From Part 2:

When she crept back into her apartment at three in the morning, Lois was relieved for once to find that Lucy was still out doing whatever it was that Lucy did. Another night, another bar, another guy...and now Lois was no better, not that she’d ever confess as much to Lucy.

But Clark was different, her heart insisted. She wanted that to be true, but she didn’t really believe it. Perhaps Clark could have been different if she’d had the courage to be honest with him...but no, she didn’t really believe that either. Clark wanted Wanda Detroit, not Lois Lane, and Wanda Detroit didn’t exist. She had turned back into Lois Lane the minute she’d left a note on Clark’s pillow, and she hadn’t managed to conveniently leave any glass slippers behind. She would never see Clark Kent again.

As she slipped between the cool sheets of her bed, she told herself that it was for the best.

_____________________________

Part 3:

Clark couldn’t claim she hadn’t warned him, but that didn’t make it any less painful when he woke up and saw that all that was left of Wanda Detroit was a note on his pillow. He read it quickly and then folded the scrap of paper and put it to one side. It did nothing to assuage the emptiness he felt.

After the night they’d shared, how could she leave him without even saying goodbye? It couldn’t possibly have meant as much to her as it had to him; if it had, she would have stayed, would have been willing to find a way for them to be together. “Not relationship material,” she had said, but if she wasn’t involved with someone else, what could that possibly mean? What could keep two consenting adults from pursuing a relationship if it was what they both wanted?

The brief note left on his pillow cheapened what had seemed so magical the night before. It hadn’t been a meeting of souls after all; it had just been a one-night stand, no different from any other except that this time it had happened to him. It was the same tired story of hormones running high and two people who hadn’t bothered to fight them. And that might have been all right for someone else, but it had never been all right to Clark. He supposed that made him old-fashioned, but he had always thought that sex should be a part of a loving, committed relationship. Never once had he considered that his first sexual experience might be with a stranger he’d met in a bar.

No matter how beautiful, how sensual, how passionate the night had been, in the harsh light of day he had to admit to himself that it had meant nothing. It wasn’t the start of something. Wasn’t the consummation of anything. It was just sex. Really good sex – not that he had anything to compare it with – but just sex.

He sighed and rose naked from the bed, picking up the note and then stooping to gather up the torn condom wrappers they’d tossed to the floor the night before. In his utter shame, he almost threw it all in the trash, but then he thought better of it and tucked the note into his briefcase. He might want to look at it again one day. Not soon, but one day.

He rummaged in his suitcase for fresh clothes and then turned on the shower, hotter than usual, needing to wash her scent from his skin. Because as much as he wished it weren’t so, the faint traces of her perfume and their lovemaking were arousing him and indicting him at the same time.

He should just go home, he thought over and over as he showered and dressed. He even packed up his suitcase, tossing things in haphazardly, wanting nothing more than to leave this room and this city forever and as soon as possible. He would fly, he decided – fly home to Kansas and the job he had waiting at the Smallville Post. He didn’t belong in this city. He snapped his suitcase shut and then grabbed his wallet and slid his glasses into place. His mom had asked him to do some shopping for her while he was in Metropolis. He was going to do it as quickly as possible, and then he was going to go home.

___________________________________

Lois woke to the sound of persistent beeping, groaned into her pillow, and then snarled several very unladylike words before she finally managed to silence her alarm clock with a fumbling hand. She was never a morning person, but on three hours of sleep, she became someone to avoid at all costs. The entire newsroom would probably pay the price for Wanda Detroit’s night out, but Lois didn’t care. Why shouldn’t everyone else be as miserable as she was?

She stumbled blearily into her kitchen and went through the motions of making coffee, not bothering with measuring. The result would probably be unspeakably nasty, but if it kept her awake long enough to get to the Daily Planet, she could augment it with some that was only disgusting.

She left the coffee maker hissing on the counter and went straight through to the bathroom, where she actually emitted a small scream when she saw herself in the mirror. She hadn’t bothered to take ‘Wanda’s’ heavy makeup off before crawling into bed, and she looked like a raccoon, with smears of dark eyeliner around both eyes. She hoped the damage had been done while she slept; she could hardly bear the thought that Clark’s final memory of their encounter would be of her looking like a battered woman. She dashed into the shower, wanting to scrub away the evidence of her deception. By the time she stepped out, the last of Wanda Detroit had been washed down the drain.

She dressed for work as she always did – conservative suit, light makeup, sleek hairstyle – with only the slight shadows beneath her eyes hinting that anything was amiss. She was Lois Lane, she reminded herself firmly as she choked down a cup of coffee, and Lois Lane did not wallow. Lois Lane did not allow romantic entanglements to sidetrack her from the pursuit of her goals. She was a successful career woman, and she had work to do: the day before, a brown bag full of scraps of research had been shoved into her hands by a crazy man, and her instincts were telling her that there was a story there somewhere.

She would focus on the story. She would not think about Clark Kent, about the way his eyes had crinkled when he’d smiled at her or the way his hands had felt as they glided over her skin. She would not think about the weight of his body on hers or about the….

Dammit, Lois! She slammed her coffee cup down, ignoring the resulting mess as the dregs sloshed over onto the counter. It’s over. You had your fun, and now it’s back to real life.

“Somebody had better have made the coffee when I get there,” she muttered to herself as she grabbed her purse and hurled herself out the door.

________________________________

Clark left the Apollo with every intention of just doing his mother’s shopping quickly, but he hadn’t spent many minutes outside before he was again caught up in the excitement of the city. Once more, commuters were rushing by him, this time on their way to work, and as he wandered down Forty-Second Street in the direction of some shops he’d seen the night before, he saw business-owners unlocking doors, turning ‘closed’ signs to ‘open’, and greeting customers and employees. Clark had intended to hurry, but he found himself pausing again and again to peer into shop windows or to sneak peeks at interesting pedestrians.

Wanda had hurt him. His own poor judgment had probably hurt him even more. In his hotel room, surrounded by the memories of the night before, it had almost hurt to breathe. Outside, however, it was a new day, and though he knew it would be a very long time before he was able to put his experience with Wanda in perspective, he could already feel his inherent optimism returning. He would not allow the events of one night to color his entire visit. There was more to Metropolis than the Stardust Lounge and Wanda Detroit and a note on his pillow. He would do his mother’s shopping, and then he would take a little more time to explore.

Just down the block from where he was standing, Clark noticed a crowd milling around outside of what once had been a lovely theatre. It had unfortunately been allowed to fall into near-ruin, and as he approached, he saw that the crowd was protesting the theatre’s immediate demolition. The wrecking ball was in position, and as Clark drew near, he saw the driver of the truck climb in and start the engine.

“Save the Sarah Bernhardt!” someone called, and as others took up the cry, Clark lowered his glasses and peered through the thick walls of the building. What he saw nearly broke his heart: an elderly actress standing alone on the stage, speaking her lines to an imaginary audience. Instantly, he turned and aimed a shot of heat vision at the motor of the truck, silencing its ominous rumble. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Clark took advantage of the distraction to slip inside the theatre.

She was there, on the stage, and she could have looked sad or ridiculous or pathetic, but to Clark she was none of those things. She was lovely – lovely in the same way the old theatre was lovely. He paused for a moment just for the pleasure of hearing her voice ringing out with such emotion.

"Oh, for the days of my childhood! Back when my soul was pure! I slept right here in this nursery, looking out at the orchard from this very room, and every morning I awoke with such joy in my heart! My orchard is just the same as it was then. Nothing different. All of it, all of it dressed in white! My lovely orchard!”

She paused then, and he applauded, the gesture heartfelt. He had needed to hear her passion, her love for the theatre and for the play coming through with her every utterance.

“Who’s there?” she asked, peering into the shadows.

“Just a fan,” Clark said, stepping closer so that she could see him.

“I’m not leaving until I finish,” she said, her bright eyes flashing defiance.

“All right,” Clark agreed. “Mind if I watch? I’ve always loved this play.”

“You know it?” she asked skeptically.

“The Cherry Orchard. Anton Chekhov.”

She beamed at him then. “His finest, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.”

“They don’t understand,” she said sadly. “A theatre is more than just bricks and mortar. It’s drama and passion and mystery and comedy and life. Please don’t make me go. I’m not ready.”

In that moment, Clark realized that he wasn’t quite ready to go either. Wasn’t ready to say goodbye, though whether to Metropolis or Wanda Detroit he couldn’t have said.

But this beautiful woman didn’t need to hear about his problems. He smiled at her. “We have some time,” he said gently, and then he settled in to enjoy the Sarah Bernhardt Theatre’s final performance.

_______________________________

The story seemed to pour from his soul straight through his fingertips, and his keyboard was smoking slightly when it was finished. He was pleased with it – as pleased as he’d been with anything he’d written in a long time. He printed it out and tucked it into his portfolio, right on top of the copy of the Borneo Gazette.

Thirty minutes later, he was, for the second day in a row, gazing up at the giant Daily Planet globe mounted outside the venerable building. He was going to try again, and this time he was sure he had a story worthy of the Planet’s pages. He took a deep breath and strode into the lobby, trying to infuse himself with confidence as he crossed to the bank of elevators and pressed the call button. I can do this, he told himself. I’m a good writer, and here I’ll learn to be a better one. I’ll write obituaries for a while if that’s what it takes, but I know I can do this job. And this story will convince Mr. White that I can do this job.

He was still giving himself a pep talk when the elevator doors opened and he stepped out and glanced across the bullpen, experiencing the same thrill he’d felt the day before. He then set his sights on Mr. White’s office door, refusing to allow himself any time at all to lose his nerve. He made his way in that direction with such single-minded purpose that he nearly ran over two Daily Planet employees along the way. “Excuse me,” he murmured with a distracted smile, but all the while he was thinking, Confidence, Kent. Be confident. Act like you belong here.

He knocked at Mr. White’s door and opened it when he heard the older man’s gruff voice call for him to come in.

“Mr. White,” he said, projecting every bit of confidence he’d just convinced himself he had. “Do you have a few minutes?”

Perry White blinked at him and then sighed. “I have time, son, but I still don’t have a job for you. You’re persistent, I’ll hand you that, but....”

“Please, sir,” Clark said, reaching into his portfolio. “Please just look at this. It’s a story I wrote this morning, and I think it might give you a better idea of my abilities. If you don’t like it, I promise you I’ll never bother you again.”

The editor gave him a look that was part indulgence and part exasperation. “All right, Kent. Hand it over.” He accepted the story and waved Clark into a nearby chair. Clark settled himself quietly, wanting Mr. White’s attention to be on his work.

“The Sarah Bernhardt Theatre,” Perry said, sounding surprised when he saw the subject of Clark’s article. “I assigned this story out yesterday, but the reporter told me she wasn’t in the mood.”

“Wasn’t in the mood?” Clark found it impossible to hide his shock. He couldn’t imagine telling a man like Perry White that he wasn’t in the ‘mood’ to complete an assignment.

Perry wagged his head. “You’d have to know her,” he said wryly. “Well, Kent, let’s see what you’ve got here.”

He read quickly, his eyes skimming over the text, but his facial expressions were promising, and when he came to the end, he began reading aloud: “She came to say goodbye, as we all must, to the past, and to a life and a place that soon would exist only in a bittersweet memory.” He put the papers down on his desk and eyed Clark with new respect. “You know, Kent, if there’s one thing I value more than experience, it’s initiative. Clark Kent, welcome to the Daily Planet.”

He stood and offered Clark his hand, and Clark nearly fell out of his chair in his haste to reciprocate. “Thank you, sir,” he said, taking care this time not to leave any bruises. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise you.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about you, Kent. Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t, sir,” Clark promised.

“Go home today, and I’ll put the paperwork through to human resources. Be here at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow, and I’ll have you fill all that stuff out and get someone to show you around.”

“Yes, sir!” Clark knew he looked overeager, but he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face as left the editor's office, this time as a brand-new Daily Planet employee.

_________________________________

Lois was standing in the middle of the bullpen, sipping a cup of coffee and sniping at Jimmy, when the elevator doors slid open and Clark Kent stepped out.

Just like that.

Just stepped out of the elevator as if he did it every day.

Her hand clenched so tightly on her coffee mug that it was a wonder it wasn’t crushed to a fine powder. For a moment her brain skittered around in a blind panic before grasping at the reporter’s questions out of habit.

Who? Clark Kent.

What? Walking straight towards her.

When? Now! Right this minute!

Where? Wasn’t that already covered in number two? Really, this wasn’t helping much, and he was getting closer…

Why? Oh, God…why?

How? Seriously. How? How had she given herself away? Had he gone through her purse? But no, she’d never had it out of her sight.

Would he actually say something in front of Jimmy, who was looking at her strangely and beginning to glance at Clark strangely, too? And Clark was bearing down on them, and all she could think to do was to look down, to take a sip of her coffee as if it were necessary to sustain life – which it was that day, so that part didn’t require much acting.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, as he stepped around them at the last minute. She glanced up in time to catch his fleeting smile, the same one he’d given the waitress the night before, the same one that had sent Wanda Detroit straight into his arms. Only now it seemed like what it was – an impersonal smile he’d give a stranger. It was nothing like the way he’d looked at her when they’d danced. Nothing like the way he’d looked at her when they’d made love. It was a smile for Lois Lane, not Wanda Detroit, and as he knocked at Perry’s office door, Lois felt her heart splinter into razor sharp pieces.

He wasn’t there to see her.

He didn’t even know her.

He had brushed by her – their shoulders had actually touched – and while she’d gone weak in the knees, he’d felt nothing at all. He hadn’t even given her a second glance. Her theory that Lois Lane couldn’t possibly hold any appeal for him was now a stone cold certainty.

But that left the ‘why?’ more up in the air than ever, didn’t it? Why would Clark Kent be at the Daily Planet?

She thought back to their conversation the night before, and...

No.

Fate couldn’t possibly be that cruel.

“Jimmy.” She grabbed Jimmy’s arm so hard that he would probably have bruises. “That man who just went into Perry’s office. Do you know him?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I don’t know him, know him, but he was here yesterday for a job interview. Kent something or other, I think.” He winced a little and glanced down at her hand. “Do you mind, Lois? I’m kind of attached to that arm.”

She loosened her grip but didn’t release him, not about to let him get away until she’d wrung every last bit of information from him. “What did Perry tell him?”

“I think he told him he didn’t have any openings. Not sure what the guy’s doing back here. Why, do you know him?”

“No!” Lois flung his arm back at him. “Why would I know him? Why would I even care? Do you think I know every two-bit hack who comes in here looking for a job?”

Jimmy’s eyes widened, and he took a cautious step or two backwards now that his arm was once again in his possession. “Uh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course you don’t. Why would you know…? You’re like a lone wolf…or something…in a totally non-dog-like way, of course. Listen, I, uh, need to be going.”

“Don’t forget to get me that information on EPRAD,” she snapped. “I’m going blind looking through that pile of scraps Mr. Crazy Man called his ‘notes’.”

“Right away,” he agreed, nodding and then darting away, out of range.

She whirled and headed toward her desk, toward the ragged sack full of papers that hadn’t made any sense to her before and certainly weren’t going to now that her mind was consumed with the thought of what was going on behind Perry’s closed door. She kept sneaking glances in that direction, pretending to be busy as she waited for Clark to come out.

When it finally happened, she knew immediately from the look on his face that whatever had gone on in there had been good news for Clark. He looked like he was fighting to keep the smile off his face, and he cast a satisfied glance over the bullpen as he made his way toward the elevators with a spring in his step.

Dear God. Perry had offered him a job.

Clark Kent was coming to work at the Daily Planet.

He was going to meet Lois Lane, and he was going to realize that she was a liar and a fake, that she’d played him for a fool and gone to his bed under false pretences. He was never going to be able to respect her – that was a given. No man respected a woman who fell into bed with him on two hours’ acquaintance. And what if he told the whole newsroom? That had happened before, and she’d be damned if she’d let it happen again. She’d worked too hard to get where she was to let a one-night stand ruin everything.

Clark Kent was not coming to work at the Daily Planet. Not if she had anything to say about it.

The elevator doors had no sooner closed on Clark than Lois was up and out of her seat and blasting into Perry’s office with all the subtlety of a stick of dynamite.

“Well hello to you, too, Lois,” he said mildly, barely glancing up from the copy he was reading. “What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me that you did not just hire that man!” She threw herself down in an armchair and then immediately sprang back up again, glaring at her boss, who had by now looked up and was studying her with a furrowed brow.

“You know, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’m the one in charge of the hiring around here.”

“You can’t hire him, Perry! He’s...he’s....” A great lover? A nice guy from Kansas? “Bad news!” she finished ominously. “Very bad news.”

“I see.”

She hated Perry’s ‘I see’s’. She knew that trick of old. He would toss out an ‘I see’ and then wait for her to spill her guts all over his office floor. Well, not this time. She’d learned a thing or two over the years, and she was no longer a rookie who could be trapped by an ‘I see’. She folded her arms and met his patient silence with a blistering glare, prepared to carry on the staring contest all day if necessary.

Finally, he cracked. “Would you care to elaborate a little bit, Lois? Kent came highly recommended by an old friend of mine. Frank Carlton doesn’t seem to think he’s ‘bad news’. And the story he brought me today was top-notch.” He tapped a couple of printed pages on his desk. “Razing of the Sarah Bernhardt Theatre. A story you couldn’t be bothered to write, if I remember correctly.”

Lois emitted a snarl of pure rage. He’d stolen her story! While he was supposed to be sitting around his hotel room nursing his heartache, he’d gone out and stolen a story that she’d been assigned. Granted, she hadn’t wanted the story – hadn’t even intended to write it – but that didn’t change the fact that he had no business writing it.

“I’m running it tomorrow,” Perry went on. “Kent’s got a hell of a nice touch.”

“Kent is a hack from Smallville!” she spat. “I couldn’t make that name up!”

“He’s traveled all over the world,” Perry pointed out. “Speaks I don’t know how many languages....”

“Who cares?” she fired back. “The Daily Planet is written in English.”

“I know that, Lois.” Perry’s voice was getting softer, more dangerous, and she realized she was going to have to switch tactics. “I’m the editor of the Daily Planet, which means that I know everything about it. It also means that I’m in charge of hiring, and a few minutes ago I offered Clark Kent a job. Now, I don’t know what’s put this bee in your bonnet, Lois, but you’re just going to have to deal with that.”

She took a deep breath. Calmed herself a little. A very little. When she finally spoke, it was in a low, even voice. “Perry, I’m going to say something to you that I’ve never said before – never even imagined saying. I’m not going to explain it because I think I’ve been here long enough and worked hard enough that I should have earned your trust by now.” Another deep breath. “Clark Kent is trouble. He is not someone I will ever work with, and if you hire him, you’ll have my resignation on your desk the same day.”

“Lois...”

“It’s him or me, Perry. Take your pick.”

It was a good exit line, and she took it, bolting from his office without a backward glance. Her stomach was churning, and she made straight for the ladies room and barricaded herself in one of the stalls. She sank to her knees on the cold tiles, not at all sure that she wasn’t going to be sick.

What had she just done?


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Acknowledgements: It probably goes without saying, but the scene at the theatre along with other bits and pieces were taken directly from “The Pilot”, written by Deborah Joy Levine. I will continue to borrow from “The Pilot” and other first season shows, but since this is an AU, I’m giving myself license to play around with the timeline and a number of other details. Hope that won’t drive people too crazy.

A/N: My next week looks to be very busy, and then I’ll be out of town the week after, so there will be a gap of two weeks or so before I’m able to update. In the meantime, I hope this part satisfies smile . Thanks again to all who have taken the time to offer feedback. I appreciate your comments very much.