This Is Not The End. This Is Only The Beginning

Lois Lane shivered and shook, tasting the bile in her throat. Her mind ran over the events of her night out over and over...and every time, she hit a blank spot in her memory. It had to be something with the **** Ivy must have been slipping her...the reporter realized she had lost an entire forty weeks of her life.

With an effort, she struggled off the bed and to her feet...and saw the changes that her pregnancy had made to her body.

It was like looking at a stranger. Her skin was sickly pale. Gone was the carefully-trimmed pubic hair, her bush overgrown, her pussy lips protruding thicker and darker than she remembered. Her ass was fuller, too, hips wider. There was a bit of sag to her abdomen now, although not quite a pot-belly, and the white lightning-like streaks of stretch marks. Her breasts, previously teardrop-shaped palmfuls with pink, pointed nipples, had swollen and sagged a little—Lois estimated she'd gone from B-cups to D-cups—prominent with blue veins, and the nipples were a dark brown instead of the delicate pink she remembered. Her hair had not been cut, and now hung past her shoulders in unruly black waves.

There were clothes in a chair by the bed. A red maternity dress that hung loose and limp over the reporter's stomach, a nursing bra, white granny-panties, open-toed sandals.

Grimly, feeling the unfamiliar aches and pains, Lois dressed herself. Her mind was already thinking ahead. She wanted her life back—but more than that, she wanted her child.

Leyla. Just the name was a stab through the heart.

Out of the building. Lois blinked against the sunlight, her sun-starved skin felt like it burned. She sniffed the air and knew she was no longer in Metropolis...looked up at a skyline of Gothic skyscrapers, heard the wail of sirens...and knew she was in Gotham.

There was a newsstand on the corner. Lois slowly and painfully walked up to it. She could feel herself out of shape, and her body used to a waddle carrying around a passenger that wasn't there anymore. Her eyes scanned the newspapers, found the Daily Planet...and saw Clark Kent's byline on the front page:

Whatever Happened to Lois Lane?

"I'm right here," she whispered, throat tight. She looked up at the dealer in the newsstand, a grizzled black man with tired eyes and a patchy salt-and-pepper beard.

"Excuse me, I've been ****," she said. "Could I borrow your phone?"

He blinked, looked Lois up and down....the reporter knew she was far from making her best appearance...and then opened a little door in the side and indicated the ancient landline telephone. Lois smiled and stepped inside...but she wasn't about to call the police.