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Career Girl Blues	By : Scribe Category: DC Verse Comics > Superman Views: 5447 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Superman, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Career Girl Blues
Chapter Forty-nine
Lead Up to Next Chapter Smut, So You Can Skip This One If That's The Only Reason You Read This
"No."
"Scribe, I can understand that you're uncomfortable with the idea, but procedures require..."
"No."
"I don't want to insist, but..."
"Clive?"
A heavy hand fell on the doctor's shoulder, and he looked around at a pair of hard brown eyes. "Precious," Clive's voice was low and reasonable, but
there was an undertone that told him he'd better listen very carefully. "she said no. No rape test."
"But..."
"She said nothing happened. Are you going to tell me that you don't believe her?"
"Oh, no. I would never say that."
"I'm so glad. She knows that I occasionally kick ass, but I'd rather not do it in public if it can be avoided. Now, then, you've done the thermometer, the stethoscope, and the blood pressure cuff. You've peered into her eyes, ears, throat, and even up her cute little turned-up nose. Are you satisfied yet?"
"I suppose so."
"Then you can go now. It's a bit crowded in here, anyway."
It was. The examining room was small. Besides Scribe, perched on the exam table, and the doctor there was Clive, Lois, Jimmy, and Batman and
Robin. The only reason Clark wasn't there was that he'd been deputized to go get some clothes for Scribe. The doctor had tried to order the others out at the beginning of the exam and had met with a spectacular lack of success. "Okay. I'll go make arrangements for a private room."
"No."
"Of course you could have a semi-private, but I thought you'd prefer..."
"No."
He looked at Clive. "Can she say anything other than 'no'?"
Clive smirked. "You'd be surprised, precious. I believe that she means that she doesn't intend to stay in the hospital."
"Yes."
"Oh, now, really, Miss Scribe..."
"Enough of this stoic, monosyllabic crap. I spent a lot of time not being able to talk to anyone while I was cooped up in that fruitcake's holding cell. Doc, I know you mean well, but I'm fine, really, aside from a couple of bruises and some mental and emotional shake-ups. I'm not taking up bed space that could be put to better use. Now, toddle off and see to someone who needs you right now. We'll check in with the nurse before I go."
The doctor thought about protesting, but he was receiving hard stares from everyone in the room, so he decided against it. Oh, well. He was going to have enough stories to get him invited out to dinner for months. He left.
Scribe shifted on the table, tightening the sheet around her shoulders. "I wish I'd sat on this thing. The leatherette is sticking to me. I'll have to peel myself off it."
"That's why I only use genuine leather for my upholstery," Clive remarked.
"Why didn't you sit on it?" Jimmy asked.
"Because then I wouldn't have been able to wrap up, and hospital gowns in this world are not any more modest than they are in my world. I've been given the once over, and I want out of here as soon as Clark gets back with my duds."
"There's a problem, though," Lois said hesitantly. "My landlady. She's making noises about my having a roommate. She's talking about breaking my lease. Normally I'd tell her to go... um..."
"Fuck herself," Clive supplied helpfully.
"Yes. But I haven't been able to locate anywhere else yet, and..."
"Lo, you can't lose your place because of me! Oh, hell. It was bad enough before, but now that this has happened you wouldn't have had a second's peace, anyway. What about the YWCA?" Blank looks. "You mean to tell me that you have YMCAs and not YWCAs? Gawd, how politically incorrect. Remind me to picket when I get a chance."
"I'm sure Bruce Wayne would be happy to have you at Wayne Manor for a while," said Batman. Robin perked up. Clive smiled.
Scribe said gently, "That would be lovely, and I'd like to drop by some time in the future, but for right now I'm pretty sure that the authorities would prefer I stayed in town."
Jimmy sighed. "They don't allow unmarried couples at my place, and I think it's the same for Clark. What are we going to do?"
"Simple," Clive said. "She'll stay with me." Scribe smiled.
"But," Lois protested, "Won't there be the same problem with you?"
"Not at all. I don’t have a nosy landlord. I am the landlord, and I have a spare bedroom." He arched an eyebrow at Scribe. "if she insists on sleeping alone."
She leaned over, kissing him on the cheek. "Thanks, doll."
"I certainly hope you weren't expecting any less."
"I wouldn't dare."
Clark entered the room, carrying a bundle of clothes. "Did I miss anything?"
"Mm, only Scribe's decision to shack up with me."
Clark gaped. Scribe poked Clive. "Clive, don't tease the vanilla people: it's not nice. Clark, hand me my clothes and either rig me a screen or get everyone out of here."
Clive started shooing people outside. "You get dressed, sweetie. I'm going to start setting up a way out of here for you."
When the room emptied out, Scribe started to get out of the gown and into her own clothes. That was soothing in itself. The sheer familiarity smoothed some of the rough edges. She was particularly happy to get into her panties and her plain bra. My own personal version of armor.
When she was finished she opened the door to find the posse waiting in the hall. Clive was leaning on the handles of a wheelchair, which had a couple of blankets piled in the seat. Clive smiled at her. "Ready to give birth, pet?"
She returned the smile. "Sure. Clark? I need to ask a favor."
A few minutes later the crowd around the front entrance perked up. But they settled back, at least a little, when they got a look at who was exiting. Yes, that was a woman in the wheelchair, and she had the right type of hair, but so many women had that type of hair these days. Anyway, she was wearing glasses, and she was cooing to a blanket wrapped bundle. The blonde man pushing her was leaning over her shoulder, making faces at the bundle. Just a couple of new parents, taking the baby home.
They decided that they must be fairly well-to-do new parents. The black car that pulled up for them was big and expensive. The father took the baby while a driver who'd gotten out of the car helped the woman up out of the chair. She got into the back seat, and Daddy leaned down to hand over Junior.
The few that were still watching noticed that the blanket wrapped bundle squirmed very strongly, and there was a thin cry. Daddy quickly got in and the car drove off, and they went back to watching the hospital.
In the back of the car Bruce Wayne had sent, Scribe rocked the bundle as a thin wail filled the car. "My God, darling, what a noise," Clive drawled.
"Well, he doesn't like laying on his back." Clive unwrapped the bundle. A large tabby tomcat leapt down and grumbled a few more times before crouching on the floor. When Scribe reached down and scratched it behind the ears, it started to purr. "I think he did beautifully for someone commandeered from the alley behind the kitchen. Can I keep him?"
Clive sighed. "Oh, dear. Well, I suppose I can borrow some kitty litter from my downstairs tenant, and I have the box my last leather jacket came in for a temporary litter box." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and he smiled at her. "But if he claws my furnishings he lives in the bathroom till we find another home for him."
She hugged his neck. "At least you didn't say he'd end up as a muff."
He arched an eyebrow. "Possibly as lining for a pair of leather cuffs, but not if you really like him, pet."
Clark, who was driving, held a hand out over the back seat. "Can I have my glasses back now?" She handed them over.
Clive's place turned out to be a very nice two-story brick building, with two apartments on the ground floor and one above. As they pulled up to the curb before it, Clark said, "The records of Luthor's research facilities have been subpoenaed, and Superman will be going over them as soon as possible. There's a chance, a good chance, that we may uncover something that will at least let you contact your own world, if not get back to it."
She gave him a hug. "Tell him thank you for me, sweetie."
Clark's voice was soft. "He's just sorry that he wasn't able to do more for you."
Scribe kissed his cheek. "Give him that, and tell him that I know he did everything he could."
Clive remarked, as he helped her out, "I wouldn't mind seeing him deliver that."
"Clive, is there ever a moment when you don't think about sex?"
He paused at the foot of the staircase. "Um... sometimes I think about food, but then I often begin thinking of how it could be used in sex play."
"Thought so."
"You go on up, dear. It won't take but a moment for me to get supplies from Mrs. Havasnark."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me correctly. Havasnark, and I have no idea where it came from. She's a rather theatrical old lady with ten cats, an odd name, and a thick Hungarian accent. I think she acquired all or some of the above purposefully."
Scribe climbed the stairs slowly and carefully, smiling when she heard the chorus of mews that filled the lower hall as the Clive had knocked on. An elderly, but strong, voice, said, "Nu? Clive, bubbie!" The tabby in her arms stirred and looked interested. She murmured, "Dream on."
A few moments later Clive climbed up to meet her. He was carrying an enamel roasting pan which contained a half-sack of kitty litter and several cans of cat food, and a covered plate. "Mrs. Havasnark sends cat gravel, cat food, a temporary potty, a snack, and her love. Dear, do you think that you might go visit her sometime later on? She's a dear, and she doesn't get out."
"I'd love to. Anyone who's cat dependent is all right by me."
Clive unlocked the apartment door and ushered her in. "Have a seat, precious, while I set up his lordship's facilities. There's a utility closet I can clear a little space in, and I'll leave the door cracked."
She sat the cat down and pointed at Clive's disappearing back. "You'll want to know where he's setting that up." The cat mewed and trotted after him.
Scribe heard a couple of clunks, then the hiss of litter filling the pan. Then she heard Clive saying testily, "Well, just a minute!" Yowl "For heaven's sake, I'm almost done. Will you just..." Another clunk. "There." Then there was a rapid scrabbling sound. "Oh, well, pardon me! I'll just give you a bit of privacy."
Clive came out, shaking his head. "At least he appears to be housetrained. Have you settled on a name for him?"
"Tietlebaum."
Clive blinked. "Ah. Any particular reason?"
"Absolutely none. It's the first one that came to mind. Would you prefer 'Fritz', 'Garfield', or 'Sylvester'." A blank look. "No, they wouldn't mean anything to you. Would you prefer 'Fluffy'?"
"God, no, precious." He sat beside her. "I told her I could feed... uh... Tietlebaum from my own larder, but she insisted that the commercial stuff was better for him if we hadn't made a study of feline nutritional needs."
"I've heard that."
Clive picked up the foil covered plate from the coffee table and peeled back the cover. "Let's see what she sent. Ah." He picked up a powdered sugar covered ball and examined it with satisfaction.
Scribe looked interested. "Donut holes?"
"Pfeffernusse." He munched happily. When she looked doubtful. "Try one, dear. They're like us: sweet and spicy." She tried one, and they weren't bad. A little like a round, sugar coated gingersnap. After she ate a few more she felt even more relaxed.
"Now," Clive dusted his hands. "You ought to get some sleep." He cocked his head. "Shall I make up the bed in the spare room?"
Scribe looked back at him, then crawled on his lap and put her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. "No."
"Oh." He put an arm around her, cradling her head against his shoulder with the other hand. "Really, darling, now that we're away from the maddening crowd, how are you?"
"Still a little shaky, Clive." She sighed. "I always feel safe with you." She smiled. "Well, since about halfway through my first haircut."
He kissed her forehead. "Good."
"I really trust you."
"I'm glad."
"Would you like to take my virginity?" Silence. "Clive?"
"I'm here, precious. I'm just surprised. Stunned, actually. I'd say speechless, but if I can say speechless, then I'm not, am I?"
"Clive? Are you babbling?"
"I believe I am."
Her voice small, she said, "So I guess that means you don't want to."
"Scribe," he pulled her head back gently to look into her eyes. "Of course I want to. Why would you think that I wouldn't?"
"Well, you didn't. You haven't. You said you weren't going to do anything to endanger my maidenhood, so I thought maybe the idea of deflowering someone was kind of distasteful to you."
"Sweetie, I didn't do it then because you weren't ready for it then. Can I ask why you chose me, though?"
"Well, duh! You're Clive."
He smiled. "There is that. But you have so many possibilities, dear. There's that spectacled hunk who brought us here, and that delicious redhead to begin with, not to mention practically any male in Metropolis who's achieved puberty and not yet attained senility."
"Clive, you're the first to rock my world. I like you, I care about you, I sort of love you. I want you to be my first all the way. Besides, if I can have the best, why should I settle?"
"Oh, you shameless flatterer. I love you for that." He kissed her and, picking her up in his arms, began to walk toward the bedroom. "Precious, would it be all right with you if I went vanilla for this?"
She giggled. "Sure, why not try something different?"
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Career Girl Blues