Stardust
By Caroline K. <twfkak@yahoo.com>
Rated PG-13

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A/N: This is an alternate beginnings story that takes off in its own very unlikely direction right after Clark’s first interview at the Daily Planet, except that in this universe, Lois didn’t barge into the interview, so she and Clark haven’t yet been introduced when this story begins.

I swore to myself that I wouldn’t do it, but I’m posting another WIP. My last WIP here updated approximately weekly, but I really doubt real life is going to allow for this one to be updated as frequently. If waits between parts bother you, I would discourage you from starting this story until it’s finished. Of course, if you do decide to read, any feedback is most welcome and appreciated smile

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Part 1:

He’d known from the start that it was a long shot. Even with Professor Carlton’s recommendation, there was little about Clark Kent that would tempt a man like Perry White to hire him. Clark had hidden himself in out-of-the-way places for too long; jobs at major newspapers didn’t go to journalists who’d spent their years since college writing about the mating habits of geckos.

Climbing the walls of his seedy hotel room with Perry White’s rejection still ringing in his ears, Clark was a little tempted to mourn the death of a dream he'd never even known he had. Just being in the Daily Planet newsroom that day had been a thrill, and he’d felt a little bit like a fifth grader on a field trip, just trying to take it all in. The place had thrummed with energy, with activity. It had been modern, with computers on every desk and phones buzzing back and forth, but it was also steeped in history. It was easy to imagine the days when the air had been filled with the clatter of typewriter keys as the giants of journalism had pounded out their Pulitzer Prize winning stories.

He had gone to the Daily Planet that day out of a vague desire to do something different. His wanderlust had been waning for some time, his itch to see every nook and cranny of the world gradually replaced by a hearty appreciation for indoor plumbing. He’d have never come up with the idea of interviewing at the Planet on his own, but when Professor Carlton had offered the recommendation, Clark had been quick to take him up on it. The worst they could say is ‘no,’ he’d thought with a mental shrug, as he’d packed his battered brown suitcase for the trip to Metropolis.

From the moment he’d stepped off the elevator and into the famed bullpen, however, that casual, que sera sera attitude had deserted him entirely. He’d wanted that job, wanted to be a part of that place, and yet he’d known from practically the moment he’d handed Perry White his portfolio that there was no chance he was going to get it. He knew for an absolute certainty that Clark Kent’s byline belonged on the pages of the Daily Planet, but he also knew there wasn’t a single story in his portfolio that would convince Mr. White of that fact. And the worst of it was, Mr. White hadn’t even given him a chance to plead his case. There had been one interruption after another during his interview: Mr. White’s lunch order, his blood pressure, even his golf cart had commanded more of his attention than Clark had.

Clark sighed and drifted down from the ceiling, giving himself a forceful mental shake at the same time. It certainly wasn’t Perry White’s fault that Clark had wandered around the world for four years after college. It wasn’t Perry White’s fault that Clark had elected to take over as temporary editor of the Smallville Post last summer so that he could help his Dad with the farm. While other journalists had been working their way up the ladder, he’d made other choices. And as he reached for the jacket he’d tossed over the battered desk chair, he realized that he’d never regretted those choices until today. He was sulking like a little kid who’d been denied a treat, and that was ridiculous. But since hanging around his dumpy hotel wasn’t doing anything to cheer him up, he decided on the spur of the moment to go for a walk.

It didn’t look like he’d be living in Metropolis anytime soon; he might as well take in the sights while he could.

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You don’t have dates, Lois. You have interviews.

Her sister Lucy had said those words to Lois Lane just that evening. And Lucy was right, of course, but most of the time, Lois just plain didn’t care. She was too busy to date, and when she did, the man invariably wound up wanting more than Lois was willing to give. The easy ones were the ones who just wanted to get her into bed; she could dump those without a second thought. Every now and then, however, she would have a casual date or two with a nice guy and then realize that he was entertaining fantasies involving picket fences and 2.5 children. Those were the hard ones, the ones who refused to be dumped cleanly and instead always made her promise that they could still be friends. Lois always made the promise, but it was tossed over her shoulder as she was sprinting for safety. Those guys didn’t want a friend; they wanted someone to decorate their house in the suburbs and host dinner parties for the boss.

No, thank you.

No, dates just led to trouble, but every now and then she had the impulse for…something. A night out. A little male admiration. A little flirting, just enough to show she still knew how. Maybe a dance or two that made her wish for more.

She’d only done it twice – no, three times – before, but each time it had been fun. It had been freeing to leave Mad Dog Lane behind and be someone else for a night. It was easy to do, and with Lucy’s comment still fresh on her mind, she peeled off her work clothes and strode to her closet in her bra and panties. She rummaged around in the back until she found the black leather skirt Lucy had talked her into buying more than a year ago. She slithered into it and took her last deep breath of the evening before zipping it up. She paired the skirt with a bright pink sweater that hugged the curves her work clothes worked so hard to hide and then slid her feet into the least sensible heels she owned.

She smiled at the reflection in her mirror. ‘Wanda Detroit’ was beginning to take shape.

A few minutes in the bathroom and she’d completed the transformation. With her bright pink lipstick and teased hair, she looked as little like Lois Lane as she had when she’d been dressed as a car thief. And the beauty of it was that if anyone she knew did happen to recognize her, she could always pretend she was undercover for a story. That had never happened, though. The few other times she’d ventured out as Wanda Detroit, she’d kept to parts of town that were reasonably safe, but certainly not frequented by her colleagues and professional acquaintances. She’d had a few drinks, done a little harmless flirting, and then she’d gone home.

And that was what she’d do tonight. It wouldn’t be a date, exactly, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be an interview either.

If Lucy could see me now, she thought, laughing out loud at the very idea.
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It felt good to leave the Apollo behind. There was a slight chill in the evening air, and Clark had thrown on a jacket, not because he felt the cold but because he wanted to blend in. Always, he wanted to blend in. A few minutes’ observation of the people around him taught him that giving in to his impulse to smile at everyone he passed would defeat that purpose entirely. This was not a part of town where one opened up to strangers. Folks hurried by him with their heads down, streaming towards bus stops, parking decks, and subway stations and exhibiting no interest whatsoever in the young man taking a more leisurely walk through the south side of town.

He’d avoided big cities for most of the years he’d traveled, but there was something about them that energized him. Just walking down the street in Metropolis gave him a thrill, as if something exciting might happen at any moment. Each of the people who hurried by him had a story. Each had a history and a future. Whether they were chattering into a cell phone or swearing at a Metro cabbie, they each sparked his curiosity. He’d found interesting people in every remote corner of the earth, but surely, with this many people, there must be a wider variety of curiosities.

He thought of his failed interview and once again felt the disappointment – so much stronger now than he’d ever expected it to be. What a thrill it must be to work at a place like the Planet. What a thrill to take to these streets each day in search of stories.

A window display caught his eye and a grin flashed across his face as he paused to examine it more closely. A tattoo parlor, with some very...interesting possibilities advertised in the display. He thought of what his mother would say if he returned home to Kansas with something like that on his arm, and it was all he could do not to laugh out loud. Actually, his mom would probably be cool about it, he mused. His more conservative father would be appalled. And it was an impossibility anyway, but it was fun to think about. He felt his mood lightening just a little as he proceeded down the street.

He wandered for more than an hour, until darkness had fallen completely and the commuters had cleared the sidewalks. The homeless were beginning to emerge from their shadow world, and he drew his wallet from his back pocket each time he was approached. Jaded friends had told him before that he was a pushover, that he should keep walking, that his money would just be used for drugs or booze, but he’d never been able to walk by someone in need if it was in his power to help. Maybe that meant that he wasn’t cut out for the big city, or maybe it meant that the big city needed a whole lot more Clark Kents in it. He wasn’t sure.

He was down to his last twenty dollars but feeling a little better about things when he stepped into a dingy little club he’d seen on an earlier pass through the neighborhood. He might not have noticed it if he hadn’t heard the music – not the pounding beat of his generation but instead, a sultry voice singing old standards that wafted out into the night and seemed to fit his mood perfectly.

The Stardust Lounge was dim and smoky but more crowded than he’d expected; the music that had drawn him in apparently drew others as well. He had worried briefly about being underdressed in his jeans and rugby shirt, but a quick scan of the room showed that he had nothing to worry about. There were people there from every age group and every walk of life, and there was nothing to keep him from settling at a table with a beer and blending effortlessly into the crowd.

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She saw him the moment he entered the room and watched as he took the place in, glancing around with interest. It was obvious that he’d never been there before, and he took a moment to get his bearings before heading to the bar. She was seated just down from him, but close enough to overhear him order a beer, and she tracked him with her eyes as he made his way from the bar to one of the few available tables. He was a muscular man but moved with an easy grace that she admired, and she felt her insides flutter a little when he flashed a quick smile of apology at a waitress as he stepped to one side to let her pass by. Without the smile he was handsome; with it, he was devastating, in spite of the heavy glasses obscuring his face.

“If I weren’t working, I’d sure as hell take a shot,” the bartender whispered, startling her.

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” she drawled, staying in character.

The bartender just laughed. “Oh, I think you know. Go on over there, and if it turns out he swings my way, maybe you could put in a good word for me.”

She smiled and winked at him. “Deal.”

She wasn’t sure later if she’d have had the nerve to approach him without the bartender’s nudge. The man she’d been admiring was exactly what she’d been hoping to find when she’d set out that night, but the pull of attraction she felt for him was so strong and so unexpected that her first instinct was to run the other way. Lois Lane would have, of course, or would have been so completely abrasive that he’d have wound up doing the running. But she wasn’t Lois tonight; she was Wanda Detroit, and Wanda wasn’t afraid of approaching handsome men.

She came upon him from behind, taking a moment to settle into her persona before she made her move. “It’s crowded tonight,” she said in a throaty voice, daring to put one hand on his shoulder. “Do you mind if I join you?”

The object of her attentions turned to look at her, and seemed to be momentarily struck speechless. “Uh...sure,” he said finally, swallowing hard. “Um, allow me.”

He stood and pulled out the chair next to his, and Lois murmured her thanks as he seated her.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “My name is Clark,” he added as he resumed his own seat. “Clark Kent.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Clark Kent.” She leaned forward, intruding slightly into his personal space and giving him an opportunity to admire her décolletage at the same time. “I’m Wanda Detroit.”

She smiled when she saw him drag his gaze back to her face with an effort. It appeared that the bartender was out of luck.

“Nice to meet you,” he echoed softly, and the funny thing was, she had the feeling he really meant it.

“First time in here?” she asked.

He nodded. “First time in Metropolis, actually. I was out exploring and heard the music. Do you come here often?” He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “I can’t believe I just said that. I’m sorry – I don’t usually speak in clichés.”

She laughed. “In this case, I’ll take it as an honest question. I’ve come here a few times before, but no – not often. So where are you from?”

“Kansas originally – a little farming community I’m sure you’ve never heard of. But since college I’ve traveled all over the world.”

College graduate, she noted, pleased – and apparently well-traveled as well. She might actually get some intelligent conversation out of this evening. She usually played Wanda as a bit of a ditz, but she decided some improvisation might be called for. Wanda with a dash of Lois, perhaps? It wasn’t something she’d tried before, but she had a feeling this guy was worth the balancing act.

“Really?” she asked, batting her eyes to let him know she was impressed. “What do you do? …No!” She threw up a hand. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’re a...pilot.”

He grinned, and she again felt that unfamiliar stab of desire. This guy’s smile should require a permit, really it should.

“Nope, but I do like to fly.” His eyes twinkled as if at some private joke, and she felt warmed through.

“Okay, not a pilot. Let’s see, you’re a doctor, maybe doing humanitarian work.”

“Wrong again,” he said. “But I think we’d better quit this game. My real job is going to seem very boring next to the ones you’re imagining for me.”

“Well, don’t tell me yet. I want to figure it out. I bet you’ll drop some hints while we’re talking.”

“I wouldn’t count on it, Wanda. I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.”

“And I’m pretty good at finding them out,” she teased. “It’s my business, you know – seeing beyond the external.”

“And what kind of job is that?” he asked, turning the tables. “No – let me guess. You’re a Radiologist.”

She laughed. “No. I didn’t mean it quite that literally.”

“OK. A psychic then.”

“Maybe I am.” She dropped her voice suggestively. “Does that make you nervous?”

“Not a bit,” he said, matching her tone. “Can you tell me my future?”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “I’m seeing you with someone,” she said. “A woman. You’re at a table in a crowded room, and you’re...asking her to dance.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Think it’ll come true?” she murmured.

“You’re definitely psychic,” he said, his voice husky. He stood and offered her his hand.

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As she went into his arms and they began to move slowly together on the dance floor, Clark was reminded of the first time he’d flown – really flown – when he’d shot straight out of his father’s wheat field and into a sky so vast it felt as though it might swallow him whole. He’d been scared to death, terrified that one false move would send him plummeting to earth, but he’d also felt as though he’d been set free – as if he had finally found a place he belonged.

Having Wanda Detroit in his arms felt a little like that.

It was crazy, and he knew it was crazy. It was absurd to think that he’d fallen in love or anything like it with a woman named Wanda in a tatty little bar called the Stardust Lounge. She was beautiful, of course, but she wasn’t anything like his usual type. He didn’t know anything about her.

But something about this – holding her in his arms – felt as overwhelming as soaring into that huge Kansas sky.

He was such an idiot. The quintessential naïve country boy let loose in the big city. And it would probably end with her picking his pocket or slapping his face or some other indignity, but it had been a disappointing day, and he wasn’t feeling strong enough to hold himself aloof when pulling her close felt so incredibly good.

And besides, his wallet only had a few dollars in it anyway.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” she said, her mouth disturbingly close to his ear.

“I learned from a Nigerian princess,” he told her, hoping it didn’t sound like he was bragging.

“Really?” She drew back and looked at him thoughtfully. “Hmm. I’ve got it! You’re a gigolo. An international, world-famous gigolo.”

He chuckled and dared to pull her a little closer. “I think your psychic powers are a little shaky tonight.”

“Spy?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” he said seriously.

“If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that.” She sighed dramatically, and he broke out in gooseflesh when he felt the warm puff of her breath tickle his neck.

“Dance with a lot of spies, do you?”

“Constantly. It gets very dull.”

“Mmm. Good thing I’m not really a spy then. In fact, I’m nothing at the moment.”

She drew back and arched her eyebrows at that. “Nothing? You certainly feel like something.” She trailed an exploratory hand across his chest and he sucked in a sharp breath and prayed she didn't notice.

“I meant...I’m unemployed. I came to Metropolis for a job interview, and it didn’t go so well.” He wanted to kick himself right back to Borneo the minute the words left his mouth.

Way to impress her, Kent, he thought with disgust. One dance and you announce that you’re practically a vagrant.

But Wanda didn’t seem inclined to judge. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

“It’s all right. I’ve always landed on my feet so far, and there’s a job waiting for me back in Smallville if nothing here works out.” Of course, to a smart city girl, living in Smallville was probably a step down from vagrant, but at least he didn’t sound quite so pathetic.

“Smallville? Seriously?”

He laughed. “’Fraid so. It’s the town I grew up in. Smallville, Kansas.”

“I’m sure it’s...charming.” There was no mistaking the doubt in her voice.

“You probably wouldn’t think so, but it was a great place to grow up. How about you? Where did you grow up?”

“I’m a Metropolis girl.”

“Do you still have family here?”

Her bright eyes clouded over, and he immediately wished he hadn’t asked. “They’re here,” she answered, “but not here for me, if you know what I mean. My boss is kind of like family, though. I guess he’d come closest.”

“I didn’t know psychics had bosses,” he said, wanting to lighten the atmosphere a bit.

It worked. She giggled and then said, “The psychic thing is just a sideline.”

"Am I allowed to ask about the day job?"

She looked up at him, searched his face, and seemed on the verge of answering when her gaze shifted away to the middle-aged singer on the stage. Wanda studied the older woman intently for a minute and then shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s like you said earlier – if I told, it would just seem dull and uninteresting. This is more fun.”

“This is fun,” he said carefully, “but I think really getting to know each other could be fun, too.” He hoped he wasn’t pushing too hard and held his breath as he waited for her response.

But her only answer was a sigh and a slight shake of her head before she rested it on his shoulder. He supposed he had his answer, and if that was the case, then he would just enjoy whatever time he had left with her.

In a rare feat of daring, he tipped his head slightly and brushed her cheek with a soft kiss.

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Acknowledgements: Lots of bits and pieces borrowed from “The Pilot” written by Deborah Joy Levine. This will be true throughout the course of the story. Additionally, I owe a debt of inspiration to the pilot episode of Grey's Anatomy.