The first time you meet Clark Kent, you're both freshmen in college. He's cute, he's funny and really sweet and it's one of those cases where you wish you were straight. You even have a second-lived fantasy of settling down somewhere with this guy, having kids and a white picket fence. Then a really hot brunette, all curves and softness, walks past you and the fantasy is gone.

Oh, well.

You meet in Psychology 101 as study buddies, but it's like a 'click' went off in both your heads and you become fast friends. Studying, doing projects together, and it's almost like dating. Almost, except that you like boobs and pussy and he is so obviously a guy. A very dense, very cute guy.

You two start talking, and he learns of your past- how you got kicked out of the house when your dad caught you making out with your then-girlfriend (who is now one of your best friends, but you aren't dating), how you had had to struggle to get the scholarship you're currently going to school on. You also learn of him- farmboy extraordinaire with a millionaire, a soon-to-be lawyer, and a journalist for friends. You found out how he grew up in Smallville, and how he met his millionaire best friend.

Fifteen, impressionable, and saving the bald-guy's life. Makes for an instant life-bond the likes of which you hadn't heard about since reading Mercedes Lackey in fifth grade.

You don't really mean to get the job you get. You're better with computers and math, than you are with people and playing the happy-smiley person people see when they get their tickets for a movie. But it's a challenge, one you couldn't turn down.

"I bet I could do better than you at this," you'd commented to another friend, who was also working the ticket booths.

"I'd pay 100 bucks to see *that* happen," she'd scoffed.

You were really bad about that, though, aren't you- can't say no at all.

So, now you've given up your free-time for some extra cash that will be nice, but at the price of numerous headaches and trips to the store for ibuprofen.

The first time Clark drags his best friend to the theater, though- well, it's definitely worth it.

"C'mon, Lex. We haven't just seen a movie together in a long time. I mean, you're running LuthorCorp-turned-LexCorp, I'm studying all the time..." You can practically see the pouty face hanging off the words. Okay, not practically- the man is 6'4" and towers over the woman in front of him with her screaming baby and her kid and her kid's three friends. All of whom are also screaming, things about ice cream and Nerds. 

"Clark..." Bald guy, most eligible bachelor and one of the *other* reasons why you wish you weren't gay, and so totally also in love with his best friend. Awww, aren't they cute? "The things I do for you," is muttered just as the come up.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. How many tickets and for which show?" You ask politely, in a tone you'd never normally use. It's the cheery, happy-go-lucky, I'm-selling-used-cars-and-won't-get-paid-unless-you-buy-one voice that you hate, hate to use, but you're using it anyway, just to see Clark's reaction when he *finally* recognizes you in the geeky outfit.

"Two, please," Clark chirps up, smirking at the blue-eyed man beside him. "For the 4 o'clock showing of Fantastic Four, please."

A few things tapped into the odd tappy-pad thingy at your station and the computer spits out tickets and recite. You're trying desperately to keep the snickers in, but it's really hard, especially with the suspicious look that Mr. Lex Luthor is giving you.

"Here you go! That'll be seven forty, please." Lex nudges Clark with a meaningful eye, giving him the look every girl gives their date when said date is supposed to pay up and isn't. Clark is a gentleman, though, and just rolls his eyes, digging out his wallet and placing the money in the odd little recess that slides under the large glass thingy you're behind. You take the money and put it in the register, handing over the tickets and recite. "Enjoy the movie!" You chirp, oddly sincere in your chirpy-ness, mostly because now you have blackmail material on Clark so he'll pay for pizza next time you two study. You shake your head when they're gone; Clark can be so dense some times.

Your shift ends before you see them come out of the theater, but when you see Clark the next day in Psych, he's practically *glowing*. But you know for a fact that he didn't get laid last night, but he's happy. And some part of you, probably the sad little part that's always whispering things about kids and a picket fences, wants to always see him like that.

"So, how was your date?" You ask rather slyly, grinning at him when he's finally settled. He blinks at you, big green eyes confused. You roll your own, still amused that Clark hadn't recognized you the night before.

"What date?" Confused and cute, like a puppy. A big, floppy puppy.

"The one you had with Mr. Good Looking and forgot to tell me about," you try to sound hurt but you only end up sounding too amused for words. Except, not because you obviously can still speak. He's still looking confused, though, so you just roll your eyes some more and sigh exasperatedly. "I was the teller, Clark. You know, the one you bought tickets from?" Now he's blushing. Score! "So, am I to assume you got lucky or that it's some odd phosphorus chemical in Bio that's making you glow?"

Oh! Look at that. You didn't know a person could turn bright red enough to be used as a lighthouse, but now that you do, you make a mental note to do it more often; definitely save energy bills when the power goes out in your rickety apartment that you're sharing with a gay couple, and a working girl.

"I d-don't know what you mean," he sputters and you can't stop the giggle this time.

"Oh, please. I know you love him. And I saw how he looked at you. So why aren't you dating?" You ask curiously, switching into psycho-analyzer mode like the flip of a switch because the sad kicked-puppy look is now replacing the happy-glowy look that he'd come in with.

"Because you're wrong about how he looks at me," he tells you quietly, and your heart breaks at the resignation in his voice. Damn stupid sad voice! Making you feel all maternal towards him! "And besides, he's getting married in a month."

Well...crapola. You shut your mouth with a click, turning your attention towards the prof who is now droning on about some disorder or another, feeling dumb and hurt and pissed off for no apparent reason.

The next time you're working, you're less cheerful to the customers, saying 'enjoy the film!' through grit teeth and a false, strained smile that wilts the minute your line is empty. You keep hoping that Clark will once again drag his friend with him, but no such luck and as the night progresses, you begin to loose hope. But around 6:30, about an hour before your shift ends, you see Mr. Lex Luthor, most eligible bachelor and #5 on the Forbes 500 list, come up with a stunning blonde on his arm. The blonde woman is obviously ecstatic to be taken to a movie, but you notice almost right away there is none of the open amusement or playfulness you saw the last time.

"Good evening," you say evenly, trying to keep the snap out of your voice. It's hard, especially when you see the ring on her finger and remember the look Clark gave you when he said his best friend was getting married again. "How many tickets and for which show?" standard question said with more menace than is probably necessary. You see Lex's eyes narrow at you in speculation and you narrow your eyes right back, accusing and angry and maternal and damnit, why are you the one who always drags in the strays?!

"Two tickets, please, for Phantom of the Opera," he tells you in a monotonous voice, something hard and dangerous glittering in those pretty blue eyes of his. But you've faced down bull dykes twice his size with just a glare your momma taught you, and right now he just seems like a petulant pup who needs to learn who's running the house.

You pound on the keys harder than is necessary, knowing you're getting odd looks from the leggy blonde. Prints out the tickets and recite, takes the money and suddenly the idea strikes you- you're gay. The leggy blonde is a girl you'd normally go for. And, with a little help from a few of your friends, you could seduce her in a milli-second. Lex would go running to Clark for comfort and both boys would be happy.

Dumbest idea of the century, you know, but with a suddenly cheerful, and slightly feral, grin, you wish them a good evening and tell them to enjoy the movie.

The next week and a half is a rush of preparation- checking out the woman's favorite restaurant (a small, out of the way Italian place on 4th) and haunts (a coffee shop down the street from the college), seeing just how much money you'd have to spend to get her into bed (by the looks of things, not much), the usual. Thankfully, you don't have to hack (much) to find out what you want. And you keep telling yourself that it's not your hormones talking; telling yourself that this is for Clark and his happiness and rules of the game bedamned! Of course, you will gladly admit that the woman has a nice ass and doesn't look too uncomfortable in her curvy body to be a problem; you admire women who are slightly larger than average who are comfortable in their bodies.

Sarah (your ex and current best girlfriend) helps you plan the perfect rouse to get Lex away (dinner with Clark, something he, apparently, can't pass up), your outfit (skimpy little thing that would have once-upon-a-time made you blush but now just makes you glad that you and Sarah are about the same size), and helps makes the reservations at the tiny little Italian place.

The night is a rushed blur of wine and talk, you 'happening' to bump into the blonde (with whom Lex had originally made dinner plans with, but skipped out of in favor of eating with Clark) and just 'happening' to have an apartment down the street (Sarah's, the lovely girl's. She's getting lucky when this is over, you vow) and you take her there and promptly seduce her. You'll admit it's fun, and that you're a sneaky, conniving bitch, especially when you bounce, whistling, into Psych the next day.

Clark's giving you odd looks, but he looks happy-glowy and you'd give anything to keep him like that. The kid's grown on you like sautéed onions and mushrooms over baby greens with a light vinaigrette, your favorite snack- something you'd tried once because it was too hot outside to make anything else, and had ended up falling completely in love with.

You keep silent about what happened last night, even though he did ask once why you looked like a cat who'd just drunk a full carton of cream. You just smirked at him, and he blushed, and you snickered and the subject was dropped.

You call Sarah when you get home, and you both cheer at the fact that the plan was a success. And Clark doesn't have a clue, which is an added bonus because he always seems to know when you're up to something. You study for your math midterm and go to bed early, tired but elated that you'd done a job well-done.

The next day in Psych when you see Clark, though, you aren't feeling all that great.

"What's the matter?" You ask him as soon as you're in your usual seat, brow furrowed and feeling upset because he is. Damn womanly hormones- the one time a month when you wish you'd been born a boy.

"I got into a big fight with Lex last night," he says simply, softly, a world of meaning behind those words. Heart strings tug, right on cue, and you're almost afraid to ask but ask you do, anyway-

"What about?"

"He seems to think I'm the one who set up his ex-fiancé cheating on him," he says it rather darkly with a scowl and it's like a kick to your gut. You knew it was the dumbest idea of the century but you'd really only done it to make sure your friend was happy.

"What happened? How'd she cheat?" You ask curiously, innocently, and he shoots you this *look*. The one you've feared since the day you started talking, the one that says 'I know what you did'. Gay-bashers always had that look, only meaner and definitely scarier.

"Apparently, she cheated on him with another woman," he says it casually, but the look in his eyes is enough to make you sigh and hang your head in guilt.

"Would you believe I had nothing to do with it?" it's a rhetorical question because you know the answer. "I knew it was the dumbest idea ever," you mutter without really thinking and he just sighs at you, like he's disappointed that you ran over his dog. It should make you feel dumb, stupid, and guilty like all those times you got cornered in high school by guys because you like to munch rug, too, and you were knocking on their turf and they didn't like it. But just like most of the time back then, you don't feel guilty- no, you feel really pissed off.

"Look-- I knew from the moment I met you and you started talking about your best friend that you were crazy-in-love with him. Life-bonded, as some would call it. And I saw how upset you looked any time the asshole would skip out on plans you'd made, leading you crying to me with some stupid excuse for studying when you just wanted a cry-buddy. I couldn't stand it any more, so I did what only a woman seems to be able to do- took matters into my own hands and prevailed." You blew out a breath from your nose, and you imagined all those cartoons you'd seen with bulls or dragons, snorting out their annoyance in a gust of animated air, ready to charge the next moving thing they saw. "If I have to kick both your asses to make you both fucking see it, I will." You rarely cussed aloud any more, and you were just pissed enough to do it now, public manners be-damned.

Clark stared at you like you'd grown another head and maybe you had, because it'd been the stupidest, dumbest idea ever and you'd gone through with it anyway. All because you couldn't stand to see this amazing young man hurting.

Luckily, the prof starts his droning, so you shut your trap and listen. You're really not in the mood for Clark's brand of accusations and pointing-fingers when class is over so you rush like the Flash from the room, nearly knocking over five people on your way out. Unfortunately when you do get out, you run head-long into Mr. Lex Luthor himself and you can't stop the glare.

"I would suggest you watch where you're going," he says conversationally, dusting himself off.

"You're a real shit, you know that?" You snap, and you can't seem to stop. Damn, where was the off switch when you needed it? "He didn't do anything, you know. And it's because he loves you that I did anything in the first place. Be grateful I probably saved your sorry ass millions in divorce lawyers." Wow- mom would really be proud now to hear you talking that way. You can't help the mental cringe at the thought of your mother.

He gives you the same look that Clark gave you- like you'd grown an appendage on the side of your head with two more eyes, a nose and a big mouth that just won't fucking shut up. Really, how hard could it be to close your own mouth, once in a while? Then his eyes narrow and recognition clicks.

"You're the teller from the theater, correct?" He sounds bored, but you can hear the sharp undertones. Dangerous, that one. Mostly because he has lots of money and definitely knows how to use it, if anything you've heard over the years is true.

"Yeah. And a good friend of Clark Kent's," you snap back, getting worked up again. God, what was it about these two that got you so worked up? "You both are denser than..." you struggle to find the correct euphemism and fail. "Densest jerk on the planet. God, you're so fucking blind-"With the cussing again. Crap. "-that neither of you can fucking see just how in *LOVE* you are!" You stomp off without another word to anyone.

You don't see Clark again. You end up quitting your job, gladly scrounging the 100 dollars if only to get Sarah off your back. You end up dropping out of your Psych class, signing over the credits to the computer course you'd originally been eyeing when you first signed up for Met U.

But eventually, you get bored in your computer course; it's all stuff you'd learned on your own and it was boring. So you test out of that course and end up with more free time than you really want. So you end up re-making the bet with Sarah because you're bored out of your mind and what better way to drive yourself crazy than listen to 200 moms a day complain about their kids and how much they *really* wanted to see this movie.

You start work promptly at 9:00 the first Saturday morning after you get your job back. The mom with the crying baby and kid and the kid's three friends is the first to welcome you back while buying tickets for Harry Potter 5. The leggy blonde with whom one Mr. Lex Luthor had been screwing and getting married to previously was the next to recognize her while on the arm of a muscley, no-good looking guy from Gotham.

And promptly at 5, two hours before your first shift back on the job as a theater teller ends, Clark and Lex show up. And you can't help the sly grin that spreads over your face when you notice they're holding hands, soft looks being sent in each other's directions.

"Good evening, gentlemen," you greet them, honestly happy to see them, even if they stare at you for a few minutes after. "How many tickets and for which show?"

"Two," Clark replies, blinking still, looking shocked, "for Corpse Bride."

You print the tickets and recite, take the money and smirk at them both.

"Told ya so," you mutter to them. "Have a good evening and enjoy the movie!" You can't believe how it takes one look at how together they are now to make you smirk and laugh and enjoy yourself again.

You're still mad at them for being dense, and they're still mad at you for employing such a dumb idea but everything obviously worked out in the end, so everyone goes home happy after the movie ends.

You find out the next day that you have a full scholarship through a LexCorp subsidiary, created a week previously. You take your usual seat after an amusing talk with the Psych prof, and smirk at the happy-glowy-obviously-got-laid Clark as he takes his seat beside you, muttering a small 'thank you' as he settles.

The Prof drones on, the boys get married a year later, and everything ends as happily as it ever could have been.

End