Epilogue: Inappropriately Dressed

"Lane," Perry White, editor of the Daily Planet huffed. "Close the door. Take a seat."

The reporter's heart sank. If Perry wanted to speak with her in private, it was generally for an ass-chewing or a heart-to-heart. She wasn't really in the mood for either...but it would be months before she was eligible for maternity leave, and she needed to keep on his good side for as long as possible if she hoped to have a position to return to after the baby was born.

Lois sank into the chair on the other side of his glass-topped desk.

The older man, silver shot through his hair, thick and meaty as many men get at a certain point in their lives, stared at her for a moment as though gathering his thoughts. When he did speak, it wasn't gruff or a rebuke, but a friendly and inquisitive tone she had heard him use very rarely.

"How far along are you, Lois?"

She took a breath, her right hand instinctively settling on her tummy. Lois was wearing a button-down top that wasn't designed for a protruding middle, and her fingers touched bare skin.

"Fourteen weeks, chief," she said. Then added: "If we've done the math right."

"Three and a half months," he replied softly, and she realized that his unfocused gaze was on her midsection, as though seeing her for the first time. "Six to go."

Lois tried not to fidget, but was suddenly aware that she was wearing neither bra nor panties—all of her undergarments victims of Blaze's complete lack of household laundry progress—and she swore that her shirt and the little black skirt she was wearing had shrunk. The pregnant reporter knew that getting into them had been a bit of a challenge this morning, but thought she didn't look too unpresentable...as long as she was holding still and tried to suck in her gut.

"Is there a problem, chief?"

A pained expression crossed his face. "There's been complaints. Folks at the office...inappropriately dressed."

Lois Lane's nostrils flared. A stab of righteous indignation ran up her spine, causing her to lean forward, legs spreading apart as far as the skirt would allow, not even thinking what the older man might see through the glass top of his desk.

"What?" She demanded. "I'm just starting to show and people want me to wear a maternity dress? Chief, you can tell those b—"

"It's not just you," Perry held up his hands as if to ward off her accusation. "Jimmy showed up in...well, in my day it would be drag, I don't know what to call it in his generation. Kids these days. As far as I'm concerned, as long as it doesn't interfere with your work, you can wear whatever the hell you want. I know you're dealing with a lot, pregnant single mother and all that..."

The reporter's mouth set in a grim line. "I'm not single. I'm in a relationship. With the baby's father."

He raised an eyebrow and lowered his hands to the table. "Marriage?"

She showed him the ring.

The editor considered this and shook his head. "Your business, not mine. Didn't mean to pry. Old instincts. Anyway, that's not really what I wanted to talk with you about. The thing is, I've got a new assignment...one that would get you out of the office a bit. I would have offered it to you anyway, but given your condition..."

"You don't think I'm a good fit because I got knocked up?" Lois said, disbelievingly.

He winced again. "On the contrary. You're pluperfect for it." The editor picked up a folder from the desk and handed it to her.

"A little bird in Vice squad told me there's an escort service being run out of Metropolis University—but not your usual co-eds. They're all...in the family way."

Lois took the folder, suddenly all ears. "Pregnant prostitutes? Chief..."

"According to the Vice file, there's a connection with your missing women case from three or four months back. Same club." The reporter looked at him sharply, but if Perry White did the math on that and Lois Lane's own pregnancy, his face didn't show it. "Read the file. If you feel up to it, I can authorize you going undercover for a few weeks...get you out of the office, let the folks getting their panties in a twist over rising hemlines and young men wearing lipstick a chance to calm down. What do you say, Lane?"

She clutched the folder to her belly, heart thumping loud in her ears.

"You can count on me, chief," she promised, wondering what she was really getting herself into this time.