In Space, No One Can Hear You…

By Terry Leatherwood <>

Rated: PG

Submitted: June 2007

Summary: This little bit of weirdness was inspired by Clark's difficulty with Lois's rumaki.

This little bit of weirdness was inspired by Clark's difficulty with Lois's rumaki. Enjoy.


Superman adjusted his full-faced oxygen mask and took a deep breath. The twin tanks held enough air for a normal person to breathe for two hours, so he would be able to finish both the EPRAD observatory satellite repair and the LexComm communications satellite upgrade this evening without having to come back for more air.

He felt the gust coming and he adjusted for it. It wouldn't do to have his head and hands inside the delicate guts of the expensive equipment he was working on only to be blown against some highly breakable components by a sudden breeze. At least they'd given him a little extra boost on the way up.

He sighed into his mask. Sometimes it seemed that being married was just as much a never-ending battle as fighting injustice and inequity was. Maybe Lois would be asleep by the time he finished. Of course, she might not be over being mad for several days, and it might be a good idea for a couple of reasons to sleep on the couch tonight. It just didn't pay to antagonize Lois Lane-Kent.

He grimaced as he went over the evening's events again in his mind. She knew what pasta did to him, so if she was in a romantic mood why did she change the menu at the last minute? And to — to that dish?

<<Come on, Clark! What's the real reason you're doing this job tonight?>>

<<There's no particular reason. I just need to get these satellite missions done while the weather keeps the criminals inside.>>

<<Is it the meal? Did I mess it up somehow?>>

<<No, Lois, dinner was good. Great, even.>>

<<But you didn't like it. I can tell. Come on, Clark! Your mother makes great three-bean chili! This is her recipe! And you told me you liked it the way I cook it!>>

<<I do like it, Lois. It tastes terrific. But you're — you're doing something a little different with it lately.>>

<<I'm glad you noticed. I've added my own special set of spices.>>

<<They're wonderful, really. But I have to get these satellite projects done some time, and tonight just seems like the best time to do it..>>

<<But I thought we were going to watch the latest Lethal Weapon movie on video tonight! And then, later, I was hoping we could rehearse our own movie? The very private kind?>>

And he'd stood up and flown away from that! If not for the one bothersome little thing, he'd agree with Lois that he was a cross-eyed micro-brained idiotic Kryptonian.

But it seemed ridiculous to him. For crying out loud, he could swallow bombs! Maybe it was those spices, he mused. There were no spices in dynamite or plastic explosives. Maybe that was why —

The thrust from the unexpected breeze shifted his position and he barely dodged the exposed computer components. He'd hate to have to explain why he'd crushed the equipment he'd been asked to repair or upgrade.

He'd just have to pay more attention, be ready at all times. At least, this far outside the atmosphere, there was no medium to carry the sharp, concussive rippling sounds he was making — or would be making if he'd been in the atmosphere. He was the only one who knew that it was the one thing that made these chores so urgent, the only eventuality that could possibly tear him away from his wife for the entire evening.

In space, no one can hear you fart.