Scribe's POV

I stare at Lois, Clark, and Jimmy in turn. "Eactly how many chaperones are there at this party? Even Spanish senoritas only have one duenna."

"Their gentleman caller isn't Lex Luthor," Clark says stiffly.

I sigh. "Well, couldn’t you all at least stand on one side of the desk instead of surrounding me? I’m getting claustrophobic. No, that’s fear of tight spaces. Lessee, acro is fear of high places, agora is fear of open places, arachno is fear of spiders, angora is fear of fuzzy sweaters..." Blank stares. "It's a joke, people. You all look too damn serious."

Lois says pointedly, "Someone has to take this seriously."

I turn to Jimmy. "Tell 'em they're overeacting, Jimmy."

He shakes his head. "Not this time, Scribe."

"Geez, people! It's gonna be a ten, fifteen minute visit in a public place. What aren't you telling me about this guy?"

"Well, there was that immobility ray..." Clark starts.

"That was sort of a rhetorical question, not a request for detailed information." The door to the newsroom opened. News of my coming visitor had spread quickly, the Daily Planet having a grapevine to rival most small towns’, and half the staff had managed to find excuses to be there. You never saw so many pieces of paper being shuffled. It fell quiet, all eyes on the door. A man in a pearl grey chauffeur's uniform stepped in, and they deflated. He held the door, and the man next through it was more to their expectations.

He was at least as big as Superman. He wore a dark, casually elegant business suit that probably cost more than I would have made in six months during my most prosperous times. He was what I have always referred to as 'boldly bald': clean. There was no fringe, no tonsure, no long strands raked across the top and plastered in place. His pate was naked, smooth, and gleaming--and he was fine. Some men can do bald and look good. Yul Bryner, Billy Zane, Vin Diesel... Lex Luthor. *The guy looks like this, and he sends flowers, wine, candy, and expensive jewelry? Overkill.*

He came to the desk, and stood before me. He inclined his head cordially. "Miss Scribe."

I inclined right back at him. "Mr. Luthor." I waved a hand at the glee club. "May I present my posse: Pit Bull, Rottweiller, and Shepherd."

He smiled. "Dedicated bodyguards, I'm sure."

They were pressing in closer: right, left, and behind. I sighed. "Excuse me. I can't breathe." I stood, and since they didn't move, I climbed over the desk. Lois put her hand over her eyes, shaking her head as I shook hands.

I handed him the jewelry box. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"If you're sure." He accepted the return graciously, without taking insult. "I'll have it auctioned, and give the money to charity." He tucked the flat case in an inside jacket pocket, and surveyed the trio of vigilant reporters gathered around the desk. "Is there a place we might have a conversation with a bit less of an audience?"

Jimmy, Lois, and Clark chorused, "No."

I jerked my head toward them. "Three part harmony. What sort of a rep do you have, Mr. Luthor? They, um... impart nefarious motivation to your every move."

A smooth smile. "I am sadly misjudged."

I cocked my head, and said sweetly, "You aren't bad. You’re just drawn that way."

Ya know, with some people the sarcasm would have gone whoosh! Right over their head. Or else they'd have gotten it, and thrown their own acid right back at me. Or a slow boil would have started, leading up to an explosion. Luthor's smile widened, and I think I saw an extra spark of interest in his eyes. I took a mental step back. What is this genius I have for inspiring the wrong reaction in people who might not have my best interests at heart? I had the definite impression that it might not be entirely safe to have this man's full attention.

"I'm interested in your situation, Miss Scribe. I take it that you haven't been successful in locating a method of returning to your home dimension?"

"To make a long story short, duh. Mixedpickles doesn't seem inclined to make a return appearance. I'm only familiar with dimensional, space-time, alternate universe, simultaneous reality thingies through comic books. I have absolutely no idea where to start."

"You might start with me. I've been doing a good bit of research into such matters."

"She doesn't need your help." Jimmy said coldly.

Luthor's dark, nearly black eyes turned on him. The smile didn't waver, but there was something in those eyes... "And your interest in this is?"

"I'm her friend."

"What progress have you made toward returning her to her home, friend?" Jimmy scowled. "I see." He looked back at me. "A person may have many friends, of different types." He pulled out a small, flat gold case, opened it, and handed me a business card. "Here. If you change your mind, and wish to explore the... possibilities I can offer you."

He offered his hand again. When I took it, instead of simply shaking it, he bent and pressed his lips to it. Then he turned it over and did the same thing to my wrist. I felt a brief, moist dab of tongue that sent a jolt through me before he straightened up and released me. "I'll see you again soon, Miss Scribe. We can have a longer, much more private chat then." With a polite nod to the others, he left.

I flexed my fingers, murmuring, "Elvis has left the building."

Clark looked puzzled. "Who?"

"It'd take too long to explain." I examined the card. "Hm. Got two numbers here. One of 'em labeled private."

Jimmy said, "Let me see."

I started to hand it over, then got a look at his eyes and pulled it back. "Nuh-uh. You look ready to make confetti."

"You don't need it," he growled, reaching for it.

I held it away. " How do you know? He said he' s doing research that might help with my problem. Isn't he a genius?"

"Yes." Clark didn't look too pleased, either. "An evil genius."

"You make him sound like Doctor Evil."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind. I'm just saying that he's got the brain, he's got the facilities. It's a possibility, like he said."

Jimmy's voice was almost a snarl. "That isn't the sort of possibilities he has in mind."

I blinked at him. Jimmy's an easygoing person. I hadn't seen him this pissed except during the Diana Prince episode. "Well, what's got your undies in an uproar?"

Man, redheads turn pink when they're angry. He started to say something to me, then looked at Lois. "Talk to her. She obviously won't listen to me."

Lois arched one dark brow. "Jimmy, what gives you the idea that she listens to me?"

"Will you people cool your jets? I haven't said I'm going to do anything. But you have to admit, this is the first serious offer I've had of assistance."

I suppose it was a little mean of me to look at Clark when I said that. I think I hurt his feelings. Okay, dammit, sometimes I'm a bitch. But right now I'm a homesick bitch, so I think allowances should be made.

Jimmy threw up his hands, made a noise of mingled disgust and frustration. "Fine!"

"Good."

"Fine! Do what you want. You will, anyway. I need some fresh air!," he snapped, and stalked out.

"And so the legend about redheads' tempers is bourn out."

"He's worried about you, Scribe." There was sympathy in Lois' eyes as she looked after the cub reporter.

"Well, he was downright rude! I think it's piece of my mind time."

I went out to the hall, but it was empty. Neither of the elevators was running, either. But I saw the door at the end of the hall that led to the stairs slowly closing. The only thing up there was the roof.

I made my way up onto the roof of the Daily Planet building, and looked around. I didn't see him. Well, he had to be up here somewhere. There was only one person around here who could fly, and that was the only other way off the roof. I started to explore.

He was sitting behind a large ventilator shaft, completely hidden. I stood, staring down at him, fists on hips. "Well, this is as good a pouting spot as any."

He glared at me. "I do not pout!"

"All right. Sulking, then. What's with you, Olsen?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, come on. It wasn't exactly Jekyll and Hyde, but were talking definite attitude. What's your problem?"

"My problem?" He stood up. "My problem is him practically pawing you, right there in front of me."

He was almost toe to toe with me, and I took a step back. "He just kissed my hand," I protested. "Corny old fashioned."

"I saw the tongue, Scribe. You got any idea what it was like for me to stand there and watch another man taste you?"

"I..." Geez, I know Jimmy's protective, but isn't this a little extreme? "Jimmy, why are you so mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself."

"Why?"

"Because I haven't had enough guts to do this."

He stepped toward me again, grabbed my face, and kissed me square on the mouth.

Are all guys with Swedish ancestry such great kissers? Book passage right now, girls.