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I saddle Clark with the pet store beat, making some lame excuse about bailing Lucy out of jail. I think he bought it. It’s happened before. I wish he hadn’t succumbed so quickly. Sitting alone on the examination table is torture.
It’s for the best,we needed time apart. I can’t trust myself around him. My head says one thing and my body another.
I have nothing to worry about. It’s probably just MONO. Lucy is wrong. There is no way I’m pregnant. Kryptonians and humans are not compatible. Things can go back to normal, me the tenacious reporter, and he the unattainable hero.
The door opens and it feels like a chapter in my life is ending. Dr. Chow closes the door with finality. He’s a short, pot-bellied asian with thinning black hair. “Thank you for your patience, Ms. Lane,” he sits on the stool. “Your bloodwork does not indicate mononucleosis.”
“I’m pregnant, aren’t I?” I beat him to the punch line.
“Congratulations,” he smiles jovially. “You’re going to be a mom.”
“This isn’t possible,” I say. A small part of me was thrilled Clark was an alien so I won’t have to worry about this sort of B.S. I would never tell him that. Lois Lane is not cut out to be a mom.
I laugh delirously. “This is insane.” Who knew? I giggle. Superman’s sperm is as fast as the tabloids suggest. It just took one time. One fucking time. Damn you Clark. I was so focused on proving to him that I didn’t care about his alien visa to think about the consequences. Pregnancy didn’t even cross my mind. Not once.
“There are options available if you don’t want the baby,” he says tentatively. “But I know Clark will be happy,” his eyes twinkle knowingly.
The laughter dies. “How do you know Clark is the father?”
“You are his girlfriend, no?”
“I didn’t realize my love life was common knowledge among strangers,” I rest my hand on my swollen abdomen, surprised at how much rounder it feels.
“Forgive me,” he says. “I thought you knew, I’m Chen’s father.”
“Oh,” I squeak, the fear slowly fading. “What a small world.”
Chen’s name just keeps cropping up on me. I can’t believe I thought that dork was a ninja Robin Hood. I blame Clark.
“Indeed,” he scribbles something on a paper and hands it to me. “This is the number of a trusted obstetrician. She will take good care of you.”
But is she equipped to handle an alien fetus?
“I don’t believe it,” I numbly take the slip of paper. “There really is a baby in there?” I point to my bloated belly. “This has got to be some big April Fools joke.”
“According to the high levels of HCG in your blood, yes you are most definitely pregnant.”
“But how?”
I run that night over in my head. He was weakened by kryptonite, maybe that made me more susceptible to pregnancy. Or was he just a freaking sex god? I have so many questions.
“You're absolutely certain I’m pregnant?”
“Roughly twelve weeks along, yes.” That tracked. But I’m still baffled as to how this happened. Am I the first human to carry an alien’s child? That’s a scary thought.
“But a blood test is not an exact science. I recommend you make an appointment for an ultrasound as soon as possible.”
“Thanks doc, will do,” I jump down from the examination table and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look like a pregnant kangaroo.
And that oblivious lunkhead hasn’t even noticed. But why would he? Clark is an alien. He’s not familiar with the habits of pregnant women. Scratch that. Any first time father is hopelessly clueless.
Just as I turn the car on, my phone blares a familiar tune. ‘Where have all the good men gone —-and where are all the gods.’ Shit I’m carrying a god’s child. ‘Where’s the streetwise Hercules?” Bonnie Tyler definitely got that wrong. Clark is not streetwise. ‘I’m holding out for a hero.’
I contemplate letting it go to voicemail, but this is his problem too.
“Looks like Lana was onto something.” My brain short circuits and all I hear is ‘On top of something’ that something being my very sexy baby daddy.
“How can you still be obsessed with that bitch?” I scream. “She broke your heart!” I grind my hands together. “She raped you!”
“You didn’t hear a word I just said,” his voice is annoyingly calm. “This isn’t about Lana . . . well it kinda is, I hope not.”
“Just spit it out, Kent.”
I should take my own advice. Spit it out. Tell him the good news. Bad news considering neither of us are ready to be parents. He still takes his laundry to his mother. I don’t know if I like Clark that much.
“Turns out the doppelbufo frogs’ nucleus contains DNA that when grafted to the DNA from another animal help make perfect biological copies of the second animal.”
Oh, I feel stupid. “You mean cloning?”
“Right on the first guess,” he laughs.
“Is that even possible?” This is good, nice and familiar territory. I can spitball story angles with him till it rains cows. This baby might kill me.
“You live in a city with a flying alien,” he laughs. “Anything is possible.” Even carrying said alien’s child. I wince as a sharp pain devours my abdomen, worse than any cramp I’ve ever felt.
“When did you get really, super strong?”
“Huh?” Clark mumbles distractedly. There is a whooshing noise, the telltale sound of a sonic boom. The other end goes silent for a second.
“It’s an easy question,” I bite out, trying to ignore the growing queasiness.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I lifted a tractor at four.”
Good. That gives me some time. Superbaby isn’t going to punch his way out of my womb. Did Kryptonians even do natural births? I mean sure Lara did . . . but she was the only one.
“What’s this about?”
Tell him. Rip the bandaid off. The phone could be bugged. I don’t want the General to know. Excuses. “Nothing,” I say in a forced upbeat tone. “Do we have any leads?”
“There was a rental car outside the pet store,” Clark reports. “I had Jimmy run the plate, and you won’t believe who it’s registered to.”
“Lex Luthor?”
“Close,” his excitement is contagious. I’m on the edge of my seat. As long as he’s talking I don’t notice the pain. “Dabney Donovan,”
“The nut who created Bizzaro?”
“Bingo,” Clark says. “He also specializes in accelerated growth that involves exotic frogs,” This is huge. This is big. That’s exactly what I’m going to be if I have this baby. But what choice do I have? He’s the last of his people. It’s up to me to keep the Kryptonian legacy alive.
“Wow,” I say numbly.
“There’s more, but I can’t say it over the phone,” he says. “Late dinner at my place?”
“How about the Fortress?” I offer. There’s no chance of us being interrupted there.
“My Fortress?” he lowers his voice. “Big and cold?”
And so am I.
“Please don’t say big,”
“Why?”
Why is it so hard to tell him? He’d be thrilled. “No reason,” I say. “Pick me up at 8:50 ?”
“Is there something wrong . . . Goddamnit Kara,” he swears. “I got to go.”
“What happened?”
“Kara is demanding the SCU give her the Apokolips weapons . . . or else.”
“I never liked her.”
“She means well,” he says. “She’s headstrong and bullheaded, much like someone else I know.”
“I do not appreciate that insinuation.” Though, honestly if I had Superman’s powers my first act would probably be to destroy anything that could hurt Clark.
“I’ll see you at nine and give you a full report,” he promises. He falters. “Are we good?”
I see things from his perspective and shudder. The poor man probably thinks I’m going to break up with him. A few hours ago that might have been true.
“Yeah, we’re good,” I say. Better than good depending on how you look at it. “I just want some quiet time alone with you.”
“You’ve got it,” he promises. “Lois, I love you.”
“I love you too, Smallville.”
The second he hangs up the pain intensifies, feeling like knives are cutting me from inside. My muscles twist and tighten uncontrollably. It’s a familiar ache I’ve come to expect when the sun sets.
How naive I was thinking it was just constipation. I fight the urge to call out for Superman. I’m too dizzy to drive. I take the keys out of the ignition.
I scan the clock, weighing my options. It’s 8:25 pm., Lucy won’t be done with her night class till nine. The one person I want is fighting off his emotional cousin. There’s always the General. I quickly dismiss that idea. I look in the compartments for cash, a quarter and two dimes. I spent all my cash on junk food. I could wait here for Clark, but I’m dying for the comfort of his bed. When I smell him the pain is more manageable.
I dial the next best person, honestly the only option. He answers after the first ring. “What’ve you got for me, Lane?”
“Perry, I need you to pick me up.”
“Lois,” he hears the strain in my voice. “Are you okay?”
“No, not really,” I try to hide the sobs. “Can you come?”
“Of course. Where are you?”
“In the parking lot at Metropolis General.”
“You’re at the hospital!” fear echoes in each syllable. “Where’s Clark?”
“Clark doesn’t know.”
“I’m on my way.”
Twenty minutes later Perry cruises to a stop in his blue sedan. I open the car, and make it a few steps before retching. There goes my dinner. Perry looks between me and the pile of yucky goo, understanding flashing in his eyes. I was hoping to keep this pregnancy a secret, at least till I tell Clark.
“Let’s get you home,” he helps me into the passenger’s seat.
“No, take me to Clark’s place,” I rest my head against the cold window. It helps a little bit with the pain.
“He’s not home,” Perry says. I’m too tired to care that Perry seems to be one step ahead of Clark. “I don’t want you to be alone right now.”
“Clark will be back soon,” I say tightly.
We drive in silence, the pitter-patter of rain slamming against the windows. I watch the shimmering lights of the city in a daze, hoping to catch a glimpse of a red cape.
Perry turns onto Dragonetti avenue and the Daily Planet looms above us, glowing bright as the moon in the night sky. I expect him to turn left at the end of the street, but he keeps going straight. He takes the long way to Clark’s apartment, sticking to the bright highway instead of the shoddy neighborhoods that lead to Suicide Slums.
“Clark doesn’t know?” he asks after a grueling thirty minutes of him shooting side glances at the growing bump.
Whoever said you’re not supposed to show till the second trimester had never met Superman. I’m not familiar with the norm, but I look more than twelve weeks pregnant. The black tank top I changed into also doesn’t help hide the round, growing bump. With some heavy clothing I probably could pass it off as flabby fat, but Perry knows me too well.
I shake my head. “I’m telling him tonight.”
“Good, good,” he taps his fingers on the steering wheel, face drawn taut with worry.