Don't Fall

By Anonpip <anonpip@gmail.com>

Rated G

Submitted March 2009

Summary: Lois reflects on an early conversation with Clark.

Author's Note: All characters are the property of Warner Bros,
December 3rd Productions, ABC, and anyone else who may have a
legal claim on them. The story, however, is mine.

Thanks to Erin for GEing this for me. Also thanks to Carol for
beta'ing this for me!

***

"Don't fall for me, Farmboy," I told the brown eyes looking
into mine. His expression wasn't surprising to me in the
slightest. Not that I was some sort of femme fatale or anything,
but for some reason I could not discern I had always held an
interest for small town boys. Couldn't they figure out on their
own that someone like me, someone so settled in one of the
largest cities in the world, had no use for a farm boy?

It started years ago -- I was... eleven, maybe? In the
fifth-grade anyway. Brad Johnson had just moved to town and
created quite a stir. All the fifth-grade girls thought he was
just the cutest thing (and when we were in the fifth grade, we
were experts at saying that without it sounding like we were
talking about a teddy bear).

Personally, I didn't see the allure. Brad was a farm boy -- a
farm boy! He came from Wyoming... or maybe Idaho? I wasn't sure.
One of those unimportant states in the west with all the corn
fields. The only place in the western US that I thought might be
worth seeing was California. Certainly not Wyoming or Idaho,
though.

Still, Brad's moving to town changed things. Before that, all of
the girls had a crush on Michael DeLaney, but Brad came by and
suddenly I was the only one who still liked Michael. Michael had
grown up in Metropolis just like me and he shared my dislike of
the corn states. We spent many lunch times together complaining
about Brad's popularity. Of course, to be fair, Michael's
annoyance may have stemmed from the fact that his girlfriend,
Brianna, had moved over to the Brad bandwagon.

Still, it meant that within days of Brad's moving to town,
Michael and I were an item. Not that this was all that noteworthy
-- in the fifth grade this meant we ate lunch together and
sometimes Michael would give me half of his cupcake. Oh, and
once, on a dare, Michael kissed me. It was a lot like kissing
Aunt May, actually.

Two weeks later, when Brianna decided she didn't like Brad
anymore (I think she couldn't stand the competition), Michael
dumped me unceremoniously and he was sharing his cupcakes with
her.

Brad started offering to share his lunchtime snacks with me, but
I wanted no part of the farm boy. Besides, he didn't get
cupcakes for snacks -- his mother made him something called
granola. Looked like a farm product to me. So, I brushed him
aside and a few days later he stopped trying. Still, it was two
years before I stopped catching Brad looking at me with sad,
puppy dog eyes.

At the time, I thought nothing of it. Aside from a fleeting
thought that I felt badly that he was holding on to this crush
for so long, I had no real use for Brad Johnson and never gave
him more than a passing thought. Even when it seemed his crush on
me had died a proper death, I never missed it the way some of the
girls in high school seemed to bemoan the lack of a fall back guy
when an unrequited crush moved on. I didn't need a fall-back.
Not that I was dating anyone else, but I didn't need a guy. I
was happy without the complications of romance. And if I had
needed a guy, a farm boy would have been low on my list -- even
one who had lived in the city for the last couple of years.

After high school, I didn't think of Brad Johnson again for
years -- until I walked into my Statistics for Writers class
during my junior year of college. I didn't really notice the
tall, blonde-haired boy when I first entered. I was annoyed at
having to take this class. I was not a math person. I wanted to
be a journalist. Why did I need a statistics class? But the
journalism degree required it and when I tried to convince the
dean to let me off the hook, he explained that knowing how to use
statistics was an important skill for a writer, especially a
reporter. I didn't believe him -- surely that was what
fact-checkers were for, but he wouldn't budge.

So, still feeling annoyed at having to be there, I took a seat in
the back of the class, hoping I could pay little attention and
just manage to get by. Typically I was a straight A student, but
given the uselessness of the subject matter, I'd be happy with a
C in this class. As long as I got a grade good enough to use for
my major, I would be happy. I had no intention of wasting
precious study time on this when I could be working on a story
for the school paper -- maybe impressing Paul, the editor.

The second day of class, though, he sat next to me. I still
didn't notice him as I was busy working on my homework
assignment. I had left it for the last minute -- it was less
important than the story I was working on for the paper -- but it
was harder than I expected it to be. As I moved on from the first
problem, which I didn't know how to do, I groaned as I realized
I had no idea how to do the second problem either.

"This class is a waste of time, don'tcha think?" the soft
twang came from next to me.

I nodded as I looked up. "I don't see why I need it," I told
the boy. He was cute -- not Paul cute, but definitely
attractive.

"Me neither," he agreed, sticking his hand out. "I'm Scott
Williams."

"Hi, Scott." I shook his hand. "I'm Lois Lane. So why are you
taking this class?"

He shrugged. "I'm going to be a novelist. Well, I hope anyway.
You?"

"Reporter. I'm going to work for the Daily Planet," I told
him.

"You have a job already?" he asked. "That's great!"

I blushed. "Well, no..." I admitted. "But I will one day."

"I admire your confidence," he told me, and I noticed his twang
again.

"Where are you from?" I asked him.

"Iowa," he said. "You?"

"Metropolis born and raised," I told him, already looking for a
way out of the conversation. I hadn't noticed his slight cowlick
before. He wasn't so cute after all.

Luckily, the professor walked in just then, effectively ending my
conversation with Scott. After class, though, he trailed me out
of the math building and while I walked quickly, pretending he
wasn't there, he ran to keep up. "Lois," he called when he was
right behind me.

I gave a sigh. Clearly I wasn't going to be able to ignore him,
so I turned around, fixing my face with a look that I hoped
conveyed how bored I was already.

"Um..." Taking in my face, he faltered a little. "I was
wondering... if you wanted to... you know... maybe... grab some
dinner together sometime... or something?" He blushed all the
way to the roots of his hair. Silly farm boy. Metropolis boys
knew how to ask a girl out -- and it didn't involve either
rambling or blushing.

"No thanks," I said, not caring that his face fell a little. He
had to know I wouldn't be interested. He had told me he was from
Iowa, right? "I'm sorry," I added, feeling a twinge of guilt
despite myself. "But I'm just not really interested in dating
right now."

"Oh," he said, scuffing his shoe along the pavement. "Well, I
understand."

I felt a little badly as he walked away, but then shrugged. What
did he expect? He was a farm boy and I was the consummate city
girl.

So, these experiences meant I knew exactly what was going on when
I looked across the pile of papers Clark and I were working on
that night and saw his face. "Don't fall for me, Farmboy," I
told him. "I don't have time for it."

And I wasn't lying -- I didn't have time for it. Oh, if he had
had some redeeming qualities, maybe I would have made time for
him. Like, perhaps, the ability to fly. Or being the third
richest man in the world. I somehow seemed to have plenty of time
for both that year. But not for a farm boy -- never for a farm
boy.

He kissed me twice that year -- twice! -- and I remember both
kisses as taking me by surprise. They were nice and they caused a
fluttering in my stomach I couldn't quite place. Still, I shook
it off. There was nothing all that special about those kisses. I
was just surprised that someone who had spent their life in
small-town Kansas could kiss like that. Nothing more to it than
that.

No, really, the first time Clark Kent surprised me was on a park
bench in Centennial Park. "I have been in love with you for a
long time... You had to have known."

I told him I had known he was attracted to me, although the truth
was, I hadn't really. I hadn't thought about Clark's
attraction to me since the first week he was in Metropolis when
he looked at me over Chinese food and a pile of papers and I told
him I didn't have time for him.

Sometime after that, he stopped being a farm boy -- someone I had
no time for. He had just become Clark Kent. Oh, I still had no
time for him. Not with men like Lex and Superman around. But he
wasn't at all who I thought he would be that first week. He was
stronger, tougher than I had given him credit for.

He was also sweeter and gentler than I had really imagined. He
was my best friend -- the first person I thought of when things
went wrong. Or even when things went right. It's almost amusing
to me to think back to that moment on the park bench now.

Tempus once called me galactically stupid for not seeing that
Clark Kent and Superman were the same man. I've long since
forgiven myself for that. While I can see it now, so clearly, I
can also see how different he looks in the different guises. And
I know how very much I did not want to fall for Clark Kent.

No, what made me galactically stupid had nothing to do with
Superman. It had to do with my thoughts on that park bench. How I
dismissed Clark's admission of love away in the same way I had
Brad Johnson's offer of granola. How I sat there and thought
about what Clark was to me -- realized he was the one I thought
of when things went wrong or right and still told him that he was
my best friend, nothing more. How I completely missed the fact
that I was in love with him, too.

Sometimes I wonder how things might have been different if I had
given Brad Johnson a chance, taken his offering of his mom's
granola. Would I have learned in the fifth grade the lesson it
took me until I was twenty-seven to learn? Probably not. It's
hard for me to imagine being anything but what I was at that age.
I probably would have taken one taste of Brad's granola and spit
it out.

What about in college, though, when granola had come to
Metropolis and I discovered I kind of liked the sweet, crunchy
taste? If I had said yes to Scott I could have avoided the whole
thing with Paul. Something tells me it wouldn't have worked out
though.

While farm boys do seem to have an affinity for me, I still
don't think I have one for them. Not unless they have dancing
brown eyes and a smile that can light up a room. Not unless they
are persistent beyond all reason. Not unless they are not just
polite to a fault from growing up in a small town, but are still
able to hold their own in an argument. Not unless they can make
me laugh on the worst day -- sometimes even laugh at myself. Not
unless they worm their way into my heart until they are the first
thing I think of when I wake up and the last before I fall
asleep. Not unless their name is Clark Kent.

Then, as it turns out, I do have time for them. In fact, I have
more time for them than I've ever offered, or even wanted to
offer, anyone before.

And, you know, I wouldn't have it any other way.

THE END