Lois eased into the steaming water, unable, unwilling at that, to hold in her sigh. Her life had been one thing after the other since Christmas and it was only just settling down, now the middle of March.

She’d returned to work propped up by a nearly elegant cane (bought by Lucy for the sake of not making her use the ugly, metallic, hospital-issue thing), wearing flats (which made her feel smaller than usual, especially walking next to Clark), and sitting in Perry’s office. To call that first day an emotional challenge would be like saying it would only be ‘fairly difficult’ to chop down an oak tree with her fancy cane.

The fact that she’d had to get her work done and had to keep the colleagues that were now her employees on task had gotten her through the first weeks. Having Clark around had helped, too. He’d been busy with his own things, certainly—presenting an ‘all is well’ façade as Superman, for one, as well as assuring his relatives he was really alright, keeping her relatives from glaring at him too much without being so out of character that they got curious, and establishing a relationship with New York Times reporter Wolfgang Turner.

Clark had proposed to her in this tub. She’d returned home to find the bathtub full of perfectly warm water with lavender essential oil on the surface, the ledge of the tub, the surfaces of the toilet and sink, and spots of the floor all playing host to white candles. She’d almost cried with relief when Clark had helped her undress and sink into the steaming water. There had only been the vaguest hint of romance as he massaged the tender, aching muscles of her healing leg, then the rest of her. The man could give a massage.

“Where’s Jason?” she’d asked at long last, a last-ditch attempt to set her stirring arousal aside for propriety’s sake.

“He’s in Kansas for the evening.”

“Why?” she’d finally opened her eyes, stared at him. He was wearing blue jeans and a faded black t-shirt, no glasses in sight. He’d looked as completely relaxed as she’d felt, lying there in the tub, him watching her, his fingers caressing.

“Because I have something important to ask you.”

The ring had come in the classic little black velvet box, just like Richard’s, but Richard’s proposal hadn’t even crossed her mind. It was just Clark, crouching beside her bathtub after he’d set aside so much of his afternoon to prepare her for the first evening of anywhere near relaxation in so many months, holding the perfect ring, so tiny resting on the palm of his huge hand after he took it out of the box.

He’d carried her, dripping, to her bedroom and made love to her, carefully, for the first time since they’d conceived. Her skin crackled with that odd, unnamable tingling that she felt whenever she was pressed close to him. She still didn’t know what it was, but she liked it.

When they’d woken the next morning, they’d had several lazy hours together, interrupted only twice by cries for Superman’s aid. He’d brought her breakfast in bed complete the non-caffeinated tea she’d developed a taste for during her pregnancy with Jason, and they’d made love again. Before he’d left to get Jason, though, they made a rather important decision: Superman would appear to sever all ties with Lois Lane.

To most, it would appear that Clark Kent had finally won out against his greatest competition for Lois’s heart, sending the superhero to the other paper in a fit of pique. They could think whatever they wanted. The simple fact was that it was too risky for Lois to continue as his press contact, not only because it drew attention to her, but because it would be a major conflict of interest when they were married. No matter that the only people who knew Clark Kent was Superman were family members, close to the family, or dead, they didn’t want to risk the information eventually leaking and putting both Lois and Clark’s entire journalistic careers at risk.

Wolfgang Turner was the crusty middle-aged New York Times version of Lois Lane. He’d waved off several promotions in favor of keeping his desk on the City beat, though he didn’t seek as many stories as he once had, not since his only son died when the Towers fell on Sept. 11, 2001. His wife had been taken by breast cancer twelve years previously, leaving him alone to his work. Unlike a great number of people affected by various crises in Clark’s absence from Earth, Turner was not bitter towards Superman. He mourned his son, he held onto the happy memories, just like with his wife, and he missed them both, but he tried to make the best of the time God had given him, even if that time was without the people he held closest to his heart.

Lois wasn’t sure if Clark sympathized with his new press contact, or what anecdotes passed between them that led to the easy camaraderie Clark expressed when he spoke of meetings with ‘Wolfgang.’

“How do you feel?” Clark asked, jerking her from her ruminations. She smiled, opening her eyes to look up at her fiancé in his spandex Suit, cape and all, looking very out of place in the bathroom.

“I’m sore all over,” she admitted. He frowned at her, eyes flickering across her body, x-raying through her layers of flesh in a decidedly passion-killing way, examining her for fragility.

Her doctors continued to be surprised at how well her leg was healing. She blamed it on the fact that she spent several hours a day wrapped in the arms of somebody invulnerable and perhaps that invulnerability was catching. Or perhaps it was the fetus growing in her womb—at almost six months, she was a tight sweater away from the more tactless Planet employees simply blurting out what were only suspicions as of yet—a child that would one day be invulnerable, that was helping her out. Either way, her physical therapy wasn’t nearly so challenging as the pamphlets had prepared her for it to be, not that she was complaining.

But she was sore. Her feet hurt, her knees hurt, her hips hurt. Her leg hurt even though the wounds themselves were well and truly healed over. Her back hurt both from the new distribution of weight and walking with the cane. Her wrist hurt from using the cane. Her breasts were ridiculously sensitive, and not in a good way either.

“Anything I can do?”

She had to smile at him again. The office saw Clark as a stuttering puppy, tripping over his feet in his pursuit of her, and the world saw Superman was the aloof but benevolent savior. And here he was in her bathroom, both of them wrapped in one. He was a puppy, prepared to trip over his cape to fulfill her every whim, and he was the benevolent savior, ready to fly halfway around the world when she craved something in the early hours of the morning.

When she thought of all the things she had to get done—Perry had made it look so easy—and all the things Clark had to get done—he made it look easy, too—she was constantly flabbergasted at the time he was willing to cut out of his own schedule to do things for her. If she asked for a foot rub, he would crouch down at a moment’s notice. If she asked for a pickle, he’d be at the fridge in half a second wondering if she wanted sweet or dill and if she needed the peanut butter too.

“Stay with me always,” she said, reaching out and weaving her fingers through his, relaxing her head back against the tub and closing her eyes. She could tell he was using his heat vision on the water; it heated gradually, ebbing around her ever so slightly as the hot and cold water followed the laws of physics.

“Always,” he echoed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

A/N: Let it be noted that chapter 59 was deleted and reposted with changes (hopefully it's better than it was before)

thnx