Jimmy's POV

I'm having a hard time not telling myself that it's not fair.

I mean, there's absolutely no reason in the world why she should take a particular interest in me, especially now that the world has discovered her. It's kind of ridiculous, really. I mean, she has literally thousands of men and women panting after her. Why should I think that maybe she could notice me a little more than any of them? Pay me a little more attention... put her hands on me more...

Stop it.

Why not? Because they don't know her, really. They don't appreciate her as much. To them, she's just something new and flashy, and they're curious.

Oh, like I'm not.

No, not that way, I'm not. Much. I want to really know her, and I do know her better than most, better probably than anyone except Lois, and Clark, and maybe Clive.

I'm not jealous. I'm not jealous. I'm not jealous. Keep telling yourself that, Olsen

. The thing is... Okay, she had something with Clark, I know that. I'm, like, 99 64/100 % sure that something went down with Lois. I know for damn sure something happened with Clive, the rep he has about that private station.

To someone who didn't know her, she might seem kinda promiscuous. Oh, there's a concept. A promiscuous virgin. As Scribe would say, *snicker*. The way I see it, no one would think twice if someone had say, five, or even ten lovers during their life. With Scribe, it's just that she's running into all of hers in a short period of time. She wouldn't do it, really, with anyone she didn't feel strongly about. I can hear you out there. What about Clive? Right off the street. People, Clive is a whole 'nuther proposition. I think he comes under the classification of 'force of nature'. Back to the main point...

Why not me?

I'm her friend. I care about her. A lot. I try to help out, try to take care of her, try to protect her. Not that I'm doing it to earn points to be turned in toward a fuck, mind you. But it counts for something, doesn't it?

And back in the diner... We had a moment there, I know we did. I could feel it. She didn't jump and run when I put my hand on her thigh, like that Prince bitch. And she let me kiss her when I took her back to Lois'. Even got in the teeniest swipe of tongue. Yum.

But nothing really intimate since then. In the diner, I'll admit, it was just random horniness, testing the waters, seeing if I could get a little. It's different now. I know her, now.

I think maybe she has issues with the age thing. She's made comment on it before. I, on the other hand, have no problems with it. More mature woman, younger man? Fine by me. Anyway, some study I read said that women of her age and men of my age are each reaching their sexual peak, so it would make sense, wouldn't it? I clipped that article, in case I need convincing material farther down the line.

She's been a little depressed lately. A depressed Scribe is not a natural thing. When she first arrived, everything was so new, and she was so busy dealing with it, that she didn't really feel homesick. Now that she's settled in some, it's started gnawing at her.

Leaving home is one thing, but she left home, and not voluntarily. She doesn't have the comfort of knowing that she can climb on the Big Grey Dog and go back, or pick up the telephone and make contact, or even write a letter that will arrive in a familiar mailbox. How lonely must that be?

She told me that this world is incredibly like her own, but that there are subtle differences. But she just can't forget that this isn't home. "There's just something bone deep, molecular level, Jimmy. No matter how familiar it seems, there's always that teeny little slant, and the voice in the back of my head keeps whispering that it's just... not... right."

She sort of thumps herself for not being able to ignore this or overcome it. She told me that maybe it would be more sensible, more practical to just throw up her hands and resign herself to living here. "But practicality and sensibility have never been my strong suits, sweetie."

I do what I can. We do what we can. We try to let her know that she isn't really alone, she has us. But sometimes she'll get quiet, and just stare at something, and I know that it's reminded her of something back in her own world, something that she might never see again. For a minute, she'll look so sad. Then she'll shake it off, but it was there, and I can't forget that.

"It isn't that you aren't all lovely people." She's trying to be sweet, and diplomatic. I don't want any of that. I don't want to be a 'lovely person.' I want to be important to her. Hell, I want to be necessary. I don't want to be lumped in.

All right, it's my fault. I haven't been doing much to distinguish myself, I guess. If she was just any other person, I could risk just waiting around, taking it slow, hinting. I should've known better. With all the noise she's got swirling around her right now, how is she supposed to distinguish subtle?

Time to think strategy...