant, his face bright red as a result of the stares he's getting.
When they're safely locked in the private bathroom, Lois sighs and leans against the wall. "Clark, was that—"
"The first time I ever sneezed? Yeah." He knuckles his nose roughly, expression still hazy. "Golly. Should have seen that coming."
"What, you becoming a category five hurricane? Would've been nice if you had told me there was a chance that could happen."
"Look, Lois, I've—"
"Yeah, you've never been sick, and you've never sneezed before, I got it," she says, her voice sliding into a higher register than normal in her stressed state. "Jeez, Clark, if you hadn't covered at all, you could have blown over the desk. We need to get you in a padded room or something." She's only half joking.
"No, I have to—"
"Here." Recognizing the sneezy expression on his face, she rips a paper towel from the dispenser and hands it to him. He covers his nose and crunches into himself with a heavily suppressed sneeze, although Lois swears she still feels her clothes flutter when he does.
Clark shakes his head, as if physically ridding himself of the tickle. It reminds her a little of a dog shaking after getting out of the water. "Whoa, bless me."
"Don't do that, you're going to hurt yourself."
Clark looks up from where he's attempting to blow his nose into the paper towel, his eyes watering. "Do what? I don't think I can stop myself from sneezing, Lois."
Lois frowns. "No, I mean holding them in like that. I don't want you bursting an eardrum."
"Would you rather I be a hurricane?"
Lois walks over and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Look, I didn't mean that." She takes the paper towel from him and gives him another one. "Now, I don't know if it's the best idea to stay for the rest of the workday. What do you say we head back to the apartment? I'll work from home the rest of the day, and we'll figure this out."
Clark seems as though he wants to argue, but Lois's firm tone and expression ultimately dissuade him from this. "Okay. Could you…" He clears his throat, looking slightly sheepish. "Could you help me come up with a believable excuse for how I destroyed my desk?"
"To all the people who saw you sneeze stacks of paper off of it?"
"Yeah. Those people."
★
"Clark, you can't be serious."
Clark tosses his tissue into the trashcan beside the couch, which is close to overflowing. "I'm telling you, they need me," he protests, standing up and coughing forcefully into the sleeve of his hoodie. The coughs crackle in a way that makes Lois have to keep herself from recoiling.
He's been sick for three days now, and seems to be at the height of his symptoms. Lois knows it can only get better from here (if he doesn't give himself a chest or sinus infection), so she's willing to wait it out. What doesn't wait, though, is the inter-dimensional threats that Clark is used to dealing with.
"I'm not so sure the Justice Gang is going to appreciate you showing up like this, Superman," Lois says, pushing him back onto the couch. "Right now you're more like normal man. Congested man."
"Hey, that's unfair," Clark says, pouting. "You can't be mean to me just because I'm sick."
"I'm not letting you fight a group of aliens trying to destroy the city when you're struggling to fight a group of viruses battling your white blood cells." She sits down next to him. "Come on, SLOMW is just getting good. Jessie's going to—"
"Calling it that instead of Secret Lives of Mormon Wives isn't saving you any time, Lois."
Lois tosses a throw pillow at his head. "Shut up and watch the show, Sniffles."
Clark is quiet for a minute, aside from him loudly blowing his nose.
"Hey, Lois?"
"What?"
"Can I have some of that soup you got yesterday?" He looks over at her with wide, red-rimmed eyes that match his rubbed-raw nose. She can't resist that face, no matter how hard she tries. "Please?"
"With cherries and sprinkles on top?"
"Pretty please with cherries and sprinkles on top?" Clark amends.
If the reward is food, she can make Clark say anything. "Give me a minute, I'll be right back," she says, patting Clark's thigh and standing up.
As she prepares the soup, she can hear Clark's slipper-clad feet padding to the bathroom. He's coughing and blowing his nose simultaneously, a sound Lois has gotten used to over the past few days. She hears the toilet flush, and then the water starts running from the tap.
Once the soup is sufficiently microwaved, Lois walks out to the living room and sets it on the coffee table. The water in the bathroom is still running. Odd. She knocks on the bathroom door.
"Clark? Your soup is ready!"
No answer. Just the sound of the tap.
"You're scaring me, Clark. Open the door." She rattles the doorknob. To her surprise, she finds it to be unlocked.
The scene before her might be confusing to someone with a normal boyfriend. But when Lois finds the bathroom empty, save for a pile of Clark's clothes, and the window open, she knows exactly what happened.
Shit.
Lois practically flies to the door, grabbing her coat and her keys. As she runs to the car, she pulls up live news coverage of the Justice Gang's current battle. 'Superman joins the fight' scrolls along the ticker at the bottom of the screen. She can't say she's surprised.
"Superman arrived on scene just seconds ago," the newscaster is saying, a green screen of the live fight behind him. "As you can see, Linda, he and the Justice Gang have the situation completely under contro– oh."
She tries to focus on the road, but she can't help but see, out of the corner of her eye, Superman being knocked out of the sky by some sort of flying object and plummeting toward the earth.