A Smallville Valentine's

Valentine's Day: Afternoon

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Clark sips his coffee as he glances around the newsroom. Lois listens expressionlessly to whoever is on the other end of her phone as she doodles on a notepad with a red pen, slowly filling the white sheet with red hearts.

He looks through the glass windows surrounding Perry White's office, and idly watches as the editor yells at the errant reporter, currently on parade in the office as a dread example to others. One day he'll be important enough to get yelled at in that office instead of brushed off with a nuisance assignment. The phone on his black metal desk rings as Cat Grant saunters across to the break room.

"Daily Planet tip line," Clark answers as he absently watches Cat rummage in the fridge, her short black skirt inches higher and higher up her bare thighs as she leans deeper and deeper into the fridge. Finally she turns around with a diet soda. She sweeps her long red hair over one shoulders of her tight pink sweater, and stares at Clark as she pops the top on her soda. Clark looks away. "What's your tip? Oh, hello, Mr. Sanford. What do you have for us today?"

Clark leans back in his chair, turning a yellow pencil between his fingers. He drops it in shock as Cat captures his gaze again and drinks from her can. God. What is wrong with her? To be fair, he might have been impressed if he had been exposed to years of watching Lex with a water bottle, and her act is probably good enough for whichever of his fellow newshounds it's aimed at this time.

He looks over his shoulder, wondering which of the guys had caught Cat's attention. Maybe Jake; rumor had it that Cat like blonds. "Sir? Did you say that the mayor's an alien? Yes, Mr. Sanford. What makes you think that the mayor's – she taps out secret messages with her high heels during city council meetings? Yes sir, you're the first to mention it. Yes, you do get a free Daily Planet tee shirt if we use your tip. Thank you for calling."

Clark hangs up. He scowls at Lois. "Next time you have a wonderful idea for a pair of intrepid investigative reporters to investigate, recruit some other sap."

"Wimp. So what if we have to man the Planet Tip Line while Joe's out sick? It could be worse. We could be sentenced to updating obit files. At least this way, we have a chance to come across something interesting, and get into more trouble."

"Lois," Clark gives her a stern look.

She grins back him, unimpressed. "So tell me, Smallville, does the mayor favor Morse Code, or does she use some arcane alien code?"

"I don't know. You want me to give Mr. Sanford your cell number when he calls tomorrow to leave a tip about how the giraffes at the zoo are really spies? If you give him a free tee shirt, he'll be happy to tell all."

"Very funny, Clark." Lois selects a green pen from her pencil holder. She begins sketching big pointy green arrows sticking out of each red heart. "Are you going to the Talon this evening?"

"Valentine parties aren't my sort of thing."

"Couldn't get a date, huh?"

"I chose not to ask anyone," Clark announces with dignity. He is, after all, a married man and off the market, even if he can't tell Lois yet. First, he has to tell Lex, but how? It's not the kind of thing that you simply walk up to a guy and throw at him.

How can he tell Lex about an alien wedding without confessing to being an alien? What if Lex believes him – will Lex want to, Clark blushes, do stuff with him? God, he hopes so. But what if Lex doesn't believe him and speed dials Belle Reve? Or believes him and sends for the mad scientist squad?

"Yeah. Right. Admit it, Smallville. You couldn't get a date if you came with a limo and tux."

"I have a tux. A very nice tux," Clark adds with a wistful sigh as he remembers Lex helping him pick it out, and teaching him how to fasten the tricky bowtie. "And I could rent a limo if I wanted, but I refuse to make plans to celebrate such a silly holiday."

"Uh-huh." Lois cocks her head. She looks at him, eyes bright with curiosity. "Admit it. You're too chicken to ask anyone."

"I am not chicken."

"Then ask the girl already. You've asked girls out before, so you must know how. Do whatever you did that got my cousin to go out with you."

"I can't."

"Wimp."

"Lois."

"Go on, ask. I dare you. I double dare you. I triple dare you." Lois turns a considering stare on the other people in the newsroom. "We need to find you a date for the Talon."

"No, we don't."

"That's your inner wimp talking, Smallville."

"Seriously, Lois, drop it. I don't need a date."

"Wimpy, wimpy, wimpy," Lois chants softly. "Stop stalling, Clark. It's just a date, and I'm sick of seeing you mope."

"I don't want a date. I don't need a date."

"Of course, you do. It's Valentine's, Clark. You have to have a date. Maybe Oliver knows someone who'd be up for a mercy date. You don't want Lana to see you all broody and alone at the Talon's bash tonight, do you?"

"What do you care? You won't be there to see it. You'll be shopping for your trip so you'll be ready to jet off with Oliver tomorrow." Clark squints at his cooling coffee until a wisp of steam curls upward. He frowns at Lois' silence. She'd been bubbling over all morning until that last phone call. He asks softly, "Lois? Did something come up?"

Lois gives him a tight smile. "Italy's been rescheduled, so I'm free tonight. If Oliver feeds me a good enough lunch, I might even let him go to the Talon with me. I hear there's going to be vender booths, and all sorts of free samples. Plus Lana's hired a band to play."

Ouch. Clark takes a drink from his cup. He frowns at the barely warm liquid. "Are Chloe and Jimmy going too?"

"I don't think she was intending to go, but Jimmy finally talked her into it." Lois leans closer. "Clark, do you know anything about this frog prince guy?"

"The frog what?"

"It's some guy that Chloe's been talking to online. I managed to pry that much out of her on the drive to Metropolis this morning, but she won't say much about him."

"Oh, online. That's some screen name." Clark shakes his head.

"Clark, he knows where Chloe works. He sent her a Valentine's gift there."

"You know how it is. Mr. Sanford sent us tinfoil so we could protect ourselves from radio waves." Clark grins at Lois' stare. "His heart's in the right place, even if his head's covered in foil. I wouldn't worry too much about Chloe getting stuff at the Inquisitor."

Lois crosses her arms over her chest. "I don't like it."

"Why? Did he send her something weird?"

"It was a coffee mug."

"Whoa, that's creepy alright. You better call Sheriff Adams." Clark grins as he imagines the blunt sheriff's reaction. He puts his cup down as the phone rings, "Daily Planet tip line. What's your tip?"

"Have fun." Lois pushes back her chair. "I'm off to meet Oliver for lunch."

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Oliver sits at his desk, absently watching the caterers turn his meeting room table into a setting for a romantic lunch for two. Block had died in the warehouse, and a day later, Wagner had been found dead, the apparent victim of a heart attack. Then every electronic copy of his Dark Thursday images of Lex had vanished without a trace.

Which one of the Luthors had done it – Lex or Lionel? Oliver frowns. Lex's secret serum story seems all too likely. It would be just like Lex to begin a quest to acquire powers the second that Luthor discovered metahumans. That would explain Lex suddenly developing abilities. Or was it suddenly?

Had Luthor had powers at Excelsior, and been concealing them? Even back then, he'd sensed that the bastard had been dangerous, but after Lex had caught him stealing tests, he'd been forced to back off, and negotiate a truce instead. They'd finished out their school years, amid flurries of covert sabotage and sniping. Oliver pushes back from his desk and walks over to his mini-kitchen. He opens the miniature fridge and pulls out a carton of his favorite chocolate cheesecake yogurt.

He wanders back to his desk, swallowing a spoonful. As if the taste summons Lois, he can see her standing in the middle of the room; long fawn hair falling over her barely covered breasts. She scowls at him, her hazel eyes baleful. Oliver shakes his head with regret. He can't blame her; he'd be pissed too if his girl kept getting mysterious calls and putting him off. But he can't ignore his calls. Not when it's team business. Or even when it's business business; the team and the missions are expensive.

And he can't tell Lois what he's doing. Not after what happened the last time someone suspected that she knew the Green Arrow's identity. His lips thin as he remembers seeing the Safetex goons shove her head under the water. If he thought those tactics would work on Lex, he'd be tempted to try it. Oliver licks his spoon as he enjoys a vision of shoving Lex's bald head under water, again and again and again.

There had been a time when he would have done it. Back in his Excelsior days, before Luthor had the stolen tests to hold over his head, he wouldn't have hesitated to round-up a few buddies, and ambush Lex in the bathrooms. In fact, he had done it, and it had been fun, but he doesn't do that sort of thing any more. He's one of the good guys now – the kind of guy who deserves a girlfriend like Lois, even if he can't quite manage to actually get to the full coitus stage.

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There. All done. Alexander sets his screw driver next to a pair of pliers. He stands back to admire the shiny black metal of his interdimensional travel capsule. He flicks a linen handkerchief from his pocket and rubs away a smudge.

He glances at the read-outs on the flat screen monitor hooked up to the flashing array of lights and gleaming switches and flickering dials dotting the control panel. The screen shows a tender young Clark, shirtless and glistening with sweat, as the boy sits brooding in the loft doors. Clark kicks the heels of his work boots against the red-painted wood.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. This Clark is bored and ready for something different and new in his world. Disposing of the drug-addled double in that dimension should pose no problem. And won't the Lionel who keeps his son so well supplied with drink and drugs be surprised at the sudden recovery.

Alexander checks the settings one last time before he turns away. This calls for a celebratory trip to the wine cellar for a little something to accompany his lunch. He'll leave a bottle of something expensive, something that Lex has been saving for a very special occasion, empty beside his empty capsule. Too bad, he'll miss seeing the look on his double's face.

As he walks away, a mouse scampers across the control board. Its foot hits one switch and the tail slides over the touchpad as it jumps back to the floor, disappointed in its quest for food.

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"Oooooh, Oliver." Lois pants. She'd had her doubts when he pulled out that pint of chocolate yogurt and began spooning it over her boobies, but – oooh – did her guy have a mouth on him. Nothing got her as hot as a beautiful guy sucking on her breasts and Oliver seemed more than happy to give her girls his complete attention.

Lois arches against the red rose-petals scattered across the pink linen table cloth. Her hands clench in Oliver's blond-streaked hair as he sucks her nipple back into his mouth. She smiles as she catches a glimpse of her new emerald and gold bracelet. Her thighs clench with need around his slim waist. She's about ready to come, and if Oliver doesn't shove her red skirt up and her white lace panties down in the next five seconds, and slide inside, she just might go to Jamaica without him.

Of course, even if she does, she'll still let him take her panties off for another go at winning a Jamaican vacation, because she's generous that way. Maybe she should speed things along. Lois slides her hands down the green wool of his business jacket, and beneath the open plackets of his broadcloth shirt to pop open the button at his waistband. "Ooooliver. Please. I need you."

She freezes in stunned disbelief as his phone rings in his jacket pocket. He goes still on top of her, and then lifts reluctantly away to stand between her spread legs. He stares down at her and takes a deep breath as he reaches for his phone.

"Ummm, Lois. I'm sorry. Really, really sorry, but –"

She glares at him. "Oliver, don't you dare!"

He shrugs apologetically and pulls out the ringing phone. "I'm sorry, Lois. I can't just ignore my calls. They're important."

"Oliver. I'm important! We're important! This is important!"

"Lois." He glances down at the ID screen and sighs heavily. "I really have to take this."

"Well, I don't have to take this!"

"Lois, don't. Wait. Of course, we're important, and this is important. God knows this is important, but I have to take this call. Look, I'll make it up to you. I promise. Go make yourself comfortable in the bedroom, and I'll –"

"Do what? WHAT Oliver?" Lois snaps her bra over her sticky breasts, grimacing at the feel of scratchy lace on her sensitized nipples. She yanks sweater over her head. "Talk on the damned phone some more! I hope you, your phone, and your yogurt have a good time together because I'm gone! Somewhere out there is a man who thinks getting in my pants is more important than taking a phone call, and I'm going to find him, right NOW!"

"Lois, wait!"

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Clark bends over the photocopier, delicately easing the jammed paper free. Fingers skitter down his spine and cup his khaki covered ass. He yelps in surprise and turns around to find Cat Grant smirking at him. Oh, god. He'd overheard guys talking her in the men's room on his very first day; half of them had been appalled, and the other half loitered in hopes of an encounter.

There'd been another guy in here when he came in. Had she accidentally groped the wrong guy? Clark looks around the small beige room. When had the other guy left? How had the door gotten closed? Oh, god, she is after him. Shit. What's he gonna do? He tries giving her a stern look. "Miss Grant, you shouldn't touch me like that. It's wrong."

"You can call me, Cat." She makes a mock purring noise at him. "In private."

Apparently his stern look needs work. Lots of work. Now what? Clark preemptively backs his ass up against the copier, taking it out of easy grabbing range. He lowers his file folder to a defensive position in front of his groin. Where's Lois when he actually wants her to barge into a room? Can he channel some Lexitude? Clark draws himself up to his full height and stares down his nose at her. "This is highly inappropriate."

"Oh, you're blushing. That's so sweet. I hear you're packed with farm fresh goodness."

Okay. Lexitude delivery needs work too. Well, he'd known that was an iffy tactic going in. Maybe he should do the barn mouse thing and run away very fast. Clark eases away from the copier, file folder firmly in place as he keeps his back to the metal shelves lined with reams of paper, and boxes of toner. "If you need to make copies, Miss Grant, I'm finished."

"Cat. Arrrroaw."

"I – umm – I have a dog. At home. On the farm." Clark takes another wary step closer to the door. He glances at Cat and then door. Shit. It opens in. He's going to have to step toward her to pull it open. "His name's Shelby. I like dogs."

"So you really are farm fresh."

"I did grow up on a farm. An organic farm," Clark babbles as he gropes blindly behind his back for the doorknob as she moves closer. Oh, god. Where is it? WHERE is it? Where IS it? Where in the hell is IT? "We grow things. Organically. All sorts of things. Corn. Apples."

"Uummmuuumm. Organic. That would explain how you've grown up to be such a big, strapping boy with such a big round pair of –"

Oh, god. She's reaching for him, and suddenly his folder looks awfully flimsy. Surely his parents would forgive a tiny, tiny burst of speed. Clark yanks the door open, and darts outside only to collide with someone as the door closes behind him. He drops his folder, papers fluttering to the floor, as he reaches out to steady his editor.

"Kent." Perry frowns at him. "What the hell is wrong with you, son?"

"Nothing, sir." Clark scoops up his folder and papers up. He peeks distrustfully at the mild expression on Perry's face. He'd been waiting all morning to get reprimanded for being late again. Why did people always have to get into trouble when he was on his way to work? "I'm sorry, sir."

"We're all glad that you finally made it in, Kent."

Clark gives the editor an uncertain look. "Thank you, sir?"

"Because, son," Perry rocks back on his heels, "I've nominated you to be the official lunch boy for the rest of the week. So go find out what the crew wants for lunch and go fetch it. And Clark, when you've proved that you can handle that much responsibility – I might even send you out on assignment."

"Yes, sir," Clark murmurs meekly. Oh, god, the lunch boy gig means that he's going to have to ask Cat and what she wants for lunch. Maybe Chloe has an opening over at the Inquisitor for one slightly used journalist.

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Miss Jones sniffs as the elevator doors open. What is that? God. Has someone been burning something? It can't be time for that dreadful Take The Kids To Work Day already. Please, god, no. Anything but that. She hastily checks her calendar. No, she's safe for a while longer, but if it's not that, then what is that scorched wool smell?

Her eyes widen as her boss stumbles out. Angry pink sunburned blotches spread over his nose and across his forehead, and high cheekbones. Is that a splotch of soot over his left eyebrow? His hair is sticking up and out in all directions, bristling with blackened ends. His olive jacket looks like it has been molested by rabid wolverines with lighters.

"Miss Jones." Mr. Queen rests his briefcase on her desk, apparently oblivious to the crumpled corners and the still gently smoking hole in the center.

"Yes, sir?" She drags her gaze back up to his brown eyes. They're ringed with black as if Mr. Queen had suddenly decided to try out a Goth look.

"Call my stylist. Get him to come to my office." He lifts a hand and tentatively fingers the ragged, scorched ends of his blond hair. He looks down in dismay at the fine strands that come away with his hand.

"Some places are shutting down early because of the storm warnings, sir. He might not –"

"Offer him double his usual rate. Triple if you have to. I have an important date tonight. If I cancel one more thing on Lois today," Mr. Queen sighs. His shoulders slump at a tired angle. "Pay him whatever you have to. Just get him here."

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He's not going to survive a whole week of being lunch boy gig. Taking the orders and juggling the various bags and boxes back to work had been the easy part. Delivering had been the bad part. He almost hadn't made it out of Cat's office with his trousers or his virtue intact.

He could ask Lois for advice. She loves to tell other people what to do. And her advice is often surprisingly good. Clark glances over his monitor at her scowling face. Had she and Oliver had another fight? She had seemed like she was okay when she left the office despite that thing with Italy. And she's wearing a pretty bracelet that she hadn't been wearing when she left the office. He looks away from the queasy green shine of the emeralds.

"What?" Lois demands sharply. Her head snaps around as she glares at a passing reporter chatting on his cell.

"What what?" Clark asks, trying to look as if he's never heard of a cell phone, much less ever answered one. He adjusts his navy jacket, covering the snazzy red one holstered at the waistband of his khaki trousers.

"You're the one staring at me, Smallville. What is your tiny little problem?"

Tiny little problem?! Clark narrows his eyes. "Nothing. How was lunch with Oliver?"

"Fine."

"Good. Is he going to the Talon with you this evening?"

Lois tosses her hair. "No."

"No? But I thought you were –"

"I decided not to ask him." Lois levels a considering stare at man in an expensive pinstripe suit. She watches as he disappears into Perry's office. "Some times, a girl needs to shake things up a bit. Oliver isn't the only fish in the ocean."

Maybe not, but Oliver's a fish with big pointy teeth. Clark gives Mr. Pinstripes a pitying stare. Guy'd never know what hit him if Lois took him to the Talon and dangled him in front of Oliver. He's not gonna hang around to watch the carnage. Besides, he's got his own set of 'tiny little problems' to deal with.

He still hasn't figured out how to tell Lex, and he's running out of time. He might just have to show up at the castle and improvise. Clark pushes away from his desk and strolls out into the hall. He picks up the pace as he passes Cat loitering in the hallway with one of her minions. She winks and makes purring noises at him. He can feel her stare on his back; the walk to the men's room has never felt so long in his life.

He hurries inside. Please let Chloe be taking calls. No one at the urinals. Clark scans the gray stalls standing on top of the white tile floor. Alone at last. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hits his speed dial. "Chloe. Hey. Do you have a second? I was wondering if –"

"Clark! What's wrong?"

Clark raises his eyebrows at her urgent tone. He hasn't even gotten to his problem yet. "Chloe? Is something –"

"Clark, slow down. You know you talk too fast when you're upset."

"Why are you talking like you're auditioning for a disaster movie?" Clark asks. In the background he can hear a strange squooosh noise and Jimmy's voice talking about whips. He blinks. Jimmy's into whips? The vision of Jimmy in black leather and chains leaves him stunned speechless for a critical moment.

"Lana's got another stalker?" Chloe gasps loudly. "She needs me. Of course, I'll help, Clark. I'll be right there!"

Clark slowly lowers his phone. He stares down at the red cover. What the heck had just happened?

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Jimmy frowns as he sets the can of blueberry whip back on the lunch room table. He admires Chloe's loyalty to her friends. He really does. But can't she have normal friends? Friends who aren't always calling her. Friends who aren't so damned needy and helpless. Friends with leaky sinks instead of stalkers.

If it isn't Clark on the phone with some problem, it's Lana, or Lois, and lately, even Lois' new boyfriend has been making a suspicious number of calls to Chloe. And then there are those new guys that he'd seen hanging around her – a weedy teenager, a bulky blond, and a slim black guy; only a matter of time before they take to calling Chloe too. Jimmy takes a sip of water and eats a piece of bread to clear his palate. "Lana's getting stalked? Again?"

Chloe frowns at him. "What's that supposed to mean – 'again'?"

"What?" Jimmy picks up the Orange Fever whip and squirts a line on the back of his hand. If Chloe will only give the whip a chance, he knows that she'll love it as much as he does. "Are you sure you don't want to try this one? It's got a nice balance of tart and sweet. Of course, if you favor a tarter flavor, you can't go wrong with a good lemon whip."

"I want to know what you meant by saying 'again' in that tone." Chloe ignores the proffered can. "You sound like you think it's Lana's fault that she gets stalked so much."

"No. No. Not at all." Jimmy sucks up the line of orange whip. He swallows thickly. "I've just never meet anyone that gets stalked so often by so many different people. It's weird."

"Weird? Weird." Chloe snaps her phone shut and drops it in her tote. "And yes, you have. You've met Lex. He gets stalked almost as often as Lana, but no one thinks that's weird. Just because Lana's a girl –"

"No, it's not that. Lex is weird too. I mean," Jimmy coughs as his second taste of whip goes down the wrong way under Chloe's cool stare. Oops, he hadn't meant to confirm that he thought one of – oh, hell, all of, if he's going to be honest with himself – Chloe's friends are Grade A Weirdoes. Damn.

Why can Chloe see that her friends are seriously strange? Clark, Lana, Lois, and Pete all seem normal on the surface. But the more time he spends around them, the more weirdness peeks around the edges. And their families have that same big ol' streak of weird. Even Chloe's dad is odd. If he hears one more crap factory joke, Jimmy sighs.

"Really, Jimmy." Chloe folds her lunch bag and shoves it in her tote. "Next thing I know, you'll be saying that she asked for it. Lana can't help being so –"

"Lex Luthor's rich and famous and gets stalked. That I get. But Lana? I mean, come on."

"Lana's special."

Jimmy mutters, "I'll say."

"What was that?" Chloe demands sharply.

"Wanna try some strawberry whip?"

"No, I don't." Chloe stands up, smoothing her royal blue sweater. "I have to go."

"Oh. Well, don't forget the Talon's party. We're still on for that, right?"

Chloe sighs deeply. "I'll meet you there, Jimmy, but we need to talk."

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Clark reluctantly walks into the Talon and looks around. The place is crowded with people and vender booths as well as billowing balloon herds of cupids and hearts. All that pink and white makes him long for clear, strong yellows, and reds, and blues of his farm.

A narrow-faced girl dressed as a gypsy catches his eye and smirks at him. He looks hastily away, scanning the crowd. His thoughts drift wistfully to the imperial purples, rich creams, bold blacks, and mellow grays of Luthor castle.

"C.K.! Over here!"

Clark sighs as he sees Jimmy waving energetically at him. Ever since Jimmy had figured out that he and Chloe had once been more than friends, the photographer had been throwing girls in his path like someone flinging rice at a bridegroom. Clark waves and strolls toward the little trio of Chloe, Lois, and Jimmy.

His eyes widen as he catches Jimmy's sidelong look at Lois. Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Absolutely not happening. Has Jimmy been talking him up to Lois? Surely she wouldn't be interested. He relaxes as he sees that her attention is on a tall blond on the opposite side of the room. Clark veers sharply away, ignoring the droop of Jimmy's smile, and Chloe's raised eyebrows. Oh, god. He needs a drink.

Too bad the strongest thing he can buy here is coffee or chocolate. He leans over the counter and, hesitates – chocolate, coffee, or bottled water? He finally orders his usual mocha with a double shot of espresso. Maybe all the caffeine will get his brain going. He's running out of time, and he still doesn't have a plan. Or even an idea. What if he can't make Lex listen to him? What if Lex is so pissed about being covertly married that he wants Clark's parts to fall off? What if –

"Save me, Smallville." Lois squeezes in beside him, and orders a cappuccino. "That idiot Jimmy keeps babbling about some guy he wants me to date."

Clark chokes on his first sip of mocha. "What?"

"I'm not asking for anything beyond your limited social skills, Clark, so just relax. All I need you to do is stand beside me and loom at any guy who walks over. Then while you're looming, I'll go all mega-bitch, and with any luck, Jimmy's buddy will run screaming for the door. That's the plan, okay?" Lois frowns suspiciously as she glances over her shoulder. "Why is Jimmy smiling like that?"

"Because he thinks his evil plan is working."

Lois turns back to stare at Clark. "What?"

Clark sighs. "I'm the guy, Lois."

"You?" Her eyes widen in amazement. "You? That scrawny idiot thinks that I would – with you?!"

"Me. Why do you think I'm hiding over here?"

"You've got a thing for lurking in corners, Smallville. Everyone knows that if they want to find you at a party, all they have to do is check out the hidey-holes and corners. Sorta like looking for a spider."

"Gee, thanks, Lois. If you get any more flattering, my ego's gonna need CPR." Clark walks away from the counter, and pauses on the edge of the crowd, looking for a free table. A spot where he can watch the crowd, listen to the music, and think about how he's gonna get Lex's attention long enough to tell the older man the news.

Lois follows him, sipping her drink. She stands next to him, looking over the swirling crowd of happy dancers and chatters. "Hey, how do you think I feel after you just announced that you were hiding over here to avoid hooking up with me?"

"Nothing personal, Lois. That's a matter of sheer self-preservation. Oliver would kill me if I tried to hook-up with his girl."

Lois rolls her eyes. "As if I'd have you. No accounting for tastes though – you know, if you'd stop wearing such boring clothes, and put yourself forward a little more, you could get dates."

"Boring clothes?" Clark stares at her. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"What you're wearing now is fine," she soothes. "Not even you can go wrong with black jeans and a sweater. The leather jacket's a nice touch. No, I meant this morning's getup. Khaki trousers, white shirt, navy jacket – god, could you be more traditional? One thing I gotta say for the bald freak next door, he knows how to dress. You could do worse than ask him for suggestions."

"Don't call him that."

"Or ask Oliver. Somebody needs to show you how to dress and help you with other stuff."

"Other stuff?" Clark asks nervously.

"Yeah." Lois takes a sip of her coffee as she slowly looks him over. "Look at the way you're standing – fidgety and twitchy. You look like a whole bed of ants just crawled up your legs. I'm amazed that Chloe and Lana were willing to be seen in public with you. You've got all the social grace of a one of your dad's dairy cows."

"Thanks a lot, Lois. That was real helpful." Clark looks over the crowd and spots Chloe standing by herself as Jimmy eases toward the coffee counter. "I'm gonna go talk to Chloe."

"You do that. I'm gonna see what's shakin' in this joint." Lois walks toward a handsome blond dancing by himself. She pauses at a vender's booth, bending down to check her hair and make-up in the small mirror that sits on the counter.

The woman behind the counter adjusts her scarf and smiles at Lois. "Down on love?"

TBC in Part Three