TOC Part Seven Thanks once more to Sara Kraft for BRing.
This is it, FoLCs. Hope you enjoy!
******
Production Meeting Eight:
"So... home stretch, people," Paul said, looking around. "Seth, what have we got?"
"A lot of traffic this time. It's looking good. They loved seeing Tempus."
"He's fun to write," Timmy said. "We'll have to do more with him next season."
"Sounds good to me," Paul replied. "What else, Seth?"
"A fair amount about the effects issues from last part."
"Oh?"
"Some disappointment, some admiration for the work-around... Some guy who thinks computers have eighty gigabytes of storage..."
"Eighty gigs?" Brian's eyes nearly popped out. "What year is *he* living in? I thought the two gig drive I just got was pretty good. Sheesh. Next you'll be telling me he's got a 10x CD-ROM drive."
Seth shrugged, then went back to his printouts. "It looks like that guy has some company."
Timmy looked up at that. "Yeah?"
"That woman who thought you were her father..."
"I liked her," the writer commented.
"She's afraid she'll disappear when we go off the air or she'll be erased from this part or something."
Timmy turned to address the camera. "It's okay. You'll still be here. After we're done filming, the whole episode will go into the studio archives. It'll be kept there for a long, long time."
"She's still making that same request," Seth added.
"Well, I'll see what I can do," Timmy said, scribbling on his notepad. "After all this, she deserves it."
Seth went back to his printouts. "Hmm. Looks like Dan has at least one sympathizer. Of a sort."
"There's always one," Steph said. "Sorry, whoever you are. Looks like you're outvoted."
"Well, at least we can tell Dan that someone appreciates his work," Kate put in.
Seth glanced down again and hastily covered up something about a proper funeral. "Uhm, yeah. Sure."
"Anything else?" Paul asked.
"Mixed feelings about seeing the end. Looking forward to the conclusion, but sad to see it go..."
"Wow, it's not every episode that can get that kind of reaction. Good job, everyone!" Paul let them enjoy that for a while before continuing the meeting. "Steph?"
"Jimmy quit," she announced.
"What? Oh. Well, that's okay. It's not like we've really had much use for him lately..."
"That's exactly why he quit," she replied, waggling a finger.
"We can always find another one if we need to," Brian added.
Timmy shrugged.
"Anything else?" Paul asked.
She waved her hand vaguely. "Perry still wants more lines."
"Maybe next week," Paul said. He turned to Timmy. "There's that street fair at the beginning..." he suggested.
Timmy gave a little sideways nod. "I'll find something for him."
"Good," Paul replied. He turned to look across the table. "Brian?"
"My work for now is done. We have everyone we need for this week and next."
"Great! Kate, how are things on the technical side?"
"Just fine." She scanned her notes once more. "Everything's in place."
"Wow. Okay, then. Let's get to it!"
******
Part Eight:
Lois struggled with her bonds, but whoever had tied the ropes holding her to the chair had been very thorough. An ominous ticking sound filled the room.
She looked up at the sound of a familiar woosh. Superman had come to help her! Oddly, he seemed to be wearing a garish hawaiian shirt instead of his cape. His hair was curly and unkempt, and she had a hard time focusing on his face. It seemed blurred, somehow.
"No!" she shouted. "Stay back, SuperDan! There's a Kryptonite-coated chicken!"
"The colonel's secret recipe!" the hero exclaimed, stumbling back in horror. "My one weakness! Will I never be free of your vile legacy, Trask?"
"You can't help me this time."
"But I want to save you," he responded plaintively.
"I don't want a rescuer," she found herself telling him. She stopped her struggling and stood up, the ropes falling away. "I want a partner." She looked at the ticking clock, then back to the man in the brightly-colored outfit. "Sorry, but I have to go. He's waiting for me. I just hope I'm not too late..."
She turned away and headed for the door, but just as she put her hand out to open it, a loud buzzing sound filled the room.
Lois gasped, startled. The room disappeared. She opened her eyes, and... Oh.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she rolled over and turned off the alarm.
***
"... so it turns out this time traveller, Tempus, was behind the whole thing," Lois told Clark that evening. He'd come over to her place, ostensibly so they could review the situation. Both knew, without having to say it, that there would be more to it. "You know, every time I hear that name, I get this nagging sense of Deja Vu, but... never mind. As far as I can tell, Lex didn't even know about the project in the first place. He still has ties to what's left of the company, but they're trying to distance themselves from him. They especially don't want him involved with military projects, not while he's in prison."
Clark shifted and put an arm around her. "Well, Tempus has been turned over to the proper authorities. Superman brought him to the police, but no sooner was his name in the books than some people walked in, claimed jurisdiction, and took him away."
She pulled away so she could look at his face. "What people?"
"Some kind of... time police," he said, shaking his head. "Superman didn't know what to make of them, but they seemed genuine."
She frowned, pursing her lips. "Hmm. Well, I hope they can keep him from coming back."
He took the opportunity to plant a quick kiss on her lips. "Me too."
She smiled up at him, but then sighed as a new thought crossed her mind. "You realize, of course, that we can't possibly print any of this."
"A top secret military project headed by a time-travelling villain who vanished off the face of the Earth... Yeah, probably best if we don't try to write it up."
"Who would believe it?"
Clark grinned mischievously. "The National Whisper?"
She slapped him playfully on the arm. "So what do we write?" she asked after a moment.
"We'll find something," Clark said, unworried. "Worse come to worse, we'll do a write-up on the charity street fair tomorrow."
"I told Perry I wasn't going. He wanted me to do some kind of hokey fortune telling gig."
"Well, we don't have to go as volunteers..."
"How else would we go?"
"As just another everyday couple?" he suggested, with only a slight hint of tentativeness.
She chuckled with a slight shake of her head.
He smiled back, but not very convincingly.
"You and I, Clark, will never be the 'everyday' sort. I mean, just look at everything that's happened in the last two years..."
The smile became more genuine. "I have to give you that." He waited, but she didn't say anything more. "So what about it?" he prompted her.
"What about what?" she asked innocently.
"Going. To the fair. As a... couple."
"Oh, that," she replied as if she'd forgotten. Perhaps she had. "Well, it's not exactly dinner at Fouquet's..." She paused, thinking about it.
Clark held his breath.
"But it's not the Smallville Corn Festival, either," she said, with a twinkle in her eye.
"Don't tell me you didn't have fun at the Corn Festival."
She smiled ruefully, caught. "Okay, so maybe I did. Helps to have the right company."
She was rewarded with a blush and a grin. "So..."
"Yes...?"
"Tomorrow?"
She finally gave in. "Yes. I'll go with you."
"It'll be just a nice quiet day out," he assured her.
She snuggled into him a little. "Sounds good," she said.
Plans set for the following day, they shifted their focus to the present, to exploring their budding relationship. Dan Scardino, distracting suitor and annoying rival, was forgotten for a time. There were more important and immediate concerns. For example, just how many kisses were too many at this stage? Only one way to find out...
(Part Eight
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