Chapter 2: The Aftermath
Bo
The rubble shifted with a grating shriek, then yielded to the steady, glowing pressure of her hands. Light—real, gray dawn light—flooded into the alcove, harsh and clinical after the intimate green dark. Lana squinted against it.
Hands reached in, not rescue workers’ gloves at first, but Lois’s, fingers brushing hers as they both pushed the last chunk aside. They emerged into a world of dust-churned air and the low murmur of a professional extraction team. Four figures in tactical gear stood in a loose perimeter, their faces guarded, weapons not quite pointed at them but not slung either. The lead, a woman with a severe blond buzzcut and eyes the color of flint, watched Lana with a stillness that spoke of trained observation.
“You’re both mobile?” the woman asked, her accent vaguely Scandinavian.
“We’re fine,” Lois said, voice already reclaiming its edge. She brushed concrete dust from her jacket, a gesture that was all performance. “Lois Lane, Daily Planet. This is my… fixer.”
The team leader’s eyes didn’t leave Lana. “Your ‘fixer’ just excavated several tons of debris from the inside with no tools. She’s also glowing.”
Lana felt the faint hum under her skin, the residual energy from using her strength. She willed it to dampen. The emerald light faded, leaving her looking merely grimy and exhausted.
“Bio-electric field generator,” Lois snapped, stepping slightly in front of Lana. It was a protective move, but it felt territorial. “Experimental UN tech for disaster zones. Classified. You got a med kit or are we just gonna stare at each other until the next shell hits?”
The bluff was audacious, stupid even, but sold with the absolute conviction of a Pulitzer winner. The team leader hesitated, then gave a short, sharp nod to one of her men. A basic first-aid kit was produced. Lois took it without thanks.
“We’re clear here,” Lois announced to the room. “You should sweep the east wing. Thermal signatures on our way in suggested at least three civilians still trapped in the sub-basement.”
It was a lie, but a useful one. It got the team moving, giving them a purpose that wasn’t dissecting the anomaly in their midst. As the soldiers filed out, the buzzcut leader paused, looking back at Lana one last time. “Classified or not,” she said quietly, “that’s some impressive hardware.”
Then they were alone in the shattered lobby, the morning cold seeping in through a thousand cracks. The metallic smell was stronger now, mixed with wet ash and decay.
Lois uncapped a bottle of water from the med kit, took a long swallow, then handed it to Lana. Their fingers touched. The memory of where those fingers had been, what they had done, flashed between them like a static shock.
“A bio-electric field generator?” Lana muttered, drinking.
“Shut up. It worked.” Lois rummaged in a pocket of her cargo pants, pulling out a bent cigarette and a lighter. She lit it, the flare illuminating the tightness around her eyes. She took a deep drag, exhaled a plume of smoke that writhed in the dusty light. “You’re shaking.”
Lana looked at her hand. It was true. A fine tremor ran through her fingers. It wasn’t from exertion. It was the comedown, the terrifying vulnerability after the shield of passion had dropped.
“I need to file a preliminary report,” Lois said, her voice all business again. But her eyes, blue and unyielding, held Lana’s. “The hotel I’m at has satellite uplink. It’s a shithole, but the door locks.” She fished in another pocket, pulled out a key card. It was grimy, the corner cracked. She held it out. “Room 512. Tonight. We’re not done.”
Lana stared at the card. It was a threshold. Walk away now, back into the anonymous, lonely work, and this becomes a desperate, dusty mistake. Take it, and she was choosing complication, danger, a connection that could unravel her completely.
“Lois… what happened in there…”
“Was a start,” Lois interrupted. She stepped closer, close enough for Lana to smell the smoke on her breath, the sweat on her skin, the faint, lingering scent of her own arousal. She pressed the key card into Lana’s palm, folding her fingers over it. Her touch was deliberate, possessive. “I have questions. You have answers. And I think we both have needs that don’t give a shit about kryptonite or ex-boyfriends or any other tragic backstory.” She leaned in, her lips brushing Lana’s ear. “Be there by ten. Or don’t. But if you don’t, this story gets written with or without you.”
She pulled back, gave Lana a look that was equal parts challenge and promise, then turned on her heel and walked away, her boots crunching on the debris without a backward glance.
Lana stood frozen, the plastic card biting into her palm. She watched Lois disappear around a collapsed support column, into the gray light of the wounded city.
The hotel was a Soviet-era monolith, its grandeur long since eroded into a kind of stubborn, peeling gloom. Room 512 smelled of cheap bleach, stale cigarette smoke, and the damp wool of the carpet. A single bulb in a porcelain sconce cast a pallid light. Lois had kicked her boots into a corner and her leather jacket was slung over the room’s sole chair. She stood by the window, looking down at the rubble-strewn street, a fresh glass of amber liquor in her hand. She’d showered; her dark hair was damp, curling at the ends.
The door clicked shut behind Lana.
Lois didn’t turn. “You’re late. It’s 10:07.”
“I was deciding.” Lana’s voice sounded foreign in the quiet room.
“And?”
“And I’m here.”
That made Lois turn. She’d changed into a simple black t-shirt and jeans that hugged her hips. She looked younger, softer without the armor of her jacket and camera, but her eyes were the same—sharp, assessing, hungry.
“Good.” She took a sip of her drink. “First question. The glow. Is it always there? Underneath?”
Lana leaned against the door, arms crossed. “It’s a metabolic byproduct. Using my strength intensifies it. Emotional… spikes can trigger it. It’s always there, like a low-grade fever. You just can’t always see it.”
“Can you control it?”
“Not really. I can suppress it, with focus. Like holding your breath.”
Lois set her glass down on the windowsill. The light from the streetlamp below caught the planes of her face. “Show me.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Stop holding your breath.”
It felt more intimate than sex, that request. To willingly reveal the poison in her skin. Lana closed her eyes, let go of the mental clamp she kept on her cells. The green light seeped out, first from her hands, then a diffuse aura around her torso, illuminating the threads of her shirt from within. The room’s shadows retreated, painted in emerald.
Lois stared, transfixed. Not with fear, but with a journalist’s rabid curiosity. She crossed the room slowly, stopping just outside the visible radiance. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s just… there. A constant reminder.”
“Can I touch you? When you’re like this?”
The question hung in the air. “You already did,” Lana whispered.
“I was half-crushed and fucking desperate. Now I’m not.” Lois’s gaze was unwavering. “I want to know what it feels like.”
It was a test. Of her, of the power, of whatever this was between them. Lana gave a single, stiff nod.
Lois reached out, her fingers entering the glow. She didn’t flinch. She laid her palm flat against Lana’s chest, over her heart. Her touch was warm, solid. “It’s warm,” she murmured. “Like sunlight on stone. And there’s a… a vibration. A hum.” She moved her hand, tracing the collarbone, sliding up to cradle Lana’s jaw. “Clark would feel this as pain, wouldn’t he? Agony.”
The mention of his name was a lance. Lana’s glow flickered. “Yes. Eventually, it would weaken him. Kill him if exposure was long enough.”
“But I’m not him.” Lois’s thumb stroked Lana’s cheekbone. “I’m just me. And it just feels like you.” Her other hand came up, gripping Lana’s hip, pulling her forward until their bodies aligned. The green light bathed them both. “Now,” Lois said, her voice dropping to a rough whisper, “shut it off. I want to see your face when I fuck you, not just a glow.”
Lana released the energy, the light draining away until only the sickly yellow room light remained. The sudden dimness felt like a confessional.
Lois kissed her then, and it was nothing like the collision in the alcove. This was deliberate, deep, and devastatingly thorough. She tasted of whiskey and intent. Her hands pushed Lana’s shirt up, and Lana broke the kiss only to pull it over her head. Lois’s eyes swept over her—the toned abdomen, the small, strong breasts, the pale skin that seemed too ordinary to contain such power.
“On the bed,” Lois ordered, her own breath coming faster. “Now.”
Lana moved backward, the backs of her knees hitting the thin mattress. She sat, then lay back, watching as Lois peeled off her t-shirt. Her breasts were full, heavy, nipples already peaked. She unhooked her jeans, shoved them and her panties down in one impatient motion, and stepped out of them. She was completely bare, completely sure of herself.
She climbed onto the bed, straddling Lana’s thighs, but didn’t lower herself. Instead, she reached behind to the nightstand, fumbling in her jacket pocket. She pulled out a small, clear bottle of lubricant.
“Saw it in a kiosk down the street,” she said, a wicked grin on her face. “Thought it might come in handy.”
Lana’s pulse hammered in her throat. Lois uncapped the bottle, squeezed a generous amount onto her fingers. The cold slickness dripped onto Lana’s stomach. Lois’s eyes locked on hers.
“You’re going to watch,” Lois said. “You’re going to watch me get myself ready for you.” She brought her glistening fingers down between her own legs, her head tipping back as she circled her clit once, twice, a hiss of pleasure escaping her. Then she pushed two fingers inside herself, her jaw going slack. “Fuck, that’s cold.” She worked them in and out, the wet sound obscenely loud. She was putting on a show, and it was working. Lana was mesmerized, heat pooling low in her own belly.
“Look how wet I am for you,” Lois breathed, withdrawing her fingers and holding them up, coated and shining. “All for you, Lana. The girl from Smallville. The walking hazard.” She leaned forward, bracing one hand by Lana’s head, and brought her slick fingers to Lana’s mouth. “Taste it.”
Lana’s lips parted. Lois smeared her essence across them, then pushed her fingers inside. The taste was musky, salty, utterly Lois. Lana sucked, her tongue lapping at the digits, a submissive act that made Lois moan.
“Good,” Lois rasped, pulling her fingers free. “Now you.”
She moved down, yanking Lana’s pants and underwear off in a series of rough tugs. Then she positioned herself, kneeling between Lana’s spread legs. She poured more lube directly onto Lana’s cunt, the cold gel making her jerk. Lois’s fingers spread it, smearing it over her folds, her clit, working it inside with a relentless, practiced efficiency.
“You’re so tight,” Lois muttered, pumping three fingers deep, stretching her. “Tighter than before. You been clenching all day thinking about this?”
Lana could only gasp, her hips lifting off the bed. The preparation was ruthless, clinical almost, and it left her throbbing and utterly exposed.
Lois withdrew. She positioned the head of the lubricant bottle again, this time at her own entrance. She squeezed, a soft grunt leaving her as she filled herself. “No more waiting,” she panted.
She moved up, guiding Lana’s hand, placing it on her hip. Then she lowered herself, taking Lana inside her in one slow, inexorable slide.
The feeling was catastrophic. Heat, tight, silken friction. Lois was drenched, inside and out, and she sank down until she was fully seated, their hips flush. She let out a shuddering, broken sigh. “Oh, god. Yeah. That’s it.”
For a moment, she didn’t move, just rocked slightly, letting them both feel the sheer, shocking fullness. Her blue eyes were dark, dilated, fixed on Lana’s.
“You feel that?” Lois whispered. “That’s me. All of me. And you’re inside.” She began to move, lifting herself up until just the tip remained, then slamming back down. The bedsprings shrieked in protest.
Lana’s hands flew to Lois’s hips, gripping hard enough to bruise a normal person. Lois didn’t seem to care. She set a brutal, driving rhythm, using Lana’s body for her own pleasure. Each downward plunge forced a choked sound from Lana’s throat.
“That’s it,” Lois chanted, her breasts bouncing with the force of her movements. “Take it. You wanted connection? Here it is. Fucking you raw. No suits. No secrets. Just this.”
She leaned forward, changing the angle, and the new depth made Lana cry out. Lois covered Lana’s mouth with her own, swallowing the sound. The kiss was messy, desperate. Lois’s hands were everywhere—pinching Lana’s nipples, tangling in her hair, scraping nails down her sides.
Lana was unraveling. The pleasure was a riptide, pulling her under. She could feel her own glow threatening at the edges, a green shimmer under her skin she fought to contain. Her hips started meeting Lois’s thrusts, driving up into her.
“Yes, fuck me back, you powerful fucking thing,” Lois growled, her pace becoming erratic, frantic. “Come on. Let me feel you come. I want to feel you spasm around me.”
The command, the filthy encouragement, was the final trigger. Lana’s orgasm ripped through her with silent, violent intensity. Her back arched off the bed, every muscle locking as waves of electric pleasure detonated from her core, radiating outward. She pulsed around Lois, a series of deep, gripping clenches.
The sensation tipped Lois over the edge. With a ragged shout that was pure triumph, she ground down hard, her own release washing through her. Lana felt the internal flutters, the hot rush of wetness, as Lois trembled and shook above her, her cries muffled against Lana’s shoulder.
They collapsed into a heap of sweat-slick limbs and heaving breath. The room smelled of sex, liquor, and that cheap hotel bleach. Lois’s weight was a solid, comforting pressure.
Minutes bled by, marked only by the slowing of their hearts. Lois eventually rolled off, lying on her back beside Lana, staring at the water-stained ceiling.
“So,” Lois said finally, her voice hoarse but calm. “That’s question two answered.”
Lana turned her head. “What was question two?”
“Whether it would be different in a bed.” Lois lit another cigarette from a pack on the floor, the flame bright in the dim room. She inhaled, exhaled. “It was.”
Silence stretched again, but it was different now. The frantic energy was spent. What remained felt heavy, real.
Lois propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at Lana. Her expression was unreadable. “You can’t go back to just being a ghost, Lana. Not now.”
“I have to.”
“Why? Because you’re scared?” Lois’s voice wasn’t accusatory. It was curious. “You could do real good. Not just pulling people from rubble, but making sure the bastards who create the rubble get exposed. We could… work together.”
The offer hung in the smoky air. It was a lifeline and a leash. Partnership meant proximity. Proximity meant this—the sex, the scrutiny, the constant risk of her truth exploding into a story that could hurt everyone, especially Clark.
Lana sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her body felt used, profoundly alive, and aching with a new kind of loneliness. She looked at her clothes in a pile on the floor.
“Lois,” she said softly. “You tasted what I am. You felt the energy in me. This…” She gestured at the rumpled sheets. “This is a closed system. A room with the windows shut. The second we open the door, the world gets in. And I am a danger to that world. To the people in it you care about.”
Lois just watched her, the cigarette burning slowly between her fingers. She didn’t argue. She just absorbed the statement, filing it away.
Lana dressed in silence. Every piece of clothing felt like armor being reluctantly reassembled. When she was done, she stood at the door, the key card in her hand. She set it on the small table by the exit.
“Thank you,” she said, the words terribly inadequate. “For… not being afraid.”
“Who says I’m not?” Lois replied, stubbing out her cigarette. “I’m terrified. But fear’s never stopped me before.” She lay back down, turning onto her side, facing away from the door. “The card’s good for the week. In case you change your mind.”
Lana opened the door. The hallway’s fluorescent light was a harsh invader. She stepped out, pulling the door shut behind her with a soft, final click.
She walked down the dim corridor, her footsteps silent on the worn carpet. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. The warmth of the room, the smell of Lois’s skin, the devastating rightness of the connection—it was already a ghost in her veins, another thing to carry, another reason to run.
Out on the street, the night air was cold and tasted of diesel and coming rain. She looked up at the dark sky, at the few stubborn stars piercing the urban glow. Somewhere up there, he was watching over a world she could no longer safely touch. And down here, in a shabby room on the fifth floor, was a woman who had touched her anyway.
Lana took a deep, shuddering breath, and then she was gone, a streak of shadow and unresolved power vanishing into the maze of the wounded city.
Lana moved through the city’s carcass for two days, a phantom guided by the sounds of suffering. She pulled a sobbing child from a collapsed bakery. She sealed a ruptured gas main with the brute force of her palm, the heat nothing against her invulnerable skin. The work was a grim balm, a familiar script where her body was a tool and not a tragedy.
It failed to quiet the memory of Lois’s voice, the demanding heat of her mouth, the shocking vulnerability in her eyes after the shaking stopped. The hotel key card was a phantom weight in the pocket Lana no longer carried it in, yet she felt its impression nonetheless. It was an address, a point on a map she was trying to flee.
On the third evening, the sinking sun bled orange through the skeletal remains of a telecommunications tower. Lana perched on its highest stable girder, letting the wind pluck at her hair. The city below was a patchwork of darkness and generator-fed light, pockets of life stubbornly glowing amidst the ruin. From this height, she could almost believe she’d escaped.
“Figured I’d find you brooding somewhere up high.”
The voice came from behind her, accompanied by the scuff of boots on steel. Lana didn’t turn. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a traitorous drum. “How did you get up here?”
“The stairs are mostly intact on the north face. I’m a journalist, not a cat burglar.” Lois moved to stand beside her, close enough that their arms almost touched. She held up two bottles of local beer, condensation beading on the glass. “Peace offering. Or a bribe. Depends on your perspective.”
Lana finally looked at her. Lois wore the same leather jacket, her hair tangled by the wind. She looked tired, beautiful, and relentlessly real. “You shouldn’t have tracked me.”
“Took me forty-eight hours. You’re good.” Lois popped the cap off a bottle on the girder’s edge and handed it over. “Drink. It’s terrible.”
The beer was warm and sour. Lana drank anyway. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was thick with everything unsaid, everything done. The distant pop of small-arms fire echoed, a reminder of the context that made this meeting insane.
“I filed my story,” Lois said, staring out at the darkening horizon. “Left out the glowing woman. For now.”
“Why?”
Lois took a long pull from her bottle. “Because it’s mine. Not the Planet’s. Not the world’s.” She turned, her blue eyes cutting through the gloom. “You left the key card. That was rude.”
“It was smart.”
“It was cowardly.” Lois set her beer down with a sharp clink. “You’re scared of this. Of me. After everything you can do, after the shit you’ve seen, this is what makes you run?”
“It’s not about being scared!” Lana’s voice cracked, echoing faintly in the open air. “It’s about contamination, Lois. I am a walking, talking bad ending. You touch me, you get close, and you get poisoned by my… my situation. My life.”
“Oh, fuck off with that tragic-hero bullshit.” Lois stepped into her space. “You think I’m some delicate flower? I’ve had sources bleed out in my arms. I’ve had three governments put price on my head. My last boyfriend tried to sell insider information to a warlord.” She poked a finger into Lana’s chest. “My life is already a toxic waste dump. You’re just a new flavor.”
The crude honesty was a battering ram. Lana had no rebuttal.
“And for the record,” Lois continued, her voice dropping, crowding Lana against the cold steel of the tower. “What happened in that room? That wasn’t gay. That was… circumstantial. Adrenaline and isolation. Two professionals blowing off steam.”
Lana’s laugh was a short, brittle sound. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“It’s what it was.” Lois’s gaze dipped to Lana’s mouth. “A one-time thing. An anomaly.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To prove it.” Lois closed the final inch and kissed her.
This kiss was different. It wasn’t the chaos of the collapse or the calculated heat of the hotel bed. It was a challenge, a dare layered with blatant denial. Lana kissed her back, a surge of frustration and longing making her hands fist in the leather of Lois’s jacket. The beer bottle slipped from her grip, plummeting silently into the darkness below.
Lois broke the kiss, her breath coming in fast puffs of steam in the cool air. “See? Not gay. Just… conclusive.”
“Conclusive,” Lana repeated, the word tasting like a lie. Her hands moved to the buckle of Lois’s belt.
“What are you doing?” Lois’s question was breathless, not a protest.
“Proving it.” Lana got the belt open, the button, the zipper. The sounds were obscenely loud on the silent tower. She pushed the jeans down over Lois’s hips, just enough. The city lights glittered far below, indifferent witnesses.
Lois braced herself against a vertical beam, her back to the drop. “It’s cold.”
“You’ll warm up.” Lana knelt on the gritty steel grid of the platform. The posture felt sacrilegious, vulnerable. She pushed Lois’s shirt and bra up, exposing her stomach, then the heavy weight of her breasts. They were pale in the twilight, nipples tight from the chill and anticipation.
Lana looked up, meeting Lois’s stare. “Still not gay,” she whispered, a defiant echo.
“Damn right,” Lois breathed, her fingers threading into Lana’s hair, not guiding, just holding on.
Lana lowered her head and took one nipple into her mouth. She licked it first, a broad, flat stroke that made Lois’s thigh muscle jump against her shoulder. Then she closed her lips around the pebbled flesh and sucked, hard.
“Oh, Christ,” Lois gasped, her head thudding back against the beam.
Lana worshipped her breasts with a frantic, focused hunger that belied every word of denial. She licked and sucked one, then the other, her tongue circling, her teeth grazing with careful threat. She nursed at them, pulling deep, lost in the taste of salt and skin and the low, choked sounds falling from Lois’s mouth. Her hands gripped Lois’s hips, holding her steady as she devoured her.
“Yeah, just like that, fuck, that’s not… that’s not anything,” Lois babbled, her hips starting a shallow, desperate rock. “It’s just a thing. A straight thing. A friend thing.”
Lana released her breast with a wet pop and blew cold air on the wet, taut nipple. Lois shuddered violently. “A friend thing,” Lana agreed, her voice rough. She kissed a trail down the quivering plane of Lois’s stomach, her tongue dipping into her navel. She hooked her hands under Lois’s thighs and lifted, forcing her weight onto the beam, spreading her wide open to the night sky.
She didn’t pause. She buried her face between Lois’s legs, licking into her with a raw, open-mouthed urgency. Lois cried out, the sound swallowed by the vastness. Lana ate her like a woman starved, like this was the last truth left in the world. She lapped at her clit, fucked her with her tongue, drank her down as Lois’s thighs trembled against her ears.
“I’m not, I’m not, I’m not,” Lois chanted, a mantra of denial as her orgasm ripped through her, her back arching off the cold steel. Lana held her through it, relentless, until Lois sagged, boneless and panting.
Lana stood up, her lips glistening. She kissed Lois deeply, letting her taste herself. Lois kissed back, weak and grateful.
“See?” Lana murmured against her mouth.
“Conclusive,” Lois whispered, her eyes closed. She fumbled for Lana’s pants, her hands unsteady. “My turn. For science.”
She pushed Lana’s pants down and turned her, bending her over the same horizontal beam Lois had just been braced against. The city yawned below Lana’s dizzy head. Lois’s hand, slick from her own release, found her, pressed two fingers inside without ceremony. Lana cried out, the sound torn away by the wind.
“Quiet,” Lois hissed in her ear, curling her fingers. “Someone might hear.”
Lana bit her own arm to stifle the noise as Lois fucked her with hard, precise strokes. It was punishing and perfect. Lois’s other hand clutched her hip, nails digging in. Lana came quickly, violently, her vision sparking with the lights of the city below as silent convulsions wracked her body.
They slumped together against the beam, clothes in disarray, reeking of sex and cold metal. For a long time, they just breathed.
“We should go,” Lana finally said, her voice raw.
“Yeah.” Lois didn’t move. “My hotel’s closer.”
Lana turned to look at her. Lois’s face was unguarded, sated, and scared. The denial was a shredded curtain between them now, useless.
“Just for tonight,” Lana said, the last of her resistance crumbling.
“Obviously,” Lois replied, but her hand found Lana’s and held it, tight.