Standard Disclaimers Apply. Unbeta'd. Early Valentines Day fic. We'll call it that. I'm just a font of productivity tonight. Too bad it aint on my homework, huh?

Sweet Daydreams Are Made of These


Clark put his briefcase down on his desk and sighed, cursing his super-hearing. It was really hard to tune "some channels" out. One of them happened to be the "Lois" channel. This had been going on all morning, since before they left the house, and the only conclusion he could come to was that it was soon to be "that time of the month."

And no, not that time of the month were Mr. Mxyzptlk showed up. That was only once every three months, and MAN, what he wouldn't give for Mxy to show up around now.

"And you could have taken something," Lois continued, dumping her case onto her desk, gymbag on the chair and lunch next to the filing cabinet, proceeding to step on it with the spiky business end of her red heels.

Clark sighed. "I had the coffee, honey." He'd also had to find a place to deposit both coffees as he stepped out to make a quick exit to save a cat falling from a window. It had been thirty stories up, and he doubted the animal would have 'landed on it's feet.'

"And that's another thing… where's my lid? I have all this stuff, and you can't even hang onto my lid." Disgusted, she kicked the paper bag under her desk, unable to deal with it at that moment.

Unfortunately, he'd left the coffee on a ledge while returning the cat to it's four-year-old owner who'd wanted to see if kitties could fly. So he'd tried to give it the ole' zap of the heat-vision to heat it up again, had gotten distracted when Lois had started in about something else, which was sad, because Superman had been three blocks and seventeen stories up at the time (he was just ALWAYS tuned in to the Lois channel, and just couldn't seem to turn it off with the super-hearing), and he'd heated the coffee up too much, melting the lid before he could blow on it with the artic breath, which of course cooled it down too much when he handed it back to her, but at least when she moved on to how he couldn't even bother to reheat her coffee, she wasn't badgering him about his clothes being everywhere in the apartment again.

Not even bothering to defend himself, he took the lid off of his extra chocolate, extra whip, extra sprinkles on top mocha and pressed it down on her Americano with a shot of sugar-free chocolate. He'd mentioned how… boring her drink was, and suggested when she was ordering it. He was hoping she'd get something frothy and with a lot of sugar to maybe… calm her down a little, but then he just ended up getting a lecture on how not everyone could be built like a god, some people had to actually work for it, hence the gym bag, and hence the "boring" coffee, and could he please just watch where he was going, he was only in the way when he was holding the door for her. Chivalry was dead. Lois Lane killed it.

Today was particularly heinous. He'd had to dash out half way through his shower (which you just couldn't rush at super-speed because the little drops of water only shot out of the shower-head so fast) and rescue a malfunctioning site-seeing helecoptor about a hundred miles away near Purple Mountain Lake, only he'd left the shower running (he figured it'd be a there-and-back deal, and Lois wouldn't even know he was gone), but it had taken like fifteen minutes, and when he'd come back through the sliding glass door in the dining room and saw her pounding on the bathroom door, he knew he was a dead man. She was in her robe, hair smashed on one side, looking like a nightmare he'd had once, when he'd first moved to Metropolis, and had been her daily, non-stop punching bag.

Maybe when Lois went to put what was left of her lunch in the fridge, he could call Wally, and get him to hit the Justice League call signal. Wally was married. He'd understand.

Of course, Lois would be fishing for a story the minute he left, and she'd find out that there'd been no Justice League activity, and when he returned from a day (or week, or year) of hiding out in the Fortress of Solitude, she'd grind up Kryptonite and sprinkle it in his oatmeal.

"…FINE, Perry. I'm COMING. Yes. I have all my notes…"

Lois slamming the phone on her desk down snapped him back to reality. "Look, I haveta go talk to the chief." She seemed a little deflated. "I'm sorry I'm crabby. My story's doing the swirly right before it goes down the toilet."

"I'll get you something else for lunch," he answered, by way of accepting the apology. See, she wasn't, like, psycho-robot Lois, or psycho-brain-taken-over-by-aliens Lois. She was just having a rough day. And if you couldn't keep loving someone, even though they were having a rough day, then what good were you?

She bit her lip. "What about Chinese? And the little wonton thingies with the stuff in the middle…" she made a gesture with her fingers.

Nodding, he waited until she was in Perry's office before he sighed, then dashed out for a quick trip to southern China.


Managing to completely and totally make a legitimate trip to Gotham to talk to Bruce about the helicopter incident (Gotham politicians on board, you see), Clark didn't get home until early evening, just as the sun was setting.

Coming in through the glass door again, he dashed into the bedroom, changed into something that didn't have the distinct odor of petroleum, he walked through into the living room, looking for the remote.

The Lois Channel came in loud and clear with a few mumbled "mmfs," and he turned around. Lois was tied up and gagged in the recliner behind him. And she was wearing that cute sapphire blue teddy…

"I'm just not in the mood right now, honey," Clark said mildly, grabbing the remote off of the coffee table, and collapsing onto the couch. "It's been a long day."

Her brow furrowed and he could distinctly hear what sounded like a threat from beneath the cloth gag.

Sighing, Clark flipped through all three hundred channels two and a half times before he settled on the NFL channel. It was the game he'd watched on Sunday, but it was always better with the music behind it.

He liked the music on the NFL films. It was majestic and dramatic, and it almost completely drowned out the muffled threats playing on Channel Lois.

"Aww man, honey. That was a great play. Look, they're showing it again…" The receiver caught the ball and rolled over two guys backs and straight into the endzone while the triumphant score played on. "I should order this game on DVD."


Lois snapped her fingers in front of Clark's face. "Earth to Clark! Hello? Lois is calling Planet Clark! Perry wants to know if you've finished our follow-up on the evil robot expose?" His chin was resting in his palm and he was staring off blankly

Clark's chin fell off of his hand, and almost bounced off the desk, and his glasses turned strangely on his face. Lois could have sworn he was drooling, too. "Are you sleeping with your eyes opened? That's creepy."

Blinking, he looked around the newsroom, which was blazing with the light of the late-afternoon sun. "Right. Follow up. Give me like… two minutes?" Rubbing the back of his hand against his mouth, he began looking on his desk for the materials.

"I should have known you wouldn't be done. It's not like this is rocket science, Clark. It's one-thousand words. You can do that in your sleep." Finding the right pile of papers, she pushed them towards him. "Now get on with it. Oh my God. Or I'm going to call someone, because you're acting weird."

Taking the file, he looked through the pages one more time. "You know, you're less bossy when you're tied up and gagged."

"What is THAT supposed to mean?"

"Oh nothing," he conceded sheepishly.

That was just the stuff dreams were made of anyways.