Season 7, based on a plot arc by Steven DeKnight
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Read the previous chapter here.
Read the story from the beginning here.
Writing felt totally natural.
The next morning Lois sat down on the leather couch in Lex's study and poked experimentally at the keys of the laptop Lex had provided for her. The worst of her headache had abated, but her memories still hadn't come back. She'd decided to try typing out what she knew, in the hopes that it might spark a memory or two.
To her surprise, she discovered her fingers remembered where to go on the keyboard, and before long she was typing really fast. Sentences came out of her head easily, long sentences listing everything that had happened to her since she awakened in the woods, as well as everything Lex had told her about herself.
Lex was definitely right. She was a writer. She had to be, because the words came so easily.
Lex had gone to the huge house's gym to practice fencing, but eventually he ambled back into the room. "Maybe you'd like to try your hand at writing something for your editor at the Inquisitor," he suggested, watching her fingers fly over the keyboard.
She laughed wryly and looked over at him, though she didn't stop typing. "I could, if only I remembered anything. I guess I was working on a story in those woods, but I have absolutely no idea what it was."
He smiled. "I have a scoop for you, if you're interested."
At the word scoop, her fingers faltered, and she looked at him for a long moment, motionless. Something ran through her like a current of electricity. It felt like desire. The desire for a story.
"Yes," she said finally. "I'm interested."
Three hours later she'd completed a piece on LuthorCorp's newest pharmaceutical breakthrough, a drug that showed promise of slowing the aging process. She'd interviewed Lex and thumbed through a huge file of data on the subject, typing extensive notes into a Word document. Eventually she'd begun writing, and managed to weave it all into a cohesive and fairly interesting article.
"This is very good," Lex said. She'd asked him to read it, because she wasn't quite sure of her abilities right now. He was leaning over her shoulder to read it, his hands braced on the back of the couch on either side of her shoulders, his mouth near her ear. The nearness of his hands and the way his breath brushed over her ear sent a little ripple through her, right to her core.
She pressed her thighs together, trying to ignore the sensation. Lex hadn't said they were lovers, just friends, so her reaction was probably inappropriate.
But she couldn't quite seem to prevent herself from reacting that way whenever he was around. He was definitely a sexy guy.
At last Lex straightened up, much to her disappointment. "It's excellent," he said, smiling down on her benevolently. "Just as well written as your stories usually are."
The idea that he liked her well enough to follow her career and read her stories made that ripple go through her body again. "Thank you," she answered. "Now if I could only figure out how to turn it in to my editor. I guess I could go to the Inquisitor's offices, but..."
"No," Lex said firmly. "You're not leaving the house. Doctor's orders, remember?"
She sighed. "Maybe if I called him..."
"I have the impression you usually turned in stories via email," Lex said. He dug in a pocket and handed her a piece of paper. "I believe this is your editor's email address."
The sheet of paper read firstname.lastname@example.org. It didn't look familiar, but then again, most things didn't. Lex helped her set up a new email address for herself, since she couldn't remember her old email address, or how to access it. She enjoyed the sensation of him leaning over her shoulder, his mouth bare inches away from her ear, a lot more than she probably should have.
But eventually he straightened up again. She pressed her thighs together again, surreptitiously, and sent an email to the editor, adding the completed article as an attachment-- which, oddly, she had no trouble remembering how to do. Fifteen minutes later she'd gotten a reply.
Lois! I'm happy to hear from you. I'd heard you were missing. Glad you're okay. Thanks for the attached-- I'll read it over and let you know what I think in a few minutes. Dan.
"Okay," she said, leaning back in the leather-upholstered chair and smiling up at Lex. "He's got it. Hopefully he'll like it."
"I'm sure he will," Lex said, returning her smile. "You're good, Lois. Very good."
She was suddenly struck by a desire to see her name in print. "Do you happen to have any of my articles around?" she asked hopefully.
"I just might. Hold on a moment."
He strode over to the huge cherry desk and rummaged through its drawers. A few minutes later he was back with a newspaper. Its masthead proclaimed it to be the Metropolis Inquisitor, and Lois experienced a little throb of disappointment as she took it from him and looked it over, seeing huge, sensationalistic headlines over articles on aliens and celebrities, complete with clearly Photoshopped pictures.
This isn't a newspaper, she thought, slightly dismayed. It's a tabloid.
She wasn't sure how she knew the difference. But she definitely did. And somehow this wasn't quite what she'd envisioned when he'd told her she was a journalist.
Trying to hide her disappointment, she turned to page five and found an article by herself, written about someone or something called the Green Arrow. She scanned through the article and discovered that the Green Arrow was a costumed vigilante.
The writing in the article seemed clumsy and unfamiliar, and as she read, she frowned more deeply than before.
"You've improved a lot since then," Lex said, apparently noting her reaction. "Your writing has come a long way in a little less than a year."
She sighed, more disappointed than ever, as she put the paper down. "I hope so."
A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth, as if he was amused by some private joke she didn't quite get. "Believe me, Lois. You're a much better writer now."
Slightly reassured by his words, she looked down at the paper spread out on the desk, studying the byline. Reported by Lois Lane.
That was who she was, she thought, trying to get comfortable with the name. That was who she was, and this was what she wrote.
She was Lois Lane, reporter.
Read Chapter 4 here.