Warmth | Superman | scifipony

Clark fumbled the key a few times before managing to get it into the lock. He practically fell into the apartment as the door finally opened for him.

The warmth of their little home greeted him like an old friend. He pushed the door shut behind him and dragged himself tiredly towards the bedroom, the trip seeming so much longer than it ever had before.

Synthetic kryptonite.

That’s what the DOD scientists had dubbed the mysterious substance. He really didn’t care at the moment what its name was. All that mattered was how awful he’d felt ever since that inter-dimensional terrorist had injected the stuff into him.

At least they’d managed to stop the guy. Sam said the DOD would keep the substance at their research lab long enough to determine if there was a possible cure, then they’d get rid of it. Clark was glad. Real kryptonite was rare enough to thankfully not pose much of a threat, but the idea of people being able to manufacture it for themselves… well, it was an idea he’d rather not have to consider.

Reaching the bedroom, he dug through the bottom drawer of his dresser, in search of something he hoped was still in there. With a sigh of relief, he found it buried under the rest of the clothes.

He retrieved the giant grey hoodie and immediately pulled it over his head, gratefully snuggling into its warmth.

It was a souvenir Lois had bought him when they were in Coast City on a work assignment. He’d never really needed to wear it before, given that the cold didn’t usually bother him. Now, however, he welcomed the comfort of the sweatshirt. He was pretty sure he’d never been this cold before in his life.

The doctors were certain the symptoms would fade on their own after a few days. Due to his unique physiology, they unfortunately couldn’t offer any medication to ease the effects. Until this illness passed, he’d simply have to weather it out.

Shivering against a chill that was more internal than external, Clark dragged himself back to his feet and headed for the living room again. Lois was going to be home from work in an hour and it was his night to prepare dinner.

He’d been tempted on the way home to text her and let her know he wasn’t feeling well, but had felt too guilty to go through with it. After all, humans were sick all the time and still managed to get things done. Lois had once conducted an overnight stakeout in Suicide Slum while dealing with a nasty cold. Surely he could handle the same, right?

He made it to the living room when a coughing fit took hold. Doubling over in pain, he gasped for air as his lungs seemed to forget how to properly breathe. Thankfully, the agony ended before he fully blacked out.

“Being sick sucks,” he moaned to the empty apartment as he staggered the rest of the way into the kitchen.

The refrigerator sent a wave of cold air over him, sending another deep shiver rattling through his frame. Clark glared at the inconsiderate machinery and let the door fall shut again. Maybe it’d be better to start with the room temperature food instead.

Pulling a cabinet door open, he stared at the contents as he tried to remember what he’d been looking for in the first place. His head was spinning too much. A general ache was settling deep into his muscles, forcing him to lean on the counter for support.

Okay, he decided. Just gonna lay down for a little bit. Still plenty of time to cook something before Lois gets home. Just need a few minutes.

He dragged himself back out to the living room and dropped sideways onto the couch, having to curl his legs in slightly to fit onto it. Heavy eyelids forced themselves shut as he snuggled into a throw pillow.

Just a few minutes…

The world faded out as he drifted on the edge of sleep. All the noises, smells, and vibrations that he usually had to work to tune out swirled around him in an indistinct mass. The strange, fuzzy feeling in his brain helped mute some of it, but he was too tired to fully process any of it anyway.

Just a few minutes…

The sound of a door swinging open broke its way through the crowd of sounds. Some part of him knew it must be the apartment door, but the fact he hadn’t heard anyone approaching the door was evidence enough of how not right he was at the moment.

“Clark?”

Now that was a sound he would recognize anywhere. The sound of Lois Lane being upset. He instinctively wanted to reach out to her, but his mind was still floating and his body didn’t seem interested in responding to any commands. Instead, he deflated back into the couch, snuggling deeper into the pillow.

Fingers ghosted over his face. A hand pressed against his forehead. It felt good. Soothing. It disappeared too soon and he tried to move after it, but couldn’t quite find the energy.

“My dad called me,” a soft voice filtered in through the haze of other sounds.

There were other words, but he was too busy trying to wake himself back up. When did Lois get home? She wasn’t supposed to be back for another hour. How long had he been lying here?

Finally, he managed to pry open heavy eyelids. Judging by the shadows in the apartment, he’d been out of it for a lot longer than he’d intended.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his throat burning in protest at being used. “Didn’t finish dinner…”

Lois let out an exasperated laugh. “Don’t worry about it,” she soothed, fingers running gently through his hair. “I picked up some takeout food on the way home. Do you feel up to eating?”

The violent lurch in his stomach at the very idea of food gave him his answer. He shook his head and let his eyes fall shut again. Seriously, how do humans deal with feeling this way on a semi-regular basis?

A soft weight enveloped him as Lois dropped another blanket over top of the one he already had on. She pressed a kiss to his forehead before standing back up. He missed the warmth of her presence immediately, but didn’t have the energy to voice his protest.

She was back a minute later, carefully shifting him out of the way so she could sit on the couch. His head fell into her lap and she pulled the blankets tighter around him. He faintly heard the TV turn on in the background, and could smell the food from her plate of dinner as she ate. She hummed softly as one of her hands continued to ease the raging headache behind his temples.

Outside, the sounds of the world continued to crash against the walls and windows, but he was safe in the little bubble she’d made for them, so he ignored all of it.

He also promised himself to have a lot more sympathy the next time Lois caught the flu.

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